“Shush!” Cara admonishes her in a stage whisper, “You’re not supposed to tell anyone that!”
“Financial wizard?” Zoe offers instead.
“That will do,” laughs Cara.
My eyes had been captured by the short and amusing exchange between the two women who are clearly good friends, now they take in the men, just in time to see Jasim quickly turn away. He’d been looking at me.
I feel myself flushing red, and hope it will be blamed on the heat. Nijad, standing next to Jasim, could be his twin. Their facial features are almost identical, though his hair is hidden beneath his headdress. The only difference I can see is that Jasim has a designer beard, and his brother’s clean shaven. As I stand comparing them, Nijad’s eyes flick to me, and he leans over and says something to Jasim and laughs. I can see the tension in Jasim’s body from here. I wonder what amused Nijad, but upset his brother.
Then, at last, they come forward, into the harem. Two of them is too much, it’s sensuality overkill. Despite their similarities however, I feel no attraction toward Jasim’s brother. He’s married to the gorgeous woman in front of me, for one thing. But as the man who’d featured in my dreams comes approaches, he certainly does have an effect as I feel my traitorous nipples peaking through my thin top, and the closer her gets, the more my breathing quickens.
Nijad is the first to speak, his chin drops and lifts as he gives us a small bow. “Welcome to the Palace of Amahad, and to the ancient harem. I trust you are happy with your accommodation? And that you find the harem as suitable for your purposes as you had hoped?”
As Tim mumbles something about bloody parrots under his breath, Mickey speaks for all of us, “You’ve made us very comfortable, thank you, Your Excellency. And this,” he pauses, and indicates our surroundings, “this is exactly what we were looking for. It seems to have everything.”
Jasim’s looking around the harem as if he hasn’t seen it before. “Are there enough electrical sockets for you to use?”
It’s his brother who answers him, “Zoe made sure of that. She calculated most of our guests would be bringing hair dryers, straighteners, chargers and so on. Getting electricity to this part of the palace was a major endeavour, so I suspect it’s more than sufficient.”
“We haven’t gotten around to checking details like that out yet, but you’ve answered one of our questions, at least.” Blake nods in appreciation.
Travis steps forward, his iPad in his hand showing the storyboard we’d agreed on back home. “I think we can add to our ideas from what I’ve seen already. I’d like to take some time just to roam around, flesh out our thoughts.” Our roadie has stepped up to be our director. It seemed a good fit, he spends all his time watching the band, directing the lighting and adjusting the sound. While we play our music, he creates the visual effect. Tim’s doubling as the sound man, and with the gaffer, grip, and Sally the videographer we should have a good team. As Sally looks around she keeps nodding, as if she’s seeing features she appreciates.
“Has our equipment arrived?” Blake starts taking an interest, “I want to check out the lighting. Depending on where you want to set up, Trav, we might need a reflector. The sun’s very bright coming in through those windows.” He waves his hand toward the outside.
The men’s voices wash over me as they discuss the technicalities, it doesn’t bother me much, I just need to be told when to play and what they expect me to do at the right time. While Nijad is listening intently, interested in how it’s going to come together, I find my eyes glued to Jasim who seems as distracted as me. Instead of looking at the crew, he seems fascinated with the mosaic in the middle of the pool. Taking a breath to fortify myself, I move to stand beside him.
“It’s wonderful place, Jasim. Even better than we expected. Thank you for arranging it.” Breaking off, I do a full circle, indicating I’m taking it all in, “The makeover has been done so well, there’s still such an atmosphere of magic here.” I can’t help it; my eyes are drawn to the sultan’s peep hole.
Jasim’s followed the direction where I’m looking, and he stiffens, “Barbaric practices in ancient times,” he states, his brow creasing, “not so romantic, I assure you. The sultan would have many wives and concubines, some kidnapped against their will. Are you imagining starry-eyed beauties awaiting their summons?” He shakes his head dismissively, and continues without giving me time to answer. “That might be how Hollywood portrays it, but that wasn’t the case. No, more likely they were waiting in dread and plotting their escape.”
