Kismet's Kiss: A Fantasy Romance (Alaia Chronicles) (33 page)

He squeezed her hand, then let it go and swept his tanned arms forward. “Release the
hirime
. Let the evening begin!”

Two sailors at the stern unbound the ropes tying a solid cloth. Whatever was in it tumbled to the water and spread out like a fan in all the colors of the rainbow—the colors of Varene’s new garments. She peered down as the fan lengthened into chains of ornamental fish studded with jewels. They trailed and swayed behind the ship, sparkling in the light of the sun. A collective sigh rose from the throats of those at the stern, and she sighed along with them.

A drum began beneath their feet, somewhere in the shade of the upper deck, and soon an invisible flautist joined them. A measure later, a woman on the deck below, a mourner dressed in black, began to sing a wordless ululation, a wail of mourning and of loss.

Varene’s eyelashes descended at the pure sound. The music wove a spell over her. Sorrow gathered on the boat, swirling through the audience and around the masts. Several passengers cried out in their misery, huddling together for comfort or collapsing to the deck, moaning. Beside her, the sultan stood tall, his features etched and drawn, anguish weighing on his lips.

Attuned to the moment and to the raw feelings, grief welled in Varene’s throat—for all those in Kad she hadn’t had a chance to save; for Findar, who’d bled to death on cobbles; for all her other patients over the years. Grief for those in Fallorm, so many years ago…

The drumbeats shifted, quickening into a fervent, driving rhythm. Up rose the singer’s lamentation, changing key. The guests and the sultan leaned toward the singer as if waiting, but for what, Varene didn’t know.

The vocalist sang a series of three up-down notes, and as the third ended, everyone clapped once and shouted, a bright noise that chased away the shadows. A new, joyous melody whirled from the instruments, and neighbors grabbed each other to dance.

Varene looked over at Kuramos, half-wondering if he would want to dance, too. She imagined him taking her in his arms, sliding his hands around her waist… It was almost as if Zahlia were a devil beside her, whispering in her ear,
“Try my husband…”

Instead, he kept his gaze down, looking out over his guests. The gentle sunset lit his features—the carved nose and chin, the sensual lips, the brow weighted with responsibility. Her heart hitched in her chest.

He was utterly beautiful. Staring at his profile, she could almost believe there were deities in his ancestry. It showed in his fierce defense of his family and his people, in the intelligent eyes even now watching over them. In his masculine grace, his honor and determination, in the very way his people worshipped and loved him.

In the way
she
loved him.

Shock frissoned through her limbs.
By Fate, I do. I love this man.

Her eyes snapped closed as the feeling sank in. She was in love with the Great Sultan of Kad.

And this was no crush. It was as real as the sun rising each morning, as the blood in her veins and the curve of the rail under her fingers. She felt the truth in every nerve, every inch of her skin.

This should be thrilling me, this should be filling me with joy…

But all she could think of were this man’s six wives below. His children, who loved and adored him. His throne and responsibilities. His realm, so distant and so different from Teganne.

Oh, Mother Fate
, her heart cried out.
What have I done?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“I
thought you might be hungry, Varene, so I had some food brought up for us.” Kuramos smiled and gestured to a cozy table in the corner graced with falafels, sweetmeats and fruits.

She swiveled and walked toward it, heart pounding, needing every inch of the gleaming deck to pull herself back together. How long could she avoid his eyes?

The evening that had brimmed with sensual anticipation now seemed as desolate as sand.

She couldn’t be with Kuramos now. Couldn’t risk the intimacy. Zahlia’s urgings didn’t make a difference. The entanglement Varene had tried to avoid had tackled her and trussed her in its bittersweet bonds, leaving her wanting him more than ever.

But what did he feel for her? Lust, that was clear. But he already had six wives. So either he knew far too much about love…or not nearly enough.

He had told her she’d been treated as a guest, and as a friend. A friendship could never be enough now, and the role of guest would soon abrade her. She belonged home in Teganne, and soon. She needed the refuge of her own walls, of familiar places…of being without Kuramos.

Yet, she loved him. How could she leave?

He was already married and a father. How could she not?

His footsteps sounded behind her, making her pulse jump. She reached for a baklava.
Pretend nothing’s happened, that you don’t love him. That it’s only been a flirtation, meaningless.
But she remembered his jealousy that very morning when she’d been teaching Sohad about kyrra. How Kuramos had gone down on his knees to her. She thought of the man trapped by the sultanate’s golden manacles, by a life and by marriages his position had dictated. And there was nothing she could do to help him—nothing that wouldn’t rip her apart in the end.

“Thank you for the food. I’m…”
Heartsick.
Her hand dropped back to her side.
Do it now. Make the break.
“When I go home—” she fended off the quaver that threatened her voice— “I’d like Sohad to come study with me for a while. He’s a good man, and cares for his patients. He has a great deal of potential.”

Kuramos closed in, his eyes narrowing as he watched her. “As a physician or as a Healer?”

Faking indifference, she shrugged. “Both. Different methods, similar goals. He has strong kyrra. I’d like to help him hone it.”

He poured two glasses of pomegranate juice without looking up. “You want to bring magic into my realm.”

“I want to bring
healing
to your realm.”

He handed her a glass and swirled the juice in his own, brooding. “I’m sure Sohad would benefit from your teachings…”

“Why is there a ‘but’ coming?”

“Have you considered remaining here?”

Varene blinked. “In Kad?” She fought to keep her heart from quickening.

Kuramos looked away, over the stern. “You believe Sohad could benefit from studying a different method. Might there be room for you, in what you do, for learning from the masters of our medicine?”

Her lips made a wry twist. “I apologize for any offense I’m about to inflict, but I wasn’t terribly impressed with the trio of physicians in the palace when I arrived.”

