Strong, Hot Winds

by Iris Johansen

  The man looked at him in bewilderment.

  “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” Damon added politely with a ferocious scowl.

  The servant hesitated, then began backing toward the door.

  “A little more speed would be greatly appreciated.” A dangerous softness had entered Damon’s voice.

  The servant’s eyes widened in alarm and he bolted from the room.

  Cory began to laugh helplessly, and Damon’s gaze shifted back to her face as he asked silkily, “What’s so amusing? I used all the right words. I was the soul of courtesy.”

  “That poor man …” Cory shook her head, her face still alight with laughter. “You knew he would react that way. It was very bad of you, Damon.”

  He smiled grudgingly. “Sometimes I get tired of being thought of as an insensitive barbarian and give in to the temptation to act like one. This whole dinner scene has a quality of déjà vu for me. Remind me to introduce you to Damita Bandor. You have a great deal in common.”

  She felt a tiny shock, and her smile faded. “A friend of yours?”

  He nodded. “And the wife of my friend, Cam. She doesn’t like finger-snapping either.”

  Why did she feel so relieved, Cory wondered. Not only relieved, but her spirits were rising like a balloon soaring into the sky. “Then she’s a woman of extremely good sense.”

  He nodded absently, his gaze on her face. “She married Cam.”

  She laughed again. “And that automatically certifies her intelligence? Good Lord, that’s chauvinistic.”

  He frowned. “I didn’t mean it like that. Cameron Bandor is special. Even you would approve of him.”

  “Why is he special?”

  He shrugged. “He just is.”

  “No, I really want to know.” Her eyes were bright with curiosity. “Tell me.”

  “So that you can use him against me too?”

  The question jarred through her, bringing shock and pain in its wake. Somehow she had lost touch with her original purpose and been caught up in the force of Damon’s personality and the intriguing things she was learning about him. It was just as well he had reminded her, she told herself. She forced a smile. “Perhaps. Anyway, it won’t hurt to tell me about Cam, will it?”

  “No, I guess not.” He motioned for the remaining servant in the room to fill the wineglasses, and the man sprang forward to obey. “Cam and I went to school together in France. He’s one of the peacemakers of the world and he helped me survive those six years without getting expelled.” He smiled grimly. “Or killing someone. It was a major accomplishment. If you think I’m a barbarian now, you should have seen me before Cam filed off some of the rough edges.”

  “I never called you a barbarian,” she said slowly. “You’re the one who always refers to yourself that way.”

  “Defense mechanism.” He smiled crookedly. “I learned a long time ago it hurts less to call myself a savage than have someone else do it.”

  “Hurt?”

  His head lifted proudly. “That’s the wrong word. They didn’t really hurt me, they only made me angry.”

  No, hurt had been exactly the right word, Cory thought with a sudden pang. She could visualize Damon coming from this atmosphere, where he was almost idolized, to the harshness of a world who despised not only his differences but that explosive temperament that made him all the more difficult.

  “Why didn’t your parents let you come back to Kasmara?”

  “My mother died when I was two and my father soon after I went away to school.” Damon lifted his glass to his lips. “My father had set up certain legal guardians for my trusts, but my personal guardianship was in the hands of the chieftains of the El Zabor. He knew they’d let nothing happen to me.” He sipped the wine again before setting the goblet back on the table. “I could have come home if I’d wished.”

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  His hand tightened on the slender stem of the glass. “Because I knew I needed what they were teaching me. The El Zabor is mired in traditions that have no place in the modern world. I had to know what the West had to offer so I could choose what was best for them. I had responsibilities.”

  So he had let himself be ripped and scarred for six long years to meet those responsibilities. “There must have been some other way,” she said gently.

  He shook his head. “There was another reason. I’m not blind to my faults. I know I’m reckless and wild and I was even more so when I was a child. I knew I’d need the self-discipline I’d learn from them. Though Cam would claim I learned precious little, the experience did help.”

