Chapter 3—Sheiks IX by CJ

She heard the shower shut off and Tara smiled with anticipation.  How wonderful it was to have her husband back again.  How completely wonderful!

She’d missed Nik so in the months he’d been away at war.  She’d worried, she’d pouted and she had often felt like wanting to fall apart.  But Nico had kept her going.  John Banes had offered support.  His wife had been so caring and such a good friend.  No, Tara had not fallen apart and now she was rewarded by having Nik back and Jenny safely tucked away down the hall.

Tara locked the door to their bedroom.  Jenny had promised to listen for Nico should he wake.  It wasn’t often he did, the boy slept as hard as he played.  But just the same, Tara didn’t want her reunion with Nik to be disturbed.  And Jenny, now so much more womanly and refined than she’d been before the war, had smiled with conspiracy and said, “Oh, don’t worry.  You and Nik will not be disturbed.  I’ll keep an eye and an ear out for Nico, Tara.  You just enjoy your reunion with your husband.”

Tara laughed as she thought about that now.  Jenny was now feeling like more of a sister than a daughter.  Jenny had matured so much, grown so much.  Tara took a moment to think about what poor Jenny had gone through:  being taken to Johar, captured by King Jabbar, and then living in seclusion by the sea while her new boyfriend fought in a desert group to try and halt Jabbar.  It was insane and it was more than any teenager should have to endure.  Yet Jenny didn’t seem the least bit fazed by it.  In fact, she appeared to be perfectly content with what had happened and merely heartsick from missing Emir.  They’d talked about him later that afternoon while Nik and John had been tucked away discussing politics.  According to Jenny, Emir Sabet was handsome, heroic and incredibly “hot.”

“And the best part is, Tara, he doesn’t even know what ‘hot’ means,” Jenny had giggled.  “He has no idea what half the stuff I say in English means and more often than not he’s thinking about duty to his country versus making-out with me.”

Tara tried not to grimace even know as she considered Jenny’s words.  She didn’t want to hear about her sister’s love life.  And she didn’t even want to think about how far that love-life may have grown during the months in Johar.  Granted, it sounded like Emir had been away for much of that time, but it still didn’t mean he hadn’t been around long enough to…

“Tara,” Nik said as he walked out of the bathroom.  He had a towel tied around his waist and was looking at her with a furrowed brow.  “Is something wrong?  You look a million miles away.”

Tara shook her head and pushed away from the door.  “No, nothing’s wrong.  I was just thinking.”

“Such a dangerous activity,” Nik teased as he pulled her into his arms.  His lips were hot upon hers, his neatly trimmed goatee rough as it brushed her chin.

Tara pulled back just a bit and replied, “Keep that kind of taunting up, cowboy, and you may just not get lucky tonight.”

Nik chuckled good-naturedly, and ran his hands up and down the back of Tara’s silky nightgown.

“Then I will promise not to taunt you again until morning.  For one thing I learned about war is that a man away fighting wants nothing more than to return to his wife and make mad, passionate love.”

Nik pulled her in tight again and kissed her.  His lips worked magic on her, his tongue caressed her own.  She moaned, feeling anticipation like it was their first time together.  And seeing how it had been so long, it almost was their first time again.

Tara trailed her lips down Nik’s neck, smelling the clean, fresh scent of his skin.  It was a mixture of soap and warm water.  She licked at a drop of water still clinging to his skin and felt him shudder.

“You keep that up, my darling, and I won’t last very long,” Nik warned.

“Who said we have to take our time?” Tara challenged with an arched brow and immediately Nik lifted her in his arms, laid her on the bed and pushed the silky nightgown up her legs.

“If that’s your attitude…”  He smiled with mischief down at her and whipped the towel off his hips.  His lips grazed the inside of her thighs, her pelvis, her abdomen.  He pulled at a strap of her nightgown and found her breasts and Tara moaned in delight.

