Desert Man Read online

  “The Arabian?” Jenny frowned. “You make Kumar sound like a horse!” Her eyes flashed with anger. “Without his help, Mike and I might not have gotten out of Jahan alive. He’s an exceptional man, and Mike and I are lucky to have him for a friend.”

  “You thought Aiden was a wonderful man, too.”

  “That’s not fair. You’re lumping all Middle Eastern men into one category. They’re not all alike any more than all Americans or Irish or Italians are all alike. I’m surprised at you, Josie. This kind of prejudice isn’t like you.”

  “I know what you went through in your marriage,” Josie said quietly. “I know Aiden hurt you. I know you almost lost your son. And remember, Jenny, I lived in Il Hamaan for six months. Believe me when I tell you I know what Arabian men are like.”

  “But you don’t know what Kumar’s like.” Jenny shook her head and with a disappointed look said, “I wanted so much for you and Kumar to get along. He’s a great-looking man and I hoped you’d...you know, like each other.”

  “Heaven forbid!” Josie said with a laugh. “The day I find myself falling for a desert sheikh is the day I head for the funny farm.” She draped an arm over Jenny’s shoulder. “Okay, Jen,” she said, “I promise to behave. But if you’ve got any idea of teaming me up with your Sheikh Kumar Ben Ari you can forget it. This isn’t my year for desert dudes.”

  * * *

  He thought about her that night in bed and wondered why she had changed from the warm and friendly woman he’d first talked to at the airport into the coolly reserved woman she had become when she realized who he was. Surely she hadn’t been offended by his joking remark about her being a gorgeous redhead. She was gorgeous.

  He stretched his naked body under the sheet and thought about what it would be like to break through that cool reserve of hers. To have her smile at him, to touch his hand the way that Jenny had touched Mike’s hand tonight.

  He didn’t have a monumental ego, but her obvious lack of interest pricked his male pride. He’d had more than his share of women, from the most beautiful dancing girls in half of Arabia to sophisticated French women, tall and lovely Scandinavians, brooding Russian models and lusty Italian beauties. He’d never thought of himself as a ladies’ man, but in truth since he’d reached the age of puberty all he’d ever had to do was crook his finger at a woman.

  He had a feeling that if he crooked his finger at Josie McCall, she’d laugh in his face. That annoyed the hell out of him.

  He reached for a cigarette from the bedside table and lighted it. He had three days. If he couldn’t change her mind about him in that length of time, he’d know that he’d definitely lost his touch.

  But he would change her mind.

  Through the drifting smoke from the cigarette he narrowed his eyes and saw her in his mind’s eye, tall and elegant, the red hair pulled back off her face in the ladylike chignon, and that small sprinkling of freckles across her fair cheeks.

  If she were his, he would loosen her hair so that it fell free about her bare shoulders, run his hands through it and feel it splayed across his chest. He’d kiss every one of her freckles and kiss her sweetly curved mouth. He would...

  With a muttered curse, Kumar got out of bed and strode to the window. What in the hell was the matter with him? He didn’t need to prove his masculinity to Josie McCall or any other woman. But dammit, there was something about her that heated his blood, something that made him want to make her lose that cool reserve, to make her mouth soften under his and her body tremble when he touched her.

  He glared out the window, and as he took a long and bitter drag of the cigarette, his resolve firmed. Three days. If he didn’t have Miss Josie McCall exactly where he wanted her by then, he’d check into the nearest clinic and see what ailed him.

  He crushed the cigarette out and smiled. If Muhammad could move mountains, surely he could handle Josie McCall.

  Chapter 2

  “The three bridesmaids will come down the aisle with the three gentlemen,” the Reverend John T. Porter said. “They’ll be followed by the maid of honor, then by the bride and her father. The groom, the best man and the little fellow here—” he paused to pat the top of Timmie’s head “—will be waiting at the altar.” He motioned to the organist. “Let’s try it, shall we?”

