Glancing at the young woman Azir had ordered him to aid Abram in pleasing, he wondered if sharing a woman with another man would always tempt him. Would the day come when he would come to crave his own woman, his own life? Or would his own scarred soul refuse to give the world enough trust to love again?
“When she turned eighteen she asked me if I’d ever love again.” Abram drew his attention back.
The look on his cousin’s face was remote, but his eyes were alive with the memories of the pain he had suffered. “Aleya had just died with our child.” He shook his head with a quick, rough movement. “I told her only if hell froze over.”
But Abram loved the girl now sleeping in his room, Tariq thought. He wouldn’t admit it, not yet, but it was there in his eyes.
“And what would you tell her now?” Tariq asked, suddenly wishing he could have slipped some of Khalid’s fine whiskey into the fortress.
If ever a man needed a drink, it was now.
Abram finished his coffee and rose to his feet before answering. “I would tell her I wouldn’t dare tempt fate a third time,” he whispered, his voice as tortured as Tariq knew his soul was. “I don’t think I could survive it again.”
Abram moved to the couch then, picked his delicate lover up in his arms, and carried her to the huge, custom-made bed at the other end of the room. It was conveniently situated close to the hidden door that led beneath the harem and into an underground cavern at the base of the mountains beyond.
A tunnel they both prayed no one else had found in the years since Abram had. They suspected not, or else Azir would have had it filled in and destroyed like the others that had been discovered.
His harem had once been sacred to him. Until he had lost the funds the government once paid him and no longer had the gold or American cash to pay for the kidnappings or the American women occasionally auctioned off in the slave markets.
“Stay, Tariq,” Abram told him as he lay his burden in the large bed before undressing and laying down beside her.
Silk sheets and the thin cashmere blanket was pulled over them as Paige turned and curled into the warmth of Abram’s chest.
Such trust, Tariq thought as he turned out the lights, set the secondary security, and moved to the bed himself.
Undressing as well, he crawled in beneath the blankets, rolled onto his stomach, and settled into the comfort of the bed.
He was aroused, there was no doubt. Merely the thought of what was to come with the woman he had always been so curious about was enough to make him harder than hell.
But, like Abram, he was damn worried.
Azir was striking hard and fast and now moving in ways neither Tariq, nor Abram could anticipate.
If he continued in this vein, then they could easily end up on the losing end of the war they were now involved in. A war centering around one delicate, red-haired, green-eyed woman that Tariq knew he would have to guard his heart against.
8
Paige stood at the high windows of the bedroom and stared through the crack of the partially opened shutters to where Jafar and Azir stood on the other side of the fortress wall, barely visible.
The two men had their heads close together as they stared at the ground as though looking for something, the metal detector Jafar carried so shadowed that at first it had been hard to tell exactly what it was.
Their dark thobes, the loose, long-sleeved, ankle-length garments, unadorned and plain, rippled at their legs from the winds sweeping from the mountains. On their heads, the ghutra, a large square cloth of cotton, dark in color to match the thobe, was wrapped around their faces to protect them from the cold wind and secured with the thick, double, black cord.
Azir seemed to teeter ever so often, and in the two hours she had watched them surveying the natural bank that split the land along the length of the fortress, she’d seen the old man almost topple over more than once.
Jafar kept close to him, catching him whenever he stumbled and staying close to him whenever the crazy old goat seemed to wander from whatever they were doing.
They were searching for something as far as she could tell, and evidently having little success in finding it.
“What are they looking for?” she asked Tariq as he worked on a piece of electronics at the small table across the room.
A muttered sound resembling a male grunt met her question. “Azir has spent years trying to find all the hidden tunnels coming in and out of the castle,” he told her. “Each time he finds one he has it dynamited or filled in in some way to make it impossible.”
She stared back down at the men with a frown. Why would they worry about hidden tunnels?
“To keep Abram from escaping,” she murmured almost to herself.
“Pretty much,” Tariq agreed. “Azir is fanatical about keeping him here until the king releases the funds he had frozen over twenty years ago. If Azir can get them returned, then the government has to pay out, no matter what, for the next ten years or risk breaking a treaty with several of the tribes that were a part of the original pact. They’ll go to any lengths to keep from doing that, and Azir knows that.”
Greed. Power. That was what it all came down to, one way or the other. Azir was hungry for it, just as his sons had been. Those who didn’t hunger for it tried peaceful means at all costs, and kept their demands clearly stated.
Azir wanted nothing more than to fund whatever fanatical regime he was supporting, and nothing mattered but his wants. Not even the heir who seemed to be his last hope of a comfortable life in his old age.
She continued to stare out the window, watching as they began to track the ground with the metal detector once again.
“How does a metal detector help them find underground tunnels?” she asked without turning back.
“It’s not exactly a metal detector,” he answered. “It’s specially modified to pick up pockets beneath the ground, vacancies that would indicate a cave, a cavern, or a tunnel.”
“Is there a tunnel where he’s looking?” She glanced back, but rather than searching for his eyes her gaze moved to his naked back once again.
“Not that we’ve found,” he told her with a quick shake of his head. “Abram and I have searched high and low for tunnels that haven’t yet been found. So far, we haven’t found anything.”
She turned back to the scene below to see Jafar gesture angrily to Azir with a frown. She would have never believed he was as deceitful as it appeared he was, or that he could have been a risk to her. Learning he had helped conspire to kidnap her had been a disillusioning blow.