Nik raised up, tugged on Tara’s legs and she slid across the bed, her buttocks nearly fall off the mattress.  But Nik hadn’t pulled her so far that she’d fall off.  He’d merely pulled her close enough so he could enter her.  She gasped, heard him whisper her name, felt him bend her legs up further so he had complete access to her and felt him thrust.  He remained standing, his hands gripping her thighs.  She could see the utter pleasure on his face, felt it in his urgent movements and it didn’t take long for her to feel her own pleasure building.  Nik’s strokes were so smooth, his rhythm never ending.  Tara balled the bed comforter in her hands and moaned quietly, not wanting to make too much noise in her hosts’ house.  Nik’s eyes were closed now, his breathing increasing and when he opened them, Tara held out her arms to him and demanded, “Come here, I want to hold you as we finish, Nik.”

He halted his rhythm long enough to allow her to scoot back.  He followed her, reentered her and holding each other tightly, they continued.  The release came immediately after.  Tara moaned his name, Nik gritted his teeth and muffled a cry against her neck.  And the release was so intense, so long awaited, that Tara felt tears trickling down her cheeks.  She never, ever wanted her husband to leave her again.  Never.

**

The short range missiles were falling again.  Rafee wanted to run, wanted to hide from the blast that he knew was going to come, but his feet were stuck in sand so thick he was unable to.  He fought, he pulled with all his might.  But nothing worked.  He knew he was going to die.

The missile exploded and he saw the light of the blast.  He felt himself falling, crashing, and finally pain exploded in his head.

Get up, he told himself.  Get up!

Yet again, the sand held him captive and he had no way of moving, no means of breaking free.

Then he opened his eyes, staring out the side window of the Villa Serena den, and saw the lightening, heard the thunder outside.  He sighed with relief and admonished himself for dreaming a silly nightmare, then realized he was no longer lying on the couch where he had fallen asleep, but on the floor.  His head did indeed ache and when he put his hand to the pain it returned with blood.

“Crap,” he cursed as he realized that the storm brewing outside had prompted a nightmare and thus caused him to fall off the couch and slice his head open on the coffee table.  What a completely idiotic thing to do!

Then he heard a scream.  Blood curdling.  He pushed to his feet, knowing it was Shawna, and felt a bit dizzy.  Damn but he’d knocked his head good.

He wobbled a bit through the living room.  His head bleeding freely now and keeping a hand on it and one on the handrail of the stairs as he rushed to Shawna.  When he entered the bedroom, he saw her sitting in their bed, crying out for him.

“Rafee!  Rafee!”  But she wasn’t awake.  She was still sleeping.  “No, no, Rafee…”

Rafee grasped Shawna by the shoulders and gave her a shake to wake her up.  It took a long moment, but when her eyes finally cleared and focused on him, she seemed relieved.  Then she focused on his head, on the blood on his face, and screamed again, pushing him away and scurrying to the far side of the bed.

“Get away!” she cried out.  “You’re not my husband, just…go.”

“Shawna…” Rafee tried to reason with her.  This was insane.  They were both still a bit shell shocked from all that had happened and now they were dreaming of bad things like children did.  It was all totally insane and Rafee reached for the bedroom lamp and add some light to the situation.

“Shawna, it’s me.  I just…hurt myself,” Rafee told her and only after several long breaths did Shawna seem to settle down.

“Oh, God…I’m sorry, Rafee.  I was…it was a bad dream,” she told him and immediately stood.  She rounded the bed, looked at his head and then hurried into the bathroom, returning with a towel.  “Let me take care of that.”

Rafee sat on the edge of the bed and watched as Shawna’s hands shook while she held the towel to his wound.  She was far from over his death and resurrection and tonight’s drama was sound proof of that.

“You’ll never get over that I’m still alive, will you?” he blurted out and his careless comment earned him a frown.

“What do you mean by that, Rafee?” Shawna insisted rather roughly.

He cursed at himself, took the towel from her and pushed it against his own head.

“I mean that it has nearly been a week and you’re still treating me like something out of a bad scary movie.”

She groaned at him and stormed off.

Great, just great, he told himself.  He had blown that one.  But his patience was wearing thin tonight.  The dream, the storm and Shawna’s screams had shaken him and his damned head still hurt.

