Desert Sheikhs Collection: Part 2. Susan MalleryЧитать онлайн книгу.
she protested.
He squeezed the breath out of her. “I have decided. You may sulk if you wish, but we will not talk more of it.”
“You can’t just decide that on your own,” she snapped.
“Yes. I can.” His voice was neutral, but she heard the steely determination. When he closed his eyes, she knew that any further words would only strengthen his resolve. Sighing, she conceded defeat…for tonight.
Wide-awake, she thought back over her nightmare. Unlike the dream, the real assassins hadn’t succeeded in killing him, but they’d broken the connection between her and Tariq, torn the emotional threads. Their taunts had destroyed whatever had been left after she’d walked away.
A man’s pride was a fragile thing.
A warrior’s pride was his greatest weapon.
A sheik’s pride upheld the honor of his people.
She had to learn to deal with the power of all three.
“We’re going to finish what we started last night.”
“No. I will not have you disturbed.” Though Tariq wasn’t surprised by Mina’s stubbornness, his first duty was to protect her. The memory of how she’d trembled in fear made him hug her against his body as the camel picked its way across the golden sand.
“I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”
“No.” He would not allow her to be hurt.
“Tariq! Don’t do that. Don’t protect me by keeping me in ignorance.” In his arms, her small body was stiff with anger and frustration. “I’m not eighteen anymore.”
Her perception about his motives startled him, proving the truth of her words. “Perhaps not,” he allowed.
“Then the assassins—”
“You know all there is to know, Mina.” This time he acknowledged the quiet pain of the memories. “You know”.
After a small silence, she leaned back in his embrace. “I’m sorry.”
Unable to bear her sorrow, he held her close and told her stories of the desert and his people, and after a long time, she smiled again. And as they rode, he considered her persistence. Four years ago, she would never have challenged him. Since she’d returned to him, she’d never stopped fighting him. Some men would have been dismayed by the change. Tariq was intrigued.
On the morning of the fourth day, they rode into the small industrial city of Zeina. Despite their functional nature, the steel and concrete buildings of the city had been designed with curved edges and flowing lines. Overlaid with the omnipresent sand, the low-rise structures almost blended into the desert. The two-lane highway snaking out of Zeina in the opposite direction from their route showed how oil was moved out of such an isolated spot. To Jasmine’s surprise, they continued through the city and a good distance beyond, to where a number of huge, colorful tents sprawled across the desert sand.
“Welcome to Zeina,” Tariq whispered against her ear.
“I thought that was Zeina back there.” She jerked her head to indicate the city they’d passed.
“It’s part of Zeina. This is the heart.”
“No houses, just tents,” she mused out loud.
“Arin and his people prefer it this way. As they are happy, I have no right to question.”
She pondered that for a moment before asking, “I assume many of them work in the industrial section—how do they get there?”
Tariq chuckled. “There are camels for those who prefer the old ways but also several well-hidden all-terrain vehicles.”
“Why didn’t we travel in those?” She scowled at the thought of the abuse her rear had suffered.
“Some of the areas we passed through are too treacherous to trust even those vehicles. They also cause much damage to the delicate ecosystems of the desert. But, for commuting the distance to the metal city, they are useful,” he explained. “Arin’s people may be old-fashioned but they are also eminently practical. See the pale blue tents?” He pointed.
“There’s quite a few.”
“They appear the same as the others, but look closely.”
Squinting, she did. “They don’t move with the wind! What are they, plastic?”
“A durable type created by our engineers,” Tariq confirmed. “Each houses sanitation facilities for use by four closely related families.”
Given the dimensions of the tents and the typically small size of Zulheil’s families, the allocation appeared generous.
“How ingenious.” Jasmine was impressed by the way old and new had been merged so creatively.
“Arin is certainly that.”
She met the intriguing Arin minutes later. He was a huge bear of a man with a short, neatly trimmed beard, but his warm smile took the edge off his menacing appearance.
“Welcome.” He waved them both inside his large tent after exchanging greetings. “Please, sit.”
“Thank you.” Jasmine smiled and sat down on one of the luxuriant cushions arranged around a small table.
“I forbid you to smile at this man, Jasmine.”
Jasmine stared at her husband in shock. “Did you just forbid me to smile at the man in whose home we are guests?”
Her subtle reprimand made her husband’s lips curve in an inexplicable smile and Arin howl with laughter. She looked from one to the other, belatedly aware that she’d missed something. When Tariq continued to smile with that hint of mischief in his eyes and Arin to howl, she threw up her hands. “You’re both mad.”
“No, no,” Arin answered, his shoulders shaking with mirth. “This one is just afraid of my power over women.”
Intrigued, Jasmine turned to Tariq for an explanation, but he just grinned. Shaking her head, she busied herself trying to follow their conversation, which could not be undertaken in English, as their host wasn’t fluent enough for the subtleties required.
“My apologies.” Arin seemed discomfited by that fact.
“Oh, please don’t say that,” she said earnestly. “This is your land. I should be the one to learn your language. While I’m learning, it would be better for me to be surrounded by it.”
The big man looked relieved. Tariq squeezed her fingers once in silent thanks. Warm, strong, male, his hand represented so much of who he was.
If she concentrated, she could follow the bare bones of their talk. They appeared to be catching up with each other’s news but there was an undercurrent of seriousness. The sheik was asking after the health of his people.
As she listened, the changes in Tariq struck her again. When they’d first met, he’d been every inch a royal, but more relaxed, having the support of his parents, a much-loved royal couple. Now the mantle of authority sat on his shoulders alone, and he wore it as if it had been made for him.
He’d always been touched with the promise of greatness. Before her eyes, that promise was being fulfilled.
“Enough,” Arin announced at last in English. “I am a poor host to keep you so long even before the dust is gone from your clothes.” He uncurled his legs, incredibly graceful for such a big man, and began to stand.
“Terrible,” Tariq agreed, but his eyes were full of laughter as he followed their host’s example. Jasmine’s guess that the two were good friends was confirmed by the back-slapping embrace they exchanged, before Arin led them toward the much smaller tent that had been prepared for them. Members of Arin’s council had greeted Tariq’s advisors upon arrival, and