“THANKS FOR STAYING behind with me, Fern. This has been a nice day.”
Fern couldn’t help a small snort as she lifted her eyes off the book she was reading on her tablet. “We’ve barely done anything. I feel like I’m taking advantage, having such a lazy day.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. This trip isn’t just about Zafir wanting to ensure he has the backing of the nomads. It’s a holiday.” Amineh came up on her elbow on the mat next to Fern’s. “Speaking of the men, I could tell you were curious. Do you wish you’d gone with them?”
“I’ve never seen anyone hunt with falcons,” Fern lied, hoping it was a sufficient excuse for the temptation she’d revealed when Tariq had invited her to join him, his father and Ra’id. Every cell in her body was begging to be near Zafir, but after a glance into his inscrutable expression, she’d declined and had spent the day feeling his absence. “It seemed like male-bonding time, though. And I’d probably cry if they caught something.”
That made Bashira look up with a giggle from where she was building a sand castle with her sister. They all looked exactly as they did when they spent occasional afternoons beside the shaded pool at the palace. Amineh wore her bikini and Fern her one-piece. They’d waited until the sun had lowered enough to create a strip of shade for them to lie upon without needing sunscreen.
“The question is, do you wish you were with the men,” Fern teased. “You’ve been glued to your husband since we arrived.” It had been four days and while Fern had had the children for a few hours every morning and afternoon, the adults tended to keep their distance, as did Fern. It was the only way she could disguise her fascination with Zafir, but her attraction toward him had only increased rather than abated.
“I’m sorry, Fern—” Amineh began.
“Oh, please don’t apologize. You’ve said before how much you miss your husband when he’s traveling or tied up with other things. I’m glad you finally have time together. It’s nice.”
“It is nice,” Amineh agreed. “Glorious,” she added on a luxuriant sigh as she settled onto her back, mouth curved into a smugly reminiscent smile.
Her contentment made Fern think that Zafir was probably right about what the couple was doing in their own time. It made Fern long to ask what it was like.
She was sinfully curious to know what it would be like with Zafir. At night she practically called to him with her body, aching for him to come to her and show her everything he’d hinted at. By day she was tortured with angst, trying to fight her obsession while hoarding the little details the children inadvertently dropped about him, wishing she could find something wrong with him that would turn her off, but he seemed to be everything she admired in a person: honest and fair and smart.
The worst part was, he’d said the consequences wouldn’t be worth an affair, but all she could think was that she didn’t care. She would never meet another man like him. Making love with him would probably push a self-destruct button on her future, making it impossible for any other man to ever live up to the bar Zafir set, but part of her was willing to take that risk. She knew she would always regret it if she didn’t.
So irresponsible.
“I should still be a better friend,” Amineh said. “Especially since you haven’t abandoned me for my brother, which every other female acquaintance has done at one time or another.”
“I can barely hold my own with Tariq,” Fern muttered, ducking her eyes to her tablet to keep from revealing how quickly she would turn her back on Amineh if Zafir crooked his finger.
“Ra’id likes that you’re reserved. He had misgivings about bringing a Western woman into our household. He was afraid there’d be...” She lifted her head to glance at the children, checking to see how closely they were listening, but they were debating the position of a flag. “Politics,” she announced with a significant quirk of her mouth. “So don’t wish yourself to be different. We like you exactly as you are.”
Fern smiled at Amineh, touched. “And that is why you are already a wonderful friend. You make me feel comfortable being who I am. Thank you.”
Amineh’s compliment was the counterbalance Fern needed to her silly illusions about Zafir. It reinforced that she was better off keeping a low profile and continuing to resist his pull. Her employment and her friend’s respect mattered far more than scratching an itch with a man who couldn’t offer her a future, she reminded herself.
Mother would be so proud, Fern mentally chided herself sourly.
An hour later, a male voice said something in Arabic that made Amineh gasp and the girls cry, “Baba! You’re back! Where is Tariq?”
Fern’s heart took flight as she looked for Zafir, but it was only Ra’id. She missed his response as he answered the girls while kissing their heads. The girls looked toward the trail to where the camels were kept and Ra’id added something about “Uncle” so Fern concluded Zafir and Tariq had hung back.