“Shawna,” Rafee called after her and followed her through the connecting bathroom to the nursery.  Both children were sound asleep and Rafee took a moment to gaze upon both.

They had been such a joy earlier in the evening.  Alexi had coed and waved his arms—pretty good for such a tiny infant—and Kess had cuddled against him for the entire night as they’d ate pizza and watched movies in the downstairs den.  Rafee was so glad she had warmed up to him finally.  Now, if only he and Shawna could do the same.

“Well, at least they’re sleeping through the storm,” Shawna drawled as she returned to the bathroom, waited for Rafee, then shut the nursery door.  Under the harsh glare of the bathroom lights, Shawna studied Rafee’s cut.

“You didn’t have to say that, Rafee.  I am very, very happy you’re alive,” Shawna said as she studied his cut. 

“I know,” he admitted.

“Then why did you say it?” Shawna asked.

“Because I’m confused.  I don’t understand why we’re not right back to normal already.”

She smiled at him with sarcasm and replied, “Honey, it hasn’t been that long.  Give it time and we’ll be our dysfunctional selves before you know it.”

“We’re not that dysfunctional, just because our idea of a hot night out is sparring in the gym,” he joked and he was glad he could sound light when his head was pounding so.

Shawna gave him a waning smile, wiped the drying blood from his face and hands and again he sensed that she wasn’t one hundred percent comfortable with him.

“Do you miss him, Shawna?  Is that it?  Is it Marcus?” he chanced to ask and when Shawna locked her gaze to his, he realized he was going to get a truthful answer.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss him.  But do I miss him more than I missed you while you were gone?  No.  Not even close.  Do I still care?  Of course.  It hasn’t been that long since he’s been out of my life.  And I owe him a lot.  But do I wish you had never returned?  God no.  I would have been a shell of a woman had you never come back to me, Rafee.  And for you to ask if I will ever get over you being alive is just plain crazy.  What I never would have been able to get over would have been you being dead.”

She pushed a wayward lock of his hair off his forehead and he leaned his head down, closer to her, and she smiled up at him.  She continued.  “You and me…we’re lucky.  It’s not everyday someone gets to be with another person that they can love absolutely.  And it’s not everyday they get a second chance either.  Call it fate or luck or maybe all those legends about you are true and you really are immortal…I don’t know, I’m just happy you’re back.  But I’m adjusting to it as well.  We need some time, we need some privacy and we need to just both depressurize from the war.  It’s been a very stressful time in our lives.”

“Just a bit stressful,” he said lightly.  He leaned down and nipped at her lips.  “And I want you, Shawna.  I want you in my bed.”

She laughed at him.  “That would be my bed.”

“Oh, really…?”  He was going to grab for her, but again his head played tricks on him and made him a bit dizzy.  He instead grabbed the marbled countertop.

“That’s it,” Shawna insisted.  “You’re going to the ER.  I think you need stitches and you may just have a concussion to boot.”

“Come on, darling, not now.  I’ll go in the morning if I still feel badly.”

“Raf, I almost lost you once, I’m not going to take any chances at all now.  I’m going to be the overprotective wife.”  She grasped his shoulders and spun him toward their room.  “Now, get dressed and I’ll have Omar or Edgar drive you to the ER.  And while you’re there, have them give you an entire once-over.  I’d like to know you were seen in a real facility, instead of a cave, and that there are no complications from the bombing.”

“But…” Rafee tried to argue, but Shawna was going to win.  Damn, but she was stubborn.  And he loved every second of life with her and that stubborn attitude.

**

Stacy Chen was walking to the front desk of the ER to grab her next case when she spotted old Edgar Reynolds sitting in the waiting room.  He was dressed in his baggy, faded jeans and a quilt-lined plaid flannel jacket.  He was swatting his weathered baseball cap against his knee and Stacy wondered for a moment why he was here again.

Putting her hands in her white lab coat pockets, Stacy walked to him and halted in front of him.  It took him a moment to glance up at her, but when he did, the old man smiled and pushed to his feet politely.

