Under Command Page 12

  Zakir led Nikki out onto the patio, where the air felt rounded and soft as velvet on Nikki’s skin.

  Below the patio lay a dark shimmering rectangle of water, and the moon’s reflection shimmered on the surface. Palms rustled in a faint breeze, the air heady with the sweet scent of night blooms. This Summer Palace was like a faraway oasis of calm in an upturned world.

  Nikki stilled, overwhelmed suddenly—by the beauty, but even more so by the sense of serenity and safety and the commanding presence of this enigmatic man at her side. To be under his guard at this Moorish palace high in the remote hills of Al Na’Jar was a far cry from her past.

  Yet oddly, her past was also coming closer here, and with this thought came a sense of foreboding. She could almost hear the threat whispering in the palm fronds.

  “I spoke to Tariq earlier,” Zakir said as he held a chair out for her. “I told him about you and your orphans.”

  Nikki’s stomach clenched at the mention of Dr. Al Arif’s name. “And?”

  “He recommended an obstetrician. I have already sent for her. She’s tying up some commitments, but should be here within three or four days.”

  Relief rushed through her. For tonight, at least, her identity was safe. For tonight she could still pretend she had never been Alexis Etherington.

  Take it one day at a time, Nikki, just as you handled the drink. It’s all you can do right now.

  She watched as Zakir felt for his dogs and his own chair. Her heart went out to him. His vision was clearly worse at night. The guttering flame light from torches that burned in the sconces along the patio walls were probably no help, either.

  “You have no electricity outdoors,” she noted.

  He smiled. “No. My father preferred the torches. He said it reminded him of nights out in the desert.”

  “You were very fond of him, weren’t you?”

  “Yes. Very much so. We were—are—a close family.”

  “Why have you never married, Zakir?” she asked suddenly. “Why not a family of your own?”

  He sat quiet for a moment. Palms rustled softly.

  “I almost did marry once, long ago,” he said finally, very quietly. “But my fiancée was not who she appeared to be.”

  “How so?”

  “Sometimes fortune and power is not all it’s cracked up to be, Nikki. Sometimes it’s tough to tell friend from foe. Or opportunist. Sometimes you don’t really make true friends at all.”

  Nikki was quiet for a moment. “So she was after your money?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you loved her?”

  “It was a mistake.” He snorted softly. “I kept my relationships superficial from that point. And the more women I dated, the more effortless it all became. I actually began to enjoy it. The variety, the conquests. It made me feel alive.”

  “So basically you slept around?”

  “Well—” He smiled mischievously. “It was good for my health. At least in that one instance. It saved my life.”

  She studied his profile in the torchlight. So regal. So authoritative. Yet tonight, somehow so alone.

  “Will you change it?”

  “My relationships?”

  She laughed. “No. The torches. Will you bring electricity out here?”

  Again he was pensive for a while. “No,” he said quietly. “I don’t believe I will.” He reached out in the warm darkness as he spoke and touched her hand.

  A lump caught in her throat. It was as if Zakir needed her. As if touching her reassured this powerful man in some way that he’d be okay when the total darkness, the blindness inevitably came. And with shock Nikki realized she, too, wanted his touch. She needed to be loved again. To be cared for. To somehow be forgiven for all she’d done wrong in her life.

  She hungered for this catharsis, this absolution, just as deeply as she feared being exposed. And it scared the hell out of her.

  Because Nikki realized she’d just crossed a line of no return.

  She was falling for the king.

  Chapter 12

  Samira was unable to contain her excitement. The fourteen-year-old rested on a chaise longue alongside the pool under the shade of a massive palm, hydrated, nourished, well-rested and looking beautiful in a robe of shimmering greens and violets that Zakir had provided for her. But the true source of Samira’s contagious energy and smiles was the books that surrounded her—all written in French.

  When Samira had first arrived at the mission she’d surprised Nikki with her command of languages, and Nikki had learned that Samira’s father had been the village schoolteacher before her community was slaughtered. The books at the mission quickly became Samira’s escape from the horrors of her young life, but after the rebel attack and their flight into the Sahara, she hadn’t read a word, and the haunted look in Samira’s eyes had returned.

