ONE THOUSAND AND ONE STEAMY NIGHTS

by Shara Azod

  One Thousand and One Steamy Nights

  The First Night

  by

  Shara Azod

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  1001 Steamy Nights-Positively Despotic Copyright© 2009 Shara Azod

  Editor:

  Cover Artist: Shara Azod

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. This is a work of fiction. All references to real places, people, or events are coincidental, and if not coincidental, are used fictitiously. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to all who dream…

  May your dreams come true.

  Positively

  Despotic

  How It All Began…

  She should have known when she exited the plane. The landscape wasn’t exactly barren, in fact, there were plenty of green palms and plants along with clusters of bright emerald colored bushes dotted with ivory, crimson, and other jewel colored flowers. Huge brightly colored tent-like structures (because really tents could not be that big or colorful) were erected in a half circle, with smaller, more utilitarian structures were a little farther off dotting the periphery.

  This wasn’t Afghanistan.

  Rolanda could not believe her eyes or ears. First of all, she was supposed to be in Afghanistan, and none of the information packages she had been sent resembled what was right in front of her eyes. Secondly, she was a freaking psychologist for crying out loud! Her only job was to counsel those in need of her; UN forces, locals, military and civilian. She hadn’t been assigned to this post by the United States government; she was present courtesy of Doctors Without Borders. Why the hell would someone take her here?

  She had been a bit surprised when she had been escorted to a private jet upon her arrival at JFK airport in New York instead of a basic cargo plane. That probably should have been her first clue something was up. Her second clue should have been that she was the only passenger on the opulent transport, and none of the crew talked much during the exceedingly long flight. She had thought when she had the unexpected windfall from writing what had started out as a psychological study and turned into a best-selling book on how the subconscious effects conscious decision making, she would give back. She should have researched the people she had volunteered for.

  But Doctors Without Borders was a well known organization wasn’t it? Maybe this was some kind of way-station before being taken to her final destination. That had to be it. Nothing else made any sense. Pasting a smile on her face despite the queasiness in the pit of her stomach, she descended the steps toward the man waiting on the ground. He didn’t look like any doctor she had ever seen. The man was tall; really, really tall she noticed as she got closer. His body wasn’t overly bulky, but appeared to be nicely shaped underneath that long white caftan that fell to about mid-thigh, matching linen pants and a colorful robe-like, lightweight over coat that was didn’t appear to have any fastenings.

  She didn’t think he was an Afghan. His skin was far too light, kind of like the pure cream she favored in her coffee. His jet black hair fell in large loose curls past his shoulders given him the look of a Hollywood idealized version of an ancient sheik. The overall look was enough to make any sane, heterosexual woman a wee bit damp in the panties. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she couldn’t help but notice his eyes. Oh dear heaven and hell, he had the most beautiful lime green eyes she had ever seen. And those eyes were focused solely on her, taking in her every move. Okay, now her panties were more than just a little damp.

  “Welcome, Rolanda Mitchell.” The smooth deep, lightly accented voice washed over her, sending a small trail of chills skimming across her skin despite the warm weather.

  Warm, not hot. Where the hell was she?

  “Um, I am assuming this is not Afghanistan?” Stupid thing to say, but really she couldn’t think of anything else. The words of inquiry that had been bouncing around her head was lost as soon as she was standing in front of what was easily the sexiest man she had ever seen in her life.

  There was an aura surrounding him that was designed to draw a woman in, seducing her senses of sight and smell. And man did he smell good! A light scent wafted past her that reminded her of a forest after a rainstorm. Not overwhelming, but woodsy and wild and oh, so male!

  “Come, you must be tired,” the unidentified man smiled. It was a wicked smile full of promises he had no business making. The kind that made her weak in the knees. Damn it, she needed to think, not be all tongue-tied like a brain dead school girl.

  But then he touched her; a firm hand on her exposed elbow to lead her way, and her thoughts fled. She went meekly along into the largest of the tents located right in the middle of the encampment. She absently noticed the beautiful crystalline blue pond (or was it a very small lake?) being fed by the gentlest flowing waterfall she had ever seen a little further away. It was really quite a stunning setting, something right out of a fairy tale where the sheik captures the woman and…

  “Why am I here?” Rolanda stopped dead right in front of the tent’s flap opening.

  She was surely being silly. No one kidnapped a woman for seduction anymore. Did they? No, no, no. She wasn’t blond, slim or beautiful, so not one would kidnap her and sell her into white slavery. She wasn’t white for one thing, and she was average in her own opinion. Not ugly, not sloppy or anything, just average. No one would kidnap her! What would they gain? She was well off thanks to her book, but she was long way from stinking rich. So what was the deal here?

  “Come, all will be explained,” he insisted with his large hand settling on her back. He didn’t really push, just urged her forward. She was stepping into the tent before she could stop herself.

