Strong, Hot Winds

by Iris Johansen

  “How unfortunate.” Cory’s tone was abstracted as she cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Damon was entering the tent of Raban, his shoulders braced and rigid with tension. What the devil was wrong with him?

  “They think so.” They had stopped before a small tent set a short distance apart from the others, and Selim pulled aside the flaps, opening the tent, and stepped aside in order that Cory could precede him. “It was one of Damon’s less popular edicts.”

  The tent was suffocatingly hot and Cory could feel the perspiration immediately bead on the back of her neck beneath her hair. No wonder everybody seemed to be milling around outside, she thought. That hot breeze was like a scourge, but at least you could breathe out in the open. “Do I have to stay in here?” she asked as she dropped down on the Karastan carpet. “I’d rather walk around the encampment. Is there any danger?”

  “To Damon’s woman?” Selim shook his head. “You’d get a few peculiar looks but no one would think of offering you an insult.”

  “Then let’s go.” She started to get up.

  “No,” Selim said. “Damon may need you here.”

  “Need?” she asked, puzzled.

  “Want,” he corrected himself quickly. “I’ll have one of the women get you something cool to drink and you can rest until it’s time for us to leave.”

  “I don’t want to rest. I want to do something.” She shifted restlessly on the carpet. “How long will we be here anyway?”

  “I don’t think Damon will want to remain long after his business is finished. We’ll probably go back to the palace tonight.” He hesitated. “I have to leave you for a while. I have to go see Marain.”

  “Who’s Marain?”

  “He’s the chieftain of the tribe. It was Marain who asked Damon to come today. The tribe is moving tomorrow. It’s the time of the sirocco and they want to move to the hills where it’s cooler.”

  “Sirocco,” Cory repeated. “That’s some kind of a storm, isn’t it?”

  Selim shook his head. “It’s a strong hot wind that blows over the desert. It doesn’t last too long, but, believe me, it can seem like forever.”

  Cory could well believe him as she remembered how that unrelenting wind had whipped her face and taken her breath on the journey here in the jeep. “Then why didn’t they wait until they were settled in the foothills to send for Damon?”

  “Marain wanted this business out of the way before they moved on.”

  “And Damon came when he crooked his finger?” Cory asked slowly. “That’s strange.”

  “I told you Damon pays his dues.” Selim’s lips thinned. “And this time the payment may overflow the coffers.” He started toward the entrance of the tent. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Try to make yourself comfortable.”

  “Tie back the flaps, will you? At least I can sit in the doorway and see what’s going on.”

  “Right.” He tied back the flaps and then strode away across the encampment and was presently lost from view among the tents.

  Cory fumbled in the pocket of her jeans for her handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from her nape. Lord, it was hot, and that damn wind didn’t help. It blew through the tent, striking like a burning whip on her cheeks. Perhaps it would be better to close the flaps after all. No, she decided, she’d rather have the wind than the stuffy boredom she would experience without the opening.

  She stood up, crossed to the entrance of the tent, and looked out. The El Zabor appeared to be a good-natured, happy people. She saw nothing but smiles on the faces of the women by the cooking fires, and there seemed to be a good deal of horseplay among the men gathered around a yellow and black dartboard across the way. She saw a few children racing across the encampment, laughing and calling something to one another. School must be out, she thought as her lips curved in an indulgent smile. Children were the same no matter where they lived. She had seen Michael and Bettina’s small daughter, Jessica, engaged in similar exuberant antics a hundred times.…

  Then her smile faded as she felt a sudden wrenching pang. Michael. What was Michael doing now? She tore her gaze away from the children as she dropped down and settled herself cross-legged on the red and cream-colored Persian carpet. She must not think of Michael now. It hurt too damn much and she could do nothing out here in the middle of the desert about searching for him. Selim had said they would be going back to the palace tonight, and perhaps she could find out where he was when—

  Damon was coming out of Raban’s tent.