  Seeing the exuberance back in her features now was beyond heartwarming to Nikki.

  The younger children, too, were happy, and simply being children, splashing in the pool with a ball. Nikki was almost afraid to allow herself to feel the sheer depths of her joy as she watched the orphans play.

  It could all be gone one in the blink of an eye. Like her twins.

  The dark memory brought the image of Tenzing Gelu to mind. Nikki hadn’t seen him since Zakir had relegated his personal bodyguards to the outer areas of the palace, keeping the living quarters private. She hoped it would stay that way. She promised herself she’d tell Zakir about Gelu as soon as she and the children were safely in Tenerife.

  One day at a time. One step at a time. Like the way you made your way over the burning sands of the Sahara. It’s all you can do.

  And Nikki slowly allowed herself to slide into the warmth of this moment and just be. She, too, was wearing a robe fit for a medieval desert princess, with wide sleeves and cool fabric. Over her hair she wore a veil fringed with tiny shimmering crystal beads that tinkled softly when she moved. A book rested idly in her hands. She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth, just listening to the children laugh.

  But they flew open when she heard Zakir’s voice call out a greeting to the kids.

  He came striding along the side of the pool, tall, hair glinting blue-black in the sun, his hounds trotting at the heels of his black riding boots. She smiled, pleasure surging through her chest as he approached.

  With his gleaming hair and finely chiseled features, he looked like the cover of a magazine. She could imagine him in Europe, with his private jets and fast cars and fast women. Yet she was learning that there was so much more to him.

  He grinned as he came up to her, his teeth stark white against his dusky complexion, and Nikki’s breath caught low in her chest.

  “Zakir.”

  “I see the children are happy, and Samira—” he turned to address the smiling teen “—ça va bien?”

  “Très bien, merci.” She grinned. “Thank you for all the books.”

  And Nikki’s heart expanded further. How could she feel so much happiness? It almost made her guilty, as if she was somehow neglecting the tragedy of her twins’ deaths.

  The images of that snowy Christmas Eve hit her again.

  Cold.

  Ice.

  The gut-sickening sensation of her car being hit by the black SUV, then hit again. The terrifying realization that someone was trying to run her off the bridge, the raw horror of losing control, sliding. Going through the bridge barrier. The crunch of metal as she slammed into the highway below, the nauseating spinning and folding of metal and breaking glass as the truck hit them. Lying in the street. Bleeding. Fading in and out of consciousness. Chase crying. Hailey deadly silent. Flashing ambulance, police lights.

  The images assaulted her like a punch to the stomach, and Nikki felt a chill despite the warm sun. And right on the back of the nausea came a deluge of anger that pumped fire into her veins.

  She clenched her hands, her jaw.

  She did not want to think about what came next.

  This w
as why she’d come to Africa. To lose herself in the hot, dry, open desert. To forget. To heal those who could not heal themselves as she had been unable to heal herself.

  Zakir’s brows lowered. “Are you all right, Nikki?”

  “I’m fine.” She forced another smile, grasping desperately for something with which to change the subject. “Your dogs…they’ve been groomed.” She reached out to stroke Khaya’s silky fur. “They really are beautiful animals, Zakir.”

  His frown deepened as he watched her. “Bred in the finest of desert tradition,” he said. “The Bedouins call the saluki ‘wind drinker’ or ‘eye of the desert’ because of their speed and endurance and because they hunt by sight, not scent.” He was studying her intently, his ink-black eyes naked today. Mesmerizing.

  “Is that why you got the salukis, to hunt?”

  Something shifted in his features. He didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “Have you ever seen a saluki in action, Nikki?”

  “I have not.”

  “It’s quite a sight to behold. Do you ride?”

  She laughed. “I ride camels. Had to learn that pretty fast.”

  He grinned. “I mean horses.”

  She hesitated. “It’s…been a while since I’ve ridden a horse.”

  “How long?”

