“Amahd takes everything too seriously.” His brother Zadir’s voice made him look up from his plate and he realized he’d lost track of the conversation. “We could probably bring our horses out of the stables and have a perfectly good contest right now, without any training.”
“If you’re going to do something, why not do your best?” Amahd protested.
“I couldn’t agree more.” Gibran, their half brother finally chimed into the conversation. He was now palace security chief and in charge of making sure the tent-pegging contest accomplished their main goal of identifying and apprehending their enemy—suspected to be a jealous or greedy foreign ruler—who’d deployed bombs and missiles to cause injury and fear. “The more we can eliminate the unknown the better. We should know those horses—and the games we’ll be playing—like we know our own wives.”
Sam, Ronnie and Aliyah—Gibran’s new wife—all laughed. “If only it were that easy.” Sam winked at Aliyah. “Do you men really think you know what goes on in our minds?”
“Only when you want us too.” Gibran smiled at Aliyah.
Aliyah was the one Ubarite among the women, and she’d been their father’s fifth and last wife. “And don’t you forget it.” She smiled, flashing her tiny white teeth. She’d grown immensely in confidence—and American vocabulary—since Gibran had drawn her out of her shell and into their midst.
Amahd had to admit that all three of his brothers had kind, warm, intelligent and beautiful wives.
Perhaps he could find the perfect wife for himself. But how? As a member of an ancient royal house could hardly sign up for a dating website. Besides he was reserved and found it hard to make the kind of polite chatter women seemed to expect from a suitor.
Luckily he had more urgent matters to attend to.
CHAPTER TWO
Mac dropped her daughter off at the Bright Beginnings day care near her new apartment half a mile from the oil field complex and headed for the jobsite. She needed to impress upon her new coworkers that a woman could do the job. If experience was any guide, they’d all be looking for her to fail and she had no intention of doing that.
“Morning,” she said brightly, as she entered the staff building to retrieve her hard hat from her locker. Three men turned to stare, and she felt their eyes travel the length of her body. Which, frankly, wasn’t all that far to travel. “I’m the new maintenance mechanic. Mac Malone.”
One younger guy cleared his throat and nodded. “Riley Latham.” The others gruffly followed suit, viewing her with suspicion. “I’m not sure an oil field in a foreign country is a safe place for a girl,” muttered Riley, surveying her down the length of his crooked nose.
“It’s as safe as the people around me make it.” She buckled on her tool belt, attached her nametag and tucked her hair under her hard hat. “And I’ve never lived in a palace so I’ve learned how to handle myself.” She didn’t want them to get any ideas that they could intimidate her—which they couldn’t.
“Speaking of palaces…” An older guy who’d introduced himself as Mike shook his head. “You just missed seeing the one here. We all got invited to the big wedding shindig. I’ve never seen so much money on display in my life.”
Mac froze. They didn’t realize she’d been there. She was out here interviewing for her job when the wedding happened, and the human resources manager had insisted she attend. She’d had to wear her nightgown, because mechanics didn’t usually travel to job interviews with evening attire in their luggage. She nodded and smiled, determined to say nothing.
“I got so drunk I barely remember anything,” said a young blond guy called Rick. “But I didn’t throw up.”
“I drank enough to pass out under the table myself,” murmured Riley. “Too good an opportunity to waste. I was working in Saudi for the past seven years and didn’t see a drop of alcohol the whole time. Guess I lost my tolerance.”
Mac heaved a silent sigh of relief. Not only had they probably not noticed her and Amahd together, they seemed like the kind of harmless knuckleheads she was used to from back home. If they left her to do her job, they’d all get along fine.
She headed out to start the routine Bubba had given her, looking over equipment and performing routine maintenance, lubricating bearings, tightening flanges, checking belts.
She was up a ladder and had her arm halfway up a pipe, installing a clevis pin, when she heard the sound of a male throat clearing.