“Miss Davenport,” Ra’id greeted with the sparest of acknowledgments before he dropped to sit next to his wife. He set one proprietary hand on Amineh’s hip as he leaned in to kiss her with unapologetic thoroughness.
Fern rose to fling her sarong around her waist and begin gathering her things.
“Oh, Fern, you don’t have to rush away,” Amineh protested breathlessly.
“It’s your family time,” Fern said, trying not to look too flustered even though she was fighting a stab of envy so deep she could barely speak. “And I should prep for tomorrow’s lesson.” Because I’m a spinster schoolmarm who will never have what you have. Her heart wrenched in her chest as she acknowledged that she did want what Amineh had. Badly. So badly.
“You’ve embarrassed her, being all sexy like that,” Amineh chided, nose-to-nose with her husband.
“Can’t be helped. All I’ve been thinking about since we saw you from the plateau is getting down here to kiss you.” He kissed her again, making Amineh release a stifled moan.
Fern walked away, deeply self-conscious, trying not to be obvious as her gaze traveled to the top of the canyon wall. What had Zafir thought when he had looked down on her? she wondered. He hadn’t rushed to see her, so apparently she didn’t hold the same allure.
Oh, stop it. Of course she didn’t. She had to shake this preoccupation with him. It wasn’t healthy.
She reached her tent and dropped her bag in front of it, then went to the side where she was using the wires as a clothesline. She hung her damp towel then swept her sarong from her waist and shook out the sand.
“Fern.” Zafir.
Snapping her head up, she pressed a hand to where her heart nearly left her chest.
His shadow came around the side of the tent and his expression tightened when he saw her. He took in her swimsuit and the colorful sarong dangling from her loosened fingers.
Contradictory messages went through her. Habits of a lifetime urged her to cover herself, but a more overpowering weakness held her still for his inspection. Her body tingled under his gaze. Yearning to please stripped her naked to her soul. She was behaving shamelessly, standing here like this without making any attempt at modesty, thinking of all the ways he’d ravished her in her mind, but she did it anyway.
Did he know what she dreamed about?
She looked into his eyes and felt a delicious kick of desire right into her belly. He did. The magnetic pull she felt toward him was visceral. He grew bigger before her eyes as he drew in a hissing breath, chest expanding—
He grasped her arms, overwhelming her as he walked her backward to the tiny strip of sand behind her tent.
She pressed her hands into his chest, more for balance, alarmed by how quickly and easily he’d taken control of her, yet incredibly weak. He wasn’t being rough. There was nothing forceful in his handling of her. She capitulated like her bones were sand and her muscles melted wax.
When she felt the powdery give of sand beneath her back, she had another moment of thinking do something, but Zafir was looking at her mouth and her lips were searing with need. She licked them and he swooped to kiss her. She responded by parting her lips and moving them against his.
A punch of pure desire went into her middle as the kiss deepened like a fall into an abyss. Her buckling arms fell away from between them. She splayed her hands on his rib cage and began lightly kneading to learn his form through the folds of his thobe. When his tongue flicked into her mouth, she dashed her own against his and white light flashed through her. The pressure of his mouth increased and she welcomed it, opening more for him, not able to breathe but not caring.
His hand slid up her arm to her shoulder and cupped her neck, and the weight of his thumb almost seemed to urge her to calm. Like he was reassuring her they had time. He would be here a while. They didn’t have to kiss each other to death this second.
She relaxed and his mouth played with hers, nipping, sucking at her lips, feasting on her, filling her with liquid pleasure, making her arch up to his big body, seeking more contact.
He made a growling noise and his knee came between hers and parted her legs in a way that was so shockingly proprietary she opened her eyes. He lifted his head and watched as he peeled the strap of her suit off her shoulder until her small, pale breast was revealed.
Oh, please, she thought, when she really should have been thinking and acting far more sensibly, but the avid light in his gaze made her feel pretty and wanted. Her nipple prickled, anticipating his touch. Aching for it. This was everything she’d been fantasizing about. More.
