Dressed for the day, I walk into the busy tent where all of the volunteers, Tom, the guards, and Raj have convened for breakfast. Raj is smiling as he speaks animatedly with Tom, when he notices me. He only glances at me for a moment, before returning to Tom.
Discretion.
“Well good morning, sleeping beauty!” Ana comes up behind me, placing her hand on my shoulder.
“Hey.” I think of her at the entrance to my tent last night as Raj seduced me and find myself avoiding her eyes as she moves past me to sit down on the floor rug and pillows. She pats the area next to her.
“Come sit. We are leaving in thirty.”
As I sit next to her, I watch for any sign she heard anything she shouldn’t have last night. “Did you sleep well?”
Two bedouin men move behind us with two large dishes, one holding Shrak and the other an assortment of tabbouleh and hummus.
Ana’s eyes widen as the men leave them in front of us in the middle of our invisible table. “Oh wow.” She reaches for the warm Shrak. “Yeah, you?”
She tears a piece from the mass of Shrak and dips it in the hummus, seeming to be more interested in eating than my sleep.
I sigh, relieved no one is the wiser of Raj and my intimacy, yet the memory of his body and mine together, the mix of severity and tenderness, his passion for me held, the moment we reached the point of orgasm together, I feel myself flush as I recall every sensation again.
Once breakfast is over, we all convene at the entrance of the campsite, Raj standing next to Tom in front of us. “I hope the accommodations were comfortable for you last night.” He can’t avoid me as he says this, but I make due looking away as I grin, sensing his hidden innuendo. “We have a couple of hours before the return trip to Amman, so please enjoy the activities. We have camel rides through the Wadi Rum, Jeep racing in the sand dunes, one of my favorites.” He grins at Tom and pats him on the shoulder. “I know Mr. Stern has enjoyed them on his last trip to Wadi Rum, or you can make yourself comfortable right here within the camp, relaxing before heading home. Please enjoy.”
Ana decides to relax at the hookah tent with Laura and a couple of others, while David and a few others, including Tom, divide up between camel rides and Jeep racing in the sand dunes. I choose to ride the camels through the Wadi Rum with three other volunteers I don’t know very well. Ana is disappointed, wanting me to chill with her, but all is good once she gets a group going and heads over to the hookah tent. The musicians have already started playing within the tent, a relaxing slow mewing chant, the strum of the woodwinds slipping from the open tarp.
Before heading out to the camels to start our trek, I use the restroom. As I’m coming out, the wind is taken from me as my mouth is covered and I am pulled into an unoccupied tent. Spinning me around to face him, Raj removes his hand on my lips and entraps them with his skillful lips, kissing me deeply. He moans as he slips his tongue into my mouth, his hand around my waist, gripping, holding, wanting me closer. I find the edges of his face in the darkened, vacant tent and run my hands over his unshaven roughness and into his hair. Our lusting embrace loosens once our craving has been satiated, for now. Out of breath from his consumption of me, he whispers breathlessly, “I can’t go a second without thinking of you in my arms, Ella.”
I kiss him again softly, tenderly, silencing his resounding need for me. As I pull away I look into his concerned eyes. “What is it?”
I fear the worst; someone has come to him about last night. He had disappeared the same time I did. Could Tom have said something to him?
He looks down timidly, then concentrates on his thumb tenderly caressing my cheek. “I have to ask you ... Last night, I didn’t use protection.”
“I’m on the pill,” I whisper, thanking the heavens it isn’t something more threatening. He grins with ease, then kisses me again softly. Uncertain if that is his only worry, I ask. “Was that it? Why you were worried?”
His nod is slight, not wanting to look away from me. “I didn’t want you to think I was careless. I just, didn’t prepare. I didn’t expect...” His candid honesty as he stumbles, searching for the right words, is endearing.
I run my fingers from his jawline to his lips, covering them and making him quiet. “I don’t think that.”
He nods, then sweeps me up into his arms, holding the back of my head and kissing me thoroughly before setting me down and slipping out the back of the tent. It is all so quick, I feel like I’m spinning as I turn to exit the vacant tent, unable to hide the smile on my face.