“Be right with ya,” she called. She had to lubricate the pin and it was in an awkward spot. She’d even had to take her glove off to get a better feel for it. Once she’d finished, she pulled back her arm and wiped her greasy fingers on a rag, then jumped down from the ladder and turned around.
To see six foot plus of big muscular royal male glaring down at her.
“Oh.” She wiped her hand again. No use. It wasn’t going to get clean. “Good morning. I was just doing the startup routine. That there is the—”
“Oil discharge piping. I know. I designed the facility.” His dark eyes were narrowed, though she couldn’t tell if it was with amusement, curiosity or something else altogether.
“Yes.” She grinned, unable to think of anything sensible to say. Especially with her blood heating and prickles of sensation roaming her body. How did one rather obnoxious man have this effect on her? She thought she was immune to all male nonsense by now.
He glanced around as if making sure no one could hear. Sun glinted off nearby machinery as he cleared his throat again. “I appreciate your discretion.” His dark eyes glittered.
“And I appreciate yours.” She held her tongue, praying she could manage not to babble. She usually talked too much when she was embarrassed.
He did recognize her. The realization made her heart beat faster.
Her new boss frowned. “It was late and everyone was so drunk that I don’t think too many people noticed. I think we can safely forget about it.” His expression was so serious, it almost made her laugh.
He could forget about it.
She wasn’t going to forget that kiss any time soon.
“Indeed.” She nodded and rubbed her hands on her overalls. “I wasn’t drinking myself. I got carried away with the festive atmosphere. I hadn’t been to a party in a while and I—” Oh, great, this was the babbling.
“I understand. And my sister-in-law Samantha put us in an awkward position to begin with by forcing two total strangers to dance. You simply responded with common courtesy.”
By tracking him down later in the evening and approaching him again.
He frowned. “We’d never have kissed if it wasn’t for that silly mistletoe challenge.”
“Right.” She’d been dying to kiss him and jumped at the chance.
“So I was just being a polite host, and you were being a gracious guest. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Of course not.” She blinked and realized that she hadn’t been breathing.
“I’ll let you get back to your work.” He glanced up at the machine she’d been lubricating
“Thank you. I really appreciate this job and I’m very excited to work here. I promise that you’ll be satisfied with my performance. If there’s anything I can do…” Uh-oh, there she went again. “I’ll just tighten up your nuts.” She froze, wishing she could take back what should have been perfectly innocent words. If only she could dry up and blow away right now.
He blinked but still stood like a statue. Either the accidental innuendo was lost on him or he chose to ignore it. Then he turned and left, broad shoulders moving coolly over narrow hips inside a pair of blue overalls similar to her own.
She sagged with relief as he left the room. It was going to be difficult to act normal around Amahd Al Kilanjar, but she could rise to the challenge. He had that damned sexy accent, too. A little Eastern and a little British. And that super serious expression did something weird to her insides. She wasn’t use to men being all that serious around her, even at work. Usually, they found
her presence on the job to be a source of humor.
Amahd hadn’t even glanced at her breasts or hips. No doubt he wasn’t the slightest bit interested in them.
Which was just fine. Perfect, in fact. She wanted a job, not a torrid romance with her boss. She whistled a little while changing the micron filter, trying to set herself back on an even keel.
It wasn’t only Amahd that had her rattled. It was her first full day on her new job, at a new company with strange coworkers—on the far side of the world from Texas. She’d never even left Texas before last month. All this change would take a little getting used to.
Amahd drove through the empty desert, speeding enough to kick up dust, on his way to meet his brothers at the stables. He needed a good gallop. Talking to…Ms. Malone had left him rattled. He’d felt it appropriate to clear the air and make sure there was no room for misunderstandings or future embarrassments. She was calm and friendly, and it had gone rather well, he thought.
And really, why shouldn’t a woman be a mechanic? He’d asked himself that question quite a few times now. He could come up with plenty of reasons—it’s dangerous, hot, dirty, tiring, takes brute strength—but he couldn’t convince himself that any of those reasons were justification for preventing a woman from doing the job if she wanted to.