He traced light fingers over her skin, watching as he tickled the swell, grazed the underside then settled his hand in a light cup. Hot. His hand was so hot on her cool, damp skin. When he drew his finger and thumb together in a delicate pinch of her nipple, the sensation was so sharp and exquisite, she could only open her mouth in a silent scream.
He bent again, this time capturing her nipple with his masterful lips, burning her like a brand and making her twist in confusion at how flagrant this was. Daylight. Barely hidden from view. It was a familiarity she’d dreamed of, but hadn’t realized that it would make her belly knot with pulses of pleasure. Heat flooded into her loins, creating an ache that made her want to beg. Her fingers went into his hair under his gutra, but the feel of it was so sensual and spiky and masculine, she could only massage his scalp in encouragement, pushing the headdress off, wanting this to last forever.
His hand scalded the top of her thigh, slid low and pressed to open her legs wider so he could cover her mound with his burning hand.
“Zafir,” she moaned, dying at how bold he was being, yet it felt incredible. Hot and oh... Streaks of pleasure rocketed into her thighs.
His mouth came back to hers, kissing her deeply, capturing her shaken breaths. “Shh,” he breathed and licked her neck under her ear. “Lift into my hand. Show me what you like.”
She couldn’t. Didn’t even know how. But somehow her hand went over his and she pressed and arched and dug the back of her head into the sand as sensations glittered through her. She writhed with abandon under his provocative touch, dying at how flagrantly she was behaving, but she’d been thinking about this and wanting it and it was so much better in real life.
They kissed again and again. She could feel his erection against her hip and rubbed, finding a rhythm with him that built the sensations. This was what lovemaking felt like, she distantly thought. Like heaven. Like nothing else in the world mattered except continuing to do this until they reached their nameless destination.
He shifted his hand, fingertips sliding along the edge of her bathing suit and pushing it aside so she was naked to his touch.
She gasped and turned her head into his shoulder, breaking their kiss as she dealt with the reality of knowing she was as naked and brazen as a woman could be. She looked up at him with alarm, certain she’d find judgment there.
“You’re so close. Let me.” His hot breath caressed her lips and his fingertip eased along her center and parted her flesh with a stunning sensation that stole any willpower she had. She let him trace back and forth and explore her in a way that was so mesmerizing she had to close her eyes, but that made the feelings all the more acute.
“Oh,” she gasped softly as a particularly sharp sensation pierced her.
She felt him smile against her mouth, but her focus narrowed to only his touch, delicate and certain, pressing, circling, rubbing and rubbing, drawing her closer and tighter to the edge of reason, making her scalp tighten—
“Oh, Zafir—” He covered her mouth as the sob built in her throat, reminding her to hold it back as he slid his finger into her and made her world shatter.
She clung to him, overwhelmed by the cataclysm. Nothing in her sheltered little world had prepared her for how amazing he made her feel. Delicious convulsions of joy rocked through her, settling her in a place where nothing existed but him, his touch, his kiss.
The sensations went on and on, slowly fading and leaving her in a floaty place where she felt closer to him than she’d ever felt to another human being. A distant part of her was aware that he was still fondling her, soothing her down from the clouds in the most intimate way, but it felt natural and delicious and she wanted to stay right here luxuriating in—
“Miss Davenport? Are you in there?”
Tariq.
They jerked apart and her hands automatically scrambled her swimsuit back into place. What had she just done?
Zafir nudged her to rise and she flashed him a look, cut by the grim scowl he wore. He mouthed Answer.
“I’m, um, yes, I’m here, Tariq.” She grabbed her sarong off the ground and wrapped it around herself, trying not to hang herself on the wires as she glanced back to ensure Zafir wasn’t visible. “What did you need?”
“Did my father come see you?”
“Um...” Her brain blanked, unable to conjure a lie even to a child when it was critically necessary.
“To invite you to eat with us tonight?” Tariq prompted.
“Oh! Was your, um, hunt successful?”
“Just three birds, but it’s enough. Are you coming swimming? Walk with me. I’ll tell you about it.”
