by Valerie Parv
Not that it was one-sided. As her fingers tangled in his hair his whole being thrummed like the deep mellow notes of the oud, not for nothing called the king of musical instruments, until it was moot who was playing who. Her touch made his neck and scalp seem like the most erogenous zones in his body, although they were getting steadily increasing competition from the more usual parts.
Testing her mouth with the tip of his tongue, he heard her breath catch. Such a chaste sound and so at odds with the way her tongue danced around his. He closed his teeth lightly around her lower lip. Her sigh became a faint moan and her lashes drooped.
Lifting his head, he gazed at her, his chest tightening as he saw her tongue dart out to moisten her lips. Her head had fallen back against the leather cushions and she lay across the seat under him. He’d actually started to move his robes out of the way when he realized what he was doing.
He stopped, although everything in him urged him on. What was he doing? He should be demanding answers about her involvement with Omar Zirhan, and why the assassin she called Business Suit had found them so easily. Had she really been running from him, or leading him to Markaz? He was blaming Aziz’s relative when the culprit could be much closer.
Until he knew where her loyalty lay, he had to keep his distance for his country’s sake if not his own. All his life both interests had been as one. Now he felt them warring with each other. For the first time, the man and the monarch were as far apart as Australia and Nazaar.
Hardening his heart was almost impossible when she lay pliant and open in front of him. “No,” he said harshly, letting the monarch rule the man. Even so it cost him to lever himself away. “This isn’t the time or the place.”
She opened huge, wounded eyes and stared at him, a rose in full bloom. “You chose both.”
Sanity returned with a rush, although subduing his aching body was going to take longer. “Did I? You’re not only beautiful, Simone, you’re so clever it’s hard to tell whether you’re on the side of justice or anarchy.”
Shock and hurt, real or feigned, played across her face as she struggled upright. “What? I can’t believe you said that. Unless…” She trailed off, then pitched her voice low with fury. “You really haven’t decided which side I’m on, have you?”
He was sorely tempted to kiss away her hurt, but that way lay madness. “I thought I knew. After the easy way Business Suit found us, I can’t be sure.”
Her mouth, still rosy and slightly swollen, became a thin line of outrage. “I suppose kissing a suspect is one way to get them to talk. Is that the plan, seduce me and make me spill my secrets?”
He inclined his head. “The thought crossed my mind.” No point adding that talk had been the last thing he’d wanted from her until his sense of duty prevailed.
The curses she aimed at him in Arabic were normally only heard among men. Did she know what she was saying, or had someone taught her the colorful phrases as a joke? He waited until she ran out of steam, then folded his arms across his chest, the monarch back in full control. If the man lurked within, throbbing with unsatisfied desire, that was for Markaz to know and handle.
“Now it’s my turn,” he said. His subjects would have quailed at the deadly quiet in his voice, but Simone didn’t flinch. Admiration for her gripped him until he quelled it. Such feelings were for the man, not the monarch. “You will start by telling me what you know of Omar Zirhan.”
Chapter 9
Simone wasn’t sure whether her outrage stemmed from the sheikh humiliating her for bursting in on the men, or his ruthless use of the attraction between them to seek information. Lost in how wonderful he made her feel, she hadn’t stopped to think of a hidden agenda.
Not troubling to hide her hurt, she tightened her lips into a grim line. That they felt swollen and sensitized from his attention, she decided not to think about.
Her chin lifted. “With respect, Your Highness, there’s another matter to be settled first. I won’t be used for your amusement, then grilled as a suspect. First decide which I am to you, then we’ll go from there.”
Her anger sloughed off him. “You are either the most reckless of women, or as innocent as you claim.”
“A decision only you can make, Your Highness.”
“Or the police. You might not be so brave after spending a night in jail.”
The words were out before she could stop them. “It would be preferable to a night in your bed.”
Reaching out, he traced one finger along the line of her jaw. The touch was light, but she couldn’t restrain an answering tremor. His eyes gleamed as he registered her reaction. “Are you sure?”
She willed her voice to steadiness, proud of almost achieving it. “There can be nothing between us as long as you believe I’m involved with the rebels.”
“I didn’t say I believed it.”
“You asked me about Omar Zirhan.”
“I didn’t link him with the rebels. You did that.”
Her stomach churned. How much more stupid could she be? He’d only asked her what she knew of Omar. Why did she have to suggest a rebel connection? If Markaz’s kiss hadn’t turned her mind to mush, she would have avoided the trap. Her breath rushed out. “I’m only a stupid woman, remember? What would I know of men’s affairs?”
“More than you wish to tell me, evidently.” Steel infused his tone. Gone was the skilled seducer whose touch reduced her to jelly. “So be it. When we reach Karama, you will be handed over to Hamal al Nawi. He will find out the truth.”
She refused to give the sheikh the satisfaction of frightening her. “At last, the real face of Markaz al Nazaari,” she said. “So much for the visionary working to liberate his country from the shackles of the past. When the chips are down, you don’t waste time reverting to type.”
“Enough,” he said in a voice that could have cut glass. “You will not speak again until we reach Karama.”