  Josie had been in so many of her friends’ weddings that she could do it by rote, but this wedding was special. Jenny was her best friend; she wanted everything to be beautiful for her.

  When they reached the altar she gave Jenny a smile of encouragement, pantomimed taking the imaginary bouquet and moved to a position at Jenny’s side.

  The minister skimmed over most of what he would say. He finished with, “At this point I’ll pronounce you man and wife and you may kiss your bride,” and everybody laughed when Mike actually did give Jenny a resounding kiss before they started up the aisle.

  Kumar took Josie’s arm, as he would tomorrow at the real wedding. “You are looking forward to the wedding, yes?”

  Josie nodded. “Jen and I have been friends since college. I know what a tough time she had with that...” She caught herself before she said, “that damn Arab,” and instead said, “with Aiden Hurani. Mike seems very nice and it’s obvious she’s crazy about him.”

  “As he is about her.” Kumar’s voice grew serious. “Never doubt that, Miss McCall. Mike loves Jenny with all his heart.”

  She looked up at him, surprised and reassured at the strength of his reply. When they reached the church vestibule they stepped aside to make room for the other couples coming down the aisle. Curious, she asked, “Did you know Aiden?”

  “Not Aiden, but I’d had a few business dealings with his older brother, Mustafa. During the time I knew Mustafa, Aiden was here in the United States going to the university. I know from what Mike has told me that Jenny had a difficult marriage, still I doubt that Aiden was as bad as his brother. Mustafa was a dangerous man. He would have cut out the heart of his grandmother if it served his purposes. He had a reputation with women...” Kumar shook his head. “But no, it is better not to say. It’s over and he is dead.”

  “How did he die?”

  “Mike killed him.”

  “Mike...” Her eyes widened in horror. “He killed him?” She looked toward the man Jenny was going to marry tomorrow. He was tall and powerfully built. Beside him Jenny looked small and defenseless.

  “He is a good man,” Kumar said, as though sensing her concern. “He loves Jenny, Miss McCall. Believe me when I tell you that your friend will always be safe with him.”

  Just at that moment Mike turned to speak to his bride-to-be and there came into his eyes an expression of such tenderness, such caring and love that Josie felt her eyes sting with tears. She turned to Kumar and said, “Thank you for reassuring me, Mr. Ben Ari.”

  “My name is Kumar.” He held her gaze, and though his dark eyes were friendly, there was something behind them she couldn’t quite define. She was caught by that look, unable to look away until he said, “The others are leaving. We must join them, yes?”

  She ran her tongue nervously across her upper lip, and when she did, Kumar’s eyes flared with sudden heat and he took a step forward.

  “We...we have to leave,” Josie said in a voice that did not sound like her own.

  For a moment he only stood there, looking at her with his dark desert eyes. Then he took a deep breath and said, “Yes, of course. We don’t want to keep them waiting, do we?”

  She felt the pressure of his fingertips, and the word “Come,” spoken in the accent that had so puzzled her at the airport.

  * * *

  Josie had given herself a talking-to after she had gone to bed the night before. Kumar was Jenny and Mike’s friend; she wouldn’t embarrass them because of her prejudice. She would be pleasant, even cordial, and the day after tomorrow she’d be on her way back to Guatemala.

  But as she settled into the back seat of the car with Kumar for the drive to the hotel in San Diego where they would
have the rehearsal dinner, she had to admit that there was something about him that disturbed, and yes, intrigued her.

  All of the men, as well as the women, were elegantly turned out tonight, but Kumar stood out among them. He was as tall as Mike and he carried himself with quiet dignity and an almost old-world charm. If he were Spanish he would have been a count, if English surely a duke. But he wasn’t, he was an Arabian prince, a sheikh of the desert, in a world she did not like.

  The caravan of three cars made the fifty-mile drive to the Hotel Del Coronado in a little less than an hour. And though she chatted and joked, all the way there Josie was very aware of Kumar beside her in the back seat. He kept his distance, but once or twice on the curving road that led to the main highway she was jostled against him. Each time that happened she felt a tingle of something she couldn’t quite explain.