My lips turn up, “Spoilsport. What if they wanted to be here? To be kept for their master’s pleasure?”
His eyes flare, something I’ve said affects him. “Whatever,” he says, indifferently, “Feel free to imagine it that way.”
“It’s hard to do anything else,” I respond, “Amahad is such a magical country.”
He swings around, and barks a short laugh, “Oh, it has a mystique alright, you’re correct about that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to.” The way he speaks is imperious, he’s turned into the sheikh. However contemptuous he seems about his homeland, it’s clearly influencing him. Turning away from me, he catches the attention of his brother, and jerking his head, indicates he’s going to leave.
And then he’s gone, the enormous harem door closing behind him with a loud ringing clang. He seems to take the air out of the room with him, and all at once my pleasure in this place fades.
Chapter 13
Jasim
I had to leave, had to get away. She was standing so close to me, I could smell her perfume. Not something that comes out of an expensive bottle, but something that’s all her. Coconut oil—probably some type of suntan lotion—some flowery shampoo, and an underlying scent that’s pure woman. But she’s not a woman. She’s just a girl.
And the words she was saying? I couldn’t stop myself imagining me calling for her to be brought to me as a concubine for the night. And when she spoke about women being kept for their master’s pleasure, I immediately started imagining me mastering her and had to get out of there before my swelling cock betrayed me. Damn Kadar for making me see her again. Whatever he fucking says, I’m going to the desert city. Today.
But however much I want to make an escape, I should have known my older brother would have other ideas and thwart my plans. He hadn’t been joking when he said he needed me to spend some time in the capital.
First, he’d arranged meetings with Rais and the desert sheikhs, though why I should meet them here and not closer to their homes, I have no bloody idea. And then there are meetings to sit through with the financiers, and state dinners, welcoming a lost son of Amahad home. A week passes before I can even think of repacking my bags, seven long days spent trying to keep out of her way. One hundred and sixty-eight torturous hours torn between visiting the harem and seeing her again, and equally long nights pleasuring myself, my own hand providing me with little satisfaction but hopefully enough to give me the strength to stay away.
Once, I saw her coming down a corridor, animatedly talking to one of her friends. I’m ashamed to say, using my vast knowledge of the palace, I’d dipped through a concealed door and had hidden myself. Something I’d not thought of doing since my childhood when avoiding my father and, after his passing, had never thought I’d need to employ such a ruse ever again.
Nijad knows, the bastard, he can see right through me. He keeps making unhelpful suggestions that I should check up on the band. Luckily Cara and Zoe are both interested, and have kept us updated with the filming, so there’s been no need for me to intervene. Still, Nijad keeps poking at me; he doesn’t understand why I’m holding back when he realised how she affected me, sometimes I think he can read my mind. Similar in looks we might be, but there I like to believe any resemblance ends. He married an innocent, and has ended up extremely happy. Not in the least envious of my brother’s good fortune, I try to get him to stop trying to push us together. What is his pleasure, would be a pr
ison sentence to my mind.
It’s on the eighth day he comes to find me.
“Brother.” Nijad walks into my suite and pulls me in for a hug, kissing me on both cheeks. “It’s feels right, you being here. Are you settled?”
Tossing a glare at him, I answer, “As well as I can in this mausoleum of a palace. Fuck, Ni. Don’t you remember how fucking badly we wanted to get away?”
Throwing his headdress on to a chair, he goes to the sofa and sits, legs outstretched, his ankles crossed, arms stretched out wide over the back. He regards me for a moment, “You know I do. But I was forced to come back.”
I take a seat opposite him on the other sofa. I’m only too well aware of the circumstances that brought him home. I’d been there. “Do you regret it?”
“How could I?” His eyebrows rise. “I’d never have found Cara. And, brother, believe me, meeting her meant the three years I was banished to the desert was worth it. And now we’ve got Zorah.” His face softens as he refers to his daughter, “I never thought I could feel as at peace as I do now.”