“Or you’ll do what? Have me beaten when we get there?”
She’d finally done it, cracked his iron control. “You are beaten,” he roared. “When will you realize you are outmatched?”
Before she knew what he intended, he’d swept her into his arms again and his mouth was crushing hers. Meant as a demonstration of his power, the kiss reminded her that he was also a man who could make her body sing with desires she barely knew how to name.
She was falling and the only safety net was Markaz himself. Without his solid body to cling to, she would have toppled into the pit of her own needs. Not sure she hadn’t toppled anyway, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and answered the demands of his mouth on hers. If she couldn’t tell him she was on his side, she could at least show him.
When he let her go she felt shaky. His features had softened, she saw. Was it possible she had managed to get her message across?
“You asked me to tell you what you are to me,” he said, sounding as unsteady as she felt. “I only know what you could be.”
“But we both know that’s impossible,” she said, getting in first. “You’re the sheikh of sheikhs, with a country to save. I’m an independent woman who doesn’t fit in here. We’d fight like cats and dogs.”
He nodded. “A quaint expression, but possibly appropriate.”
She stopped herself from pointing out that even cats and dogs could learn to live together. For a crazy moment she missed the spark of antagonism, carrying with it the promise of passion beyond her wildest dreams. That in itself should have served as a warning. A relationship with Markaz would be a roller coaster of the most sublime highs she’d ever known. There would also be lows of deep despair, she suspected. Who could live on a roller coaster?
“So we’re agreed that what’s between us can lead nowhere,” she said as much to herself as to him.
“We’re agreed that nothing lasting can come of what we feel,” he amended. “There’s no reason we can’t enjoy the journey. Truce?”
She felt a tight knot start to unravel inside her. Making peace with hi
m felt better than she wanted it to. “Truce,” she agreed. “At least until I leave Nazaar.” She knew it was the only thing to say, so why did her mind want to reject the words?
He reached into the bar and poured himself a glass of water, refreshing hers at the same time. Ice tinkled into the glasses and he handed her one. “Have you thought about staying? As the daughter of a Nazaari, you have the right.”
She didn’t tell him she’d thought about staying from the moment she stepped out of the plane at Raisa Airport. The country had woven a spell around her she hadn’t expected. The stories her parents had told her about their homeland while she was growing up couldn’t fully explain the sense of belonging she’d felt on arrival. Now the deeper into the country they drove, the stronger the pull became.
Her father had told her about the effect the desert region exerted on his people. She remembered the faraway look in his gaze when he’d told her about the vast ocher plains with mystical mirages shimmering in the distance. And the stark beauty of trekking by camel across waves of sand undulating like a frozen ocean.
Cold from the glass seeped into her fingers, a dose of reality. “My mother is ill. I have to go back to Australia for her.”
He drank thoughtfully. “What’s the matter with her?”
“After my father died she developed clinical depression and stopped taking an interest in anything. We tried having her move in with me, but she continued to get worse. Her doctor recommended a nursing home where she’d have excellent care.”
“You’re not happy with the decision?”
“How do you know?”
“I hear it in your voice and your posture.”
Not sure she liked being read so completely, she said, “No wonder people say you preside over the majlis so effectively.”
He looked gratified by the assurance. Then he shook his head. “They give me too much credit. Most of what we do in the majlis is the same as in any courtroom. Invariably, the results are unsatisfactory to one side.”
“All the same, everyone I’ve spoken to at the palace is in awe of you.”
He swirled the liquid around in his glass, staring into it. “Obviously not everyone. There is still a traitor in the royal household.”
She bristled. “You have to believe that I didn’t tell Business Suit where to find us today. If I was on his side, I wouldn’t have given his description to the police, or alerted you to his presence at al Faransi.”
After a thoughtful silence, he said, “No, you wouldn’t. I should have realized that.”
“An apology, Markaz?”
“As you choose.”
At being given the benefit of the doubt, her spirits lifted much more than she could justify. “Couldn’t he have followed us from Raisa?”
“Unlikely. Hamal’s people would have noticed as we traveled.”
She twisted the stem of the glass in her fingers. “He must know I’ve spoken to the police by now, so what does he have to gain by harming me?”
She shot him a look of frustration. “This is too cloak-and-dagger for me. I’ve gone over every detail of what happened from the time I met Natalie at Al-Qasr, both to the police and in my own mind. There’s nothing else.”
“Answers sometimes come to us when we stop trying.”
“You’re right,” she said on a heavy sigh. “Perhaps I’ll be able to think more clearly at Karama. My father said he used to do his best thinking out in the desert.”
The sheikh smiled. “Ah, yes, your father was born there.”
“He only left because his father married again and favored his new wife’s son.”
Markaz cupped his chin between thumb and forefinger. “Unusual. In our culture, firstborn sons are the most precious.”
“Probably why Dad took the situation so badly. He never explained why his father preferred his stepson to his own child. Perhaps something in their different personalities.”
“Do your father’s people still live in Karama?” Markaz asked.
