To Tempt a Sheikh(21)

On the unfurnished side, a three-foot-high platform hosted the dozens of drummers producing that blood-seething rhythm.

"The tambourine-like instrument is the reg. The doff, the large one with  no jangles, acts as the bass drum." She followed Harres's pointing  finger, eagerly imbibing the info. "But it's the darabukkah, the  inverted vaselike drums, whose players keep up the hot rhythm. Usually  they wow the crowd with some impossibly complex and long routines before  the other instruments join in."

They sure wowed her. She felt the rhythm boiling her blood, seeping into her nervous pathways, taking hold of her impulses.

She let Harres guide her to the seating arrangement. But with every step  she swayed more to the rhythm, her every cell feeling like popcorn,  ricocheting inside her with the need to expend the surplus energy  gathering in them in unbridled motion.

Suddenly Harres took her hand and spooled her away then back into his  arms, all while moving as one with the beat. "Dance, ya nadda jannati.  Celebrate being alive and being in paradise."

And being with you, she wanted to shout.

She didn't, let her eyes shout it for her. Then she danced, as if she'd  been released from shackles that had kept her immobile all her life,  riding the compelling rhythm, moving with him to the primal beat, her  heart keeping the same fiery tempo.

Somehow, they wound up in the middle of a dancing circle that he'd either led her to or had formed around them.

The young tribe members swirled around them in intricate routines, the  males swooping like birds of prey, bounding and stomping in energetic  courtship and persistent demand, the females twirling around like huge  flowers, gesturing and tapping in practiced coquetry and eager  acceptance.

Harres led her in emulating them, then in improvising their own dance of intimacy and delight in each other.

And for an indeterminate stretch, she felt she'd been transported to  another realm where nothing existed but him. She felt him, and only him,  as his eyes and touch lured her, inflamed her, shared with her, joined  with her, as he moved with her as if they were connected on all levels,  as if the same impulses coursed in their nerves, the same drive powered  their wills and limbs.

She surfaced from the magical realm to everyone singing. In moments she  found herself repeating the distinctive, catchy melody and lyrics,  without understanding a word.

Suddenly Harres pulled her to him, turning the energy of their dance  into a slow burn of seduction, his lips at her ear shooting more bolts  of stimulation through her. And that was before she heard what he  whispered.

"Everything before you passed and went to waste."

Her whole frame jerked with the shock, the emotions that surged too fast, too vast to comprehend, to contain.

He pressed her nearer, his voice deeper, darker, the only thing she heard anymore. "Koll shai gablek addaw daa."

That was what she was singing along.

Harres was just translating.

But no. He wasn't. He meant it. Even if the magic of those moments, of  their situation and surroundings was amplifying his emotions …

The music came to an abrupt end. The silence that exploded in the next moment felt like a freezing splash, dousing her fire.

No. She wanted this time out of time to continue, to last.

But she knew it wouldn't. None of it would.

She could only cherish every second, waste none on despondency.

She looked up at Harres, found him looking back at her with eyes still  storming with stimulation. She teetered from his intensity, from the  drain of energy. He bent and lifted her into his arms.

People ran ahead, indicating the place of honor they should occupy. She  tried to regain her footing, but he only tightened his hold on her. She  struggled not to bury her face in his shoulder in embarrassment, to be  carried like that, and after the whole tribe saw her dancing like a  demon, too.

At their place, he set her on the cushions, sat down beside her and  fetched her water and maward-rose essence. Then he began peeling ripened  dates and feeding them to her.

She fought the urge to do something to be really embarrassed about.  Grabbing his hand and suckling the sticky sweetness off his fingers.  Then traveling downward …

Going lightheaded with the fantasies, with holding back, she mumbled  around the last mouthful, "You do know I'm fully recharged and in no  need of coddling, right?"                       
       
           



       

He shook his head. "You used up your battery with that marathon jig."

She waved her hand. "I'm just saving up for the next one."

He smiled down at her, poured her some mouthwatering cardamom coffee in a  tiny, handblown, greenish glass and brought it to her lips. "A sip with  each bite of dates is the recommended dose."

She did as instructed, her eyes snapping wider at the incredible blend  of aromas and flavors, of bitterness and sweetness, at the graininess of  the dates dissolving in the rich heat and smoothness of the coffee.

She sighed, gulped the rest. Sinking deeper in contentment, she turned to adjust her cushions. He jumped to do it himself.

She leaned back on them, quirking her lips at him. "When will you  believe you don't have to keep doing stuff for me, that I've never been  in better shape? No emergency doctor could have done a better job on  me."

"I know, my invincible dew droplet, but would you be so cruel as to deprive me of the pleasure of pampering you?"

Now what could a woman say to that?

Nothing but unintelligible sighs, evidently. That was all that issued  from her as the oasis elder rose to deliver a word of welcome before  waiters with huge trays holding dozens of plates streamed out to serve  dinner.

More sighs accompanied the fantastic meal. The food at the oasis was the best she'd ever had. Tonight it rose to ambrosia level.

Harres fed her, cut the assortment of grilled meats, told her the names  and recipes of the baked and grilled breads and the vegetable stews. He  introduced her to date wine, which she proclaimed should replace nectar  as the drink of the gods. But it was logmet al gadee that was truly out  of this world. The golden spheres of fried dough, crunchy on the  outside, soft on the inside and dipped in thick syrup were so good there  should be-and probably there was-a penalty for it.

After dinner they danced again, then she shook hands with hundreds of  people, thanked them all for the best night of her life. On their stroll  back to the cottage, she decided something.

Everything in this place was pure magic.

But she knew that wasn't an accurate assessment. Had she been with  anyone else, she wouldn't have enjoyed it a fraction as much. She'd been  to idyllic places for vacations before, but had never enjoyed one after  her parents died, had stopped trying to years ago … .

"What are you thinking, ya talyeti?"

She shook off the surge of melancholy, smiled up at him. "This means my Talia, right?"

He nodded, sweeping a soothing hand over her hair, now supple and  sparkling from a miraculous blend of local oils. "Your Arabic is getting  better every day."

"I find it fascinating, so rich and expressive in ways so different from English. I'd love to learn more."

"Then you shall."

It was always like that. She wished for something, and he insisted she'd  have it. She knew he would give her anything, if at all possible.

Feeling her skin getting tighter with emotion, she answered his previous question. "I was thinking of my parents."

His eyes grew softer. "You told me they died. I didn't want to probe.  Not a good idea bringing up death and that of loved ones in our  situation back then."

"But you want to know now."

"Only if it doesn't pain you to talk about them."

"No, no. I love to talk about them. I hate it that people avoid bringing  them up, as if it will remind me of their loss. As if I need to be  reminded. It's actually not mentioning them that makes me feel their  absence even more acutely."

His eyebrows knotted. "People can be misguided in their good  intentions." His brow cleared, his lips quirking. "What I find amazing  is that you didn't set them straight."

"Oh, I did."

He chuckled before gentle seriousness descended over his face. "Were their deaths recent?"

"It feels like yesterday. And like a few lifetimes ago."

"I know what you mean."

Her heart kicked. "You've lost loved ones, too?"

He shook his head, his gaze heating. "I meant knowing you. It's so vivid  it feels perpetually new, yet so powerful it feels as if you have been  there all my life, a part of my being." Now what could she say to  something so-indescribable? And worse, that sounded so spontaneous and  sincere? Good thing he didn't let her struggle for a comment, but went  on. "But I don't have a comparable experience when it comes to losing  someone that dear. My mother died when I was five, so I hardly remember  her. So tell me, ya talyeti, talk to me about your loved ones."