  Okay, she told herself. So he’s an attractive man, different from anyone I’ve ever known, and that in itself is a little exciting. Then, too, there’s the whirl and romance of the wedding festivities, and the age-old cliché of the maid of honor and the best man being attracted to each other. That’s all it is. I’m letting myself get caught up in the excitement of the wedding.

  They arrived at the hotel on the beach just as the sun was setting over the Pacific. It was a rambling Victorian-style hotel that faced the sea. Built when Grover Cleveland was president, the Hotel Del Coronado had entertained princes and presidents, Marilyn Monroe and business moguls. It was charming and romantic, the perfect place for a rehearsal dinner.

  There were fourteen of them at a long table overlooking the sea. Kumar ordered champagne, and when it came and they were served, he stood, raised his glass and began to speak in Arabic.

  Only Mike and Jenny nodded in understanding. Their faces grew serious and Josie saw Mike swallow hard. When Kumar had finished he said, “Thank you, my friend.”

  Kumar nodded and, in English, translated: “In the whisper of the wind, the voices of Muhammad and of God and all his angels mingle and become one in this joyous celebration of a man and a woman who are about to be joined in marriage.” He smiled at Mike, then at Jenny. “The two of you have been fortunate enough to have found love,” he went on. “Cherish and sustain that love. Wake each morning with joyous hearts at the gladness of the day, and sleep at night in the warmth and comfort of each other’s arms.”

  He turned to the others. “Let us raise our glasses to our friends and wish them well.”

  “Hear, hear,” Jenny’s father said. “To Mike and Jenny. A lifetime of happiness.”

  Josie reached across the table and clasped Jenny’s hand. “Happiness always, dear Jen,” she whispered.

  More champagne was poured, more toasts were offered. Day faded into a lingering twilight, an orchestra began to play. Mike took Jenny’s hand, kissed it and led her to the place where a few other couples were dancing.

  Kumar stood and came around the table. Josie turned to smile up at him. She even started to push back her chair, when he paused at the chair next to hers and asked, “May I have this dance, Sharon?”

  “Love to,” Sharon said.

  When they came back to the table he asked Marty to dance, then Rosa, then Sharon again. By the time dinner was served Josie had lost her appetite. This is dumb, she told herself, but damm it all, she was the maid of honor. Out of common courtesy, Kumar should have asked her to dance. Jenny’s father did, and so did two of the ushers. Kumar, however, seemed to have forgotten she was even there.

  But when the after-dinner drinks were served he got up, and coming around the table to the back of her chair, said, “Please, will you dance with me, Miss McCall?”

  If he hadn’t already pulled her chair out, she would have refused. But he had, and there was very little she could do except offer her hand.

  The glittering lights of the crystal chandeliers had dimmed. The voices of the diners were muted. A black woman with a silky, sultry voice began to sing with the orchestra.

  Kumar put his arms around her, and though at first Josie moved reluctantly into his embrace, she soon found herself forgetting her earlier mood and moving with him to the strains of “Besame Mucho.”

  He was a good dancer, smooth, confident. He tucked one of her hands against his chest, and when he urged her closer, she could feel the slight ripple of muscle under the hand that rested against his shoulder. In her three-inch heels she was almost as tall as he was. The line of his hip matched hers, their shoulders were level, their faces almost touching.

  We’re a perfect fit, she found herself thinking. Here was a man she didn’t have to wear small heels or flat heels with, as she had in high school and later in college. She smiled, remembering that whenever a friend had wanted to fix her up with a young man her first question had always been, “How tall is he?” Later, as she had matured, the question of height hadn’t bothered her. She’d dated men who were shorter, but she’d never felt really comfortable dancing with a man who came just to her shoulder.

  “The Way We Were” segued into “Yesterday,” then “Evergreen.” “Lost inside of you...” the singer sang.

  Josie felt the slight pressure of Kumar’s hand bringing her closer so that her cheek touched his. She had the fleeting thought that this wasn’t a good idea and that she’d better move out of his embrace. And she would. In a minute or two.

