“Can you help me?”

Kamar choose his words carefully, yet he still hesitated once the question was out there. The innocuous wording bled with his concealed lust for this merchant. Suddenly Kamar wanted to forget all about the origin of the fruit, about the real reason behind his questioning.

His blood pumped hot in his veins, his erection growing unbearably uncomfortable even in his roomy pants. Considering he hadn’t felt his Omega heat before, this was world-tilting. Kamar almost reeled. Instead, he held himself up taller.

It didn’t help to close the height gap. Malik the merchant towered a head over him. At least Kamar was taller than Ali, the young boy who worked for the merchant.

“It depends on what you’re asking of me.” Malik’s honesty was edged with suspicion. His smile, small and roguish, couldn’t mask it.

Malik was hiding something. And it wasn’t the secret access to his delicious-looking fruit.

The handsome merchant wore his black hair in long, intricately beaded braids. Unlike most men of Zhebair, he opted out of the traditional ankle-length robe and molded his tall, lean frame into a long-sleeved, loose black shirt and black jeans. It was jarringly Western.

It also added to the man’s mystery.

Good thing Kamar had given him his fake name. He had been tempted to tell him the truth, but then he found it easier to move around Zhebair as the fake clerk Khalid than the Prime Minister’s son Kamar.

Still…A part of Kamar wanted to hear Malik say his name–to moan his name.

“Perhaps we can talk somewhere more comfortable,” Kamar suggested, tamping down the urge to close the gap between him and Malik.

This Omega heat would kill him before he got around to telling Malik what he really wanted from him. Pushing through the waves of bone-shaking need, Kamar added, “I think it’ll be worth your while, Merchant Malik.”

Malik’s black eyes bore into him.

There was long beat of silence where Kamar held his breath.

He didn’t know what he could say or do to change Malik’s mind if he decided Kamar wasn’t worth his time after all. The thought of his dismissal speared Kamar’s heart. So he released a small sigh of relief when Malik nodded.

“We were on our way to lunch, if you’d like to accompany us.” Malik then helped Ali secure the tarp over the stall. They left a note warning customers of their momentary absence.

Ali picked the restaurant, running ahead of them in his eagerness.

“It’s good of you to hire someone so young. Should he not be in school, though?” Kamar wondered. Ali looked to be in his early teens. It would do him good to study. The literacy rate in Zhebair had fallen to record lows in the decade since his father claimed the title of prime minister.

“His widowed mother and five younger siblings are relying on him,” Malik explained, shrugging. “If I hadn’t given him the job, he’d have found someone else to pass him work and wage. This way I can also keep an eye on him.”

Kamar’s heart softened at that. It strengthened his conviction as well. Malik was his man; he just had to convince the merchant of it.

“Order whatever you like.” Malik told him once they were seated. Ali seemed to know the drill because he didn’t look up from browsing through the menu.

The cafe was nestled around a corner, off the busy main corridor and alongside a checkpoint. They sat at tables facing the floor to ceiling sliding windows. The windows were open, flies buzzed in and out.

It wasn’t what Kamar was used to. He rarely ventured so far as to eat outside his home where everything was clean, and the threat of his father clearing out staff if he so much as spotted an insect kept everyone on their toes. Following Malik’s lead, Kamar ordered a plate of surf-and-turf.

Once their meals arrived, they ate in relative silence. Whenever someone did breach the silence, it was about mundane, safe topics like the weather growing colder as summer turned to harvest season, or how the shortening days would affect the market’s service times.

When their table was cleared, Malik paid the waiter, and Kamar was left feeling like he owed him a debt. It undercut what he had to say to the merchant.

Sipping his post-meal cappuccino, Malik leveled Kamar with an unwavering stare. “You were saying…”

“Yes, I was saying…” Kamar trailed off, giving Ali a glance. The boy looked between them, and at Malik’s nod, he pushed from the table and left them to their unfinished conversation.

“I’m sorry,” Kamar apologized. “It’d just be easier if he didn’t hear.”

Malik waved away his regret. “I’d rather he didn’t as well. Please, continue.”

“Yes, as I was saying, I think you’d be an asset to me.”

Malik’s eyebrows popped up.

Kamar muffled a groan. Smoothing a hand over his mouth, he leaned in and tried again—this time hoping he wouldn’t come off as a creep. “What I meant by that is I know you’ve got connections in Djanna.”

“Because of the fruit?” Malik’s lips quirked up, the hint of a smile. “That’s hardly what I’d call evidence of connections. I have suppliers who get their cut from what I sell here. And I pay my taxes like any citizen.”

Kamar’s gaze swept the cafe, and then he switched seats, dropping beside Malik in the seat Ali emptied. Aware how close they were, how easy it would be to lean a little farther and lock lips, Kamar gazed deep into Malik’s night-colored eyes.

“I’d like to show you something, Mr. Malik.”