Pain stabbed through Nikki, her eyes growing moist again.
She clenched her teeth. Nikki needed to do this—she had to save Samira and her unborn baby. It might give some reason to why her own two precious little souls were stolen from her.
“He’s very handsome,” whispered Samira.
A breath of laughter burst through Nikki’s tears, and she wiped her eyes. “You think so? How could you even see his face in this light?”
“I saw. I saw that he likes you.”
Nikki stilled.
Her pulse quickened, along with something else, a little trill through her stomach. But she said nothing. Because she knew Samira was right—and it frightened her.
Later that night Nikki crept quietly up to a hut and pressed herself against the clay wall still warm from the sun. From this vantage point she could remain hidden while she tried to catch snatches of the tribal council debate around a fire that had been lit at the center of the village. The flames crackled, shooting hot orange sparks into the cool, dark sky.
Headmen from neighboring clans had traveled to join the Rahm sheik’s council, and he and his men were passing a hookah around the fire as they listened to Zakir. The rich scent of tobacco reached Nikki as a young male attendant placed fresh charcoal in the clay water pipe.
The discourse was growing animated. Suddenly, Zakir leaned forward, his eyes locking with those of the clan sheik.
The men fell silent. Nikki tensed.
Even sitting on the ground, Zakir exuded a larger-than-life commanding presence. Tonight he wore his flowing black cloak against the mountain chill, and his hair fell loose and shiny to his shoulders. The flames caught the angles of his regal features, and his black eyes flashed as they reflected firelight—eyes that were failing him. Nikki’s heart compressed involuntarily at the thought.
Blindness was going to be a real challenge for a man who liked to control everything.
Zakir broke the tension around the fire with an abrupt movement of his arm as he uttered something to the sheik, his voice resonating with the bass and guttural tones of the rough Rahm dialect. The sound rippled over Nikki’s skin, warming her stomach. She could not take her eyes off him. She wasmesmerized by this fireside vignette of what was possibly a historic political discussion.
The Berber sheik replied, his tone low, earnest, and the rest of the men leaned forward in interest. Zakir spoke again, saying something about representation at key government levels, and heads nodded in agreement. Nikki noticed that every now and then, almost as if subconsciously, Zakir’s hand went to rest on the head of Ghorab who was lying with the two female salukis—Khaya and Tala—in the sand at his side. She leaned against the wall and just watched him for a while, enjoying the residual warmth from the clay spreading through her body.
Enjoying the look of him.
It was a guilty pleasure she hadn’t allowed herself in years, just appraising a good-looking male. It also made her uncomfortable, reminding Nikki of who she used to be and of all the things she used to want—family, children of her own. The love of a good man.
But even as she was being inexorably pulled toward the king, attracted by his shimmering power and charisma, she feared his control over her emotions, her body. Because deep down, these were the same reasons she’d fallen for Sam.
Nikki had been a powerful and influential professional in her own right—an accomplished and feted surgeon who’d been drawn toward the intoxicating sensuality of a powerful, good-looking and sharply intelligent man. Sam had represented a challenge to her, and a promise of something incredible—in bed and in life. And look what had happened.
Sam had tired of her, started having affairs…
Against her will, memories whispered again, the desert night enveloping her with cold images of that tragic, snowy Christmas Eve. Nikki glanced up at the cliff silhouetted against the light of a pale
She clenched her teeth. Nikki needed to do this—she had to save Samira and her unborn baby. It might give some reason to why her own two precious little souls were stolen from her.
“He’s very handsome,” whispered Samira.
A breath of laughter burst through Nikki’s tears, and she wiped her eyes. “You think so? How could you even see his face in this light?”
“I saw. I saw that he likes you.”
Nikki stilled.
Her pulse quickened, along with something else, a little trill through her stomach. But she said nothing. Because she knew Samira was right—and it frightened her.
Later that night Nikki crept quietly up to a hut and pressed herself against the clay wall still warm from the sun. From this vantage point she could remain hidden while she tried to catch snatches of the tribal council debate around a fire that had been lit at the center of the village. The flames crackled, shooting hot orange sparks into the cool, dark sky.
Headmen from neighboring clans had traveled to join the Rahm sheik’s council, and he and his men were passing a hookah around the fire as they listened to Zakir. The rich scent of tobacco reached Nikki as a young male attendant placed fresh charcoal in the clay water pipe.
The discourse was growing animated. Suddenly, Zakir leaned forward, his eyes locking with those of the clan sheik.
The men fell silent. Nikki tensed.
Even sitting on the ground, Zakir exuded a larger-than-life commanding presence. Tonight he wore his flowing black cloak against the mountain chill, and his hair fell loose and shiny to his shoulders. The flames caught the angles of his regal features, and his black eyes flashed as they reflected firelight—eyes that were failing him. Nikki’s heart compressed involuntarily at the thought.
Blindness was going to be a real challenge for a man who liked to control everything.
Zakir broke the tension around the fire with an abrupt movement of his arm as he uttered something to the sheik, his voice resonating with the bass and guttural tones of the rough Rahm dialect. The sound rippled over Nikki’s skin, warming her stomach. She could not take her eyes off him. She wasmesmerized by this fireside vignette of what was possibly a historic political discussion.
The Berber sheik replied, his tone low, earnest, and the rest of the men leaned forward in interest. Zakir spoke again, saying something about representation at key government levels, and heads nodded in agreement. Nikki noticed that every now and then, almost as if subconsciously, Zakir’s hand went to rest on the head of Ghorab who was lying with the two female salukis—Khaya and Tala—in the sand at his side. She leaned against the wall and just watched him for a while, enjoying the residual warmth from the clay spreading through her body.
Enjoying the look of him.
It was a guilty pleasure she hadn’t allowed herself in years, just appraising a good-looking male. It also made her uncomfortable, reminding Nikki of who she used to be and of all the things she used to want—family, children of her own. The love of a good man.
But even as she was being inexorably pulled toward the king, attracted by his shimmering power and charisma, she feared his control over her emotions, her body. Because deep down, these were the same reasons she’d fallen for Sam.
Nikki had been a powerful and influential professional in her own right—an accomplished and feted surgeon who’d been drawn toward the intoxicating sensuality of a powerful, good-looking and sharply intelligent man. Sam had represented a challenge to her, and a promise of something incredible—in bed and in life. And look what had happened.
Sam had tired of her, started having affairs…
Against her will, memories whispered again, the desert night enveloping her with cold images of that tragic, snowy Christmas Eve. Nikki glanced up at the cliff silhouetted against the light of a pale
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