Marguerite Kaye - Hot Arabian Nights

In fact, her entire wardrobe was quite unsuited to the climate. As she pulled on a rough woollen skirt and cambric blouse over her nightgown before adding a jacket, perspiration blossomed all over her back. Not for the first time, Julia wished she had had the courage and sense to outfit herself with some of the loose tunics and cloaks more appropriate for the conditions. She had been on the brink of purchasing some in a souk in Damascus, but imagining Daniel’s disapproving face looking over her shoulder, she had changed her mind. She deeply regretted that now, as much irked by her instinctive loyalty to her dead husband’s opinions as she was by her very British wardrobe. He himself had never been less than impeccably turned out, whether in a mangrove swamp or halfway up an Alpine mountain. While Julia considered herself Cornish before all else, Daniel had been the living embodiment of the quintessential Englishman abroad.

No, that was not true. Above all else, Daniel was a man of science. He’d called her his woman of science. Back in the early days, she’d been inordinately proud of that. Now—oh, now was not a time for looking back. Now, it was time to turn her mind to making good on her vow. She had been so close, after all this time able to see the light of true freedom at the end of the tunnel. Her duty to the past discharged, she might finally look forward to a future of her own making. For an instant, dejection threatened to overpower her, but very quickly she rallied. In this city to which she was now destined to travel, she would hire a new and reliable guide. In this strange kingdom, she might find undiscovered and rare plant specimens. Even this dark cloud might have a silver lining.

She pulled on her stockings and laced up her boots. Daniel had always derided the notion of fate, but Julia was no longer obliged to agree with Daniel’s opinions. She had opinions of her own now. Fate had set her path on a collision course with this mysterious man of the desert. It was up to her to make sure she made the best of the situation.

Chapter Two

The spectacular beauty of the desert sunset never failed to take her breath away. Julia watched, fascinated, as the vivid orange and gold-streaked sky gave way to a pale, soft night-blue, as if the sun, on its rapid descent to the horizon, dragged a stage backdrop behind it. The sparse puffy clouds segued from dark grey to pewter then white as the sky darkened to indigo and the stars made their appearance, a blanket of silvery jewels hung so low in the sky that she felt she could almost touch them. The moon was butter-yellow. The desert landscape was dark and moody, the dunes clearly outlined, softly rolling, sharply falling. The air changed, from dry and dusty to soft and salty. She breathed it in, lifting her face to the sky where the biggest stars were now surrounded by pinpoints of light, relishing the soft breeze which made the palm trees around the oasis quiver.

She saw the hawk first, the bird of prey she had learnt from Hanif to be an essential companion for any desert traveller. It dropped out of the sky, seemingly from nowhere, to perch on the wooden camel saddle. A moment later, Azhar emerged from the gathering gloom, his sleek Saluki hound prancing at his heels. She was struck anew by the air of authority that she’d noted when she’d first spotted him on the camel. It was more than simply being perfectly at ease in his surroundings, but it was not quite arrogance. She could quite easily find him intimidating. She could also, all too easily, find him rather devastatingly attractive.

Devastating? Was that the right word? She wasn’t sure there was a word for it, that ability of his to be both captivating and challenging at the same time. No, not challenging, perhaps imperious was a more appropriate description. Someone capable of being irresistible but not susceptible in return. Inviolate? But now she was being fanciful in the extreme. Though Azhar really did have a face that would stop any woman in her tracks. Julia longed to draw those sharp planes, the sensual curve of his mouth. Yes, it was the mouth, even more than the hard, graceful body, that made one think of searing kisses. Or it would, if one had any idea what searing kisses were. She had no doubt that Azhar knew. Odd, that she could be so certain the experience would be exquisitely pleasurable, when exquisite pleasure was as unfamiliar a concept to her as searing kisses. Indeed, she herself was getting rather hot under the collar, looking at him and thinking such unaccustomed thoughts.

It must be the desert, the sweltering heat and the savage beauty of it wielding its exotic magic. Watching Azhar as he collected various items from the mule packs, Julia felt they could be the only people here on earth under this vast canopy of stars, so far away from Cornwall, so different from the life she had known in every possible way. She could be anyone or no one. She could think wild, strange thoughts, she could even choose to act on them, and no one would ever know.

Not that she would dare. She’d felt this way once before, she remembered, in South America. Daniel had been shocked to the core when she’d kissed him passionately, had been appalled at the idea of making love under the stars, even though they were married and quite alone. As Azhar approached, the memory made her blush with mortification, eradicating any traces of her other, fanciful thoughts.

‘So you have decided to join me after all,’ he said.

Julia forced a bright smile. ‘If there is enough food to share, then yes please.’

‘Can you light a fire? The food I have foraged won’t cook itself.’

Her smile slipped. It was true, she should have been tending to practical matters instead of daydreaming, but she would rather not have that fact pointed out. ‘I can light a fire,’ Julia said tightly. ‘I can skin that rabbit you have there, and I can even cook it. Give me it.’

The request unintentionally sounded more like a demand. Azhar’s expression became haughty. How did he do that? A raising of the brows. A flinty glint in his eyes. The way his mouth set. ‘It is not a rabbit, it’s a hare.’

And, yes, once more he was correct. ‘If it is, it’s a very small hare,’ Julia declared. ‘In England they are twice that size.’

He took a dagger from his belt and set about expertly skinning their dinner. ‘We are in Arabia, not England. This hare is a product of its harsh desert environment.’

His hawk, perched motionless on the camel seat, watched with what Julia was convinced was a hopeful look in its beady eyes. ‘You know, I am not one of those arrogant people who travel the world in an effort to prove that England is a superior nation to all others, if that is what you are thinking.’

Azhar smiled faintly—very faintly—but it was a smile none the less. Julia considered that progress. ‘I have never been to England,’ he said, ‘which I understand is green and verdant, so I am willing to believe that the hares are bigger than they are here in the desert. Now, will you light the fire, if you please? I would prefer to eat some time before dawn.’

She set the fire quickly, coaxing it to life with what she hoped was a satisfying display of expertise, conscious all the time of Azhar’s eyes on her. It was most unsettling. ‘There, you see I am quite capable.’

‘Indeed.’ The hare lay neatly jointed in the cooking pot. The hawk and the hound were picking delicately through their share of the trimmings. From the folds of his tunic, he produced a handful of fragrant wild herbs. Pouring water over the hare to make a simple stew, he set the pot on the fire.

‘You know, it is not my fault that the men I hired proved to be scoundrels,’ Julia said, for his ‘indeed’ had rankled. Was it her fault? she wondered. Would Daniel have chosen better, more reliable guides? Certainly, if he was here he would not hesitate to make such a claim. No, what Daniel would do, was find a way to make it her fault. She recalled now, that he had blamed her for the loss of their barge. She had distracted him at a vital moment, he had said as they lay sodden, shivering, on the muddy bank of the river. Simply relieved to be alive, Julia hadn’t argued with him at the time, and later—oh, later, she had done as she always did, and tried to banish the memory. She’d thought she had succeeded, too. Odd, how so many of these incidents had popped into her head lately. Which reminded her of something else.