Читать книгу Desert Sheikhs Collection: Part 2 - Susan Mallery, Alexandra Sellers - Страница 17

“What do you mean, he’s in the courtyard?” Jasmine cried, shoving her hands through her tumbled hair.

Mumtaz shrugged her delicate shoulders. “I persuaded Hiraz to delay him so I could warn you.”

“But it’s Friday night. He wasn’t supposed to be back until Monday!”

Heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway. Mumtaz’s eyes widened. “I must go. I wish you luck.” She slipped out the door. Jasmine heard her say something to Tariq.

With a muted cry of frustration, Jasmine secured the azure silk robe around her waist. It was too late to change. She didn’t want to greet Tariq wearing a robe that hit her midthigh, with her hair loose around her shoulders, but the doorknob was turning. Quickly, she settled onto the stool in front of her dressing table and picked up her brush. At least this way, if her legs collapsed, he wouldn’t know.

She heard Tariq enter the room and close the door. Her fingers tightened convulsively around the carved wooden handle of the brush, but she continued the smooth, full-length strokes, ignoring his presence. She felt him move until he was standing behind her. He leaned forward and put both hands on her dressing table, one on either side of her, effectively caging her with his body. She kept brushing her hair, though she couldn’t feel her fingers anymore because they were shaking so hard. She didn’t look in the mirror, avoiding the trap of green fire that awaited her.

“How’s your throat infection?” He reminded her of one of her earlier excuses, not referring to the last painful call.

“Much better.”

“I can hear that. And you’re feeling well?”

“Yes.” She tried to avoid touching her head to his chest. Every time she moved an inch away, he leaned closer, until she was on the edge of her stool with nowhere to go.

“Good. I was worried, as you seemed to be sleeping so much when I called.” Though his tone was calm, she knew he had to be furious. He wasn’t a man used to being reprimanded.

And she wasn’t ready to face his anger. Despite her bravado, she didn’t hate Tariq. Her feelings for him were raw and undefined, but they didn’t come close to hate, and their depth and promise scared her. What if she began to love him even more deeply than she had all these years?

The heat of his body seemed to surround her. She wondered if he’d subtly moved. It was becoming difficult to continue to brush her hair, because with every stroke, she touched him. She chanced a peek at his arms and saw that he’d lessened the gap between them. He was wearing a blue shirt, his jacket discarded.

He reached out, took the brush from her nerveless fingers and put it on the dresser. Then he tucked her hair behind her ears, baring her face. She froze as he stroked the knuckles of one hand down her cheek in a simple but powerful caress, reminding her of the times he’d done that after they’d made love. She curled her fingers into fists and gritted her teeth against the response he could call forth so easily. The memory of his parting gibe helped, but it wouldn’t hold up forever against this gentle persuasion.

“Will you also refuse to talk to me now that I am home?” He continued the lazy caress.

“I’m talking to you right now.” She was overjoyed when her voice didn’t break.

“No. You are answering my questions and hiding yourself from me.”

She didn’t say anything.

“You are very angry with me, my Jasmine?” The husky timbre of his voice was close to her ear, his body almost totally enclosing her. “You have not calmed down?”

“I’m not angry.” Her heart thudded hard against her ribs. The anger had long since burned out, leaving behind a residue of hurt so deep she felt ravaged.

He kissed the lobe of her ear. A shiver raced through her. She couldn’t disguise the instinctive reaction, but neither did she do anything else.

“Ah, Mina, you cannot lie. Come, look at me. Welcome your husband home.”

His words were an unwanted echo of his commands before he’d left. “Do you wish to have sex? If you’ll move, I’ll get on the bed.” Dark and violent emotions rose in her throat, daring her to release them. She stifled the urge, refusing to let Tariq see just how badly he’d hurt her when he’d brought her deepest fear to the surface and given it form.

His body turned to stone around her. She could feel his muscles tensing as if to strike. He drew back so fast that she nearly fell off the stool, unbalanced. She’d barely got herself grounded when he lifted her and stood her in front of him. In bare feet, she only came halfway up his chest. Startled, she almost met his eyes but managed to fix her gaze on his shoulders.