“I’ve been swimming already. I need to rest now.” Take cover. Regroup. She couldn’t believe what she had just let happen.
“You should cool off in the water,” he suggested. “You look hot.”
She blushed harder as she thought of the reason she looked overheated.
“Good advice,” she choked. “I’ll think about it and join you in a minute.” There. Finally a credible lie.
As Tariq ran off, Fern stood there in bewilderment. Her blood still sang and her skin felt like it was made of velvet. Forget swimming. She was so lethargic, she could barely stay on her feet, but she was gripped by mortification so intense she was terrified to move.
Glancing around the camp, she saw no one who might have seen what she’d been doing, where she’d been, or with whom. Was he still there?
Ducking into her tent, she went to the back wall and whispered, “Are you still there?”
Nothing. When she looked out the screen that formed a small window in the back wall, she saw no one. It was both a relief and a disappointment. Going back outside, she went behind the tent and kicked sand across the impression they’d left with their rolling, then scrubbed her bare foot over the man-sized sandal prints that disappeared into the forest of grass and palm trees behind her tent.
Two days ago, she’d snuck his towel into the latrine and left it on a hook. For someone who didn’t know how to be deceptive, she was becoming very duplicitous.
The full impact of what she’d just done with Zafir began to hit her. Before this it had been a kiss and a conversation. Now...
She wouldn’t let herself savor how it had felt. He’d had his hands on her in places she felt guilty touching herself!
She was entering the territory her mother had always warned her about. Behavior that was dangerous and had no future. She could hide the evidence, but she couldn’t deny that clothing had been moot and inhibition nonexistent. He’d held her in the palm of his hand, literally. He’d driven her to a point of supreme vulnerability and helplessness and she hadn’t fought him because nothing in her had wanted to.
Her mother had names for women who acted this way. Fern burned with humiliation at the thought of Zafir labeling her the same way. Where was her self-respect?
How would she ever face him again?
* * *
Zafir was suffering like a man staked on an anthill in the desert. His skin prickled, his core was on fire, he couldn’t fight his way free of the situation he was in and regret sat like dust in the back of his throat because all of this was his own fault. He should have left Fern alone.
His control had been holding up well, even though he was aware of her every move in the camp. Even though her voice sometimes carried to him and he felt so drawn he shook with the effort to ignore her. When she’d looked to him as his son had invited her to spend the day in the desert with them, hunting the falcons, he had willed her to refuse.
She had, and his inner being had screamed like a hawk, angry that she had denied herself to him.
It made no sense. He barely knew her and was making every effort to remain estranged, but he’d thought of her the entire time they were hunting. He had easily imagined her inquisitive, engaging manner and pictured her freckled face turned to the sky in anticipation. He’d wanted her to see his desert and this ancient practice and be a part of his world in this elemental way.
Why?
Aside from his wife, he’d never attached himself to any woman and even that had been...
He ducked thoughts of his marriage as he always did, instead comparing Fern to some of his much more pleasant, lengthier affairs. Pretty, sensuous women who purred under his touch. But he’d never felt more than mild inconvenience when those relationships ended. If a new female in his sphere caught his eye, but turned out to be married or otherwise unavailable, he easily transferred his interest elsewhere.
So why couldn’t he dismiss Fern? Was it because no other choices were open to him, as she’d accused him?
His marriage had lasted nearly five years and he’d gone without sex that long. A fortnight without a woman ought to be well within his endurance level.
But Fern’s hold on him was unprecedented. When they’d returned to the oasis and looked down on the camp, Tariq had said Miss Davenport looked a skeleton on the sand. Ra’id had chuckled and Zafir had had to bite back a sharp remark, managing to remind his son in a measured tone that he should be more respectful.
Yes, she had been pale and leggy, but like a piece of carved ivory. Her hair had been a rope of red-gold, hanging in a plait against her back. All he’d thought about the rest of the descent was wrapping it around his fist and holding her for his kiss.