  Cory automatically stiffened, every sense alert, but he wasn’t coming toward where she was sitting. He didn’t give the tent a glance but turned and started in the direction in which Selim had disappeared.

  He was going to the chieftain Marain’s tent, she guessed, her gaze following him curiously as he crossed the encampment. Her encounters with Damon had always been on an intimate one on one level and her emotional reaction to him had overshadowed her usual objectivity. It felt queer to be watching Damon as if he were a stranger as he mingled with the people in the center of the encampment.

  But he wasn’t mingling with the people, she noticed suddenly.

  They were drawing aside as he passed by, bowing in respect, even smiling.

  But no one touched him.

  No one clapped him on the back or gave him an affectionate hug as Raban had done.

  None of the men invited him to join in their game of darts.

  Even the children stopped their shrieking and stood watching him with a diffidence generally foreign to the young.

  Isolation. Loneliness.

  If not in the name of love, perhaps in the name of loneliness. Selim’s words came back to her with a poignancy that was as unwelcome as it was intense. She would not feel sorry for Damon. He didn’t deserve either forgiveness or sympathy, and she would close her mind and her emotions to both. She turned and gazed deliberately away from Damon to watch the men participating in the dart game.

  When she glanced back, Damon had disappeared from sight.

  The wind whipped across the moonlight-silvered dunes, lifting the grains of sand in wispy veils before whirling them in wild patterns, gaining more momentum every second until it seemed to Cory that it was blowing the moonlight itself.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t come back sooner.”

  Cory jumped and then relaxed as she saw it was Selim beside her at the entrance of the tent. “You startled me.” She made a face. “Everybody disappeared into their tents a few hours ago and it’s been kind of eerie sitting here by myself.” It had been more than eerie, she thought. Even before the people of the tribe had withdrawn to their tents she had noticed a sudden change in them, a somberness, a stillness, a waiting. She tried to smile. “I’ve been sitting here cross-legged so long, I feel as if I’ve turned into a statue of the Buddha.”

  “I meant to come back, but matters escalated. I hope you’ve been made comfortable.”

  “A very pretty little girl came by and gave me a cup of herbal tea and some sort of stew. Have you eaten?”

  Selim shook his head. “I’m not hungry.” She couldn’t see his expression in the darkness but she could sense a tension that seemed alien in him. And something else—that same somberness she’d noticed in the other people in the encampment. “Cory, I think you should know …”

  She waited, and when he didn’t continue, she asked impatiently, “Know what?”

  “Something’s happened.” He paused. “Damon’s—”

  Her heart gave a panicky jerk. “Something’s happened to Damon?”

  “Not exactly.”

  She tried to ignore the relief pouring through her and drew an exasperated breath. “Selim, are you trying to provide me with an example of the cryptic East? For heaven’s sake, make yourself clear.”

  “Damon’s upset.” He hesitated. “And when he’s upset, he sometimes reacts impulsively.”

  “Upset? Why is he—”

  “Fill up the jeep, Selim.” Damon was still several yards away, but
his voice cracked like a whip, echoing in the stillness. His movements were whiplike too—sharp, restless, explosive—as he strode toward them. “I’m getting out of here.”

  Selim nodded. “Right away.” He started to turn away, and then hesitated. “Do you want me to stay until—”

  “Yes,” Damon interrupted. “I’ll send a driver for you as soon as we get back to the palace.” He reached out, grasped Cory’s wrist, and pulled her to her feet. “Come along, Cory. Your first venture into the romantic world of the El Zabor is officially at an end.”

  “I don’t know why you brought me here to begin with,” Cory said. “All I’ve done is sit.”

  “I’m sorry you were bored,” Damon snapped. “Perhaps we should stay after all. You might enjoy the spectacle. What do you think, Selim?”

  “I think you both should get the hell away from here now,” Selim said quietly. “You have no place here, Damon. You’ve done your part.”

  “Yes, I have.” Damon’s tone was bitterly self-mocking. “I’ve done more than my part. And I do it so well, don’t I, Selim?”

