Hot Arabian Nights. Marguerite Kaye
veil, her eyes widened. ‘You think my—my rear is delightful?’
Azhar laughed. ‘Very.’
‘How odd. No one has ever referred to it as delightful before.’ Julia frowned. ‘Actually, I don’t think anyone has ever referred to it in any manner at all before.’
‘Perhaps the men of your acquaintance are singularly unobservant,’ Azhar responded. ‘To say nothing of unappreciative.’
‘Perhaps it is these clothes.’
‘I was not admiring the clothes but the woman they adorn.’
She was close enough for him to see the flush on her cheeks beneath her filmy veil. Close enough for him to give in to the urge to run his fingers down the length of her silky plait of hair. Close enough for him to hear her sharp intake of breath as he did so. Close enough for his leg to brush against hers. For him to slide his fingers up her arm, over the soft billowing folds of her tunic, to rest on her shoulder. So close he saw the flame of desire he was feeling reflected in her eyes. So tantalisingly close he could almost touch his lips to hers.
But even as he shifted to close the final infinitesimal gap his camel bleated, and Julia’s balance on the box seat wavered, and Azhar caught at the reins he had almost dropped. ‘There is an old saying, that in the desert a camel is more useful than a kingdom,’ he said ruefully, ‘but as a location for lovemaking, it leaves a lot to be desired.’
* * *
Clutching the pommel of the saddle, Julia could think of nothing to say in response to this scandalous remark. How had they shifted from the subject of learning to ride a camel, to her rear—her delightful rear—to a kiss in the space of one conversation? How was it even possible that they had combined such disparate subjects? Her head whirled and her body thrummed. For once, she had no difficulty in reading Azhar’s expression, for it exactly reflected her own feelings.
‘Azhar...’ Realising that she still hadn’t a clue what she was going to say, she shrugged. ‘I’d like to try taking the reins, please, provided you keep a close eye on my progress.’
‘A most prudent suggestion,’ he said, giving her a slightly crooked smile.
Julia laughed. ‘I’m not sure that prudent is the word I’d use to describe what I’m about to do.’
‘Perhaps not, but it is a great deal less dangerous than what I was in the process of attempting. And I am not referring to physical danger. I hope I did not offend you.’
‘You must be perfectly well aware that you did not. If you must know,’ Julia said daringly, ‘I’ve been wanting to kiss you.’
Once again, she surprised him into a laugh. ‘I believe that is what they call serendipity,’ he replied, ‘because that is exactly what I too have been wishing to do. Though I could have chosen a more propitious moment.’
The way he was looking at her was making her feel not only daring, but decidedly decadent. ‘Then I hope you choose better the next time,’ Julia said, taking up the reins, and urging the camel into action.
It would have been a most dramatic gesture if it had worked. Sadly, the camel stayed firmly rooted to the spot. Julia tugged the reins tighter. The camel turned its long neck around and nonchalantly attempted to bite her. In her surprise, she loosened her hold on the reins, and to her astonishment the beast set off at a slow plod.
‘I thought you said you understood the theory,’ Azhar said, catching up with her on his own mount.
‘Obviously I was wrong. What do I do to change direction?’
‘If you will permit me to ride a little in front, your camel will naturally follow mine.’
‘And to stop?’
Azhar laughed. ‘Do exactly what you thought you should do to start. We have about an hour’s ride to the oasis, do you think you can manage that?’
Julia risked a glance to the side. She was riding a camel, in the most beautiful desert, in the kingdom belonging to this most beautiful man. A man who thought she had the most delightful rear. A man who wanted to kiss her every bit as much as she wanted to kiss him. ‘I know that I will regret saying this, but at this moment in time, I think I could manage anything.’
* * *
One hour later, she heartily regretted her words. Her rear felt not at all delightful, but quite numb. The relief she felt when Azhar’s camel slowed in front of her was immense. Bringing her own mount to a stuttering but effective halt, Julia dismounted by the simple process of sliding on to the sand, discovering to her cost that it lay in a very thin layer on top of crumbly red rock.
‘Did you hurt yourself?’
Dazed, she shook her head, allowing Azhar to pull her to her feet. Having discovered that the best way to avoid seasickness from the swaying saddle was to concentrate only on the view in front of her, Julia’s vision had been focused entirely on Azhar’s back. Now, she took stock of her surroundings and gasped with surprise. ‘What is this place?’
Azhar spoke the name in Arabic. ‘It means Oasis of the Red Rock and the Tumbling Waterfall,’ he elaborated. ‘Rather more prosaic in translation.’
‘There is nothing at all prosaic about this place, it is absolutely breathtaking.’
The oasis was small, a hollow protected by a semi-circular rock formation about thirty feet high. The waterfall tumbled down from the centre of the rocks into a deep pool. Years of pounding water had carved out fantastical shapes on the rock face. Behind the cascade, a species of silvery-green moss grew in long fronds. Trees the same strange colour of silvery-green grew on either side, almost as tall as the rocks, their reflections shimmering on the ruffled surface of the water. The air was refreshingly cool and damp, the shadow cast by the rock formation a welcome relief from the heat, which was already searing, though it could not be much more than ten in the morning.
The low stone houses, constructed of the same red rock, clung to the perimeter of the water on the shaded side, blending in so well with their surroundings, that Julia didn’t notice them at first. ‘It is so quiet,’ she said. ‘Does no one live here?’
‘At this time of day, the men will be at work,’ Azhar replied. ‘There is a diamond mine two hours’ travel from here. Only the women will be at home.’
‘And I suppose they will not reveal themselves to a stranger. Though—you know, it has only just occurred to me, when we arrived in Al-Qaryma you were recognised almost instantly, even though you have been away ten years.’
Azhar finished hobbling the camels. ‘I was a grown man when I left, Julia, and I did not spend all of my formative years closeted behind the palace walls.’
Curious as to how he had spent his days, she was distracted by a cry of welcome coming from the largest of the village houses. An old woman stood in the doorway, her lined face unveiled, her arms extended in welcome. When he saw her, Azhar’s face lit up. ‘Johara,’ he said to Julia. ‘She is a herbalist. I was afraid—but I should have known she would still be here. I think she will live for ever. Come, let me introduce you.’
He got to Johara’s side in time to prevent the woman from falling to her knees, pulling her into an embrace and speaking gently to her in his own language.
‘Madam Julia Trevelyan,’ Azhar said, introducing her.
The woman’s face was heavily lined, her tiny frame bent and frail, but her eyes, under their drooping lids, were a bright and fiercely inquisitive blue. Herbalist, wise woman, fey wife, healer or witch, depending on which culture they inhabited, Julia had encountered Johara’s kind several times on her travels, and knew that they commanded respect as well as fear. She dropped to her knees, bending over the woman’s gnarled hand, and muttered the traditional words of greeting in her halting Arabic.
After helping her back to her feet, she was rewarded with a nod of approval from Azhar, and a look she could only term quizzical