“Nor am I.” He set his glass on the table with a smack. “Perhaps it’s best to be forthright. Varene, I would like you to become my Royal Healer.”

She leaned back against the rail, not quite able to string words into coherent thought.
To stay as his Healer. His…servant.
“I already have a position in Teganne.”

“Leave it. I’ll pay triple what you earn there.”

Her hands wrapped her glass. “Teganne’s my home. My life is there.”
And you are not. I need that peace.

He lifted his drink again and drained it, then surveyed the view behind her toward his palace as the ship floated downriver. “I understand. But homes can change. Lives can change.” His gaze thudded into hers. “They already have.”

Was he referring to her patients’ lives, or his and hers? No, it didn’t matter. “A generous offer, thank you. But though this place intrigues me…”
Though I love you…
“I’ll have to return to Teganne.” Her lashes drooped as she fingered the lip of her glass, then set it down. “You must find another Royal Physician. Sohad won’t be able to handle it on his own. Even with Priya.”

“I know. I’ve been apprised of your many patients today. People are coming because your healing
works
.” He lowered his empty glass to rest against hers. “When the sickness first struck, I was reluctant to request your services.” He took a long breath. “Now that you’re here, I can’t imagine being without you.”

For a stunning moment his green gaze seemed to yearn, but it had to be a trick of the failing light.
He wants me to stay as a Healer
, she thought.
Not as a woman.
Her heart curled inward.

She turned away and leaned on the rail. The sun shafted one last ray above the horizon and then rolled from sight. Night had fallen, and her world had fallen with it.

On the lower deck, servants lit small torches as people continued to talk and dance. On the upper deck, the gathering dusk cloaked Varene and Kuramos from anyone else’s gaze.

Floorboards creaked as he moved closer. All her senses blazed. He stopped behind her—near enough for her to smell the exotic scent of his skin and feel his breath fan across her nape. Her pulse hammered in her wrists as she clung to the rail.

He touched her ponytail. “This band,” he said softly. “The one that keeps your hair back. Do you always wear it?”

“Most of the time.” She put a self-conscious hand on it and accidentally brushed his fingers. She pulled away as if shocked by sparks.

Several more breaths caressed her neck, then both of his hands skimmed her gathered locks. “Such beautiful hair, Varene. As golden as Naaz’s sun. It doesn’t deserve to be so confined.”

He tugged at the band, releasing it. She heard a tiny thump as he dropped it on the table. His fingers slid into her hair, then let the tresses fall away to glide across her shoulders, her back, her breasts, trailing her skin like a thousand kisses.

He stepped close, one hand on the banister a petal’s breadth from hers, one still playing with her hair. “Better,” he whispered, his lips feathering her ear. “Now you look like a woman, not just a Healer. Why do you hide yourself?”

Her half-lidded gaze clung to the river’s moving shore. “I keep my hair back so I can see my patients and do my work. I’m not hiding—if anything, it exposes me.”

“It masks you,” he said. “You’re veiled behind the facade of the Healer. You shroud what you want, and give to others but not to yourself. What do
you
desire, Varene?”

There was no safe answer.

He lifted her mane from her nape, breathing in the scent of her. “With your hair down like this, you even smell like the sensual woman you are. Like roses and jasmine.”

“It’s not the lilies along the rail that you’re smelling?” How could he not hear the pounding of her blood?

“It’s you.” His finger traced the rim of her ear, skimmed her neck and across her collarbone. She moaned, wondering what his other fingers could do if she gave them leave.

He stepped close behind her, pressing his strong body into her curves. “Varene,” he whispered, “what do you want?”

Her breath quickened in the darkness. So long it had been, so very long.

Warm palms wrapped her waist and turned her until her breasts slid against the planes of his chest and her body cupped his hardness below. The long, smooth expanse of his muscled back heated her exploring fingers. She looked up into his eyes, dark in the twilight and reflecting the flickers of the first stars. Wet with need, she throbbed against him, wanting to take him now, wanting him to take her.

They’d started this way, three days before in the market. Where would it end?
Here
, her conscience urged.
Now. Walk away.

But her traitorous body wouldn’t leave him. Her blood sang when she was in his arms.

His hand glided down and flexed against her backside; she nestled closer, rocking in subtle movements. As they listened to each other’s quickened breaths, the tension between them stretched and ached. He leaned until his mouth was only a sigh from hers. “Right here. Right now. What do you want?”

She shivered at his words, at the answer within her.

“Let me warm you, Varene.” His husky voice flowed into her veins. Hot fingers slid to her nape and cupped it, his thumb stroking a sensuous circle. When her nails gripped his back, he shuddered and thrust harder against her. “Please,” he added in a ragged, vulnerable whisper.

Her resistance cracked.

She tilted her chin, raising her mouth to his. Her lips, soft and hungry, melted at long last into the heat of his kiss. A radiant hum vibrated throughout her body.

Their tongues entwined and she reveled in his wordless groan of lust. He trailed his hands to her breasts and cupped them. Mentally damning the thin cloth sequestering them from his fingers, she arched into his palms.

She wriggled, reveling in the slick friction of silk over his rigid length. Her entire body ached for him, every nerve tingled with anticipation. He matched her movements, pulsing and nudging against her until she thought she might explode.

And then she did.

The orgasm flooded over her, drowning her in a sea of pleasure. She heard herself cry out, felt his hand tighten on her bare back and the swift intake of his breath, and then she was lost in the joy, the glory of his touch.

As her senses floated down to earth, she raised her lashes. His eyes were wondrous on hers, wide and stunned, unbelievably aroused. His fingertips caressed the small of her back in little circles like he’d done in the market, in the aftermath of the riot. She found her own hands on his chest, must have put them there to brace herself when she’d come. His muscles shifted under her palms, and he throbbed at the junction of her thighs.