  She gazed at him in amazement. The simplicity with which he spoke was a story in itself. He didn’t realize how remarkable it was to find a child who was capable of that kind of self-sacrifice. The El Zabor needed knowledge—so Damon had learned. The El Zabor needed Damon’s self-discipline—so Damon had put himself through six years of painful humiliation to obtain it.

  “I imagine it did help.” She looked down into the ruby depths of the wine in her glass. “However, I find the solution a little drastic.”

  “I’m the Bardono,” he said quietly. “It was necessary.” He tossed down the rest of his wine and set the glass on the table. “And that’s the reason I value my friend, Cam. Well, did you learn anything to hurt me?”

  She had a feeling she was only hurting herself by peeling away the layers of Damon’s personality. Why else would she be feeling this aching need to comfort and protect as if he were as much her child as Michael? “I’ll have to study the evidence and make a decision later,” she said lightly.

  “Always so cautious.” For an instant Damon’s expression held only wariness before he forced himself to smile. “You never give too much of yourself. I suppose I should be used to it by now. Drink your wine. I think you’ll like it.”

  She sipped the wine. “It’s very good,” she said, her thoughts on what he had said. “I’m not that cautious in my relationships. I know how important it is to give.” Then, as he gazed at her without speaking, she said, “I do give, dammit.”

  “Perhaps.” He shrugged. “That wasn’t my experience with you.” The door opened and two servants bearing silver trays entered the room. “It’s not important now. Let’s forget about it.”

  Cory tried to forget about it during the entire course of the dinner, but his words kept popping into her mind like salt on a raw wound. Generosity of spirit had always been important to her, and the possibility that Damon found her lacking generosity stung her. It shouldn’t be important what Damon thought of her, she assured herself. Whatever she had felt for him was lost now, buried by time and her resentment at his arrogance in taking Michael.

  “You’re very quiet.” Damon lifted his coffee cup to his lips and looked at her over the rim. “And you’ve eaten practically nothing. I thought you said you were hungry.”

  “I ate enough.” She was silent a moment, then suddenly blurted out, “I do give. Ask any of my friends. Ask my son.”

  “Are we back to that subject? I don’t doubt you’re a good friend and a wonderful mother. Neither of those two relationships poses a threat to you.”

  “And you do?” she asked defiantly. “You’re no emotional threat to me. Not then and certainly not now.”

  “No?” He set his cup back in its saucer with a decisive click, a spark of anger glittering in the depths of his eyes. “It seems the truce is over. Do you want to prove just how giving you can be?” He waved the servants out of the room. “All right, let’s have a demonstration. Come here.”

  She sat there, gazing at him with blazing eyes.

  “Come here,” he repeated with dangerous softness. “Kiran.”

  She jumped up, the legs of her chair scraping on the marble tile as she pushed it back and came around to face him. She fell to her knees before him. “Is this what you want? Does this please you, Damon?”

  “Hell, yes, it pleases me.” His fingers toyed with the edge of the pink bandeau. “This is what I w
ant from you.” He suddenly jerked the bandeau down to bare her breasts. “This is all I’ll ever want.”

  Pain shot through her with a force that stunned her. She closed her eyes to keep him from seeing the idiotic tears that were brimming there. “Good,” she said huskily. “For that’s all I’ll ever give you.”

  She heard him draw a deep breath as if struck by a blow. She could feel his gaze on her naked breasts and knew they were swelling with that damnable helpless response her body always gave Damon. Her heart was slamming so hard against the wall of her chest that it was almost painful. The long tense silence seemed to stretch on forever as she waited for his reprisal.

  There was none.

  She felt his hands, oddly clumsy and uncoordinated, on the silk of the bandeau, and then her breasts were once more covered.

  She opened her eyes to look at him in surprise.

  Damon’s lids were lowered to hood his eyes as he said thickly, “Now that we’ve got that settled, I think you’d better leave.”

  “Leave?” she echoed blankly.

  “You heard me. I don’t want you tonight.” He pushed his chair back, stood up, and strode across the room toward the French doors leading to the terrace.