  Too long. Over seven years long. She glanced away.

  He thrust his hand out to her. “Come with me, Nikki. My dogs need some exercise and practice, and I need a break from politics. I will show you how they hunt.”

  Being back in the saddle came easily to Nikki, and it disturbed her to see how simply one could slide into past habits. But as she trotted on a white Arabian mare behind Zakir’s gleaming black stallion, Nikki felt the shackles of concern slipping away as the freedom of the desert and vast sky coursed into her blood again. She nudged her mare into a canter until she rode side by side with Zakir across the plain toward a low ridge to the west.

  They slowed to climb a steep and rocky trail, and as they crested, Zakir reined in his black horse atop the ridge.

  Far away in the distance, over miles and miles of rolling red and gold hills, was a glimpse of cobalt along the horizon. “The Atlantic,” he said as she came to a halt beside him, her mare’s tail flicking.

  A sense of awe rolled over Nikki. “It’s so beautiful up here,” she whispered.

  He studied her, his obsidian eyes intense, black hair loose on his shoulders. The hooded peregrine falcon tethered to his gauntleted arm shifted, and the bells on the raptor’s feet chinked as it moved, the small diamonds set into its leather hood winking in sunlight.

  “Is it the kind of freedom you found in the sands of the Sahara, Nikki?”

  Her horse shifted under her, and Nikki moistened her lips. His question intrigued her. It was personal. “It’s vast and beautiful, Zakir, but it’s still within the guarded perimeter of your estate. How can it be the same?”

  And oddly, seeing the strip of Atlantic Ocean in the distance made her feel strangely exposed. America was on the other side of that water. She wondered about Sam’s potential reach across that sea, what he’d do if he learned she was here. The Al Arif fortress would be no protection against Senator Sam Etherington. Not without Zakir’s will to protect her.

  And Nikki knew if she was exposed as the runaway wife of a powerful U.S. senator, Zakir would have to act. He’d have no choice but to make an example of her, to follow the laws of his country. Or hers, if Sam pushed for extradition.

  And now Zakir had gone and put her name before his council. If they found her out, Nikki’s downfall would become Zakir’s. And the fall of his country.

  He would never forfeit his kingdom for her.

  Her false identity was a ticking time bomb. She couldn’t do this to him. She had to leave before it exploded. Samira’s contractions had miraculously stopped, and the baby was still eight weeks out—she should tell Zakir they were ready to go. Maybe even by morning.

  Nikki’s mare edged under her again and snorted.

  The animal was twitchy, impatient, picking up on her tension. Like her, the animal needed to run. Again.

  “Are you ready, Nikki?”

  His words caught her off guard. “For what?”

  A wicked grin slashed across his face, and his eyes twinkled devilishly. “The hunt!”

  Nerves rustled through her. “Of course I’m ready.”

  He removed the falcon’s hood and tether, and raising his gloved arm high, he sent the raptor into the air. The bird swooped upward in a hot flutter of wings, soaring high into the clear, blue sky.

  The salukis stiffened instantly, quivering with coiled tension as they fixated on the movements of the raptor above.

  The falcon reached a thermal of air and drifted, wings motionless as its keen eyes scanned for prey.

  “What is it looking for?” she asked, shading her eyes as she squinted up into the sky.

  “In the old days when game was still plentiful in the Sahara, the bird would be searching for oryx or a herd of gazelle. But drought and warmer temperatures over the years have left the sands barren of larger game. Now,” he said, watching the raptor, “we are hunting hare. When the falcon begins to fly in wide circles, that’s when the salukis will know it has found game.” Zakir shot her a glance. “Then they run like the wind until they sight the prey themselves and chase it down.”

  Her mare whinnied, shifting impatiently again. “And us?”

  “We will try to match their speed and endurance.” He grinned, telegraphing a crackling kinetic energy, the same kind of barely leashed power she could sense in the dogs as they watched the peregrine soar. Her heart beat faster, and her mouth turned dry. The adrenaline was infectious.

  Suddenly the bird changed direction, swooping toward the peaks, and it began to circle slowly, high in the sky, miles away.

