Desert Kings Boxed Set: The Complete Series Books 1-6

by Jennifer Lewis

  “You told me,” Osman stroked her arm. “And you also mentioned how the narrator announced at the end that the film’s producer had been wooed and seduced during the festival.”

  “You.” Sam bit her lip and grinned while she poked him with a fingertip. “I don’t think any of us saw that coming. And the director was rather annoyed. He was my fiancé after all.”

  “The poor guy couldn’t hope to compete with a king from Ubar.” Ronnie chuckled. “Let’s face it, we ladies don’t stand a chance when you Al Kilanjars decide to claim us. You don’t give up easily.”

  “We don’t give up at all.” A satisfied grin spread across Zadir’s face. “Though you independent-minded American women don’t make it easy for us.”

  “We’re not used to being swept off our feet,” protested Sam. “We find it alarming.”

  “I think that makes it even more fun,” teased Osman. “The Al Kilanjar men enjoy a challenge. Don’t we Gibran?”

  All eyes turned to Gibran, who’d been quietly eating. Aliyah turned too, just so as not to draw attention to herself. He looked up. “I wouldn’t be too successful in my line of work if I backed down from a challenge.”

  “Come on, you know you go looking for them.” Zadir leaned forward.

  Gibran shrugged. “I work for the highest bidder.”

  Aliyah could see he still resisted being treated like a “brother.” She could see the resemblance, though. All the brothers had different features, since they had different mothers. But they all had the same regal bearing and an inner confidence that shaped their gestures and expressions. They were all half brothers, so Gibran was as closely related to each of them as the others.

  “Very sensible,” muttered Amahd. “That’s always been my strategy, too. Treat life as a business and you won’t go too far wrong.”

  Zadir snorted. “What nonsense. Life is an adventure.”

  “I prefer quiet well-planned routine to adventure. Though it’s hard to plan for insurgents setting your wells on fire.” Amahd sighed.

  “You should plan for that.” Gibran looked at him. “I tell my clients all the time to plan for every possible disaster—natural or manmade—and then you’ll be prepared to avoid or at least minimize them if they strike.”

  Amahd nodded. “I like the way you think. We need to prepare for the unknown, the unseen.”

  “If my plane hadn’t been hijacked and diverted to the Empty Quarter, I’d probably never have got to know Ronnie.” Zadir lifted a brow at her. “She had her headphones on—possibly to prevent me striking up a conversation with her—until I asked her if she heard the engine cut out.”

  “True. I don’t mean to be rude, I’m just shy.”

  “So in our case it’s lucky were weren’t prepared.”

  “Though it would have been nice to prevent our beautiful new corporate jet being torched,” said Osman.

  “Except that if it hadn’t been set alight that morning, Ronnie would have climbed on it and flown back to the States.” Zadir shrugged. “So in that case also, I should be grateful to the perpetrator.”

  “Even though he tried to kill us?” Ronnie stared.

  “It’s not easy to kill an Al Kilanjar. They’ve been trying ever since we got back here and there’s not a scratch on us.”

  “Perhaps we should be suspicious that you engineered the plane incidents just to win Ronnie.” Osman lifted a brow at Zadir.

  “Do you think I’m capable of such underhanded behavior?”

  “Where a beautiful woman is concerned?” Humor sparkled in Osman’s eyes. “Absolutely. And the plane was covered by insurance so it was barely more than an inconvenience, though it is getting harder to insure things around here. We need to put a stop to this madness for good before someone else dies.”

  “We will.” Gibran spoke with quiet confidence.

  “Who do you think it is?” Sam leaned forward.

  “I don’t like to say just yet. Revealing too much could hamper my investigation. Rest assured that I’ll tell you when the time is right.”

  Osman sighed. “We’ve been patient and we can wait. At least now you’re here I know we’re going to get to the bottom of this. Welcome home, brother.”