She shook her head. “The rest of my grandfather’s family disapproved of the way he’d treated my father so they became estranged. I wouldn’t know where to start looking for them.”
“The stepson who led to your father’s break with his family—is he the relative you hope to find?”
She understood his perplexity. “That’s right, Yusef al Hasa. My parents never blamed him for what happened. Dad told me that Yusef was upset when Dad left home. Apparently Yusef idolized his older half brother and as soon as he could, he moved to Raisa to live with them. He must have had a winning way, because my mother was his staunchest fan.”
“So Yusef managed to win over first your grandfather, and then your mother. He sounds like a silver-tongued devil.”
“I gather he was. My mother hated leaving him behind although he sided with the rebels. She thought he’d been brainwashed into supporting the wrong side. She expected him to outgrow his foolishness.”
Idly, Markaz lifted the hand she’d rested on the seat between them and twined his fingers through hers. The effect was instantaneous and electric, almost making her spill what was left of the water. Hastily she put the glass into the bar.
The sheikh’s voice caused almost as much of a jolt. “What do you think?”
Distracted by his touch she had to force herself to link his question with her half uncle. “I think Yusef knew exactly what he was doing. Men like him are charmers. As children they use their charm unconsciously at first, but gradually learn that they can manipulate the people around them until it becomes a habit.”
“That sounds like the voice of experience. With a man?”
She hadn’t intended the conversation to take this turn. Cocooned in the vehicle with the tinted windows and privacy screen between them and the world, the mood easily became confessional. Too easily. “There was a man, but it’s over,” she said with a lightness she didn’t feel.
The sheikh tightened his grip on her hand. “You are not as forgiving as your mother?”
She thought of Nick refusing to believe that she didn’t want to see him again. Like Yusef, he was also a charmer, so she understood the type well. Nick had used his charm to try to run her life, becoming annoyed at any sign of opposition.
He’d been furious with her for leaving him and threatened her. Standing up to him had been the right thing to do, she knew now. Any sign of fear on her part would have been interpreted as weakness and exploited. “I’m afraid I’m not. I was the one who ended the relationship,” she said.
The sheikh frowned. “You don’t want a man in your life?”
“Don’t sound so amazed. A woman can exist without a man, you know.” Whether or not she wanted to was another question.
Releasing her hand he turned toward the window. “You sound just like Natalie.”
Yet he’d loved Natalie.
Don’t even go there, Simone warned herself silently. “Hardly surprising, given that we’re both independent women with minds of our own.”
“Nazaari women have minds of their own, too.”
She thought of Amal and smiled. What had the other woman said? In this country women were biddable and sweet until their marriage, when the man found out what he’d taken on. “I’ve no doubt. It’s called emancipation.”
“What the devil do you think I’m trying to make happen here?”
“Before you can teach others, you have to learn the lesson yourself,” she said quietly. “A few seconds ago, you kissed me to prove you outmatched me.”
He looked discomfited. “That was the excuse I used for doing what I wanted to do.”
Nick had crowed about doing what he wanted regardless of her wishes, saying her resistance had been an act to bring him to heel. Nothing she’d said would change his mind. That was when she’d known it was over between them.
“Nobody likes being turned down,” she told Markaz.
He smiled. “Ah, but you haven’t turned me down yet. You simply aren’t ready to face the truth. It isn’t
the same thing.”
She struggled against anger, unhappily recognizing the truth. “Don’t you get tired of being right all the time?”
Triumph gleamed in his gaze. “Then you admit I’m right about us?”
“There is no us.” She wouldn’t let there be.
“Yet. There is still the beauty of the desert and nights of stars such as you have never seen before. They may conspire to change your mind.”
The desert was already working its magic on her. Or he was. She made herself concentrate on the scenery. They were driving across a vast plain toward a group of oases scattered along the edge of a desert known as the Lost Quarter. The occupants of a village waved as they recognized the sheikh’s standard fluttering from his vehicle. Another reminder of who and what he was. And how incompatible they were.
Physical danger lurked in the beautiful surroundings, too, although the stony plain dotted with mirages and the occasional acacia tree looked anything but dangerous. Traditional nomads still wandered this region with herds of camels and sheep, their way of life almost untouched by modern life.
She saw Markaz also contemplating the landscape, then he looked back at her. “Are you ready to tell me why you sought out Omar Zirhan?”
“I suspect that Omar and Yusef are the same person,” she admitted.
“Then what makes you think he’s the relative you seek?”
He listened intently as she explained about the tattoo and uneven shoulder. “I know he’s the same man, but he denies knowing my parents.”
“Why wouldn’t he acknowledge his family?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You doubt that he’s given up the rebel cause?”
“You are not the only one keeping your own counsel.”
She let her breath rush out. “Can’t you accept that I’m not a threat to you?”
He leaned closer, his elusive cologne teasing her. “I propose a compromise. I will agree to trust you, and you will share anything you learn from Zirhan.”
Wishing her emotions wouldn’t churn so furiously whenever Markaz was pleasant to her, she nodded. “All right, assuming I learn anything at all.”