  He did want her, Cory thought in bewilderment. She was familiar enough with his physical responses to know when he was aroused and all the signs were definitely there.

  “Why are you still here? You’re dismissed.” He stood with his back to her, looking out at the night sky. “I have no need for a kiran right now.”

  She rose slowly to her feet. She didn’t understand this at all. Was he trying to show her how little importance she held for him even in the physical sense? “Is this a game?”

  “I wish it were,” he said heavily. “Then I could put all the pieces in a neat little box and forget about them. Will you get the hell out of here?”

  “Gladly.” She whirled around. “I certainly don’t want to be here.” She moved swiftly toward the door. “I’m happy you changed your mind about this kiran business.”

  He didn’t turn. “I haven’t changed my mind. It’s only a reprieve, Cory. I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”

  She hesitated in the doorway. There was a painful tautness about his stance that hurt her in some mysterious fashion which she understood no more than she understood why he was doing this. “Good night.”

  She closed the door behind her and walked swiftly down the corridor toward her own suite.

  “Damon.”

  It was Selim’s voice at the door, but Damon didn’t bother to turn around. “Come in.”

  “A messenger has come from Marain.” Selim’s voice was hesitant. “He respectfully wonders when you will honor him with a visit. It’s the time of the sirocco and they wish to leave their encampment and go to the hills.”

  The muscles of Damon’s back flinched and then corded with tension. Damn, he didn’t need this. Not now.

  “Damon?”

  There wasn’t any use putting it off, when it had been too long already. “Send word to Marain that I’ll be at his camp tomorrow afternoon and he’ll be able to leave the following day.”

  “He’ll be very grateful.”

  “Damn his gratitude,” Damon said with soft violence. “I don’t want to—” He broke off, his chest rising and falling with the harshness of his breathing. “Lord, I don’t want to do this.”

  Selim was silent behind him. Neither of them spoke for a long time.

  “But it will be done,” Damon’s voice held unutterable weariness.

  “Shall I go with you?” Selim asked. “Or do you want me to stay with Cory and Michael?”

  “I want you with me.” Damon turned to face him. “And I’m taking Cory along.”

  Selim’s eyes widened. “Is that wise?”

  “Probably not.” Damon smiled recklessly. “But she’s taking your advice about plumbing the depths of my enigmatic personality to find ways to make me bleed. I’d hate to cheat her out of a big opportunity.”

  “I think you’re already bleeding.”

  “Not yet.” Damon moved toward the door. “I’m hurting but no blood has been drawn. However, I’m definitely in need of comfort.”

  “A woman? I could send for a kadin.”

  “Why should I send for a woman when I have one here?”

  “You sent her away. I thought she might not have pleased you.”

  Full ripe breasts with taut pink nipples, tawny hair tumbling about her face in a silky riot of curls, shoulders and spine held ramrod-straight, belying the shadows of weariness beneath her eyes. It had been those shadows that had defeated and cheated him and left him alone and aching. The shadows and that damnable river of tenderness.

  “She pleased me.” Damon’s chin lifted imperiously. “But I chose to wait.” He opened the door. “There’s plenty of time.”

  “Then what kind of comfort are you seeking?”

  The comfort that he had always sought, Damon thought. The knowledge that he was no longer alone. The knowledge that there was a presence to whom he could give love and would perhaps forever banish solitude. “I thought I’d go see my son.”

  “It’s late. He’s probably asleep, Damon.”

  “I won’t disturb him. I’ll just sit by his bed for a while.” An eager smile lit the somberness of his face. “I think I’d like that.”

  The door swung shut behind him.