  The others joined in and they all lifted their glasses in a toast that seemed to embarrass Gibran. He nodded stiffly. He didn’t protest, though, or retort, as he might have done yesterday.

  Aliyah joined in the toast. Gibran’s entry into their midst had already caused changes that alarmed and excited her. Not just his worrisome effect on her hormones. She was here eating dinner with the family, and her daughters shone with joy at being included in the adult celebration, raising their glasses of rosewater lemonade and clinking them against the grownups’. Maybe she’d been wrong to try to hide her daughters away, worried every moment that they’d do something to offend the family and get them all ejected from the palace.

  These people were warm and inviting and made her and the girls feel truly welcome. Prickly and wary, Gibran had resisted their early efforts to embrace him, but now even he seemed to be settling in.

  So much change in so little time. It was hard to take in. Maybe she was afraid that nothing so good could last for too long, and that sooner or later it would all end in tears—most likely hers.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Gibran drove her to Nabattur as promised, the next morning.

  “You can’t drive a car?” He looked sideways at her, sunlight picking out chiseled features as they crossed the empty landscape between the palace and the walled town.

  Aliyah held her head high, determined not to feel small. “I’ve never needed to.”

  “Then you’re always reliant on someone else.”

  “It’s not like I ever just wander around without an escort anyway. Would you have let me drive into Nabattur by myself?”

  He frowned. “Well, no. But it’s the principle of the thing. You need to be able to drive in case you have to escape from somewhere.”

  She laughed. “Escape? Where would I go?”

  He looked straight ahead out the windshield, along the road to Nabattur, a muscle working in his jaw. “I’m going to teach you.”

  “I probably won’t be any good at it.”

  “Why do you say that?” He turned to look at her, and his dark gaze sent a jolt of energy right through her.

  “I’m not good at riding horses. They can feel how nervous I am and it makes them jumpy.”

  “Cars are different. They don’t care what kind of mood you’re in. You’ll like driving. Trust me.”

  She didn’t trust him. Still, she didn’t want to argue with him, either. “I never go anywhere other than the palace and Nabattur. I don’t mind being driven. It leaves me free to take care of Nasri and Parsia in the backseat.” She’d been coaxed into leaving them behind with Ronnie and Sam today and had left them all cutting out paper dolls Sam’s mom had sent from California.

  “Do you want your girls to learn to drive one day?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then you must set them an example.” He turned and winked, his tanned skin crinkling slightly.

  She wanted to be mad at him for pushing her—again—to do something outside her comfort zone, but he kept trying to convince her it was for her own good.

  “You might have a point. And perhaps I could take the girls for drives around the countryside, at least after the insurgents are caught. I really haven’t seen that much of it myself. I’d love to see the valley where Ronnie and Zadir are building their palace.”

  “That’s settled, then. We’ll start tomorrow.”

  They drove into the old city and she showed him where to park, since the narrow streets with their throng of pedestrians, goats and chickens were easier to navigate on foot. She wasn’t sure if he would open the door and help her out, like the guards usually did, so she was halfway out by the time he hurried around.

  He stood there, grim and formal, offering his arm for her to hold as she stood up. Fo
r a split second she was painfully aware of being the widowed queen, no doubt the subject of whispered comments. She tried not to think about how other people saw her.

  “Where do you want to go?” she asked. He’d said that he wanted to “sniff around.”

  “I’d like to see your family’s stall.” Curiosity sparkled in his eyes.

  “It’s not all that exciting.” He’d probably think it rather pathetic.

  “I’m not expecting it to be exciting.”

  She hesitated. “How should I introduce you?” Did he want people to think he was a simple security guard, or to know he was the son of the old king?

  His expression darkened. “Gibran Al Nazariyah. That’s my name. The less people know about me, the better.”

  He’d probably forgotten how small Ubar was. In this tiny nation where they all knew each other, people might well remember his mother and any rumors that circulated at the time about his true parentage. No need to scare him with that knowledge, though.

