Diamond in the Desert

by Susan Stephens

  ‘It’s a very pretty dress,’ she agreed coolly.

  ‘Our desert fashions suit you,’ Sharif agreed.

  She shivered involuntarily as he reached out to run the tip of his forefinger down the very edge of her veil. There was still a good distance between them, but no distance could be enough.

  And now her thoughts were all erotic. Perhaps Sharif saving her life had added a primitive edge to her feelings towards him. The desire to thank him fully, and in the most obvious way, was growing like a madness inside her. Thank goodness for the veil.

  ‘I’ll call back later—when you’ve had a rest,’ he said.

  She watched without saying anything as Sharif drew the gauzy curtains around the sleeping area. She reminded herself firmly that she might be dressed like the sugar plum fairy, but she had no intention of dancing to his tune. She was here for business, and business alone. She had to be wary of this man. Sharif had spoken to her sisters without telling her. He had taken mineral samples from the mine, and yet he hadn’t had the courtesy to share the results of the tests with her. This might be a seductive setting, she reasoned angrily as the curtains around the sleeping area blew in the warm, early evening breeze, and Sharif was certainly the most seductive of men, but, grateful or not, she still wanted answers, and he had a lot of explaining to do.

  He was back? She tried not to care—not to show she cared. She must have failed miserably as breath shot out of her when he dragged her close. This was not even the civilised businessman—this was the master of the desert. There was no conversation between them, no debate. And there was quite definitely no thought of business in Sharif’s eyes. There was just the determination to master her and share her pleasure.

  ‘Well, Britt?’ Sharif demanded, holding her in front of him. ‘You had enough to say for yourself in Skavanga. You must have something to say to me now. Why did you really come to Kareshi when you could have wired your test results and I could have done the same? When you could have laid out your complaints against me in an email message without making this trip?’

  Why had she listened to Eva? Eva was hot-headed and impetuous, and was always getting herself into some sort of trouble, while Britt was cool and meticulous, and never allowed emotion to get in the way.

  How had this happened?

  ‘Why are you really here?’ Sharif pressed mercilessly, smiling grimly down into her eyes. ‘What do you need from me?’

  He knew very well what she needed from him. She needed his hands on her body, and his eyes staring deep into hers. She needed his scent and heat to invade her senses, and his body to master hers—

  * * *

  His senses raged as Britt pressed her body against his. This was his woman. This was the woman he remembered and desired. This was the fierce, driven woman he had first met in Skavanga, the woman who took what she wanted and rarely thought about it afterwards.

  ‘Sharif?’

  Could it be possible that he didn’t want that part of her? he marvelled as Britt spoke his name. Did that wildcat bring out the worst in him? Loosening his grip on her arms, he let her go. When he had first entered the pavilion he had seen the tender heart of a woman he had started to know in Skavanga—the vulnerable woman inside the brittle shell—the woman he had walked away from before he could cause her any hurt.

  ‘Sharif, what is it?’

  He stared down and saw the disappointment in her eyes. And why shouldn’t Britt expect the worst when he had walked out on her before?

  Everything had been so cut and dried in the past. He’d fed his urges and moved on, but he had never met a woman like this before. He had never realised a woman could come to mean so much to him. The feelings raging inside him when he had found Britt alive were impossible to describe. All he could think was: she was still in the world, and thank God for it. But he had a country to rule and endless responsibilities. Did he make love to her now, as he so badly wanted to do, or did he save her by turning and walking away?

  ‘It’s not like you to hesitate,’ she murmured.

  ‘And it’s not like you to be so meek and mild,’ he countered with an ironic smile. ‘What shall we do about this role reversal?’

  ‘You’re asking me?’ she queried, starting to smile.

  He closed his eyes, allowing her scent and warmth and strength to curl around his core, clearing his mind. He prided himself on his self-control, but there was will power and then there was denial, and he wasn’t in the mood to deny either of them tonight. He wanted Britt. She wanted him. It was that simple. Above all, he was a sensualist who never ate merely because he was hungry, but only when the food was at its best. Britt thought she knew everything about men and sex and satisfaction, but it would be his pleasure to teach her just how wrong she was.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she said as he led her back through the billowing curtains.

  Settling himself on the silken cushions, he raised a hand and beckoned to her.

  ‘What the hell do you think this is?’ she said.

  ‘This is a harem,’ he said with a shrug. ‘And if you don’t like that idea you might want to step out of the light.’

  ‘I’ll stand where I like,’ she fired back.

  His shrugged again as if to say that was okay with him. It was. There wasn’t one inch of Britt that wasn’t beautifully displayed or made even more enticing by the fact that she was wearing such an ethereal gown and standing in front of the light. He let the silence hang for a while, and then, almost as if it were an afterthought, he said, ‘When the women brought that gown, didn’t they bring you any underwear?’

  Her gasp of outrage must have been heard clearly in Skavanga.

  ‘You are totally unscrupulous,’ she exclaimed, wrapping the flimsy folds around her.

  ‘I meant no offence,’ he said, having difficulty hiding his grin as he eased back on the cushions. ‘I was merely admiring you—’

  ‘Well, you can stop admiring me right now.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure. I feel ridiculous—’

  ‘You look lovely. Now, come over here.’

  ‘You must be joking.’

  ‘So stand there all night.’

  ‘I won’t have to,’ she said confidently, ‘because at some point you’ll leave. At which time I will settle down to sleep on my bed.’

