And she hated him for it, because she was sure that it cost him nothing to admit this. That he was completely unaware how seismic this admission was to her. She whirled back around to face him, willing herself to be strong.
‘I won’t give you three days, Salman. I feel sane enough for the both of us, believe me. This is pure indulgence on your part. You’re bored and frustrated because for once in your life you’re not getting what you want and you simply can’t handle it.’
He moved towards her, and with big hands closing around her waist he pulled her to him. She could see anger flare in his eyes at her defiance. ‘Your refusal to see me as anything but a feckless, petulant playboy is growing wearisome, Jamilah. This goes far deeper than such superficial emotions, believe me.’
She stood stiff in his embrace. But her conscience struck her. She knew well that she could no longer label him as such. He was far from the shallow playboy everyone believed him to be. She threw her head back, determined not to let herself succumb to the three days of bliss she knew only he could promise. It would be all too easy for her to hope for more, to believe that perhaps things were different this time round.
She ignored the provocative sight of the luxurious bed nearby. ‘Well, what else am I supposed to think when you use your powerful position to get what you want?’
Her words struck Salman somewhere deep inside, and he fought not to let the emotion she aroused to show on his face. But the fact was this: he’d never had to go to so much trouble to get a woman into his bed before. He’d never been so consumed by a woman. His heart beat hard; that wasn’t true. He had once before, and it had been this woman.
There’d never been a moment when she hadn’t occupied some corner of his mind, when he hadn’t been aware of her. He could see that now. Growing up, he’d felt guilty as a young man, being so aware of how her young, firm body had been developing and maturing. The day he’d left Merkazad she’d been sixteen years old and he’d touched her cheek, when in actual fact he’d had to battle a desire to kiss her.
‘I want you, Jamilah. That’s all that matters here. We’re alone. Miles away from civilisation.’
He couldn’t know how seductive those words were—how many times she’d woken from hot and tangled dreams in which he’d come back to Merkazad and whisked her away for exactly such illicit pleasure.
Suddenly sounding eminently reasonable, and not at all passionate, Salman stepped away and said, ‘Night has fallen outside.’
Jamilah blinked stupidly, and could see through the gap in the lavish drapes that night had indeed fallen. Stars twinkled in a clear sky and a half moon glistened. Night creatures filled the air with their chirrups and sounds. And she hadn’t even noticed.
‘You must be tired and hungry. Why don’t you wash and we’ll eat?’
He said this as if he hadn’t all but kidnapped her—as if they were not in some remote and magical part of Merkazad—but as if this were entirely normal. She watched as he walked over to the far side of the tent and picked up a gold-embossed box. He put it on the bed and turned to her, saying with a rough quality to his voice, ‘I brought you some things to wear.’
The audacity of his statement made her melt inside while it also stiffened her resolve not to give in to this arrogant and autocratic game of his. ‘I won’t be wearing any clothes other than my own, Salman. This is ridiculous. I’m not your mistress.’
Her mouth thinned. ‘But I am hungry, and I am tired. And clearly I’m stuck here for the night now. I’ll wash and eat, and then I’m going to bed—alone. In my own clothes.’ Belligerently she said, as she got her bag and made for the curtained-off washing area, ‘I don’t know where you’re going to sleep tonight, but the least you can do is let me have the tent.’
Salman’s eyes flashed, and she thought she saw his mouth quirk as if she amused him, but before she could respond to the fresh anger mixed with panic spiking within her he said smoothly, ‘I’ll arrange for one of the girls to come and help you, and for dinner to be served.’
Jamilah shut her mouth and all but fled to the washing area, which was lit with the light of a hundred gently flickering candles. Her heart ached in her chest as she was momentarily transfixed by the scene. In any other circumstance she would long for just this scenario. It came fully formed out of her fantasies. But not now, and not like this, with this man. And yet…her heart ached even harder…with who else?
He might want three more days with her, but what else might he demand? He wasn’t done with her. And she certainly wasn’t done with him. And yet all this fighting her response to him was exhausting. His notes and that incendiary phone call had taken a lot more out of her than she wanted to admit to.
Just then she heard a sound, and a young, shy Bedouin girl came in, dressed from head to toe in black. She started filling the ornate bath and gave Jamilah a robe to change into. Jamilah was aware of the feminine ritual even though she’d never been indulged like this before. This kind of thing was usually reserved for members of the ruling family—the Sheikha and the Sheikh’s mistresses.
Her blood ran cold. Was she Salman’s mistress now? For this was exactly how a mistress was treated, wasn’t it? Flown in to meet him, bought clothes, wined and dined, washed and readied for his pleasure. Disgust curled low in her belly even as something much more treacherous made her blood grow hot. There was something so inherently decadent and sexy about this ritual, and it called to a deeply secret feminine part of herself that she’d never acknowledged before. She hated to admit that.
The girl had prepared the bath, and the scent of exotic oils rose to make Jamilah’s skin tingle all over. She stripped and put on the robe, barely noticing when the girl took her bundle of clothes away and said she’d be back presently. Too seduced not to be able to respond, Jamilah groaned softly as she slid into the perfumed satiny water. She never indulged herself like this. For such a long time she’d subjugated any kind of feminine luxury. For a second she forgot her tangled emotions and her anger at Salman: this was pure bliss…
Salman had come back into the tent momentarily, to see that the dinner preparations were being made to his specifications. He’d been pacing while staff scurried in and out. Now they were gone while they prepared the hot food. He heard the gentle movement of the bath water in the curtained-off corner of the dimly lit tent, and to imagine Jamilah there now, naked, was almost more than he could bear.
Knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to help himself, he walked over to the screen. He could hear her soft moan of pleasure, the splash of water, and his body tightened unbearably. Through a chink in the screen he became transfixed when he saw slivers of Jamilah’s body—the swell of her pale olive-skinned breasts with those dusky nipples. Her elegant shoulders. A tendril of wet hair sloping down to one bountiful curve.
Jamilah stilled in the water for a moment, soap between her hands. Someone was watching her. She could feel it. But she couldn’t call out. She felt a kind of paralysis grip her, and suddenly didn’t want to break the spell that seemed to be weaving itself around her. She knew it was Salman. She could sense his presence a mile away. And to know that he was watching her through the screen, illicitly, was the most erotic thing she’d ever felt.
Suddenly she had power in her hands. She had him at a disadvantage. She knew there was no way he’d come to her like this, while they might be caught, but still she could sense his eyes on her in this secret and brief moment. With a hitherto non-existent feminine pride and confidence she soaped her body, trailing her hands up each arm luxuriously, before soaping her shoulders.
With her eyes half closed she washed her breasts, and imagining Salman watching sent her arousal into orbit. Her nipples were already tight and hard, and when she ran her hands over them s
he couldn’t stop the faintest mewling sound coming from her throat. She was meant to be teasing him, not herself, and yet…she couldn’t stop.
His provocative notes from the past few days came back to her: Do you touch yourself when you think about me? Are you hot now? Are you wet and aching for me? I dreamt of you last night and woke up hard, wanting you…
Unaware of the spell she was binding around herself, Jamilah let her fingers trap one nipple, squeezing the hard peak so that a flame burst to life in her belly. Her other hand drifted down over her belly, under the water, to between her legs. To where the water lapped against her hot and slippery flesh.
It was only when she heard something that sounded like a strangled moan and then more noises that she came out of her sensual reverie, shooting up to sit in the bath, suddenly mortified and burning up all over. What had just happened to her? She’d been as good as starring in her own X-rated video! And all because she’d thought Salman had been watching. He probably hadn’t been—it could have been anyone! Oh, God, Jamilah thought, what had she turned into?