“Mina, do not do this. You know you will turn into liquid fire in my arms.” He curved one hand over her hip and used the other to cup her cheek, but didn’t force her to look up.

“Yes, I know you can make me pant at any time.” She swallowed the lump in her throat as she repeated his taunt. A taunt so true it made her cry inside. If he touched her much longer with those sensitive fingers, she’d shatter like fine crystal. Something wild and needy in her recognized his touch and wouldn’t let her pull away. “I’m not going to fight you.”

He growled at her response and pulled her into a bruising embrace, holding her head against his chest. Jasmine had to fight every instinct she possessed not to respond. Her hunger for him was a clawing being inside her. She reminded herself that she was prized but not irreplaceable. Not irreplaceable. He felt only momentary lust when he touched her. When she remained stiff, arms at her sides, he released her.

“Go to bed, Jasmine.” He sounded tired and defeated. Leaving her standing in the center of the bedroom, he pushed through the connecting door and into his room.

The door shut with a quiet click.

Out of nowhere, exhaustion slammed into Jasmine. Dreading this confrontation, she’d barely slept the past five nights. Still wearing the silk robe, she crawled under the blankets. However, a sense of loss kept nudging her awake. She knew it was a lie. She’d never had anything to lose. Still, she wanted to go to her husband and hold him…soothe him.

“No.” No, she wouldn’t give in to the need, when he clearly saw nothing wrong with his treatment of her. Respect, she repeated to herself. She was worthy of respect.

Tariq threw his balled-up shirt across the room. She’d denied him! He’d never expected that from Jasmine. He had relied on her generous nature to forgive him. Time and distance, and Jasmine’s passionate anger, had made him regret his cruel words. That day in her solar, he’d allowed the wounded beast inside him to speak, full of years of pent-up anger and pain. It would have been better to keep that uncontrollable part of himself locked up.

He’d been feeling instead of thinking, and the words that had slipped out had been weapons aimed at his wife. More than that, they’d been untrue. He had four years of midnight awakenings to attest to the fact that she was irreplaceable.

What if the damage was irreversible? What if Mina did hate him? Her body had been so stiff in his embrace, her lips so silent. She’d been like a small creature frozen in front of a predator. The painful image forced him to accept that what he’d felt from Jasmine hadn’t been anger or a need for revenge, but…hurt. His temper vanished in the face of that truth. He had hurt his wife, his Mina. There was no satisfaction in that knowledge, only disgust at himself. She was his to protect. Even from himself.

For the first time in an eternity, Tariq was uncertain about his next act. A sheik could rarely indulge in indecision, but it appeared that a husband had plenty of opportunity to do so. He knew he’d acted badly, but he wasn’t a man accustomed to asking for forgiveness. With a sound akin to a growl, he stalked into the shower, his mind on the small woman with big blue eyes next door.

Familiar hands, rough but gentle, stroked the naked line of her spine. Jasmine frowned, sure that she’d been clothed before sleep, but in this dream, skin touched skin. A kiss on her nape, on each vertebra, possessive hands grasping her hips…She moaned and turned onto her back, welcoming her lover. When he pressed his lips to her breasts, she arched into him. Waking thoughts merged with hazy dreams as her fingers tangled in thick silky hair. A beard-roughened jaw angled across her breast. She shivered and the spot was immediately kissed.

“Tariq,” she whispered, awake and aware. It was too late to stop her response. Her whole body was open in invitation. Jasmine sighed and gave in to the inevitable. Whatever he said, whatever he did, he was hers. How could she possibly deny him when he touched her as if she was precious?

When he kissed her, she returned his kiss joyously, unable to hide how much she’d missed him. He shuddered against her and broke away to drop kisses across her breasts. Under her fingers, his shoulder muscles bunched as he moved down her body, dropping a line of kisses across her stomach and flicking his tongue over the indentation of her navel.

Shivers racked her body as he found an unexpectedly sensitive spot. Her reaction made him repeat the quick caress. Her stomach muscles clenched and her hips jerked upward without conscious control. Pressed so close, she could feel his heartbeat in the pulse of his body.

