Hot Arabian Nights

Azhar poured himself a cup of the coffee which he’d had sent out to the kiosk. Hearing footsteps, he got to his feet expecting Julia, but it was his brother who appeared, and judging by the expression on Kamal’s face, he had not come here to admire the garden. Azhar’s heart sank.

‘You’ve been spying on me,’ Kamal exclaimed, as soon as he got close enough to the kiosk to be heard.

‘Good morning, Brother. Will you take a cup of coffee with me?’

Kamal ignored him, panting as he climbed the shallow steps to the terrace to throw himself without ceremony on to one of the low chairs. ‘What do you mean by it, going out to the mines and questioning the workers?’

‘You have been misinformed. I went to the village, not the mines,’ Azhar said, his voice hardening. ‘It sounds to me as if you have been spying on me, rather than the other way round. And your spy, if I might be offered an opinion, is singularly inept.’

‘I am acting as temporary ruler at your express request, I would remind you. Naturally, I expect to be informed of anything untoward.’

‘Naturally. But I wonder why my paying a visit to one of my own villages would be viewed as untoward,’ Azhar asked coolly.

Folding his hands over the taut mound of his ample stomach, Kamal shifted uncomfortably. ‘You gave them no warning. The normal protocol is to send advance notice of an impending royal visit to allow an appropriate welcome to be prepared.’

‘And to prevent any surprises, presumably. In any event, it was not a formal visit. I took Madam Trevelyan to meet the herbalist, Johara.’

Kamal sneered. ‘To indulge her bizarre obsession with our plant life. How very thoughtful of you. It might be better in future if you brief me more specifically on your intentions when abroad in the kingdom.’

‘Better for whom, Kamal?’

His brother shrugged. ‘I merely wish to avoid any unfortunate misunderstandings.’

Azhar eyed him over the rim of his coffee cup, wondering what misunderstandings, unfortunate or otherwise, Kamal was referring to. He had left the village on good terms with the women, and Johara had been so impressed by Julia that she had insisted Azhar bring her for a return visit. Yet Kamal was uncomfortable. Was he hiding something or perhaps his nose was simply out of joint? ‘I made my intentions clear when I addressed Council,’ he said. ‘During this interim period I shall be taking the opportunity to become reacquainted with Qaryma.’

‘If you intend to visit other villages, other mines...’

Azhar stiffened. ‘I will go where I choose, speak to whom I choose when I choose. You may be acting Regent, but I am not accountable to you.’

Kamal’s eyes flashed with temper. ‘No, but I am accountable for this kingdom.’ He heaved himself to his feet. ‘Things have changed, Azhar.’

‘Which is precisely why I have decided that in this interim period...’

‘You have decided!’ Kamal hissed a vicious curse. ‘Ten years you have been gone, and you think you can pick up the reins as if you had been gone ten minutes, making changes here and changes there to things that have been functioning perfectly well without you. Ten years you have been out in the world making your fortune, caring nothing for what happens back here, but still expecting me to protect your inheritance. Ten years I have been here, supporting our father through his illness, taking up his responsibilities when he was too weak—and what have you been doing? You have no right to criticise me, certainly no right to judge me.’

‘Kamal...’

‘You do not deserve this kingdom or its riches. You never wanted them. They should be mine!’

‘Kamal!’ But his brother threw off his restraining hand and stormed down the steps of the kiosk. ‘You speak in anger but you are absolutely right,’ Azhar muttered wearily under his breath. ‘I have never wanted to rule, and I do not deserve to own any of it.’

* * *

As Julia turned the corner and took the path leading to the kiosk, Kamal came barrelling towards her, pushing her violently from the path as he passed, his face scarlet, creased with rage. Stooping down to retrieve her headdress and her scattered drawing materials, she stared at the departing Sheikh in astonishment.

‘Are you hurt? Let me help you.’ Azhar, who had obviously come after his brother, bent down to help.

‘I’m fine, thank you. What on earth happened to make him so angry?’

Azhar shook his head, leading the way to the terrace and pouring them both a cup of the bitter dark coffee he preferred unsweetened, and which Julia was learning to enjoy. She waited while he sipped, drummed his fingers on the table, sipped again, staring out at the garden. He was dressed today in dark-blue trousers under a striped blue tunic. Shadows smudged the skin under his eyes. A pulse beat in his throat and the fact he flexed the fingers of his left hand compulsively were the only signs that his temper was not completely under control.

Finally becoming aware of her scrutiny, he looked up. ‘As a parting shot he called me the illegitimate son of a donkey, which may sound ludicrous to you, but in our language is a great insult. Treasonous in fact, when directed at a future king.’

‘A fact which I am sure will give him a sleepless night worrying about the consequences, once his temper cools.’

