“Presume, indeed,” she breathed, and leaned into him for one long, delicious moment. Then a clatter of motion from the main house interrupted them; two of the serving staff came out onto the veranda to cover the table and adjust the shutters for the night. The servants seemed absorbed in their duties and Sikander didn’t think they had seen anything, but Ranya pulled away with a nod in their direction.
“Well, turnabout is fair play,” said Sikander. He stood and moved closer.
“I know.” Ranya set a hand on his chest, keeping her distance as she watched the house for a moment. “Still, perhaps we had better call it a night. The staff is very discreet, but…”
He started to reach for her, but stopped himself. “I understand,” he made himself say. “I do not want to put you in a difficult spot.”
Ranya gave him a smile, and kissed him once more—a much more chaste brush of her lips against his. “Thank you,” she said. “Sleep well, Sikander. I’ll wake you early for breakfast, and show you around the island before we set out for home.”
“Good night, Ranya.” Sikander watched her walk slowly back down the pier toward the main house, and allowed himself a sigh of regret. Ranya el-Nasir was rapidly becoming a lot more interesting to him than a sultan’s niece ought to be, given the trouble that could come of any indiscretions here. After all, Captain Markham had given him clear instructions on that score.
“Keep your head clear, Sikay,” he murmured aloud. Sleep well, indeed! He knew what he would be thinking about once he was in bed. Did she expect him to presume just a little more, and find his way to her room? Or did she intend to visit him? And what would he do if she did?
He returned to his bungalow, changed for bed, and slipped beneath the sheets. The bungalow’s bedroom featured a louvered wooden sliding door leading out to a deck and a view of the sea; the moonlight glimmered on the water, painting the ceiling with a pale glow. It did not take him long to recall the feel of Ranya’s body pressed close to him, the fleeting touch of her hand on him, the soft brush of her breasts against his chest as he stroked her between the legs for that one delicious moment … He sighed and got up, walking over to the door and stepping out onto the balcony. The air was cool and humid on his bare torso. He watched the waves break on the shore, but when he looked away, he noticed that the sliding door two bungalows down stood open.
That was Ranya’s room.
Before he could think better of it, Sikander padded down the steps of his own deck and made his way along the path behind the bungalows, half expecting to be confronted by scimitar-wielding harem guards. There was no way the Royal Guard would not be keeping an eye on their amira … but Ranya had told him that Socotra was a place where Gadira’s royals could enjoy their privacy. His heartbeat quickened as he considered the implications of that remark, and before he knew it, he was climbing up the stairs leading to her door. I hope this is what Ranya intended, he thought. Otherwise this is going to be very hard to explain to the captain.
He paused in the open doorway, silhouetted by the moonlight but momentarily unable to see much in the deep shadows of the bedroom. “Ranya?” he called softly.
He heard a rustle of sheets. In the silver gloom he saw her sit up in her bed, the sheets pooled around her waist. She wore a thin sleeping shift that clung to her breasts, her nipples barely veiled. “I wondered if you would come,” she answered.
Sikander advanced into the room, feeling the familiar excitement in his loins. His silken pajama pants wouldn’t do much to hide what was on his mind. “Do you want me to go?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I am not entirely sure this is a good idea … but no.”
“Good, because right now, I am.” He clambered onto the bed beside her and covered her mouth with his, kissing her long and passionately. Ranya sighed and seemed to melt into his kiss with a soft sound, sinking back into her bed as he leaned over her on his hands and knees. With one hand he brushed aside the sheets; she gasped softly when he caressed her again, and lowered himself down beside her. Sikander devoted himself to the task of undressing her one gentle move at a time, and exploring her lovely body as he kissed her neck and nuzzled at her soft breasts. When he finally entered her, she quivered and cried out, clasping him close.
Afterward, they lay in a tangle of arms and legs, the moonlight shining in through the louvered door. Ranya idly stroked her hand across Sikander’s well-muscled chest, while he caressed her back. “Did I say you were a little too bold for your own good?” she murmured.
“That might have come up, but I’m not always good at taking advice,” he admitted. “The sultan’s guards aren’t going to behead me now, are they?”
“I do enjoy some privacy. What happens behind closed doors is nothing to concern them, especially in a secluded retreat like Socotra. But it might be best if you allowed your bungalow attendant to find you in your own bed in the morning.”
“Which is still quite a few hours away, the last I looked.”
Ranya smiled. “You may not be good at taking advice, but you seem to be able to take a hint,” she replied. Her hand wandered downward, and of course, that was just the sort of hint that Sikander needed to stop talking again.
17
Socotra, Gadira II
An hour before dawn, Sikander slipped back to his own room, leaving a delectably nude Ranya sleeping in her luxurious sheets. He’d just drifted off to sleep again in his own bed when the chirp of his comm unit on the nightstand interrupted him.
A little groggy, he sat up and keyed the audio-only icon. “Lieutenant North,” he answered.
“Mr. North, this is Ensign Girard. Sorry to disturb you, sir, but I think I’ve found something interesting.”
Sikander rubbed his eyes, trying to bring his attention back to his ship and the mission. In the last few hours he hadn’t thought about Hector once. Good thing he didn’t call a couple of hours ago, he decided. “Go ahead, Mr. Girard.”
“Sir, I’ve been doing some traffic analysis of Gadira’s shipping, and trying to correlate it with Caidist attacks across the planet. I think I’ve identified a ship engaged in smuggling arms to the rebels. She’s just made atmospheric entry, heading for the port facilities at Meknez.”
“Traffic analysis? Isn’t that something for Mr. Randall and the Operations Department?”
“Well, yes sir, it is.” Sikander could hear the apologetic note in Girard’s voice over the audio link and imagined the shy Aquilan turning red. “I got the idea after I started developing a target list of rebel strongholds and noting which ones seemed to be stockpiling advanced arms. Mr. Randall and his intelligence specialists are focused on direct observation, looking for where the weapons are and examining shipping as it enters the system. I started wondering when the weapons that were already here actually arrived, so I built and ran a set of traffic sims and compared them to rebel activity.” Girard hesitated a moment. “I didn’t even think I would find anything, but I guess I got interested in the puzzle of setting up the programs.”
“You have a very useful hobby, Mr. Girard,” said Sikander. “And your initiative is commendable, too. What have you found out?”
“Sir, there is a ninety-three percent chance that the vessel currently landing in Meknez delivered two shipments of offworld arms to Caidist rebels in the last two months. She’s a Cygnan-registered independent freighter named Oristani Caravan. What should we do, sir?”