There had been a lot of surprises in the past four days though, things she had truly never expected. She’d known Khalid’s cousins most of her life. At one time or another she had been introduced to them under various circumstances outside the Saudi regime. Until perhaps five or six years before, his Saudi cousins had been regulars at many of the vacation spots her parents had visited, for either business or pleasure.
Then, the positions they had held within the Saudi government had been dissolved, Paige had learned.
Because of Ayid and Aman, Khalid had told her. Once the king had received proof they were still involved with terrorist activities, all the males working in the Riyadh government had been asked to return to their own province. Ayid and Aman had destroyed the regime’s trust for the entire family.
Jafar and Tariq had actually held very lucrative positions within imports and exports, allowing them to travel all over the world. Several of Jafar’s family members were still in the U.S. attending college on student visas he had arranged while they were still very young.
But Tariq and Jafar were here now, rather than jet-setting and representing their country financially.
Turning, she stared at Tariq once again, her gaze straying to his smooth, bare shoulders. He was dressed only in the ankle-length loose trousers that he and Abram wore beneath their thobes.
Once the two men entered the rooms, the first thing they did was strip off the thobes. She’d seen Abram pull on well-worn, lovingly faded denim the night before like a man pulling on a favorite lover. She swore his lashes almost fluttered in pleasure for a second.
Tariq’s bare shoulders were the only part of his back that was smooth though. Unlike her mother’s description of Azir with his heavy pelt of body hair, Tariq actually sported very little, as did Abram.
But his back was crisscrossed with what had to be hundreds of very fine, thin scars that went from his shoulder blades to beneath the drawstring waist of the trousers.
“What are you doing?” She cleared her throat uneasily as she moved toward him.
He’d been working on that piece of equipment for two days now.
“Someone found one of the GPS trackers I’ve been using on the Land Rovers and managed to scramble the signal,” he murmured as he continued to peer into the electronic control board. “I’m trying to alter the device rather than attempting to steal the tracker itself back. If I can get it to remotely change the signal, then I’ll have them again.”
“Who are you trying to track?” She stared down at the intricate array of tiny wires, nodules, and electronic relays with a frown.
He looked over his shoulder at her, his milk chocolate–brown eyes faintly amused as he gave her a glance of male appreciation. “The new soaps Abram brought in for you smell nice.”
She was that close to him. Not touching, but close enough that he had no problem smelling the very faint scent of rose and sandalwood.
She moved back, a sense of nervousness invading her as he continued to watch her for several seconds before turning back to the electronic device.
It was merely another variation of the same theme that had played out in the past two days that Abram hadn’t been present. The looks of interest, the silent reminder that Abram had already asked him to be his third and that he shared that huge bed with them every night.
For the past two nights she had gone to sleep with Abram’s arms around her, only to awaken with Tariq’s holding her. It was creating an intimacy she couldn’t seem to escape.
Restraining a frustrated sigh she turned back to him, her lips parting to comment on Abram’s absence when a hard, imperative knock sounded on the heavy, thick wood of the door.
Paige flinched with near violence, her heart jumping into her throat as her gaze flew to where Tariq was quickly folding a square of cloth over the device he had been working on and rising from the chair.
He pointed to the connecting door that led to his suite as he moved to it quickly.
He was leaving?
“Where are you going?” she hissed.
“I’ll be listening,” he promised quickly, his voice so low as to be nearly silent. “See who it is, and don’t let them know I’m here.”
He handed her the scarf that Abram had given her in case Azir showed up to use over her head and around her neck as a hijab.
The knock sounded again, harder, and this time, more impatient.
“Who is it?” she called out as she quickly secured the scarf around her head as Abram had taught her.
“It is Jafar, Paige. I have someone here who wishes to see you.” His voice came through the door quietly.
Dammit, where the hell was Abram?
“Abram isn’t here, Jafar,” she stated from the seam of the door and frame. “He told me not to open the door to anyone.”
She heard Jafar’s laughter through the heavy wood. “Put your scarf on and simply open the door. I do not intend to enter the room.”
She looked to where Tariq watched from the doorway of his suite. He nodded at her as she gave him a look of desperation and silently mouthed, “What do I do?”
He grimaced tightly before nodding again at her and disappearing into the other room.
Releasing the locks she opened the door several inches and stared at Jafar and the figure clothed in black from head to foot in the face and body covering usually only worn in the strictest of areas.
Behind the mesh screen of the burqa, feminine eyes stared back at her, though the shape and color were impossible to distinguish.
Behind the much smaller figure stood Jafar, as his odd, almost translucent pale green eyes watched her with knowing, mocking amusement.
Antagonism rose within her at the first sight of him and it was all she could do to keep her lips clamped closed.
“Such a look of anger.” He grinned at her, a brow arching in a move of such arrogance that for a second, he reminded her of Abram.
“Stop trying to make her angry, brother,” the feminine voice chided him with surprising tartness.
Paige’s gaze jerked back to the shrouded figure and struggled to peer behind the mesh eye covering.
“Chalah?” she whispered uncertainly, hopefully, though suspicion was blooming inside her.
“I told you she would remember me.” Soft laughter spilled from behind the dark covering. “Let me in, Paige, so I can get rid of my hulking brother, if you don’t mind.”
Paige’s eyes flicked to Jafar once again. How cruel of him to bring the sister who had once been her friend to betray her.
She eased back slowly, allowing the door to open as she kept a wary eye on Jafar. She trusted him even less now. It was incredibly obvious he was attempting to use the sister he had once seemed to adore.