‘Kamal knows perfectly well that I would not punish him for something said in the heat of the moment, and in private.’

‘Does he? Then I hope he is duly grateful. Were the cases reversed, I doubt you would find him so forgiving.’

‘No, no, you mistake the matter,’ Azhar said. ‘When all is said and done, Kamal is my only brother.’

Julia opened her mouth to tell Azhar exactly what she thought of Kamal, then thought the better of it, recalling her other, most unfortunate comparison to Prince George. ‘Obviously, you know him much better than I,’ she said, in what she hoped was a neutral tone.

Her hopes were unfounded. ‘Equally obviously, you do not actually believe that,’ Azhar said. ‘Please enlighten me.’

The pulse was still quite visible in his neck. ‘No,’ Julia said.

‘No, you do not agree with me, or, no, you will not enlighten me.’

She managed to stop herself from folding her arms defensively just in time. ‘No, I will not be intimidated into saying something which will make you even angrier than you already are,’ she said.

‘I am not angry with you.’

‘Yes, you are,’ Julia said, ‘because for some reason, you are reluctant to be angry with your brother.’

The flexing fingers stopped. Azhar pushed his coffee cup aside and got to his feet, staring out over the garden. ‘I am angry with Kamal, but it is unfair of me to be so. He resents my return, quite understandably so, when he has been custodian of the kingdom for so long. He perceives my enquiries into the well-being of the kingdom as criticism of his judgement. Again, understandably.’

Azhar did not sound at all convinced, Julia thought as she finished her own coffee and joined him. It was the first time he had admitted to any concern over his brother’s abilities, that his travels out into the kingdom were not merely to allow him to become reacquainted with it, but to ascertain its state of health, but she decided not to draw attention to this fact. ‘If your brother had nothing to hide,’ she said instead, ‘he would have no need to be defensive.’

‘I might be defensive myself, if the situation was reversed,’ Azhar replied. ‘Kamal—oh, I don’t know. Things here have changed, Kamal told me so himself. No doubt he is anxious for my approval, nothing more.’

He gave himself a little shake. ‘Enough of Kamal. This is one change that I heartily approve of,’ he said, pushing her hair back from her face. ‘From the first moment I saw you, I wanted to see it like this.’ He smoothed her hair down her back, his fingers feathering down her spine. ‘A river of fire.’

His touch was certainly setting her alight. She suspected he was using her as a distraction, but at this moment Julia was more than happy to be distracted. She stepped into his embrace, setting her hands on his shoulders, feeling the ripple of his muscles beneath the soft cotton of his tunic. ‘Is there such a thing as a river of fire?’

Azhar slid his hands up her sides to rest just under her breasts. ‘A river of fire is what you have kindled in me,’ he said softly.

He must be able to feel her heart hammering. He must be able to feel the heat of her skin through her tunic. Julia flattened her own hands on to his back, smoothing down the ridge of his spine to the taut curve of his buttocks. His pupils were dark. His breathing was just very slightly ragged.

Azhar cupped her breasts. She bit back a moan as he began to circle her nipples with his thumbs. The thin layer of silk grazed her acutely sensitive skin. His touch sent ripples of sensation down her body, making her belly clench, making her insides throb. He leaned closer, his mouth on her ear, nipping at her lobe.

Her body was clamouring for her to throw herself at him, to beg him wildly to take her, words that she had never spoken in her life. She was a mass of pulse points. Her nipples ached. She curled her fingers into his buttocks simply to stop them wandering, and felt him tense at her touch, saw the flare of heat in his eyes. He kissed his way along her jaw. He licked his way along her bottom lip, all the time his hands cupping and stroking, stoking the fires which blazed under her skin, running a path from her nipples to her belly to the raw ache building between her thighs.

And then he kissed her. A dark kiss, like melting chocolate, like warm honey, sweet and heady, it clogged her brain and added to the clamouring of her body. His tongue touched hers, stroked hers, making her languorous and setting her alight at the same time. When he broke the kiss she moaned in protest, until he covered her nipple with his mouth, sucking through the silk of her tunic, and Julia let out a strange little mewl of pleasure. She shifted restlessly against the low parapet, her hands roaming up and down Azhar’s back, feeling the flex and tense of his muscles, wanting to do more, but without any idea of what to do, hesitant about getting it wrong. And distracted. Very distracted. By his mouth, on her other nipple now. And then on her lips again, in a kiss that she could drown in.

And his hands. His hands, dear heavens, his hands. On her bottom. Pulling her into him, pressing the hard ridge of his arousal between her legs. And then his hands again. Unfastening the sash that held her pantaloons together, slipping between her thighs, sliding inside her.

Julia’s stifled moan had a rough edge to it. He slid his fingers higher, and began to stroke her. She was so hot. And she was so tight. Yet he slid so easily inside her, over her, and...