  “Damon—” Selim stopped and turned away. “I’ll bring the jeep around.” He strode away into the darkness.

  Damon was silent, gazing after him, the muscles of his body taut, his grip on Cory’s wrist painfully tight.

  She tugged, trying to free herself. “You’re hurting me.”

  His grip loosened but he didn’t release her wrist. “Why should you be any different?” he said harshly. “I hurt—” He stopped and his grip deliberately tightened again on her wrist. “Why should I care if I hurt you? Do you care if you hurt me? Does anyone really care about anyone else? It’s like dominoes. Set the chain in motion and we all fall down. Cause and effect.”

  The headlights of the jeep suddenly pierced the darkness, and Selim drove up before the tent. He stepped out from behind the wheel and left the engine running as he came around to the passenger side.

  Damon released her wrist and settled himself in the driver’s seat before turning to Selim. “Let me know right away,” he said curtly.

  Selim nodded. “I will.” He helped Cory into the jeep and leaned forward to fasten her seat belt, murmuring in a tone audible only to her. “Be careful.”

  “Good-bye, Selim.” Cory felt a sudden reluctance at the thought of leaving him. At least he was a sympathetic presence and there was something about Damon’s manner that made her uneasy.

  Damon’s foot slammed on the accelerator and the jeep leapt forward, jerking Cory against the restraint of the seat belt. “For heaven’s sake, what’s the hurry? We don’t—” She turned to look at him and forgot what she had been about to say. The lights on the dashboard illuminated his features, and for the first time that evening she saw his expression. The skin was pulled tight over the broad bones of his face, his lips were curved in a reckless smile, and his eyes … She quickly looked away from those eyes that were glittering, wild, as if he were burning with a fever.

  “I want to get back to Kasmara.” His tone was as hard as his expression. “I want a drink and a shower.” He glanced sidewise at her and smiled mockingly. “And a woman to soothe me.”

  It was a deliberate goad, she realized. Damon wanted her to flare up at him, to give him something to fight against, a reason to unloose the violence that was seething just below the surface. “Perhaps you’ll be able to get two out of three. However, I’ve never considered myself as particularly soothing.”

  “Then you’ll learn.” His hands tightened spasmodically on the steering wheel. “And there can’t be a better time than tonight.”

  He stepped on the accelerator and the jeep raced forward, kicking up a spray of sand with the same wild force as the desert wind.

  It was after midnight when they arrived back at the palace, but Damon was met immediately at the front door by a servant and handed a note. He quickly perused the note, his expression becoming even more flintlike. “A telephone call came for you.” His tone was clipped as he glanced at Cory. “Koenig.”

  “Then why didn’t the servant give me the message?”

  “Because I might not have wanted you to have it.” He smiled sardonically. “A kiran’s outside contacts are governed by her protector.”

  She drew a steadying breath, trying to hold on to her temper. “Did he leave a message?”

  “He wants you to call him.” Damon crushed the note in his hand. “Which you will not do.”

  “The hell I won’t.” She whirled on her heel and started down the hall toward her suite. “If Gary called, it’s because he needs me. I won’t ignore that need because of your stupidity.”

  “You’re very concerned about Koenig’s ‘needs.’ ” Damon’s voice was so soft, Cory almost failed to catch the lethal chill underlying it.

  “Yes, I am,” she said curtly, giving him a backward glance. “There are some people in the world who don’t live in palaces and have people groveling before them. They have problems you wouldn’t even begin to understand.”

  He looked as if she had struck him. For a minute he didn’t speak, then his face became shuttered, and his lids half-veiled the sudden flare of anger in his eyes. “How perceptive of you to realize how fortunate I am. You’re right. I have no problems, no needs. I’m above all that.” He turned away with barely concealed rage. “I’m the Bardono, aren’t I? I’m not supposed to feel or have doubts or …” He didn’t look at her as he strode down the hall in the direction of the library. “Make your damn call.”