“Ma’am,” he said, like he always did to the ladies at the hospital and around town.  Calistoga, after all, was a small town and everyone knew just about everyone else.  Stacy enjoyed the small town atmosphere, but sometimes the medical practice grew boring.  There were only so many broken arms, bee stings and asthma cases a doctor could deal with before wanting more.  But she had left the big city to find a slower pace and that was exactly what she had gotten.

“Edgar, don’t tell me you got bit or kicked by another one of those ornery Arabians you care for?” Stacy asked.

“No, ma’am, no horse attacks tonight,” he returned.

“Barbed wire cut again?  Need another tetanus shot?” she offered and he immediately shook his head.

“Nope, already got me one of them just this summer.  You know that.”

She smiled at him and laughed.  She had been the one to order the shot and he had grumbled immensely about it.

“So, what brings you by tonight, then?” she inquired.

Edgar nodded his head toward the curtained off patient area and explained, “I brought in a…friend.  Knocked his head.  Probably needs stitches.”

“And he’s already been checked in?” she inquired.

“Yeah, just a few minutes ago,” he answered.

“Well, then I’d better go see him.”  She began to turn, when Edgar caught her arm.

“I’d better warn you, Doctor Chen.  He’s…ornery.”

“Ornery like your horses?” she asked.

“No, ornery like a spoiled prince.  He’s the brother of that fancy sheik I work for, and let’s just say that Prince Nikash got all the manners and Prince Rafee in there got all the fight.  And to make matters worse, he just came back from that war in Johar.  Been fighting in the desert for months.  Rumor is he came back from the dead.”

Now this story, Stacy thought, was intriguing.  Finally, something more interesting than a broken arm.  Not the stitches, just the part about princes and returning from the dead.

“You mean, they thought he was dead, right?” Stacy prodded.

“No,” Edgar replied, “he really did die.  Came back to life somehow.”

“Somehow?”  Stacy shook her head.  “Edgar, I think you’ve been listening to the local folklore for way too long.  I’m sure there’s more to his story than that.”

“Perhaps, but I don’t suggest you ask him about it.  Like I said…ornery.”

Stacy returned to the nurses’ desk and picked up Rafee Armanjani’s chart.  Just like Edgar had explained, the man was here for a head laceration and possible concussion.  His address was listed as Villa Serena Estate and his birthday put him at thirty-seven years old.  She flipped to the next page of the chart and saw that he failed to list any previous injuries or family medical history.  She frowned, wondered why not, then walked through the curtain.

The man was seated in the chair, not on the patient table where Stacy had expected to see him, and when he looked her way, she wanted to cringe.  Indeed, ornery was putting it mildly.  Old Edgar Reynolds should have told her she was walking into a room with a man who was a cross between a Greek god and warlord.  His chiseled good looks were impossible to miss, but the cold, brutal look in his golden brown eyes was halting.  And when he turned his head slightly and Stacy saw the long angry scar on the side of his face, she wondered just where this man had been hatched from—heaven or hell.

“Uh…Mr. Armanjani?” Stacy said, reading the name on the chart to make sure she was pronouncing it correctly.  “I’m Doctor Chen, I’ll be treating you tonight.”

He remained silent and she folded back a page of her chart to show the unfilled page beneath.  “Before we get started, could I inquire as to why you didn’t fill out this medical history form?”

“Does it matter?  I’m here because I hit my head, not because I’m a hypochondriac who needs to discuss the history of my illnesses,” he replied with a deep voice that was accented slightly, but very proper sounding.  And, it was a voice that sent a frightening chill down her spine.

“Actually…it does kind of matter…just in case you have any medicine allergies or…”

He cut in.  “No allergies.  No family history of anything I’m aware of.”

“Okay,” she said as she jotted that down on the form.  “Any other injuries past or present?”

Her eyes traveled to the scar on his face and his eyes narrowed.  Now that the light was hitting them just so, Stacy realized his eyes were almost gold.  Eerily gold.  Cold, yet glowing.

“Yes, presently I have a cut on my head.  Now, are you going to look at it, or shall I just go home?” he replied and Stacy set down her clipboard with a sigh and donned latex gloves. 