Trying to get a grip on his libido before he saw her, he’d hung back with Tariq to watch him dress the birds they’d caught. After a few moments, his son had said, “I can do it” with that hint of exasperated annoyance children had when a parent hovered. Rather than take offense, Zafir had accepted that he was being a coward. He had gone to relay Tariq’s invitation to dinner, then found himself following Fern across the camp.
He should have called out sooner and spoken to her in the open, but the male animal in him had fixated on the twin cheeks that were not voluptuous, but were lovely, firm lobes that moved under the tissue-thin veil of her sarong. Her ambling walk had been lazy. The way she had craned her neck had spoken of her enjoyment in her surroundings.
That sensuous streak was his undoing. His thoughts had turned to how she would react to other physical pleasures. When he’d finally caught up to her in the relative privacy at the side of her tent, he’d already been so primed that her near nudity had devastated what little self-discipline he’d had left. He hadn’t even spoken to her. It was a wonder he’d taken the time to press her out of sight before he’d fallen on her.
If only she had recoiled from his touch, but the responsiveness in her was not only a frustrating thrust of responsibility totally onto him, but also pure seduction. When she’d opened her mouth and kissed him back, he’d lost it. His one and only glimmer of sanity had been a recollection that they could be discovered at any second.
And now that he knew how reactive she was, how she melted under his touch and abandoned herself to his lovemaking, he could think of nothing but touching her again. Arousing her to that same level of wildness and thrusting into her. Making her cry her elation into his ear.
So impossible.
Especially as she sat across from him, her lashes lowered, her tongue sweeping her lips between bites of stew. The children bandied for her attention. Even Amineh was determined to engage her.
He did everything he could to avoid even looking at her.
But he noticed Fern had buttoned herself into cotton armor and was acting like she was sitting on a pin. Her hair was hidden under a scarf. Its edges fluttered around her face and she kept touching her collar and tugging her skirt to cover her shin, trying to hold her own against the breeze that had come up as the sun had gone down.
His friend Ra’id could caress his wife’s cheek, but he, Zafir, could not reach across and tuck an errant strand of hair under his lover’s scarf. The injustice—and the intensity of oppression he felt at being denied—confounded him.
“You’ve been in such owly moods this trip,” his sister said with a nudge of her elbow into his side. “What’s bothering you?”
Ra’id covered Amineh’s hand and murmured, “Men in our position can’t always talk about the concerns we shoulder.”
Amineh’s gaze flicked to Fern, and Fern was sharp enough to get the message that she had just been labeled an outsider. Her mouth tightened in a tiny flinch, but she quickly hid it behind a smile for Tariq.
“I must thank you again, young man. This has been such a treat. Both the delicious meal and dining with your family. I find such a lively table a bit overwhelming to be honest. It was always just my mother and I growing up. She often worked late so eating alone feels very normal to me.”
I won’t be insulted if you don’t invite me again, her chipper remark seemed to say. In fact, I’d prefer it.
It tugged an unexpected pang from Zafir’s heart. Ra’id wasn’t a snob, but he was a realist. Fern’s position in his household was well defined and it behooved all of them to remember it.
Fern started to draw back and excuse herself, but Tariq asked in his direct way, “Where was your father? Did he die?”
“No, um...” Fern widened her eyes like she’d stepped into unexpected traffic. “I mean...” She swallowed.
“Parents don’t always live together,” Amineh ventured, sending an empathetic look to Fern who was looking at Ra’id with deep shame, like she expected him to banish her to the edges of the earth for daring to be illegitimate in front of his daughters. Obviously she was forgetting that the girls’ mother and uncle were bastards.
“Like grandmother stayed in England, rather than live here?” Bashira asked.
“Exactly,” Amineh said, setting a hand on her daughter’s head while she flashed a long-suffering look toward Zafir.
Being the product of an unwed union wasn’t something they talked about often, and neither of them had found the best way to dig deep into the topic with their children, but it was a scar they both carried. It shouldn’t matter in this day and age, but he still faced bigotry every day from certain factions in his country, for being illegitimate and half blood, making it impossible for him to forget he was not wholly a product of his own country.
And there was Fern looking like she shared the same agony at being born on the wrong side of the blanket.