The ride through the southern corner of the Wadi Rum from the campsite was jaw dropping. Raj had ridden with us. Even though I expected him to go Jeeping, he made an excuse that he didn’t want the volunteers on camelback to miss any specific highlights of the trek. For three hours we rode in the low sun of morning, the cool temperatures of the desert night still lingering until the tail end of the trip, when the heat had us removing our layers of warmth. The massive chameleon-toned canyons towered above us, around us as we rode through passages, and even climbed on foot to places Raj said he had gone as a child, then as a teen, and now as a man. The rigid rock transformed as the morning passed, changing from a deepened rose to the vividness of oranges and reds. The light cloudless sky against the vibrant landscape was indescribable unless you have been to the Wadi Rum.
Upon our return, we washed up quickly, packed our bags, and carried our belongings to the front of the camp for the bedouin men to take to the trucks along with the body guards. We were able to eat one last time at the camp with the sun high above us before leaving.
As we rode through the desert in the backs of our trucks, caravanning along the sand dunes and breath-taking ridges, I felt like something was being left behind, not a physical or tangible something, but rather something divine. I glance at Raj sitting across from me in the truck, his hair blowing in the wind as he looks out into the desert, contentment on his face. He must feel me watching and he turns his head to me, taking me in his golden-eyed gaze, just long enough to remind me nothing has been left behind.
I don’t realize how exhausted I am until I sit down in the air-conditioned bus on the blissful cushioning of the seats. I take up both seats with my belongings and, like our getaway began on the bus, Raj takes the seats right adjacent to me, making sure he can watch me without being noticed.
The last thing I remember is looking out my window, secured in the comfort of his watchful eyes, when the bus jolts to a halt in front of the center. As we all unload, Raj asks us collectively if we had all had a good time. We exchange a knowing glance as everyone else thanks him for taking us.
I make sure to personally thank him for the sake of curbing any suspicious behavior. “Thank you, Prince Rajaa, for an unforgettable trip. Petra was breathtaking.”
He nods at me as he did with the others. “As I’m sure Wadi Rum was equally unforgettable.” His comment is made with an attentiveness intended the lingering audience.
“Mindblowing,” I add with equal attentiveness, before breaking form and grinning from the mind-blowing endurance we achieved twice.
I release his hand, shift my back on my shoulder, and start home to the Ba’ashirs, an irremovable smile plastered on my face.
“As-salamu alaykum!” I call from the bottom of the stairs. I look into the Ahmadis living space, but it’s empty.
“Wa-Alaykum as-salaam!” Hoda’s and Jasara’s combined voices are musical as the running footsteps of the kids come to the top of the stairs.
“Ella, we have a feast!” Ghalib calls to me.
“A gift!” Rushdi adds.
I climb the stairs, curious about what they are calling a gift and feast, even though it did smell delicious. I set my pack in the doorway of my room before surrendering to their pulling me into the kitchen.
“Oh!” The countertops of the kitchen are filled with silver trays of chicken skewers, ribs of lamb, Tahini, fried eggplant, and bedouin bread, just as it appeared last night. On the table I see more
trays and smaller dishes of pickles, baklava, a dish of earth oven lamb’s meat, and the red, hot dipping sauce, Matbucha. The smell of Turkish coffee is not to be missed as Hoda brews it at the counter.
“Ella, we have gift from prince!”
Baffled, yet as excited as she is, I laugh. “This is from the prince?”
Ameena and Laila run to me, kissing me on both cheeks as I exchange the greeting with them.
“Yes. They brought just now!” Ameena says to me, her wide brown eyes charged with excitement. Uncle Naz and Ismad enter the kitchen.
“Prince Rajaa sent all of this,” Ismad says, opening his arms to all of the trays. I take in everything once again, realizing he had all of the food we dined on brought here to the Ba’ashirs and the Ahmadis.
“The man that brought it said it is given to thank us for service to the center, the people of our country, and taking care of the volunteers,” Ameena adds.