  FOUR

  “IT’S LIKE A picture out of National Geographic.” Cory’s fascinated gaze wandered over the dozens of black-and-gray-striped tents billowing under the force of the strong, hot wind blowing across the desert. No one appeared to be inside the tents; all the activity seemed to be transpiring in the clearing in the center of the encampment. The clothing of the men and women milling around was in colorful contrast to the dark striped tents and the stark brown-gold of the desert dunes surrounding them. The men wore striped djellabas in a multitude of brilliant peacock colors, and white headpieces to shelter them from the strong sun, while the women’s robes were in solid shades of only three colors, white, scarlet, and blue. The women’s faces were unveiled, but their heads were covered by long mantilla-like scarves in colors that matched their robes. Cory leaned forward in the jeep and strained to get a better look as she noticed something peculiar in the scene. “But I don’t see any children.”

  Damon didn’t answer but Selim nodded to a large tent on the perimeter of the encampment. “The children are in the tent of learning. Damon decreed that every tribe set aside one tent and hire a teacher from the university to make sure the children receive at least four hours of tutoring every day.” He shrugged. “It was the best he could do. The tribes are never in one place long enough for them to go to a regular school. There’s a secondary school and a small hospital in the village near the palace for anyone willing to take advantage of them.”

  “I didn’t see a village.” She stiffened and darted a sudden glance at Damon in the driver’s seat. “Is that where you’re keeping Michael?”

  Damon didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure he’d even heard her. His bearing was suddenly electric with tension as he caught sight of a tall, robed man standing by one of the smaller tents in the encampment.

  Cory’s puzzled gaze followed Damon’s. There appeared to be nothing unusual about the man. He was perhaps in his mid-fifties, his dark beard flecked with gray, his skin seamed and weathered by the sun, and his demeanor was certainly not threatening. A broad smile creased his bearded face as he stepped forward eagerly when the jeep pulled up before the tent and Damon got out. He clasped Damon in a tremendous bear hug and broke into speech. Cory couldn’t understand the words but his affection needed no translation.

  Yet Damon stood stiff, frozen, his face totally without expression. Cory glanced questioningly at Selim.

  Selim’s face was grave. “The man’s name is Raban. He’s welcoming Damon to the encampment. Raban was almost a second father to Damon while he was growing up.”

  “Evid
ently their relationship has gone downhill since then,” Cory said dryly as she stepped out of the jeep. “I’d say the affection is definitely one-sided now.”

  Selim shook his head. “Then you’d be wrong. Damon loves Raban.”

  “Then why—”

  Damon turned abruptly back to them and Cory received a jolt of shock. Damon’s face was pale beneath his tan and his eyes were tortured. “Take Cory to my tent,” he said jerkily. “I have to talk to Raban.”

  Selim nodded. “I’ll get her settled and then see Marain and the elders.” He took Cory’s elbow and urged her gently away from the jeep. “I’ll be with you later, Damon.”

  “Later,” Damon echoed as he turned back to Raban.

  The man was still smiling, and he started to speak again as he drew Damon toward his tent.

  “What’s going on here? Damon didn’t speak three words on the way from the palace.” Cory frowned in puzzlement. “Why did he bring me along?”

  “I’m not sure he knows himself.” Selim didn’t look at her. “As for what’s going on, there’s a tribal problem that Damon has to take care of.”

  “What kind of tribal problem?”

  “Damon will tell you”—he paused—“if he wants you to know.”

  It was clear she wasn’t going to hear anything more from Selim on the subject, Cory thought in frustration. “I take it there’s a big, important secret we lowly females aren’t permitted to know about.”

  Selim smiled faintly. “You might ask yourself why you want to know. If your only interest is in getting Michael back, why should it matter to you if Damon has problems?”

  It shouldn’t matter to her, she told herself. It was probably curiosity not concern that was making her seethe with exasperation and frustration. “It doesn’t matter. I only wondered.” She quickly changed the subject. “Why are the men dressed in all sorts of different colors and the women in only three?”

  “Custom,” Selim said. “Unmarried women wear white and the married women wear scarlet.”

  “What about the women wearing blue?”

  “Prostitutes,” Selim said. “Every tribe has a certain number of women of pleasure. When Damon outlawed polygamy, their popularity increased enormously.” He grinned. “The men of the tribes found it difficult to become accustomed to a lack of variety.”