She parted her thighs for him without prompting, but he didn’t rise to possess her. He lifted her left leg and placed it over his shoulder. Her sensitive skin burned from the heat of his body. Then he rubbed his rough jaw across the tender skin on the insides of her thighs.

She gasped. “Tariq, please.”

He soothed the roughness with his tongue, sending her nerves into further disarray. Then he repeated the whole process with her right leg. Just when she thought that she could feel no more pleasure, he dipped his head and bestowed the most intimate kiss of all upon her.

She screamed and would’ve squirmed away, but his hold on her hips kept her in place as he slowly, and with great care, introduced her to this shatteringly intimate form of loving. His only aim was her pleasure.

With the tiny slice of her brain that was functioning, she knew this was Tariq’s apology. Her warrior was adoring her body, cherishing her response. He couldn’t say the words, but he was showing her that she was more than an object to satisfy his lust. How much more, she didn’t know, but even the depth of her hurt couldn’t survive against this kind of tenderness.

She clutched handfuls of the sheets and gave herself up to his caresses. Once more, she gave her heart and soul to Tariq, her vows to keep him at bay disintegrating into dust. She felt the change in him immediately. His intense, concentrated caressing continued, but his shoulders were no longer so tense under her thighs, and his hands were anchors rather than vices forcing her to stay in place. And then she couldn’t think. She found the kind of freedom that she could only find in his arms and splintered on the wings of pleasure. He held her until the tremors subsided and then gently entered her, as if unsure of his welcome.

Tears pricked her eyes at his hesitation. He wasn’t acting the autocratic despot now. The silent question delivered the final blow to any lingering hurt. She deliberately clenched her inner muscles and held him prisoner, telling him without words that he was wanted, needed, loved. At the same time, she curled her arms around him and dropped kisses across his shoulders. With a groan, he began to move.

“Welcome home,” she whispered, just before she crested the highest pinnacle of desire for a second time that night.

A long while later, she gathered enough confidence to ask, “Why did you return early?”

Tariq spooned her deeper against him and dropped a kiss on the curve of her shoulder where it met her neck. “The trade agreement was completed earlier than expected.”

“Did you…” She began to ask him about the agreement, then stopped, unwilling to be rebuffed. He’d loved her with fire, but she was afraid that she’d be waking up beside the cool, reserved stranger he’d become after Zeina.

“What, Mina?”

“Nothing.”

He was silent for a while and then said, “Zulheil now has a contract with several Western states that will allow our artistic products to cross their borders without duty.”

She took the olive branch, prepared to meet him halfway. “Why artistic products?”

“Zulheil’s jewelry and other artistic products are highly prized. They are our third biggest export. The agreement goes both ways.” He chuckled, warming her heart. “They think their goods will flood our markets, but they’re wrong.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because, Mina—” he squeezed her with unexpected playfulness “—we have had such an agreement with the United States for years.”

“Really? But there’s no mass-market stuff in your streets.” She snuggled into him, her head pillowed on his arm.

“My people are used to the best handcrafted goods. The riches of the land are shared by all. The cheap things they send are never bought.”

“You’re snobs.”

Her husband shrugged. “But we are rich enough to be so.”

His unrepentant reply made her laugh. She couldn’t temper her responses to him when he let his shields fall. “So you’re getting the best of this bargain? Why don’t they know about the experience of the Americans?”

“Nobody likes to admit their mistakes. What would it look like if the world’s biggest power had been…I have lost the word,” he paused, waiting for her.

“Conned?” she suggested cheekily.

“Yes. It would not look good for them if they were seen to have been conned by a tiny sheikdom from the desert. A poor, primitive people.”

She laughed so hard that she cried. “Primitive!”

When she’d stopped giggling, Tariq bit her lightly on her shoulder to catch her attention. She turned into his arms, aware that she’d capitulated too easily, without waiting for words of apology to banish her heartache. But she’d always known that Tariq would never humble himself in such a blatant fashion. He was too much the desert warrior for that. For now, his incredibly tender loving was enough.

