Desert Rogues Part 1. Susan Mallery
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When they’d finished dinner, Khalil walked a quiet Dora to the door of the harem. He’d brought up their living arrangements twice more, but Fatima had been adamant. Dora was to spend the next two weeks with her, learning how to be a proper wife. Khalil wasn’t sure what those lessons would entail, but he doubted Dora would take well to them. She was a very Western woman.
“I’m sorry about this,” he said when they stopped in front of an ornate gold door. A design of an exquisite garden had been etched into the precious metal. “I thought we’d be together, but it’s only for a couple of weeks.”
He was speaking as much to himself as to her. For reasons he didn’t understand, a need had built inside of him and made him ache. He wanted her more than he’d wanted anyone in a long time.
She turned on him. “Our living arrangements are the least of our problems, Khalil. Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, well, perhaps I should have mentioned that.”
“Perhaps? That’s the best you can do? How do you think I felt when I found out that you were supposed to marry someone else?”
“Why does it matter? I married you.”
“Which leads to a couple of dozen other questions.” She turned away from him and pressed her fingers against the door.
“Is this real gold?”
Her question made no sense to him. “Of course.”
Her laugh sounded strangled. “Golden doors and broken engagements. So why did you marry me instead of her? What’s her name? Amber?”
He hadn’t expected to answer questions about his exfiancée, so he wasn’t prepared. The truth was unacceptable. Dora would never understand. He wanted to pound his fist against the wall and scream out his frustration. What had seemed like a sensible plan when he’d been in New York had quickly turned into a disaster. Why couldn’t everyone leave him alone? He was married—his wife was, if not suitable, then someone who could be made suitable.
“I didn’t love her,” he said at last.
Dora stared at him expectantly, but he didn’t have any more to say. He wondered briefly how strange all this must seem to her. A new country, in-laws, a palace.
“You won’t have to stay here two weeks,” he promised. “I’ll speak to my father and have your things moved into my room.” As he studied her, he remembered how it had been between them. The feel of her soft skin and her body, so hesitant, yet yielding. Hot blood coursed through him, arousing him. He moved closer.
“It was good between us,” he murmured, leaning close and touching her mouth with his. “I want you.”
She drew back. “I wasn’t sure what to think. You haven’t wanted to, well, be together since that first time. I thought maybe you’d decided our marriage was a mistake.”
Doubts filled her brown eyes. Doubts and questions. In New York it had been easy to lie to her, but it was more difficult now. Was that because of their location, or did it have something to do with the fact that he knew her better? She was no longer an employee, but a person.
He slipped his hand around the back of her neck and drew her next to him. “It wasn’t a mistake.”
“So you still love me,” she breathed in relief and closed her eyes.
“There will be none of that!”
A sharp voice cut through the quiet. Khalil jumped back and saw his grandmother standing next to him. Fatima took Dora’s arm and led her into the harem. Khalil took a step forward, as if he would go with them, but he had known since he was a young boy that this gold door marked a point of no return for him. He’d never once set foot inside the harem and that wasn’t going to change tonight.
Biting back a curse of frustration, he stalked down the hall and out onto the common balcony. He breathed in the familiar scent of the ocean and the fragrance that was unique to El Bahar.
“I wouldn’t be happy, either,” a familiar voice said.
Khalil looked up and saw Malik, his oldest brother, standing by the balcony.
“You’ve been married, what, three days, and you’ve already lost your bride.”
“I know. I’ll speak to Father.”
“Save your breath,” Malik told him. “He’s not going against Grandmother. Not in this matter.”
Khalil knew that Malik was right, but he didn’t have to like it.
Malik moved close and rested his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Dark, wide eyes, similar to his own, stared into his face. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ve made a good choice. Amber was not suited for the life of a princess.”
And then Malik was gone, leaving Khalil to wonder if his brother recalled more about his night with Amber than she had realized.
Chapter Eight
Dora studied the chart in front of her. It listed positions in the El Baharian government, but not the names of the officials currently in office. She went across the chart from left to right and supplied the name for each position.
Fatima beamed. “You learn quickly. I had hoped my grandsons would marry intelligent women, but with princes, one never knows.”
“Thank you.”
Dora looked at Khalil’s grandmother. As always, the elderly woman was beautifully coiffured, with perfect hair and makeup. Today she wore a tailored blouse and skirt with pumps that showed off her slender ankles. While there were subtle, telltale signs of her age, for the most part she could pass for a woman in her early fifties.
They sat on one of the low sofas in the palace harem. Dora had been living behind the sheltered walls for eleven days. Just three more days until her wedding. Everything around her was new and strange, yet in some ways it was as if she’d always lived here. She had the oddest sensation of having been thrust back in time.
“Now I want to talk about history,” Fatima told her. “Do you remember—” She broke off as Rihana, the young servant, came in carrying a large tray with tea and tiny sandwiches.
“Is it four already?” Fatima asked, glancing at her elegant gold watch. “The afternoon has flown.”
Rihana paused. “Would you like me to come back later, Your Highness?”
“No. Of course not.” Fatima sniffed. “Ah, there’s cinnamon sticks for the tea. My favorite.” Her beautiful face softened into a smile. “You do spoil me, child.”
Rihana set the tray down and began to place the contents on the table in front of the sofa. Dora had already seen the ritual acted out every afternoon. She rose to her feet and crossed to the balcony on the far side of the room.
Unlike the regular living quarters and main offices of the palace, the harem didn’t face the sea. Instead the rooms had a view of the gardens. On her first evening, Fatima had taken her on a tour of the complex suite, which had been designed to please women, as well as hold them captive. There were dozens of sleeping chambers, some large, some small. The size of the room was a statement of the occupant’s status with the king. The communal baths were works of art, with mosaics depicting erotic couplings between mermaids and sailors. Water poured from gold faucets, and the jewels studding the back of the hand mirrors were large and genuine.
The common rooms had arched doorways, but few doors, giving the area an open feel. Fatima had taken her up the hidden staircase to the small, closed room where the chief eunuch had once watched over the women in his care and the king had viewed his beauties before deciding his choice for the night.
The harem had its own private gardens, lush with tropical plants and a small formal English garden. A few elderly parrots survived in the trees inside the lattice-covered