  The inside literally took Rolanda’s breath away. The space was extremely large, with rainbow colored pillows ranging from giant to tiny spread all over the place, low dark wood tables with intricate carvings, even a large bed that was low to the ground, but raised by something she couldn’t see. A very inviting looking bed it was at that! There were lanterns hanging from the ceiling, as well as hanging incense holders in a definite Middle Eastern design. The overall feel was seductive beyond imagining; a veritable feast for the senses. Some of the incense burners had to be lit because there was a subtle fragrance in the air that spoke of sultry nights. She was in some serious trouble here.

  “Once again, I would like to welcome you Rolanda Mitchell.”

  Wow. The dude’s voice really was sexy as hell. Her rational mind knew she shouldn’t even think of her capturer – and it was becoming more and more obvious he had kidnapped her – as attractive, but he was. A part of her wanted him to thrown her down on those inviting looking pillows and have his wicked way with her. Damn the bed! This was the type of situations she secretly wrote about. Having written erotic romantic ebooks under a pen name, she had dreamed up some wild stuff just like this.

  Stop that! She mentally admonished herself. Just because she secretly wrote erotic ebooks didn’t mean she had to continue to daydream her stories. This was real life, and she was in deep trouble!

  His lime-colored eyes twinkled as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. With a quirk of his sensual lips, he swept his hand
in her direction, indicating she should sit. So she sat – for now. Pulling up a large pillow he sat right next to her, close enough to touch.

  “I sincerely apologize for the subterfuge, Dr. Mitchell,” the deep, heavily accented voice continued. Weird, she could have sworn she had heard that voice somewhere before. “Or perhaps I should call you Shari Zad?”

  Rolanda gasped. How could he possibly know her pen name?

  “The name is derived from our own Shahrzād, is it not? Also known as Scheherazade? “

  Man, he seemed to know an awful lot. Not many people understood her pen name. Why was it that he did? And what did he want?

  “Yes, what does he want indeed?” the sheik murmured, his eyes never leaving her face. She must have been really easy to read. “It is really quite simple. I wish for you to tell me a story.”

  “A story?” He was insane. She had been kidnapped by an insane Iranian sheik .

  “Well, several really,” he smiled ruefully. “For approximately one thousand and one nights.”

  Rolanda blinked. She couldn’t have heard him right. There were three hundred and sixty-five days in a year. He wanted her to tell him stories for damn near three years? He had just careened past insane and slammed head first into lost his damn mind!

  “Uh, I don’t think…”

  “I do,” he cut her off. “And I am not insane, nor have I lost my mind. I simply want to hear you tell me a few of your stories.”

  He was silent, watching. She guessed he was letting it sink in. Her mind whirled. She had no options. She just had to string him along until she found a way out of this mess.

  “Uh, okay. And then I can go?” Antagonizing him would get her nowhere.

  “If you wish.”

  He was crazy. He was literally insane. She didn’t know where she was, or how he had pulled of this, this, whatever the hell it was, but she knew damn well she couldn’t just sit here and do nothing.

  Hoping to take him off guard, she kicked out her feet connecting to his midsection and rolled to the other side. Surging to her feet she made a mad dash for the tent opening, only to find an incredibly strong arm snagged around her waist before she had made more than three steps.

  “The plane is gone and there is no sign of civilization for hundreds of miles. How do you hope to get away?”

  Oh Lord, that voice! He was literally purring in her ear, as if he anticipated her sorry bid for freedom. And shame on her that the husky words in said directly in her ear sent her libido into overdrive. He didn’t kiss her, or stick his tongue in her ear, or doing anything more overtly sexual then breathe the words, but damn he sent her from simmering to red hot in about half a second.

  This was so not good.

  Think, Rolanda, think! Okay, so she couldn’t run. Not yet anyway. She needed to come up with a strategy. She didn’t know where she was, she didn’t know how to get out. What she did know is he and the sparse amount of people milling around got here somehow. That meant there had to be some kind of transportation hidden somewhere. She just needed to find it. She needed an escape plan.

  Okay, okay, I can think of something, she assured herself. She forced her body to relax against his. It wasn’t as hard to do as she would have liked. In doing so, she felt something hard and throbbing against her thigh. Oh damn, that felt delicious! No, no, she didn’t need her mind to go there. She needed to be smart.

  “Fine,” she tried to but as much annoyance in her voice as possible. He wouldn’t believe a complete change of heart.

  To her disappointment, though she wouldn’t admit it for the life of her, he quickly moved away. Setting her firmly on her feet, he took a step back. Rolanda could tell he hadn’t wanted to. The fire burning in his gaze wasn’t from anger.

  Rolanda couldn’t suppress a shiver of excitement that flashed through her.

  “We begin tonight. You should get some rest.”

  And with that he was gone.

  It was then she noticed a laptop, a notebook and an assortment of pens the small table next to the pillows the sheik had been laying on. Well at least he was giving her some tools she needed to prepare herself. Until she could get away.