  “This way.” She led him toward the marketplace, where vendors had set up their wares for the day: baskets of fruit and vegetables, sacks of grain and spices, crates filled with live chickens.

  “I always feel like I’ve stepped back into ancient history when I’m back here.”

  “Sam said that in California people pay to go to festivals and pretend they’re in medieval times. She said Nabattur reminded her of those.”

  He chuckled. “I believe it.”

  Aliyah pointed ahead, looking at the familiar shop through the eyes of a stranger. She’d always been proud of the bright bolts of fabric and the piled spools of colored thread, but today it all looked rather chaotic. “That’s my brother Alem.” He was twenty, and managed the stall most days now. Her grandmother, seated on a folded blanket, wound thread onto spools.

  She introduced Gibran to them and heard that their father had gone to Tabriq to purchase silk and their mother was somewhere in the market, buying eggs and bread. Gibran inquired politely about some of the fabrics, how long they’d had a stall there—as long as anyone could remember—and he complimented some of the patterns. She could tell his true interest lay in her family, not their wares.

  He was curious about her. She could see it in his eyes, his gestures.

  And she was curious about him. “Do you miss your mother?” She asked, when they finally stepped away.

  “Of course. Though I try to visit her as often as I can. She’s my home base between jobs.”

  “You’re always on the move?”

  “Since I left here as a boy. I came back when I had enough money to rescue my mom from the palace and set her up on her own. Then I got out again as fast as I could.”

  “Don’t you ever want to relax and settle down?”

  “And do what?” His answer came quickly. Too quickly. He sounded defensive.

  “I don’t know. Relax, enjoy the fruit of your hard work.”

  “Drive expensive cars and drink champagne? I can do that anywhere in the world.”

  She laughed. Did he really not even know what she was talking about? “No! I meant the simpler things, growing some roses, maybe even getting married and having children.”

  He frowned. “Why is everyone in this country obsessed with roses?”

  “You’re avoiding the subject.”

  “So are you.” He lifted a brow.

  “Roses have so many uses—medicine, scent, teas, flavoring—and they’re beautiful.”

  “And I’m just fine by myself, thank you very much.”

  “Even though you keep insisting I’m not.” She crossed her hands over her chest, challenging him.

  “I’m a solitary type, a mercenary. I go where I’m needed. I can’t do that if I have attachments to people.”

  “You’re attached to your mom.”

  “She understands. She knows this is my life.”

  “Maybe your wife will, too.” Even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. What woman wanted to be married to a man who was always traveling and putting himself in harm’s way? If she loved someone she’d want them by her side, maybe not every minute, but at least every night.

  “I wouldn’t ask a woman to put up with me.” His chin was lifted so high he looked seven feet tall. “That would be too much to ask.”

  “So you like to kiss them and then abandon them.” She looked him right in the eye.

  “No.” His lips moved but no words came out. “Okay, maybe yes. Maybe that is what I do. Are you satisfied?”

  She hid the disappointment spreading through her like a chill. “Just trying to understand you better.” What had she hoped for? Apparently she’d wanted him to admit that he was just dying to settle down and devote himself to someone—preferably her. She must be losing her mind. Not surprising after what he’d done to it over the last couple of days.

  They were still in the marketplace, among the nut and date sellers, where anyone could listen in on their conversation. Aliyah found herself suddenly self-conscious as emotion flared in her chest. The situation was impossible from the get-go and he did nothing but make it worse every minute. She schooled her face into a habitual passive and polite expression—she had years of practice—and arranged her skirt with her hands. “Is there anything else you’d like to see here?”

  He stepped toward her, closing the distance between them in one swift movement. “You,” he whispered, his voice low. “Naked and shivering with desire in my arms.”

  She blinked. Desire and anger rushed through her. She had a powerful urge to slap his face! But she was too well-trained a queen and had learned to hide her feelings as if her life depended on it, which it had. “Shame you won’t ever get to see that.”