She parted his hair aside and looked at the gash on the left side of his head, ending just at his hairline.

“Gonna need stitches,” she declared.  “Just a few.”  She stepped back and looked down at him.  “I can do it myself, or if you’d rather have a plastic surgeon paged, one can be here within an hour or so.”

“Why would I want a plastic surgeon?” Rafee asked simply.

“So the scar will be as minimal as possible,” she explained.  Then her eyes moved to the long scar on his face. It traveled along his hair line and curved in just at his cheekbone.  It gave his face character, she decided, and also made him look mean as hell.

“He could also look at that other scar for you,” she added and was sorry she did when his eyes gave her another cold look.

“And you think I would care about a scar, Doctor Chen?”

She shrugged.  “I get patients in here all the time who do care, sir.  I always want to give them the option.  Besides…a man in your position, with your wealth and power, could afford to do just about anything.”

“I could never afford to get rid of this scar,” the man then said.  “It’s what reminds me of my life and of my death.”

His words were strange and then suddenly the man’s face turned hard as granite and he demanded, “Just give me my stitches and I’ll be on my way.”

Stacy cleaned the wound and was starting to stitch it up when she inquired, “Just how did you do this, Mr. Armanjani?”

“I fell off the couch, hit my head on the coffee table.”

“And why were you jumping on the couch?” she asked with slight humor, hoping to ease the mood.  This man was all business and she felt uncomfortable with him.  Of course, she could blame that on the speech old Edgar had given her before she’d even entered the room.

The man didn’t seem to even hear her humor, for he replied seriously, “I was sleeping.  I fell off when the thunder and lightening woke me.”

“Ah, must have made you think you were back at the war, huh?” she prodded, wanting to hear more about the rumor Edgar had started.  And when the man had talked about his scar, he had hinted at something also akin to a resurrection of sorts.

“Must have,” the man answered.  “Nearly a year of fighting is hard to forget in one week.  Thunder can sound an awful lot like shelling.”

“And how are you handling all that?  Any PTSD needs that you’re concerned about?”

She wanted to cover all the bases with her patient.  She did so with all her patients for she was a thorough doctor.  And as she readied her stitches, the man furrowed his brow and glanced up at her like she was speaking an alien language and not merely being thorough.

“Excuse me?”

“PTSD,” Stacy repeated.  “Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  You know…mental trauma from the war.  Stress over fighting and warfare and killing.”

“This was my second war and I have killed more men than I can count since I was in my early twenties.  I have no remorse and no guilt.  Fighting is not stressful for me, its what I do best.  And if you think falling off the couch because the thunder is temporarily shocking is concerning, you try living on a battlefield for nearly a year, not having enough to eat, never knowing if the enemy will strike, losing your friends and family and then come and tell me I have mental stress.  I have no mental stress because thunder scared me, I am merely decompressing.”

Well, he was certainly outspoken and gruff!  Stacy had to take a breath before she began stitching him up, afraid that his almost brutal words would cause her to shake too much.  But she was a no nonsense kind of gal.  Why would this man bother her?  Why…because he was downright scary, that’s why.  And, because he was a potentially interesting case.

She finished her chore and immediately the man began to stand.  His hand, however, reached back and caught the chair and it took him just a moment to regain his balance.  That told her he should be kept for observation for a head injury, but by the way he was reaching back for his leather jacket, she had the feeling he was ready to leave.

“Thank you, Doctor Chen,” Rafee said and before he could leave, Stacy grabbed his arm and halted him.

He glared down at her and she jerked her hand back as if bit.  The man had a very, very scary way about him.  She actually felt sorry for his enemies in Johar.  She was positive he had shown no mercy.

“I think you should stay here for a while in case you have a concussion.  Let me order a scan and…” Again, he cut her off.

“No.  I’ll be fine.  I simply need rest.  I’ve had concussions before, I will survive.”

“But…”

“I said, no, Doctor Chen.  Now…are you going to let me leave…?”  He didn’t add the “or else” that she knew he was thinking.  His words stopped just short of that threat. 