  Her breath was warm against his cheek, her body slim and graceful against his. He hadn’t asked her to dance earlier, partly to prove to himself that he wasn’t all that attracted to her and partly to show her that he did not find her any more attractive than the other women in the wedding party.

  But he did find her attractive. Tonight she had worn a pale pink dress that was gathered and beaded at the waist. With her red hair pulled back off her face and just a touch of makeup she was astonishingly beautiful. He stepped a little away so that he could look at her. Her lips curved in the beginning of a smile and it was all he could do not to kiss her right here on the dance floor.

  Yesterday her antipathy toward him had been painfully apparent, and though today she had been courteous, he could still sense an underlying feeling of aloofness. It was almost as if she were holding her hands up in front of her and saying she wanted nothing to do with him.

  He had asked her to dance to prove to himself that he could sway her. But it was he who had been swayed, he who felt this sudden surge of desire. He wanted to kiss her until her lips quivered and parted under his, wanted to touch the high, firm breasts that pressed so enticingly against his chest. He wanted...

  The music stopped. Kumar took a deep breath and let her go. Her hand still rested on his shoulder, her mouth looked soft and vulnerable. He looked at her for a long moment, and because he could not help himself, he touched her face.

  Her skin was soft and warm, her eyes were luminous. He ran the tips of his fingers across the fullness of her lips and felt them quiver under his touch. He whispered her name, “Josie?” before he stepped back, and taking her hand, led her back to the others.

  She felt as if she had been drugged. As if she’d had too much wine. She didn’t walk back to the table, she floated, still lost in the magic of the music. And in the touch of his hand so gently caressing her face.

  The others were standing, ready to leave. Mike motioned him aside. “Would you mind driving Josie back to the ranch?” he asked. “Jenny’s father is a little under the weather and I think I should drive his car.” He handed Kumar his keys. “Sure you don’t mind?”

  Kumar’s lips twitched. “Of course not. We’ll see you back at the ranch.”

  He took Josie’s arm and they followed the others out of the hotel. He thought she looked a little nervous, but she didn’t say anything. When Mike’s car was delivered, he helped her in and said, “You’re the guide. Without you I will be completely lost.”

  She gave him directions. And sat over as far as she could on her side of the car, disturbed and a little annoyed that she had let herself get carried away by the music.
Love songs, she thought disparagingly, sweet sentimental stuff that had lovers swooning in each other’s arms. The next time Kumar asked her to dance she hoped the orchestra was playing rap.

  They took the Coronado Bridge and from the top span they could see all the lights of San Diego, the bay and the ocean beyond. It was a beautiful night, clean and clear with just the slightest nip in the air that warned of cooler days to come.

  Nervous because she was alone with Kumar in the dark closeness of the car, Josie felt as if she had to say something. And so she said, “Tell me about...I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten where it is that you’re from.”

  “Abdu Resaba.” He turned to glance at her. “It’s a small country, probably no larger than your states of Connecticut and Massachusetts if they were linked together. Only a portion of the country is on the Mediterranean, that is where the city of Bir Chegga is located.”

  “And where you live?”

  Kumar nodded. “The rest of the country is desert and oil wells. So though we are small, we’re among the top five oil-producing countries in the world. We have some seven million people, most of whom are Muslims. The Bedouins and the Berbers adopted the Islamic religion in the eighth century, when the first Arabs entered the country.”

  He turned to her. “Most Westerners know very little about Middle Eastern countries, with the exception of Egypt perhaps. It’s a remarkable country. Have you ever been there?”

  Josie shook her head. “My only experience with the Middle East has been in Il Hamaan.”

  “Il Hamaan?” He sounded surprised. “When were you there?”

  “Eight years ago. It was my first assignment for International Health. I didn’t like it.”

  “I should think not. It’s really a very backward country. The customs there are archaic.”

  “What about the customs in Abdu Resaba? I thought all Middle Eastern countries were the same.”