  “I intend to,” Cory called after him defiantly. “With or without your august permission. You can’t—”

  The library door slammed behind him, cutting off her words. She looked at the door, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. He was arrogant and rude and she should be furious with him. She was furious with him. She mustn’t think of that agonizing pain she thought she had glimpsed a moment earlier. If she had hurt him, he deserved it, and she felt no remorse. Dear heaven, why did she feel as if she had thrown salt into an open wound?

  And now she would be expected to bandage up Gary’s wounds too, she thought wearily as she started once again down the hall.

  She would take a quick bath before she placed the call and try to relax and rid herself of this case of nerves. She could have done without listening to Gary’s troubles tonight. She had an idea she was going to have to contend with enough troubles of her own.

  Cory replaced the telephone receiver on its cradle on the bedside table and sat looking down at it, trying to garner enough strength to get up and prepare herself for bed. She felt as sapped as she always did after one of Gary’s bad sessions, and this one had been very bad.

  “You look upset. Do Koenig’s ‘needs’ always disturb you like this?”

  Her gaze flew to the doorway where Damon was leaning against the jamb. He was still dressed in the same khaki shirt, trousers, and brown boots she had last seen him wearing. His dark hair was slightly rumpled, his smile cynical, and his eyes no longer held any hint of vulnerability. Those eyes were glittering, burning in his taut face as they had when they had left Marain’s encampment.

  She unconsciously tensed, bracing herself. “Sometimes.” She stood up and automatically tightened the belt of her rose satin robe, striving to put more barriers between them. Not that the barriers would do any good, she thought wryly. In this mood Damon would incinerate anything in his path and not even know it was there. “Naturally, when someone is unhappy, you sympathize with them.”

  “And was Koenig unhappy when you left?” Damon asked mockingly.

  “Of course.” She looked directly into his eyes. “Would you mind leaving? I’m tired and I want to go to bed.”

  “As a matter of fact, I would mind.” Damon straightened away from the doorjamb, took a step forward, and shut the door. “I decided since you were so high on fulfilling needs that you might as well take care of mine.” He smiled faintly. “I told you I needed a shower, a drink, and a woman to soothe me. So far I’ve had only the dri
nk.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think you even know what you do want, and I’m tired of being comforting. I have a few needs myself, and one of them is for rest.”

  “You rested all day at the encampment. Now it’s time to go to work.” He held up his right hand and deliberately snapped his fingers. “Come here.”

  She inhaled sharply. The provocation couldn’t have been more blatantly aimed to hurt her pride and sense of self-worth. For a moment she couldn’t believe that he had done it.

  Then he snapped his fingers again. “Now,” he said softly.

  She gazed at him for a long moment, unmoving. Then she walked slowly across the room and stopped before him. “You want to humiliate me,” she said quietly. “I’m not going to let you do that, Damon.”

  “We’ll see,” Damon said. “Unbutton my shirt.”

  She hesitated, and he snapped his fingers. She flinched and gritted her teeth as her fingers moved on the buttons. He smelled of wind and perspiration and musk. “It doesn’t matter, you know,” she said. “I’m still who I am no matter what you make me do. You can’t touch that part of me.”

  A shadow flickered for the briefest instant over his face. “I know.” He shrugged. “But that part of you isn’t important to me anyway. So why should I worry? Put your hands on my chest.”

  Her palms touched the springy dark thatch roughing his chest, and she felt a tiny shock jolt through her. It was incredible, she thought dazedly. She was furious with him and yet still capable of experiencing sensual arousal.

  His gaze narrowed on her face. “Why are you surprised? This is the part of you that belongs to me.” His hands covered her own and pressed her palms hard against the muscles cording his chest, letting her feel the hard thump of his heart, the wiriness of his hair, the warmth of his flesh. “And always will.”

  “No!” Dammit, she sounded like a protesting virgin, she realized with annoyance. She tried to steady her voice. “I have a choice.”