Stacy stepped to the side saying, “Please make sure you sign a form at the front desk saying that you’re leaving against doctor’s orders then.”

He nodded and disappeared out of the curtain and Stacy had to grab the table for support.  Damn, what a scary, scary man!

**

“So, was it as good as you remember it always being?” Tara asked and Nik shook his head and answered a firm, “No.”

When Tara frowned, he laughed and added, “It was better, my love.”  He placed a quick kiss on her head and then slipped out of bed.  He dressed in the pajama bottoms that were neatly folded over the chaise lounge and felt Tara’s frown again behind him.

No doubt she was wondering why his haste to dress when they’d spent hours making up for lost time.  Well, he had something important to discuss with her and he never discussed business without his pants on.

“Nik, why the sudden need to clothe yourself?” Tara inquired warily and Nik threw her the nightgown she had worn earlier.

She caught it and furrowed her brow.

“Apparently you don’t like the sight of a naked woman after long months in the desert.  I get it,” she quipped with sarcasm.

Nik chuckled and shook his head.  “Tara, darling, the sight of you naked distracts me and that’s why I wanted you dressed.  I have something very pressing to discuss with you, so I’d rather not be distracted.”

She shrugged, slipped into the nightgown, then stood.  She settled on the maroon colored chaise lounge and looked up at Nik.  “Well, I’m waiting,” she prodded.

Nik took in a deep breath and paced across the room.  The house was an old colonial-style manor and the décor reflected as much from the ornately carved wood of the end tables to the four-poster bed and floral patterned rug on the wood floor.  It was so very different from the posh luxury of the palace or the old world Spanish feel of Villa Serena.  Suddenly, Nik wished he was in Calistoga with Tara instead of here in this powerful senator’s house.  Yet John had a right to tell Jenny everything and Nik was not going to interfere.

“Before the war, I was made aware of some very…life-changing news, Tara.  I never told you because it wasn’t urgent and I didn’t want to burden you further.  Now that everything’s calmed down, however, I…and John Banes…we both feel you need to know,” Nik began and watched as the frown lines around Tara’s mouth tightened.  She was expecting the worst and when she reached up to push a strand of hair out of her eyes, Nik noticed her hand shook.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with Nico, does it?  Nik, I couldn’t stand if…”

That fear of someone finding out about Nico always nagged at them both.  Yet after all these years, things had remained quiet where their boy was concerned.

“No, no, no,” Nik assured her, moving around the chaise lounge and sitting next to her.  He took her shaking hand in his.  “No, Tara, this has nothing to do with Nico.  And its not devastating news.  It has to do with Jenny.”

“Jenny?  But…what about her?”  Tara threw Nik’s hand away and stood.  She glared at him and asked, “She’s not pregnant is she?  I’ll kill her, I swear I will!”

Nik chuckled and shook his head.  “No, she’s not that I am aware of.  Aside from the fact that her newfound love intends to marry her one day, I do believe it has been more innocent than not between them.  But let’s not get off topic here, Tara.  This news has to do with John Banes.”

“John?  But…I don’t understand.  What does he have to do with…?”  Her words trailed off and Nik saw recognition enter into her eyes.  She sank back to the lounge chair and covered her mouth with her hand.  “Oh…no.  No, please don’t tell me the rumors about him and my mother were true.”

Nik gave a nod.

“And…how does that affect Jenny?” Tara asked, but the question didn’t need to be answered as Tara gasped and landed a hand on Nik’s arm.  “He’s Jenny’s father?  But…how does he know?”

“Your mother told him,” Nik answered.

Tara breathed deeply for a moment, then spoke.  “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.  I mean…I remember how tense things were way back when.  Mom and dad had split for a time, John had been around…but Jenny’s birth fixed everything in our family.  And…is John certain?”

“He seems to be.  He wants to tell Jenny tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?  Oh, Nik, she’s been through so much.”

“She has.  But this should be a piece of cake compared to the war,” he reasoned.  “And she’ll have all the support she needs from us.”

“She will,” Tara added determinedly.  “She certainly will.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Sheiks of Kumar IX: Family Reunion – Chapter 4