Secrets of the Oasis

He held her fast against his body, where she could feel the heat and strength of his burgeoning arousal. ‘Tell me again you won’t be seduced…’ It wasn’t even a question.

Jamilah wanted to deny him, but the way she kept falling into his arms and responding so forcibly mocked her. Her heart fell at the unmistakable light of triumph in his eyes.

‘The problem is that we are dealing with a force greater than ourselves, and the fact that our desire never got a chance to burn itself out,’ he said.

Jamilah finally managed to pull away. ‘Unlike you, I have a healthy respect for things that aren’t good for me. I can resist this, and I will. Find someone else, Salman, please.’ And she hoped to God that he would listen to her plea.

CHAPTER FIVE

JAMILAH had only gone back downstairs when she was due to have her own meeting with the envoy from Dubai. To her abject relief she hadn’t seen Salman again, but she steeled herself now for the evening ahead, when they were due to go to a black tie function.

When she heard Salman moving around in the main salon she took a deep and shaky breath in. She regarded herself in her bedroom mirror. Make-up covered most of the ravages of the last sleepless night, and the aftermath of that lunch and the kiss. There was an awful feeling of inevitability burning low in her belly, and she couldn’t ignore it much as she wanted to.

Her dress was strapless silk and floor-length, midnight-blue in colour—almost black. It managed to be effortlessly chic even while the low back presented a much more daring view.

Her mother had been a famous fashion model—one of the first Arabic women to break into the international scene—which was how she’d met Jamilah’s father in Paris. Before Jamilah’s parents had died so tragically her mother had already instilled within her a love and appreciation for classic elegant clothes and jewellery. Jamilah didn’t buy much, but when she did it was always quality pieces.

She’d twisted her hair up, and now added a pair of her mother’s sapphire earrings to match the simple necklace that adorned her neck. With another shaky breath she picked up her short faux fur coat and evening bag and left her room.

Her hands clenched tight around her bag when she saw Salman, standing and flicking idly through a magazine on the table. He looked up, and for a moment Jamilah felt as if she was drowning. She’d seen Salman in a tuxedo before, but something about seeing him now, tonight, seemed to hit her right between the eyes. He was simply the most stupendously handsome man she’d ever seen.

Salman looked at Jamilah. She was a vision in dark silk which showed off every elegant curve of her body. Her breasts were soft pale swells above the bodice, and a gem hung with tantalising provocation just above the vee in her cleavage. Her eyes glittered a dazzling blue, and Salman knew that if they didn’t get out of there right now he’d take her to his bed and she would hate him for ever. And then he had to concede bitterly that he’d already taken care of that when he’d rejected her so cruelly six years before.

Curtly, Salman said, dropping the magazine, ‘We should get going, or we’ll be late for the opening speech.’

Jamilah nearly reeled back on her heels. She felt as if she’d just hurtled through a time continuum, been burnt by the sun and then thrown out the other side. Had she just imagined that incendiary moment?

Standing in the lift moments later as they descended, she felt very shaky and vulnerable. Salman was stony-faced and taciturn, and it gave her a sickening sense of déjà-vu to when he’d changed so utterly on that fateful day six years before. She welcomed it, and hardened the tender inner part of herself that had felt an awful weakening as the day had progressed, as if on some level his relentless pursuit was starting to dissolve her own resolve to resist. She could resist. She had to resist.

Outside the hotel, in the cool night air, he helped her to put on her coat. Visibly flinching when his hand brushed the bare skin of her shoulder.

Jamilah tugged her coat from his hands and said curtly, ‘It’s fine. I’ve got it. I’m sorry you had to touch me.’

His car was just drawing up, and he turned her to face him with his hands on her shoulders. Jamilah hated that she was feeling so raw. But the stark hunger etched onto his face sent tremors of awareness through her. Along with confusion.

‘You think that I don’t want to touch you?’

Jamilah couldn’t speak. In her peripheral vision she could see the driver standing and holding the door open, but they weren’t moving. Salman spoke again in low husky tones.

‘If I hadn’t got you out of that suite as quickly as I had, I think it’s safe to say that your dress would already be in ribbons and we’d be indulging in the most frantic and urgent coupling of our lives. All I can think about is how I want to pull you onto the back seat of that car, spread your legs around me and take you right now—because quite frankly the suite is too far away. I’ve never before contemplated stopping a lift to make love to a woman, but I just did. Don’t you have any idea how much I want you?’

Jamilah’s mouth opened and closed with shock. Any resolve that had recently fired through her was washed away by a rush of desire so intense that she literally ached for Salman to do exactly as he’d said. All she could see was their naked limbs entwined, dewed with sweat, hearts beating frantically as they came closer and closer to the explosive pinnacle.

Just then someone emerged from the hotel behind them, and Jamilah blinked as she saw Salman’s urbane mask come back. It was the Sultan of Al-Omar, and she issued a garbled greeting to the tall, handsome ruler. She vaguely heard him ask if he could share their ride to the dinner, as he’d lent his car out for the evening to someone else.

Bodyguards belonging to the Sultan and to Salman hovered in the shadows, ready to jump into their accompanying vehicles. It served to bring Jamilah back to some kind of sanity, and a few seconds later she found herself pressed tight against Salman, who had negotiated it so that Jamilah was on his right, with Sultan Sadiq on his left. All Jamilah could feel was her thigh burning where Salman’s pressed against her. Strong and powerfully muscular.

The men spoke of inanities and their meetings. Jamilah couldn’t contribute a word, her head still whirling at Salman’s intensity just now. How on earth was she going to cope if he directed that at her again? With an awful feeling of fatality she knew she

wouldn’t be able to.

A couple of hours later Jamilah’s nerves were overwrought after an evening spent at Salman’s side, trying to ignore the feelings running riot through her system. He’d barely touched her all evening, but she’d felt the burning intensity in his restraint.

Now they were back in their car—without the Sultan this time. He’d come up to Salman earlier, with a gorgeous statuesque brunette on his arm, and it had been obvious he had plans other than returning to the hotel. Sultan Sadiq had almost as notorious a reputation as Salman.

They glided through the moonlit streets of Paris now, with the Eiffel Tower appearing and disappearing intermittently, all lit up like a giant bauble. The tension was thick between them, and just when Jamilah was contemplating the uphill battle she faced if Salman tried to seduce her again she heard him ask the driver to slow down. She only noticed then that they were beside the Hôtel de Ville, where a fairground had been set up in the main square.

Salman looked at her. ‘Do you mind if we get out for a minute?’