  Shoulders back, determination stiffening her spine, she stomped to the table, determined to prepare. He wanted some stories? She would give him some stories all right….

  One upon a time, in the Republic of Frumos nestled in the mountains between Hungry and Romania, there lived two brothers…

  The tiny country of Frumos had always been ruled by members of the Alexandrescu family. They had been the chosen ones of the ancient spirits of the forests and mountains, wizard shifters of great renown. Their respect for nature and their magic made them the favorites of the spirits. The line of fierce warriors was unbroken, two brothers bound by magic, by birth and by the love of one woman. As long as the triad was whole, the land would be peaceful and prosperous.

  Throughout time the Alexandrescu ruled fairly and honestly, beloved by the people. But the forces against them were many. Rivals were bitterly jealous. The men of the triad of the twentieth century lost their woman through treachery and dark magic. The land had been in turmoil. Evil crept across the villages and towns. The people lived in fear.

  The sons of the broken rulers returned to the land, determined to make the wrong right. All they needed was the single piece of their puzzle. A woman, destined and designed in the heavens just for them....

  ~1~

  Had anyone told Kiana her pathway to being an international reporter was being assigned to the tiny Republic of Frumos, she would have laughed in their face. She had graduated at the top of her class at Columbia School of Journalism, she had interned at the New York Times bureau in London. She had written dozens of award winning small pieces on everything from the genocide in Sudan to the recent international economic collapse published in publications all over the world. So when she had landed a position as a foreign correspondent for a huge national network, she had been beyond ecstatic. That is, until she was handed her first assignment.

  Who the hell had even heard of the Republic of Frumos, anyway? No one gave a damn about a tiny country nestled between Romania and Hungry. Yeah, it was beautiful in a wild, gothic kind of way, but really, who gave a damn about a tiny Republic ruled by two despotic brothers? It was just like any other Eastern Block country after the fall of the Soviet Union; chaotic, unstable and damn near broke.

  Well, it had been chaotic after the death of its last leader, yet another despot, Andrei Alexandrescu. And surprise, surprise, who had brought order out of chaos? None other than the former leader’s two sons, Dragoş and Valentin. Kiana was here to report on the two brothers; how they ruled, how they oppressed, and more importantly, the rumored deal with the United States government to house some very serious weaponry a secret location in the Frumos Mountains. She wasn’t so sure how she felt about the last little tidbit she was supposed to be investigating. The release of that kind of information could cause some serious problems in the neighborhood, especially with Russia. Relations were already strained. She wasn’t really sure she would report on anything like that should she find out. Her job was to find and report news, not national security secrets.

  Apparently, the last leader had been in Russia with his top general who also happened to his brother when his wife was kidnapped and killed, supposedly with the assistance of someone high up in the Russian government. Why anyone in the Russian government would assist in such an act made no sense, but it had been the beginning of the end of the last regime.

  As for the rest, well she didn’t really give a shit. To be honest, she didn’t particularly care of this tiny country was ruled by despots. From what she had seen so far, the people were not only happy with the current rulers, they were downright fawning. Every one of the locals she attempted to lure into candid conversation spoke of both brothers with a weird kind of awe. Oh well, what was two more despots in this part of the world, or in any other part of the world, really? Despite popular opinion
back home, not everyone wanted democracy, such as it was.

  So here she was, standing around among a multitude of reporters from across the globe, all low level nobodies like herself, waiting for a press conference to be given by the Brothers Alexandrescu. Kiana guessed she had to make her bones somehow, but she sincerely doubted it would be here. She would put together something sufficiently heart wrenching. Poor oppressed people, two brutal dictators, so on and so forth. Then she would get the hell out of dodge. It was freaking cold here. Kiana hated cold weather.

  *****

  It was Dragoş’s job to notice things, therefore nothing escaped his notice. The sexy reporter he noticed before he and Valentin stepped out of the small room they used to view the assembled crowd. It was impossible not to notice her, she stood out like a brightly plumed song bird among a punch of crows. She wasn’t beautiful; the word was far too tame for a woman like her. She was captivating, infinitely alluring. She was the type of woman a man spent his life trying to know.

  While most of the reporters dressed in drab clothing all covered up in tweed and corduroy, she had donned a form fitting skirt, thick but feminine, and a light peach silk shirt. The pastel color complimented the rich darkness of her skin. Her hair was cut in a bob, framing her pixie-like face. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in everything. She didn’t have a notebook, like the others, but stood rather impatiently, waiting for the press conference to start, her little booted foot tapping against the marbled floor. Because of her diminutive size, she had been placed up front near the podium. Good, it was easy access.

  “O vreau.” The sound of his own growl surprised him. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

  Valentin peered over his shoulder. Dragoş knew the moment his brother spotted her. There was an infinitesimal stiffening of his body, a soft exhale. Yes, Valentin felt it too.