Peace. Was does that feel like, I wonder? I shrug. “That way of life isn’t for me. I own a BDSM club for a reason.”
“Just because you’re a Dom doesn’t mean you have to spread yourself around.”
“You know my preference as to how I like to play, Ni. It’s only in a kink club I can find a woman to match my tastes. And there’s not many I go back to, and none with any strings attached.”
He shakes his head, and his lips purse, “I feel sorry for you, Jas. But don’t cut yourself off. Cara’s a sub, you know that. But she’s all I want and need. She’s my sub.”
“As Zoe is Kadar’s,” I agree. “But I’m different than you, Ni. You know what I’m like.”
“That I do.” His eyes darken for a moment. “We shared the apartment in Paris.”
I feel my cheeks heating as I wonder whether he’s remembering when he was arrested, and the police had found a cupboard containing my toys. He’d accepted ownership of them when questioned, leaving me thankful for that. Being accused of such a violent crime, it was the least of his concerns at the time.
We sit quietly for a moment. It’s rare we’re ever in the same place at the same time, and even rarer that we can take a break from our busy lives. We were so close at one time. Near enough in looks that people think us twins, even though there’s eighteen months difference between us.
“So, the woman.”
I look at him sharply, “What woman?”
“The guitarist. Janna. She’s good you know, I’ve been watching her play. She’s got a real presence about her. She commands the stage.”
I nod, “I know. I’ve seen her in action.” But not here. I’ve successfully managed to avoid that. And now he’s gone and put that memory of her dressed as a Domme strutting her stuff on stage back into my mind. Just what I didn’t need. “She’s not a woman, she’s a girl.” I say, airily, hoping he’ll get off the subject.
He sits forward, his hands on his knees, his head cocked a little to one side, “So are they all, Jasim, until you make them one.”
I flick my eyes toward him, expecting to see amusement on his face, but he’s completely serious, his dark eyes, identical to my own, staring at me intently. I bark a laugh, “For goodness sake, Ni. She’s the same age as Aiza. What the fuck would you say if a thirty-three year old man was sniffing around our baby sister? By Allah, you don’t even like Hunter anywhere near her.”
To my surprise, he opens both his palms and holds them toward me, a gesture of nonchalance. “Aiza could do worse than Hunter. It’s Kadar who’s overprotective. He thinks she should still be playing with dolls.”
“And so she should!” I exclaim, tutting. “She’s barely out of nappies.”
“She’s a grown woman.”
“She’s a girl.” We’re back to that argument.
One side of his mouth turns up as he repeats, “By your definition, she’s a woman.”
My eyes open wide, “What the fuck? Hunter? I’ll fucking kill him.”
Ni gets to his feet, and turns to look straight at me. “No, you won’t, Jas. She’s been playing around for years. Why do you think she rarely comes home? She’s a woman who’s been educated in the west. And she takes up every opportunity that affords her. She’s no innocent. Not anymore.”
I run my hands through my hair, unable to process the information he’s giving me. It seems impossible. My baby sister? Fuck! I lift my head, “Does Kadar know?”
Now Nijad laughs, “Of course he doesn’t. He’s blind to everything she does, unless it’s living out the role he’s got planned for her in his head.”
And if he did know, he’d be furious and certainly want to kill anyone who’d dared to touch her. “I thought he had her lined up to marry Rami, son of Asad, King of Alair. To unite our countries. Rami won’t want her if he knows…”
“Oh, brother, just listen to yourself.” Nijad interrupts, “That was our father’s plan, not Kadar’s. And anyway, there seemed to be a spark between Sheikh Rami and Aiza at my wedding without any prompting. I wouldn’t be surprised if that came off without any meddling from ourselves.”
I shake my head, “He won’t want her if she’s not a virgin.”
Nijad looks at me incredulously, then snorts. “Can you hear yourself, brother? You’re giving values to Rami that you’re dismissing yourself.”
“I own a kink club!” I throw at him, “I need a woman who knows what she’s getting herself into. Who understands my needs.”