It was a start.

Early the next morning, Jasmine sat on the edge of her Zulheil Rose fountain, listening to the cool splash of the water and the quiet sounds of the birds. Kept awake by her newly reinvigorated demons, she’d made the decision to leave Tariq sprawled in bed, and face them. Face them and defeat them.

First, she accepted that she’d never truly been loved. Not the way she needed to be loved.

Perhaps if she’d chosen Tariq four years ago, he might have learned to love her like that. Perhaps. However, back then, she’d been young and needy compared to Tariq’s strength and confidence. While he’d cherished her, he’d also been her caretaker. Her love for him had been deep and achingly true, but it had been the love of a girl growing into womanhood. Tender. Easily bruised.

Though her hurt had made her doubt her feelings, since she’d come to Zulheil her love had matured and grown, fed by her awakening emotions for the man Tariq had become. All vestiges of the youth were gone, but in his place was a man of integrity, power and charisma. A man who touched her with tenderness that turned her heart inside out. A man who was, quite simply, magnificent.

She loved this Tariq with an intensity that even his anger couldn’t destroy. This love was tougher and gave her the courage to look behind his remarks, to the pain she’d caused. This love gave her the strength to fight for her lover.

From the first day she’d arrived, Tariq had been demanding. Now, she saw that as a gift. He no longer thought of her as a girl to be protected, but as a woman who had to confront her mistakes.

That was the first truth. The second was that she still wasn’t loved. And that terrified her. Her naive belief in her ability to reach Tariq with her love had been smashed beyond repair that day before Paris, and she couldn’t face that kind of torment again. She’d been rejected so many times in her life that once more might break her. So, while she would continue to fight for her sheik’s trust, she wouldn’t do it by offering him her heart…or betraying her hunger to be loved in return.

“I think we’re getting somewhere,” Jasmine said to Mumtaz two weeks later. They were browsing in an art supply store in Zulheina. “He’s talking to me.”

“Talking about what?”

“Business, mostly.” She was drawn to the easel in the corner.

“Hmm, that is good, but what about your relationship?”

Jasmine ran her fingers down the polished wood of the easel. Perfect. Leaning down, she picked up several prepared canvasses and stacked them on the easel. Tariq had always liked to prepare his own, but these would do for a start.

“I don’t want to ruin it by pushing.” She wandered over to the oil paints and began selecting tubes. Pthalo blue, burnt umber, viridian hue…

“You are waiting for something?” Mumtaz absently added titanium white to Jasmine’s collection.

“I want some sign that…I can’t explain it.” Ever since his return from Paris, Tariq had treated her with kid gloves, keeping an emotional barrier between them. He didn’t hurt her with his anger any longer, but conversely, she couldn’t breach his shields to teach him to trust in her again.

This lukewarm companionship was simply wrong.

Nothing had ever been lukewarm between them. Their love had been a blaze and their separation pure pain. Even the anger and hurt between them was jagged and sharp enough to draw blood. The sudden change in his behavior mystified her.

“Do not worry about explaining. Simply do what you must.” Mumtaz squeezed her hand.

“Good advice, I think.” But, Jasmine thought, what could she do to breach the wall her enigmatic husband had erected?

“Are you busy?” She peered into Tariq’s office. At the sound of her voice, he looked up from his desk.

“You are always welcome, Jasmine.”

She ignored the desire to rile him just to get him to respond with more heat. What sane woman would prefer an angry, simmering lover to a friendly, warm one? She had to be insane, because she definitely favored honest fury over a gentle illusion. At least then she knew his emotions ran deep.

Pushing aside those disturbing thoughts for the time being, Jasmine ducked out and picked up the pile of purchases and put them on his desk. The easel she left outside, unwilling to spoil his surprise.

“What is this?” He tugged at the string around the brown paper wrapping.

“A present. Open it!” She moved around to his side and perched on the arm of his chair.

He frowned and immediately curved one arm around her waist. “You will fall in such a position.”