So he’d simply have to get used to seeing Ms. Malone’s bright hair tucked beneath a white safety helmet and her excessively curvy body pushing against the edges of her blue coveralls. They were both professionals, and they could have a professional relationship, just like he had with his administrative assistant, and the female plant manager who’d run his previous company.
They’d both soon forget that they’d ever kissed. He’d forget the feel of her lush body pressed against his. He’d no longer remember the touch of her fingers on the small of his back.
He shuddered as heat rushed up his spine.
His brothers had better be on time. He was in no mood to stand around waiting.
Amahd slowed as he entered the stable courtyard so as not to startle the horses. Nala poked her elegant gray head out over the stable door at the sound of his car. “Hello, my beauty,” he murmured, though she probably couldn’t hear him through the closed door.
There were times in his life when his horses were the only thing that kept him sane. Being alone at boarding school in freezing cold England where he didn’t speak the language or have a single friend. He could always count on his equine companions to get him focused and channel his energies in a positive direction.
They were probably the reason why he felt little need of a wife. He crossed the stone-paved courtyard and shoved his hand tenderly into Nala’s thick pale forelock. He could talk to her about anything, without even opening his mouth. Horses had a sixth sense—they could read your emotions—and Nala wasn’t shy about letting him know how she was feeling. Sometimes they even got into heated “discussions” involving bucking and spinning on her part. Somehow they always ended up heading in the same direction, though.
The clatter of hooves made him look up. Osman and Zadir rode toward him on two of their favorite mounts. “Hey, bro, you’re not even saddled yet?”
“I’ll be done before you even gather your reins.” They usually groomed and tacked up their own horses unless really pressed for time. There was no better way to find out what frame of mind the horse was in—or sometimes which one he himself was in—though he was grateful this time that the palace grooms had already curried Nala to a glossy sheen this morning so all he had to do was dust her off.
He joined his brothers in the saddle and they rode toward Gibran, who stood on the other side of the courtyard with the women. “Not riding, Gibran?”
“I didn’t grow up on horseback like the rest of you. I’m more comfortable behind a dashboard.”
“We’ll soon fix that. Have Jafar tack you up that quiet bay on the end.” He gestured to the last in the run of stalls. Amahd wanted Gibran to feel the same as them, despite his illegitimate birth.
“Maybe another time. Today I’d like to see how this whole thing works. Is there a chance you might accidentally kill the other monarchs?”
Osman laughed. “It’s not like a joust, where you go at each other with lances. The riders aim only at targets.”
“Thank goodness for that,” breathed Sam. “Or I wouldn’t have let any of you participate.”
The brothers laughed. Amahd shook his head. No one could stop an Al Kilanjar man from doing something he’d set his mind to. Not even his beautiful American wife. Sam had probably figured that out by now, too.
Women were strange creatures and he didn’t claim to understand them.
“Each of you grab a lance.” He’d set them in a vase at the arched entrance to the stables. As he rode past it, he grabbed one in a swift movement without slowing his horse.
“Whoa there. Easy now.” Amahd turned to see Zadir trying to maneuver his agitated horse closer to the vase so he could reach a lance. “How did you make that look so easy?”
Amahd shrugged and smiled. “You’ll get it.”
Eventually they were all armed and dangerous, and headed for the field of play he’d staked out. The terrain was sparse grass, cut low, with targets set out at even intervals. “Here’s what you’re going to do.” He reined his horse to a stop in line with a row of flags in the grass. “Ronnie, blow the whistle.”
The metallic shriek ripped through the air.
Amahd’s horse leaped forward at the same instant, spurred into action, and Amahd galloped toward the first target and stuck his lance right in the middle of it. Turning his excited mount took a little more effort than he was proud of, but soon he was back with his brothers, both he and his horse panting slightly. “See? It’s easy.”
