Chapter One of Scorpion
S heikh Aziz Al-Hadid stalked through the market in his traditional thobe and keffiyeh headdress, his gaze sweeping left and right through the crowd as he searched for the one woman who’d evaded him for too long already.
Two years, four months, six days to be exact, but who was counting?
He smiled grimly as he thrust aside some scarves hanging from a rack, dust billowing off the colorful fabrics thanks to the desert sands that lifted sporadically in the air from oven-hot breezes.
Not that he was focused on the state of the market stalls. He was here for Zamira Fasih, only daughter of Sheikh Cairo, ruler of Qadania. The neighboring country bordered Aziz’s Middle East province, Mukaite.
That he and Cairo were hostiles, thanks to Aziz’s late father choosing sides with the wrong friend—Cairo’s enemy—meant Aziz had been forbidden to even go near Zamira let alone date her. He sighed heavily. He couldn’t see that restriction lifting anytime soon, if ever.
His father might have died two years ago, but the hate he’d left behind still ran deep. Sheikh Cairo would never forget or forgive the betrayal of Aziz’s father—Cairo’s once close friend.
A brown-and-white goat bleated just ahead, the bell around its neck jangling as a shepherd led the animal through the market by a rope attached to its collar. The rest of the small herd followed behind.
A vendor frowned at the animals as he peddled his colorful floor rugs, while a local farmer nearby seemed oblivious to everything and everyone as he finished setting up his stall of produce, which included organic coffee, olive oil and Mukaite honey.
Aziz strode past the vendors and bleating animals as he headed toward the pens where the goats would be locked away and sold. But it wasn’t the goat pens where he guessed he’d find Zamira. He’d be much more likely to find her at the yards where quality camels waited to be sold.
She was obsessed with the big animals and traveled for miles to see and buy quality stock. He’d personally selected a few of his best bulls and cows to ensure the right people passed on information to the right buyers...namely Zamira. Word of mouth was critical in his goal to entice her across the border onto his land.
Though Qadania skirted this part of his province, she knew better than most not to step onto Mukaite soil.
It was still his land.
His territory. His rules.
He turned a corner between more vendor stalls, momentarily out of sight of his guards who trailed behind him. They were trained to be silent and unobtrusive, and to blend into the crowd.
He might have loads of perks being a sheikh, but his lack of privacy wasn’t one of them. He itched to be alone and completely free, but only a fool would do that with so many wishing him harm thanks to the Qadania war.
He drew in a steadying breath, the meaty, smoky scent of grilled lamb shish kebabs filling his lungs. He quickened his pace through the crowded route that led him directly toward the camels. He was perhaps twenty or thirty yards away when he spied the big yellow, cream and brown animals ahead.
His breath caught and he slowed as his gaze narrowed, his world centering on Zamira as she stood in the middle of the large, unpredictable animals. His pulse surged, an expletive bursting through his gritted teeth.
What had he expected? She’d never been a softly-spoken, demure princess. She was bold and daring and had never shown fear around camels. And though her confidence was one of the many things he found attractive, right then it took everything he had not to shout at her to get out to the safety on the other side of the post and rail fencing.
He took a deep, calming breath. This was the perfect opportunity to study her while she was in her element and completely unaware of him, to see if the war really had affected her—at least outwardly—as much as what his spies had told him it had.
No. She looked the same, more beautiful, if anything.
Though her lithe body was concealed beneath a modest navy and white abaya, and her gorgeous, long dark hair with its streaks of burnished copper was hidden behind a navy hijab, her sparkling, honey-dark eyes and nose with its tilted tip, as well as her heart-shaped face were more than enough to showcase her beauty.
She was utter perfection.
He slowed his pace, taking his time to admire her while she was happy and at her most natural. He’d bet that’d change the moment she became aware of him.
She blamed him as much as she had his late father for the war that caused her people to suffer. She hated him even more for not stopping it.
His chest compressed. He’d been working behind the scenes to do just that, but there was more to it than simply requesting Sheikh Idris to pull his soldiers out of the country where he’d been pillaging all its resources, namely its black gold. Nothing and no one would stop Idris from enjoying his spoils.
Well...almost nothing, and Aziz refused to go down that road.
Call him selfish, but he enjoyed his freedom far too much to surrender it anytime soon. His sheikha mother might not have been his biological mom, but he’d loved her more than anyone else in the world. He refused to suffer like she had from being in a loveless, arranged marriage.
He stopped at the yards, resting his arms on the top railing and watching as Zamira stroked the chocolate-brown neck of Aziz’s most prized bull. Did she know who owned the camel? Then her words floated his way, confirming she did.
“Your master is a fool to let you get away, but then he’s a fool about a lot of things, isn’t he?”
The camel grunted, as though in agreement, and Aziz couldn’t stop his wry grin as he eavesdropped.
“You’ll be coming home with me today, then put to work making big, strong strapping babies. I’m sure you won’t complain though.” Her hand stopped its soothing strokes. “I bet your master doesn’t complain either when he’s busy doing the same thing.”
Aziz cocked a brow. “I’m not sure where you’ve been getting your information from, but I’m certainly not going around trying to make babies.”
She jumped and gasped, her voice accusing as she swung around to face him. “What are you doing here?” Her golden-brown eyes darkened. “And what are you doing listening in on a private conversation?”
“Why wouldn’t I be here? I own this bit of land you’re standing on. As for a private conversation, nothing is less private than when you’re out in the open gossiping about me to one of my camels.”
“Well Butch knows how to keep a secret. I’m just sorry I spoke in your vicinity.”
Butch? His lips twitched some more. The male camel was a pedigree worth his weight in gold. That the bull had also just happened to have won his last five races meant his value had easily tripled. He wasn’t sure “Butch” cut it as a name.
Aziz lifted a hand and ran his fingertips through his neatly trimmed beard. “I’m glad you did,” he said huskily. “It’s given me a chance to clear my name.”
She huffed out a laugh as she stepped toward him, then said in a brittle undertone, “You might fool your people into believing you’re some kind of virtuous demigod, but you don’t fool me. You have a smeared name for good reason.”
His muscles tensed, his shoulders going so rigid he wondered if they’d snap. “For good reason?” he repeated softly.
“While your people enjoy their quality lifestyle,” she swept a hand toward the sandy ridge behind her, “my people are barely scraping together an existence thanks to the evil sheikh you support!”
“I can’t reverse the contract my father signed in good faith...the same contract that keeps my people safe.”
“Of course you can’t,” she sneered. “While your province flourishes along with your people, you’ll happily turn a blind eye to what is happening to your neighbors.”
“Believe what you want,” he said in an even tone, though anger sparked deep inside. She’d totally misjudged him. “You’ll soon imagine the worst of me anyway.”
She huffed out a laugh. “How could I possibly imagine worse of you than what I already do?” She tossed her head, the long end of her hijab slipping behind a shoulder. “This conversation is over.” She waved some men over who were clearly her bodyguards, their thobes doing little to hide their firearms. “I’ll make sure this will be the last time we meet.”
“It’s a bit late for that,” he countered, waving his own bodyguards forward, the same ones who’d discreetly trailed behind him in the markets. That he had at least three times as many men as she did was obvious by the way her bodyguards froze, then looked nervously at one another. “This is just the start of what will be a long and fruitful relationship.”
She spun around, her mouth dropping open. “What are you talking about?”
He smirked, his conscience taking a holiday at the knowledge she’d soon be his. “You’re coming with me.”