Secrets of the Oasis

Just then she heard the girl return, and Jamilah practically jumped out of the bath, grabbing the towel out of the girl’s hands. Too mortified to look the young girl in the eye, she hunted around for her clothes, but they and her bag were gone. She asked the girl where they were and she blushed prettily, saying that the Sheikh had told her to wash Jamilah’s clothes and to give him her bag. She said, ‘The Sheikh has left some clothes for you…’ Immediately Jamilah thought of that glossy box and its connotations.

When the maid indicated to Jamilah where there was an array of scents and body lotions, Jamilah said, more curtly than she’d intended, ‘I don’t need any of that. I just want my own clothes.’

A tortured expression crossed the girl’s face, and immediately Jamilah felt contrite. She was only following orders, and in this rural milieu you absolutely did not question the demands of the Sheikh. Jamilah apologised and gave in, knowing she couldn’t do anything else for the moment, ‘Thank you for the bath, and the lotions…but I can do that myself. Why don’t you bring the clothes you’ve been left in here, so I can get changed?’

While the relieved girl was gone, Jamilah picked up the nearest lotion and smoothed it on as perfunctorily as she could, trying to ignore its heady musky scent and the way her skin tingled to her touch. When the girl came back, looking much happier, Jamilah didn’t have the heart to say anything more about her own things. She would work on getting them back some other way.

But when the girl opened up the big glossy box with unmistakable reverence, and pulled out a long kaftan-style dress which seemed to be made entirely out of spun silver, Jamilah gasped, transfixed.

The girl said in awe, ‘It is beautiful, is it not?’

Jamilah touched it. ‘Yes, very.’ It looked as if it had been made by fairies—a human hand too clumsy for something so ethereal. When it moved, glints of dark blue thread shone like bursts of sapphire.

And with it came underwear made of lace so delicate it looked as if it would fall apart at a mere touch. The royal blue colour made the pale olive of her skin stand out, and to Jamilah’s constant embarrassment her nipples stiffened against the delicate lace, as if it were a lover’s touch. She hated that she was getting dressed to Salman’s specifications. She hated that she was falling in with his plans. Even as a secret part of her felt the insidious slow curling, burning of desire which, once started, would not rest until it had been sated.

Once Jamilah was dressed, with the kaftan lovingly clinging to her every curve, the maid brushed her hair until it too shone like spun black silk. Eventually, when her nerves were screaming with tension, the girl was finished, and with downbent gaze she left.

Taking a deep breath, Jamilah emerged from behind the screen to see Salman’s broad-shouldered powerful physique dominating the doorway of the tent. Instantly her insides contracted with a pulsing of pleasure she couldn’t stop. She gritted her jaw and her hands went to fists by her sides.

She couldn’t make out Salman’s expression; he was too far away and in the shadows, and all she could think about was how she’d felt him watching her and how she’d touched herself so wantonly. If it even had been him! Liquid heat moistened her still sensitive sex.

And then abruptly, breaking the moment of tension, Salman strode in. The curtains closed heavily behind him and they were cocooned in this lavish tent, in a remote oasis in the far eastern reaches of Merkazad.

He stood tall and resplendent in Merkazadi robes by a table which had been laid and was now heaving with succulent-looking food. The smells alone were more enticing than anything she’d ever experienced before, and Jamilah firmly pushed aside the implication that it was because it was here, with him. Because he had done this for her.

On shaky legs she walked over, her stomach growling with hunger all of a sudden. She refused to meet Salman’s eyes as she approached the table, acutely self-aware in the dress, and she would have kept avoiding his eye if he hadn’t caught her arm in a burning grip and with his other hand tipped her chin up so that she had to look at him.

Roughly he said, ‘You are more beautiful tonight than I’ve ever seen you.’

Jamilah bristled when heady pleasure suffused her body at his statement. She tried to block out how gorgeous he was, with a faint line of stubble accentuating his hard jaw, the robes making him look so effortlessly regal and powerful. ‘Well, I hope it’s worth it, after all the trouble and expense you’ve gone to, to get me out here.’

‘It’ll be worth it, Jamilah,’ he promised. ‘And the pleasure won’t be mine alone. I’ll make sure of that.’

Reacting to that promise, and feeling shrewish, she said, ‘Well, you can save me the sordid details of whose pleasure it will be, because you won’t be sharing my bed tonight, Salman.’

He chuckled softly and let her go, indicating for her to sit down. His easy laughter made her want to bounce something off his head, but Jamilah clenched her jaw and sat down, feeling very huffy and petulant. Alien moods for her—she was usually so calm and controlled.

It was a struggle for Salman to appear urbane as Jamilah sat down opposite him, refusing to meet his eye. He was harder than he’d ever been in his life, thanks to that little X-rated water show she’d put on. Only the return of the staff to prepare for dinner had stopped him from smashing aside the screen so that he could strip and lower himself into that bath, embed himself between her glorious legs and take her so hard and fast their heads would have been spinning for a week.

And that dress… It covered her almost as comprehensively as the ubiquitous shirts and jeans she wore, but it shimmered and clung to dips and hollows with a sensuality that made him grit his jaw and curl his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching out to touch her.

She sent him a skittish little glance, and he saw a pulse beat hectically at the base of her neck. Dark triumph filled him. She could fight this—him—until she was blue in the face, but ultimately she wouldn’t be able to deny her own desire. But for now he forced himself to take control of his libido, and put a plate of different morsels of food together for her.

Jamilah took the plate Salman handed her, seeing that he had automatically picked all of her favourite foods. Her heart clenched. And then she saw him pour them both some champagne. She quirked a brow in his direction, striving not to remember how it had felt to learn that she’d been the cause of his one lapse of control with alcohol. That he hadn’t been unmoved by his actions after all…

He smiled and held up his glass, ‘To us, Jamilah.’

She smiled back sweetly and clinked her glass with his. ‘To me, and the good night’s sleep I’m going to have in this lovely tent, all on my own.’

He chuckled again and drank from his glass, and Jamilah’s eyes were momentarily transfixed by the powerful bronzed column of his throat. Tearing her gaze away, hating the flush of awareness climbing up her body, she ate—and nearly choked on a plump, succulent prawn when Salman said lazily, ‘I enjoyed our correspondence over the last few days—even if it was a little one-sided, and did leave me somewhat…unsatisfied.’

Jamilah wiped at her mouth with a napkin. She might have thrown the notes away in disgust, but not until after she’d read most of them with a guilty pleasure. Which Salman had honed in on as soon as they’d spoken on the phone. And she might have slammed the phone down on him, but she hadn’t been able to get him out of her head. She hadn’t been far off touching herself, just as she had in the bath earlier, and she squirmed to remember that now.

Salman caught her hand across the table, and her gaze skittered to his guiltily.

‘Were you thinking of me just now…in the bath? You must have known I was watching…’

Enthralled and mesmerised, Jamilah could say or do nothing. To agree would mean that she couldn’t turn back from him tonight, because he’d know that he’d turned her on with little more than the thought that he’d been there. In a strangled voice she said shakily, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’