You’re in good company, he wanted to blurt, but she was rallying, mustering a smile. “Thank you again. I wish I could offer to make you some traditional English food, Tariq, but I think you’ve probably tried all of it with your grandmother.”
“She won’t let the chef make fish and chips. That’s my favorite. Sometimes Baba and I sneak out for it.”
“State secrets revealed after all,” Fern murmured, then bit her lips together. Her face darkened in the glow of the candles as she rose jerkily from her cushion and bowed to take her leave.
“No, don’t go,” Jumanah urged.
“Listen, I hear the music starting.” Fern touched her ear and pointed in the direction of the cooking area. “That means it will be your bedtime soon. But if your parents allow it, you may come to my tent and we’ll see if we can identify some of the constellations from the guide on my tablet before it loses the last of its charge.”
“Please, Baba?” the girls begged.
Tariq gave Zafir an excited, expectant look. For a boy who thought she looked like a skeleton and who was on vacation from school, he seemed quite taken with Miss Davenport. Genetics again, Zafir thought, wanting to shake his head at the irony.
“Of course,” he said with a nod. “I have a travel unit with several charges left. You can use it to keep your tablet going through the rest of our stay.”
“If it’s not an imposition,” Fern said, flashing him a slightly fraught glance. It was the first and only direct eye contact of the night and burned a trail through him like a comet.
“I’ll get it,” Tariq said, leaping to his feet.
Fern’s shoulders softened with relief and she herded the children into the shadows toward her tent.
“Well, that was the height of awkward,” Ra’id said in Arabic.
“Oh, don’t start!” Amineh protested, throwing her weight into her husband.
He caught her close as he chided, “Be honest. Have you ever seen anyone that uncomfortable for two solid hours? It was painful. Wasn’t it, Zafir?”
“You don’t realize how intimidating you are! Zafir, too. And she’s not a talkative person. That’s why I like her. There’s no gossipy ‘Did you hear this or that?’ She talks about real things.”
“Such as?” Zafir asked, trying to keep his tone idle as he mentally castigated his son for stealing his one valid excuse to seek her out.
“The girls and their progress, mostly. But she wants to learn about our culture. We both agree the world would be a better place if women ran it,” she taunted with a grin up at her husband.
“Goes without saying,” Ra’id agreed, kissing her nose.
“You’re not bonding over unwed parents, then,” Zafir said, recognizing the nuzzling as his cue to make himself scarce.
“Okay, that was awkward,” Amineh agreed, sitting up a little. “And no, we don’t. I gather her mother was a bit of a hard case, but she doesn’t go on about it or pry. She’s very earnest.”
“I’ll give you that,” Ra’id said, reaching to drain his cup of tea. “I have stacks of picture books awaiting my approval before she reads them to our children. How dangerous a political message could be hidden in a story that wishes the moon a good-night? When she started, she asked me how much of her curriculum she should devote to British history and suggested twenty-five percent because the girls are one quarter English.”
Zafir didn’t want to laugh at her, but he couldn’t help the twitch of his lips as he considered the contradiction of the laced-up schoolmistress and the woman who had broken all the rules with him this afternoon. His ego soared with triumph at how much she had let go with him.
“Stop,” Amineh insisted to Ra’id. “Or I’ll tell her you want to mark all their written work yourself.”
They started to snog openly so Zafir pushed to his feet and went to his tent. There he discovered that Tariq had taken his charging unit, but left all the attachments.
His mind said don’t. His fingers gathered up the velvet bag of adaptors and weighed the package in his palm.
He managed to resist going to her until Tariq came to say good-night. The boy was riding a streak of independence these days, insisting he could scrub his own teeth and put himself to bed. As he rushed off to do so, Zafir stepped outside.
Ra’id was carrying his daughters like rolled carpets, one giggling girl under each of his arms, to where their mother waited near the children’s tent.
Fern stood alone near her own, tablet in hand, face turned to the sky as she moved from beneath the canopy of palms.
As Zafir debated lame excuses to go to her, like asking if he could help her find a particular constellation, without any word to anyone, Fern made a decisive turn and headed up the path he’d taken her and the children a few days ago.