“He said he wanted us to feast like the bedouin,” Ismad comments as he looks at all of the food and watches Ghalib and Rushdi eat at the table.
Once the boys and men have eaten, Hoda, Jasara, Ameena, Laila, and I sit and eat. Every bite I take tastes just as it did last night; mouthwatering and amazing.
I add the Matbucha to my skewered chicken as Hoda warns me. “Eh, eh, eh. Hot. Harr.”
The ends of my mouth curl remembering Raj and my exchange over the infamous hot dipping sauce last night. I nod. “I know. I like it.”
Everyone continues to eat and asks me questions both in English and Arabic about my trip to Petra and Wadi Rum. As I tell them every detail of the sites in Petra, the camel ride in the Wadi Rum, the musical talents of the bedouin singers and dancers, I hold the most treasured moments of my journey close to my soul.
Sitting in the back of the SUV, I lean my head back against the headrest. Watching Ella walk away at the center was the hardest fucking thing and it isn’t like I could tell her, show her by taking her hand, telling her I will drive her, not with Tom and the volunteers surrounding us. Our brief exchange before her leaving, her thanking me for the getaway were saturated with overtone of our time in her tent last night making love. Even now, I close my eyes and a see her beneath me, her golden hair laid out on the bed, her breasts rising and falling as I move deep inside of her. I wasn’t fucking lying when I told her she could never be a fling. Now that I have claimed her body, mind and soul I will never let her go.
She worries about risk. I could see it in her eyes, feel her thinking it as we lay there after making love. When she told me her grandmother’s words, crossing the stars and stealing the moon, it’s like her grandmother had written us into the night sky, a constellation meant to stand the test of time and space, years before we had ever met.
While the risks of us were distant thoughts as she laid naked across my body before I made love to her again, because now that I have I won’t be able to get enough of her body, it’s at the heart of me being back in Amman. Still, the fact remains, I will lay my status, my values, my life on the line for Ella and I will do whatever it takes to be with her.
Now that she is mine, I will never let her go.
Zaid coming to the campsite last night drunk, cornering Ella, and telling me some secret meeting had been attended by my father, him, and the Amir to discuss my marriage to Daya was fucking bullshit. Last night is proof his addictions are back, and I am certain his connection with Tariq never stopped, he is just hiding it. He can’t fucking stop, because he has gone insane with wanting to be powerful, lead the Middle East into this transformation he and Tariq have contrived.
I need to talk to my father, find out what is true about Zaid’s comments, and figure out how I’m going to keep this proposal between Daya and me from happening. I also need to figure out how to tell my father and mother about my fear of Zaid’s state of mind, his networking with Tariq behind the Amir’s and their backs.
I look out the window, my elbow on the door as I rest my chin on my closed fist, watchful of Ella in the distance ahead of us. I tell the driver in Arabic to not get too close, that I don’t want her to see us. Her veil is back on for the sake of modesty, but when I look at her now, I can’t help every nerve ending in my body reacting to her presence, craving the moment to have her in my arms again.
The amount of food left over after last night’s feast was generous. I knew we would never consume all of it so I asked the camp staff to take some for themselves after they had packaged helpings for the Ba’ashir and the Ahmadi family. I know Ella’s heart and thinking of her feeling guilty for being in Petra and the Wadi Rum really bothered me. I had the food delivered with one of our guards earlier today for them.
Once Ella is at the Ba’ashirs door, I tell the driver to pull away and head toward Samir Fadel’s house, Zaid’s confidante who had kept Tariq as a guest. My guess is he never left and he is still holed up in his little fucking sex dungeon, popping Captagon and chasing it with Arak, wearing his speedo with my country’s flag on his mother-fucking ball sack.
Knowing the royal trucks I assume, the Fadels open the gate for us as soon as we pull up to the front of the property. Samir must think it is my brother, unable to see me in the back with his video surveillance. Once the driver stops at the front steps of the estate, I ascend the steps to the front door. Before I can knock or ring the doorbell, a wide-eyed Sami opens the door, shutting it quickly behind him.