“Rami’s a Dom. I’ve met him in clubs in Europe before now. And he’s the same age as me.”
“Fuck!” It’s my turn to stand. I pace the room, trying to sort everything out in my head. If I’d known more of Rami’s background, and that he’s not even two years younger than me, would I still have wanted him as a husband for, what I’d naively assumed was, my virgin baby sister? Would I still have supported our family encouraging the relationship? Part of me says I would, and what does that make me? Someone with double standards and more akin to my father than I’d like to admit.
Picking up his headdress, Nijad prepares to leave. He takes a step toward the door, but then turns back, once again he gives me a piercing look, “I know you, Jasim, almost as well as I know myself. You’re acting out of character. You like this woman, Janna, that’s why you’re avoiding her. And the way she looked at you that first day in the harem, a blind man could see she likes you too. That kind of recipe would have had you acting before, not running away as if your life depended on it.”
“Yeah, but the recipe is all vanilla. And that’s a flavour that doesn’t appeal to me.”
“You won’t know for sure, unless you try a taste.” He stares at me for one more moment, then, with his signature shrug, opens the door and leaves.
I sit back down, folding my arms over my chest. Since when had my younger brother grown the balls to challenge me? It used to be the other way around. Leaning my head back, my mouth turns up. Nijad’s changed over the past few years, almost beyond all recognition. Four years ago, our relationship was smashed to smithereens, and I barely spoken to him up until a year ago, after I helped to clear his name. Those three years in the desert would have broken another man, but Nijad was pulled back from the brink by the woman who believed in him, the woman who became his wife. And what had I been doing in the intervening time? Working my way through most of the subs in London, and further afield. And I’m still not ready to be tied down, and doubt I’ll ever be. I like that side of my life too much to give it up.
Whatever this strange draw to Janna is, it will disappear when I get home and back to the club. What’s making it worse is that here, in my homeland, I’m restricted as to what I can do. As brother of the emir, my every move is scrutinised and examined. No, the only action I’m going to see until I return home will have to be a continued close relationship with my own hand. Just like how I indulged myself when I was a teenager. Nothing much changes here in t
he palace.
Janna, is most definitely out of bounds. She’d expect and deserve more than the one night stand I’d be able to give her. And it wouldn’t be fair of me to indulge her sheikh fantasy, I’d be holding myself back. I’m not even sure I could do that. What is vanilla sex, anyway? Placing my hands on my knees, I try to remember. Have I ever had sex without any play? Fuck me, but I can’t remember.
Another few days of a semi-peaceful existence pass, and then I’m thrust into her presence again. Though it’s frustrated Kadar, I’ve stayed away from the harem and the filming that’s going on, but he can’t complain as I’ve been working hard at the job he brought me here to do. And when he asks, I just tell him, Anarchy Rules has everything under control, they’ve got my number should they need anything, and anyway, what do I know about making a film? Zilch. Bugger all.
Even Nijad, thankfully, stops trying to push me into the arms of a woman I’m trying to avoid. Any nefarious planning about finding me a mate seems to be given up as a failure. The day is fast approaching when they’ll be able to make no more excuses and I’ll be free to escape to the desert city, and put myself a few hundred miles distant from the woman who insists on appearing in my dreams. And fuelling the activities of my hand.
Then, the morning before I’m going to make my getaway, the phone rings. I answer with no feeling of dread, no precognition that, once again, my plans are going awry.
“Hello?”
“Good morning, Your Excellency. Sorry to disturb you, but it’s Joe here, with the band.”
“Good morning, Joe. What can I do for you? And call me Jasim, please.”
“Thank you. Could you possibly meet us in the harem? We’ve something we want to run past you.”
I glance at my watch, and mentally run through my schedule. It’s not what I want to do, but my morning’s fairly empty and while I could fabricate an excuse, I don’t normally lie. “I can be there in an hour if that’s any use?”
Dark Horses: (Blood Brothers #5) Page 13