“I’ll go next.” Zadir looked cocky. He rode up to the row of flags and glanced at Ronnie.
She gave him a mischievous look and blew the whistle. His black horse reared slightly, then shot forward and Zadir managed to plant his lance in the upper edge of the target. His whoop of triumph made them laugh and spooked his horse, who spun and ran back to the row of flags.
“Don’t get cocky. You didn’t make a bull’s-eye.” Amahd eyed the target. “Our competitors are probably all practicing as well.”
“Make way.” Osman pretended to glare at Zadir, who looked ready for another run. “For your olders and betters.”
Zadir snorted. “You’re not that much older.”
“But I am wiser.” Osman’s supercilious glance drew a laugh.
“We’ll see about that.”
Ronnie blew the whistle. Osman was riding the unpredictable chestnut mare—his brother never could resist a challenge—and at the sound of the whistle she shook her head and stamped. When Osman finally got her going he wasn’t carrying his lance at the correct angle and he had to make a quick mid gallop adjustment. He still managed to catch the inner edge of the target.
“Hah,” said Zadir.
“Not bad for our first attempt.” Osman looked smug as he patted his fiery mount’s neck.
Amahd chuckled. “I can see you’ve both been practicing in secret.”
“Nonsense.” Zadir threw his head back. “It’s a natural gift, in our blood.”
The women laughed.
“Come on ladies,” Amahd called. “You’re not going to let them get away with boasting like this, are you? Allow me to find you some well-trained horses so you can show them how it’s done. I know Ronnie is a rider.”
Ronnie cocked her head. “I’m a rider. Not a lance thrower.”
“It’s never too late to learn. Think of it as helpful self-defense.”
“That would only work if I always carried a lance while out riding. Besides, I’m pregnant.”
“What about you, Aliyah? You’re a native Ubarite. We’re all born astride a horse.”
Aliyah smiled and shook her head. “I’m from a family of cloth merchants. I get nervous just looking at these big horses.”
“And I
don’t want my wife endangering herself when I have to head out to the northern border. There’s a report of suspicious activity. Men and equipment in an area with no roads,” said Gibran.
Amahd gritted his teeth. He’d had enough of the damn insurgents, whoever they were. Even now, when they had three of them in custody, they’d made little progress in finding out who was behind the bomb blasts and fired shots that had taken lives. Sometimes he regretted their commitment to avoid torture. It drove him mad to see the smug faces of the captors refusing to reveal their masters.
“Which of course is the reason why we’re all here,” Amahd said grimly. “We need to make sure this part of the event is effortless for us, so we can focus on reading between the lines of our guests’ behavior.” He approached the target and pulled out the two lances planted in it, then jumped down and retrieved Osman’s from the dry ground. He walked back and handed his brothers’ their lances before remounting. “Now for our team effort.”
“Where we gallop at the same time?” Osman said confidently.
“That’s why there are three targets.” Amahd arched a brow. “Remember, it’s not a race.”
“Of course it isn’t. We’re a team.” Zadir tested his grip on his lance.
“Right,” agreed Osman. “Calm and steady.”
Amahd could swear he heard Sam and Veronica muttering something under their breath, but they were all polite smiles when he glanced at them.
The three brothers lined up level with the row of flags, horses dancing in place as they waited for the start signal. At the sound of the whistle, hooves exploded into action and dust flew in the air. Amahd struggled to control his anxious mount as he rode for the target as fast as he could, lance poised. He thrust with all his might and heard the satisfying sound of the metal lance tip piercing the target surface. He glanced sideways, ungallantly hoping that he’d scored the finest shot.
Indeed he had. Neither of his brothers had managed to hit the target at all. In fact, Osman still held his lance as he struggled with his unruly chestnut steed, and Zadir’s black horse was in a dead run out across the open plain.
Desert Kings Boxed Set: The Complete Series Books 1-6 Page 63