“Rajaa, uh, what can I help you with?” He lacks a smile this time and he seems nervous, like he is hiding a fucking Sheikh in there or something. Motherfucker.
“Yeah, I was wondering if Tariq is here.” I laugh a little with a hint of embarrassment. “The night of the party, things ended badly with me leaving and I wanted to apologize.”
Sami stares at me blankly, his deep-toned skin ashen from fright. “Uh, I thought Zaid told you, Tariq is gone.”
“Already?” I ask, exaggerating the question and furrowing my brow. “Ah, I was hoping to have caught him before he left. Is there a way I can contact him? A phone number?”
Sami’s agitation is taking a toll as he keeps glancing back at the closed door and rocking on the heels of his shoes. He is so fucking nervous, the hand he is running through his hair is shaking, not to mention the beads of sweat he is already sprouting. “I would, but he never gave it to me. Your brother always told me when he had planned to come stay here.”
Fucking liar.
“Oh, all right. Well, could you do me a favor?”
Samir nods slowly as he looks back at my driver standing in front of the truck watching us. “Yeah, yeah, of course, Rajaa.”
I lower my eyes and grin timidly as I fold my hands together. “Could you just keep this visit between you and me? I wanted to speak to Tariq without my brother knowing. I wanted Zaid to be proud that his little brother was trying to make amends on his own. You can understand, right?”
Samir’s smile is mediocre, laden with fear of my being here. “Sure, sure. I will, Rajaa.”
I nod to him and smile contently. “Thank you, Sami. Tell Rima I said hello.”
Sami can’t get into the house fast enough, and as I walk back to the truck, I suspect he is talking to Tariq and phoning my brother to tell him about my visit. I expect it, that is why I told him what I did, came here to look for Tariq in the open, so my fucking brother knows I will risk defying him, figuring out what he is doing, to protect my family and my country.
I arrive back to the house at sunset. My father, mother, and sister are eating in the dining hall when I enter.
“Rajaa, we weren’t expecting you for dinner. Here, come sit,” my father calls out.
I kiss him on either cheek. “I wasn’t sure what time we would return.”
“Yes, we know you had guests to accommodate. There is plenty of food,” my mother says, beckoning the server to bring a plate for me.
“Shukran, Mama.”
“How was Petra, Wadi Rum? I’m sure the volunteers were amazed at the history, the sites. It has been year
s since I visited Petra.” My father closes his eyes and looks up to the heavens like he is imagining its grandness before he focuses on my mother. “Zahrat Baladi, we should plan a trip to the camp soon.”
I notice my mother give me a quick, wary glance before responding to him with a smile, “Yes, my love.”
My father’s pet name for my mother, little flower, reminds me of the unique love they have, while my mother’s foreboding expression draws my concern.
“Laiyalla, why do you worry? The doctor said I was fine to travel.” My father’s reprimand is lenient, playful even. “Do you not want to relax in the desert under the moon and stars?”
I glance over at Tamanna and notice her smiling widely at my father’s humor with my mother. I can’t help grinning, seeing him be unlike his typical serious self.
My mother smiles as she stares down to her plate, trying to hide the beginning of a laugh.
“What?” my father questions as he takes all three of us in, an impish smile on his own face.
The server delivers my plate just then. “Shukran.”
Seeming to avoid my father’s question, my mother asks, “How was the camp? Did your guests enjoy themselves?”
I nod as I chew my food, thinking of how thoroughly Ella and I enjoyed our time. I look across the table, her complete attention on my response and the smile she had for my father completely gone. “Your evening?”
It is too obvious she is searching for something. Her knowing I was there with the volunteers, Ella, she is suspicious. Or maybe she is suspicious of Zaid. I keep my delivery even. “Clear. Every star lit up the night sky.”
“Were the musicians and dancers there?” Tamanna asks.
I smile at her. “Yes, they were.”
Tamanna has always loved the music and dancers. I remember her dancing among them as a toddler when our family would visit the camp. Feeling my mother’s eyes still watching me, I turn the tables, wondering what her inquisition is truly about. “What did all of you do last night?”
Cross the Stars (Crossing Stars #1) Page 25