  She turned and walked away. Which was a futile gesture, really, since he’d driven her here and had to drive her home. But there was no reason she had to listen to whatever random babble came out of his mouth. Obviously he was more than half crazy.

  She heard his footsteps hurry after her.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I doubt it.” She paused to squeeze a nectarine and sniff it. She smiled at the vendor and ordered a small bag of them, then paid with change from her pocket.

  How dare he talk to her like this out in public? Didn’t he realize that everyone knew who she was? That she was a queen?

  Well, maybe not a queen. But the late king’s wife, at least. She had a reputation to protect for her family’s sake, most especially her daughters.

  “I’d like to go home. My children need me.”

  “All right. I’ve seen enough for now. It hasn’t changed at all. Do people still live in those tiny houses built into the city wall?”

  “Yes.” She held her bag of nectarines close. “My aunt lives in one near the great arch with her husband and four children. I’m sure you find us very quaint and foolish, living like our ancestors have for hundreds of years.”

  “Thousands.”

  He hadn’t contradicted her insult. No doubt that was how he felt. Resentment bubbled inside her. Who did he think he was to look down on the people and country she loved so much? His brothers were far better men than he and didn’t deserve to have him in their midst. “How long will you be stuck here, do you think?”

  He looked around. Oddly he looked rather dazed. “I don’t know.” His dark eyes fixed on hers.

  “I suppose it depends on how quickly you get the job done.” She lifted a brow slightly. “If you get the job done.” She felt like poking at him. He thought he was better than everyone here. “Do you ever fail?”

  “Fail? Never. That word isn’t in my vocabulary.” His eyes softened slightly. “But sometimes a complicated situation requires a change of plan.” His gaze rested on her face a moment and she felt her skin heat—against her will—but she had no idea what he was thinking. “Let’s head for the car.”

  She tried to hide her conflicted feelings about this man as they walked through the city streets. She greeted people she knew and smiled at those she did
n’t. Gibran surveyed everyone with a look of deep suspicion that was unlikely to win him many friends here.

  He’d told her he wanted her. But that he would love her and leave her. You had to laugh! At least he was honest. By the time they found the car she’d forgiven him for being so blunt. In a way it was refreshing to talk to someone who said what they truly thought, rather than mincing around trying not to make a faux pas because she was royal.

  He held the door for her like a gentleman, but there was nothing gentlemanly about the way his hot gaze roamed over her body as she eased herself into her seat. Which was funny really, since her body was almost entirely hidden beneath a blue silk dress and matching pants.

  He climbed in and she tried not to notice his masculine scent in the air, or his thickly muscled forearms moving as he started the engine and steered out of the tight spot they’d parked in on a narrow back street. At least she’d be home soon and could go hide with her children. They were her refuge and her strength, and she’d do well to remember that.

  “I want to see your village.”

  “What?”

  “Where your people come from. Where you grew up.” He kept his eyes on the road, steering along a winding street, past a man leading three goats.

  “Why? Am I still a suspect of some kind?” She didn’t like the idea of taking him to her hometown. If nothing else he’d be sure to think it primitive and backward.

  “In my experience, women don’t choose the methods employed so far. A woman would slip some poison in their evening coffee and be tearfully surprised when they failed to awake in the morning.” Humor twinkled in his eyes.

  “I’ve certainly had plenty of opportunity.” She snuck a glance at him. “After all, I rarely leave the palace. Most of the time no one pays much attention to my movements.” It irked her that he didn’t seem to take her—or anything—very seriously.

  “And you could have staged the abduction to deflect attention from yourself. Perhaps that man—who still hasn’t revealed who paid him—is in your employ?”

  “Perhaps he is.” She buried her hands in her dress. This was getting harder by the second. She hated that man and feared him and wanted desperately to know why he’d chose Parsia as his victim.