“Here.” She wiggled and fell into his lap. “Now open it.”

He seemed nonplussed by her unexpected cuddling. When she pushed at his hands, he picked up his letter opener and cut the string. His body stilled around hers when he saw the canvasses, paints and brushes.

“I know you’re busy,” Jasmine began, before he could talk himself out of it. “But surely you can find an hour each day? Think of it as doing something for your sheikdom.”

He raised an expressive eyebrow at that.

She smiled. “A workaholic sheik will become stuffy and stressed out, and of no use to his people.” She ignored his snort of disbelief. “You used to paint as a way to relieve the stresses of the day. Why not try that again?”

“My responsibilities—”

She stopped him with a hand on his lips. “An hour. That’s not too much to ask. And I’ll help you.”

“How?”

“I’m sure I can do something to lighten the load for you. Filing? Summarizing reports? I’m smart, you know.”

He chuckled at her earnest words and his shoulders subtly relaxed. “I know you are smart, Mina. I’ve always known that. All right. You may assist me and you must also sit for me.”

“You’re going to paint me?” She sat up on his lap, excited. “Will it be a nude?”

He frowned at her impudence. “Such a painting would never be seen by the world and would be burned upon my death.”

Jasmine kissed his cheek, delighted by his acceptance, and scrambled off his lap before he could stop her. “There’s an easel, too.” She collected the materials. “I’ll put this in a corner of my workroom and come back to help you.”

She ended up spending the rest of the day with him, reviewing reports. He told her she could leave at any time, but when she saw the amount of work that required his attention, she was more than happy to sit down and dig in.

One of the reports gave her an unwelcome shock. “Tariq?”

He raised his head at her sharp tone.

“It says here that the sheik can have more than one wife.” Her brow furrowed.

Tariq’s lips twitched a little. “That is an ancient law.”

“How ancient?” She didn’t intend to share her husband. Ever.

“Very. It is a historical oddity. Both my grandfather and my father had only one wife.”

“Your great-grandfather?”

“Four.” It seemed to her that his eyes were bright with withheld amusement. “Do not worry, I believe I have only enough stamina for one wife.”

“I’m going to get this law repealed,” she declared.

“The women of Zulheil would salute you. It only applies to the sheik, but the law seems to threaten Zulheil’s modern image, some say.”

Jasmine nodded, her fears soothed by his practical words. At least another wife was one problem she wouldn’t have to contend with. She settled back to work. There was, she discovered, a kind of quiet satisfaction in helping her husband bear some of the burdens he carried on his shoulders.

“Enough, Mina.” He stood up and stretched, his powerful body drawing her attention.

She’d been sitting on the sofa in one corner of his study, curled up. Putting aside a report, she stood and stretched as well, loosening tight muscles.

“You may regret your offer.” He came to stand by her. “I find your summaries excellent. I will conscript you often.”

Pleased by his compliment, she smiled and put her hand in his. “Good. Now let’s go before someone else catches you.”

Today, for the first time, she’d realized just how many people thought that Tariq was the only one who could possibly provide an answer to their problems. Often they turned up in person. Hiraz and Mumtaz deflected a lot of them, but some were insistent. The relaxed system of government in Zulheil astounded her. However, it appeared to work fantastically well for the small and sparsely populated land.

“Would you protect me, Jasmine?” His smile said he found that a ludicrous idea, given that he was twice her size.

“I think you need someone to run interference. Mumtaz and Hiraz have trouble because they’re not seen as royal.” She was serious about her observations. “But I am. I could deal with most of what they came to you for, leaving you free to take care of bigger matters.”

Tariq was ominously silent. She looked up to find him staring at her, his expression thoughtful.

“I mean, if you want me to.” She was suddenly uncertain. A lifetime of never being good enough tended to overcome her efforts at self-confidence. “I know I’m a foreigner…” With a corner of her mind, she shoved aside the secret that threatened to float to the surface. She didn’t want to think about that now, not when her husband was looking at her with eyes that held something close to tenderness.

Tariq stopped her with a finger on her lips. “You are my wife. I have told you that my people have accepted you as such. What about your designing?”