  Zakir whistled, and the salukis exploded like bullets from a gun, puffs of red dirt kicking up behind them. He slapped his stallion on the rump, with his right hand. “Yah!” His horse reared, hooves pawing the air. Zakir laughed. And then the animal dropped down into a breakneck gallop after the hounds.

  Zakir’s hair and robes billowed out behind him as he bent low, riding as if one with horse, red dust boiling in the wake of his black stallion’s thudding hooves.

  Adrenaline pounded into Nikki’s blood. She kicked her own horse into action, racing after Zakir along the top of the ridge, the bells on her saddle chinking, her gauzy veil tearing free from her hair and blowing to the wind. But there was just no way she could keep pace with the sure-footed gallop of Zakir’s black stallion, nor could he keep up with his salukis. The hounds ran in a blur, like cheetahs—effortless and elegant—as the peregrine soared above.

  He reined his horse suddenly, spinning around to wait for her. The coat of the stallion glistened with perspiration, and Zakir’s chest rose and fell with exhilaration.

  Breathless, her skin damp, blood thudding in her ears, Nikki came to a stop next to him.

  “You doing okay?”

  “God, yes.” She laughed in release. “I haven’t ridden like this in years.” She caught her breath. “Actually, I’ve never ridden like this.”

  Zakir stilled suddenly, his features turning dark and serious. And Nikki realized she’d lost her veil, that he was looking at her hair. No, not looking—absorbing her, completely. Savoring her.

  His horse snorted, tail flicking. And she felt her cheeks grow warm.

  “I haven’t seen you laugh before, Nikki,” he said very quietly.

  “It’s…been a while since I’ve felt this…happy.”

  “A long while?”

  She swallowed. “Too long.”

  He nodded, but his features remained inscrutable. His stallion reared up again abruptly, snorting, and this time he laughed, a deep wild bass that emanated from the depths of his chest. The sound washed over Nikki, stirring something deep inside her.

  Mounted on that horse, laughing, his hair loose, Zakir looked untamed yet aristocratic.
He reminded her of the paintings of the ancient warrior kings of his country—desert raiders from a time past. It was as if he’d ridden out from one of those oils and come to life in front of her.

  He pointed suddenly. “There! Look, Nikki—the dogs have sighted the game. The ground chase has begun! You are ready to ride?”

  Nikki grinned, collecting her horse, her heart beginning to thud with excitement all over again. “Hell, yes, I’m ready!”

  Taking off at a wild gallop, they charged along the ridge, dropping back down into the plain after the trio of salukis bearing down on the prey.

  For miles they charged across the dry plain dotted with sparse scrub, then Nikki saw the hare, a brown blur that made a dash to the right. It was quickly headed off by Ghorab, who channeled the animal back toward Tala. Again the rabbit darted in a different direction, but Tala funneled it back.

  It was Khaya who finally clamped down on the animal’s throat with her powerful jaws.

  Breathless, Nikki caught up to Zakir and the dogs.

  He dismounted in a fluid movement, powerful as a black panther. “Come,” he said, reaching up for her.

  He helped her down off the horse. “This—” he explained as he motioned for Khaya to release the animal from her jaws and picked up the terrified rabbit by the scruff of its brown neck “—is why we use salukis, Nikki.”

  The whites of the hare’s eyes showed huge and terrified, its little heart hammering against its chest. Zakir unsheathed his jambiya as he spoke, and Nikki tensed as the blade winked in the sun.

  “The dogs are trained not to kill the prey because this must be accomplished by the hunter himself, with a knife. In the traditional way, with a clean slice across the neck, here—” He brought the blade to the terrified animal’s neck, and Nikki’s breath caught in her throat.

  “You…you’re not going to kill it, are you?”

  “It’s a hunt, Nikki.”

  She caught his eyes, unsure if he was serious.

  But instead of cutting the hare’s neck, Zakir crouched down and gently set the animal back onto the sand. It remained stunned for a nanosecond, then it kicked off, zigzagging into the scrub.