“I wanted to speak to you about that,” she said. “Would my having business interests damage the royal image?”

He shook his head. “I have many such interests. You wish to develop your designs?”

“I was thinking of a small fashion house. One that markets to the retail sector, but has no shops of its own.”

“You will do well.” His answer was just a simple statement of confidence in her abilities, yet it filled her with immense joy. No one had ever believed in her.

“But, much as I’ll miss not giving the majority of my time to design,” she ventured, “I think it’ll have to slip into second place.”

“Second place?”

“As your wife, my place is here, with you.” She didn’t betray the love driving her decision. Until she was sure of Tariq’s feelings for her, she’d keep that beautiful emotion to herself. Another rebuff, even a gentle one, would tear her to pieces. “My designing will have to be like your painting. Something I do for myself, after serving our people.” It was a sacrifice, but one she made willingly. By marrying Tariq, she’d accepted that the country’s needs would sometimes come before her own. And Tariq needed a partner who could bear some of the many duties of a leader.

Approval glimmered in his eyes. She was encouraged. It was time for her to grow up and accept the responsibilities that came with being the sheik’s wife. He hadn’t pushed her, allowing her to do as she wished, but her place was with him.

“If you wish to do this, then I accept.”

Jasmine smiled and leaned closer. The slight tensing of his body was his only response. By the time they got to her workroom, he was relaxed again. She frowned in thought.

“I’ll work here,” Tariq announced.

She looked up, her introspection momentarily interrupted. Tariq was gesturing to the semicircle of windows in the southern end of the room. The light was brilliant in that corner. She nodded and helped him set up.

“Now, you’ll recline on this.”

Jasmine dutifully stretched out on the plush red chaise longue that he’d dragged opposite his easel. Before beginning to paint, he put a cushion under her elbow to prop her up. She knew that he never bothered with sketches, preferring a light watercolor outline on the canvas itself.

He was, she thought with pride, very, very talented. She cherished the tiny painting that he’d given her a month before they’d separated. It was a Zulheil seascape that he’d painted from memory to show her his homeland.

“You’re frowning.”

She smiled. “Better?”

“Hmm.”

For some reason, his masculine murmur reminded her of her earlier thoughts. Tariq appeared to find physical affection from her somewhat disconcerting. No, perhaps that wasn’t the right word, she thought, stopping herself from frowning again. It was more that he seemed to be taken by surprise. He didn’t reject her touches, he just didn’t seem to expect them. She carefully thought back over the past weeks, and then over the six months they’d spent together four years ago.

Tariq had always loved touching her. Though a highly sensual man, he liked to touch as a gesture of tenderness as well. He’d been autocratic and reserved with everyone else, but with her, he’d been very affectionate. Conversely, she’d been used to the repressive formality of her own home. It had taken him months to make her comfortable enough in his presence to risk even the simple touches that he’d taken for granted.

“Mina.” Tariq’s disapproving look made her aware of her frown. She shot him another cheerful smile and waited for him to return to his paints. Once he did, she relaxed.

Since she’d come to Zulheil, he’d touched her often. For the first turbulent weeks, it had mostly been sexual and erotic. She’d understood that he wasn’t ready to trust her with his affection. But in Zeina, it had been like being in heaven. After spending so much time pressed together on the back of a camel, their casual touching had merged seamlessly into their lives.

However, since his trip to Paris, their tiny instinctive gestures of togetherness had disappeared. Now it seemed that Tariq was controlling the intensity of their lovemaking. Though he made love to her without fail, and took care to make sure that she always reached her peak, something was missing. The heady eroticism of their earlier encounters had been dampened.

Why? Jasmine asked herself. Why would he seek to limit their sensuality, the one place where they’d always been in perfect accord? Surely he wasn’t holding against her the fact that she hadn’t welcomed him with open arms the minute he’d returned? She almost shook her head to dismiss that idea. Tariq had apologized to her in his own way, she was sure of that. They’d made their peace.

Then why? The answer flitted just out of her reach.

“That is enough for now, Jasmine.”