  Britt looked magnificent when she was angry. Proud and strong, and finely bred, she reminded him of one of his prized Arabian ponies. And this was quite a compliment coming from him. Plus, a little teasing was in order. Hadn’t she put him through trials by fire and ice in Skavanga? Britt had done everything she could think of to unsettle him while he was on her territory, but now the tables were turned she didn’t like it. ‘Come on,’ he coaxed. ‘You know you want to—’

  ‘I know I don’t,’ she flashed. ‘Just because you saved my life doesn’t give you droit de seigneur!’

  ‘Ah, so you’re a virgin,’ he said as if this were news to him. ‘When did that happen?’

  Her look would have felled most men. It suggested she would like to bring the curtains and even the roof down on his head. She was so sure he had styled himself on some sheikh of old, she couldn’t imagine that beneath his robes he was the same man she had met in Skavanga. He should get on with proving that he was that man, but he was rather enjoying teasing her. Helping himself to some juice and a few grapes, he left Britt to draw back a curtain to scan the tent, no doubt searching for another seating area. She wouldn’t find one, and he had no intention of going anywhere.

  ‘There’s nowhere else to sit,’ she complained. ‘Until you go,’ she added pointedly.

  He shrugged and carried on eating his grapes. ‘Formal chairs are not required in the harem—so there is just this all-purpose sleeping, lounging, pleasuring area, where I’m currently reclining.’

  ‘Don’t remind me! I don’t know what game you’re playing, Sharif, but I’d like you to leave right now.’

  ‘I’m not going any
where. This is my camp, my pavilion, my country—and you,’ he added with particular charm, ‘are my guest.’

  ‘I treated you better than this when you were my guest.’

  He only had to raise a brow to remind Britt that she had treated him like a fool, and was surprised when he had turned the tables on her at the lake.

  ‘I came to do business with you,’ she protested, shifting her weight from foot to foot—doing anything rather than sit with him. ‘If you had stuck around long enough for us to have a proper discussion in Skavanga, I wouldn’t even be here at all.’

  ‘So that’s what this is about,’ he said. ‘It still hurts.’

  ‘You bet it does.’

  He had left at the right time and, though he wouldn’t betray Tyr’s part in the business, he wanted to reassure her. ‘Well, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It seems I must learn to explain myself in future.’

  ‘Damn right you should,’ she said, crossing her arms.

  ‘I’m just so glad you’re here—and in one piece.’

  ‘Thank you for reminding me,’ she said wryly. ‘You know I can’t be angry with you now.’

  They were both in the same difficult place. They wanted each other. They both understood that if you laid the bare facts on the table theirs was not a sensible match. The only mistake that either of them had made was wanting more than sex out of this relationship.

  ‘So maybe we can be friends?’ she said as if reading his mind. ‘Except in business, of course,’ she added quickly.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Maybe business too.’

  After a long pause, she said, ‘So, tell me about the tent. Do your people always provide you with a harem tent—just in case?’

  ‘In case of what?’ he prompted, frowning.

  ‘I think you know what I mean—’

  ‘Come and sit with me so I can tell you about it. Or don’t you trust yourself to sit close to me?’ he added, curbing his smile.

  She chose a spot as far away from him as possible. Again he was reminded of his finely bred Arabian ponies, whose trust must be earned. Britt was as suspicious as any of them. ‘Remember the deer,’ he said.

  ‘The deer?’ she queried.

  ‘Remember the deer in Skavanga and how relaxed we were as we watched them?’

  ‘And then you’ll tell me about the tent?’

  ‘And then I’ll tell you about the tent,’ he promised.

  She hardly knew Sharif, and they sat in silence until—yes, she remembered the deer—yes, she began to relax.

  ‘This pavilion is a priceless artefact,’ he said. ‘Everything you see around you has been carefully preserved—and not just for years, but for centuries by the people in this camp and by their ancestors. It is a treasure beyond price.’

  ‘Go on,’ she said, leaning forward.

  ‘You may have guessed from the lack of seating that this pleasure tent is devoted to pursuits that allow a man or a woman to take their ease. Pleasure wasn’t a one-sided affair for the sheikhs. Many women asked to be considered for the position of concubine.’

  ‘More fool them.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ he asked as she removed the veil from her hair.

  She huffed. ‘Because I would never be seduced so easily.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘It’s a shame your nipples are such a dead giveaway.’

  She looked down quickly and, after blushing furiously, she had to laugh.

  ‘Shall I go on?’

  ‘Please…’

  ‘After yet another day of struggles beneath the merciless sun,’ he declaimed as if standing in an auditorium, ‘fighting off invaders—hunting for food—the sheikh would return…’

  ‘Drum roll?’

  He laughed. ‘If you like.’

  ‘How many women did he return to?’

  ‘At least a football team,’ he teased. ‘Maybe more.’

  ‘Sheikhs must have been pretty fit back then.’

  ‘Are you suggesting I’m not?’

  She met his eyes and smiled and he thought how attractive she was, and how overwhelmingly glad he would always be that he’d found her in time to save her. He went on with his storytelling. ‘Or, maybe there could be just one special woman. If she pleased the sheikh one woman would be enough.’

  ‘Lucky her!’ Britt exclaimed. ‘Until the sheikh decides to increase his collection of doting females, I presume?’

  She amused him. And he liked combative Britt every bit as much as her softer self. ‘Your imagination is a miraculous thing, Britt Skavanga.’

  ‘Just as well since it allows me to anticipate trouble.’

  ‘So, what’s the difference between my story and the way you have treated men in the past? You think of yourself as independent, don’t you? You’re a woman who does as she pleases?’

  ‘You bet I am.’

  ‘No one forced any of the sheikh’s women to enter the harem. They did so entirely of their own accord.’

  ‘And no doubt considered it an honour,’ she agreed, flashing him an ironic look.

  ‘But surely you agree that a woman is entitled to the same privileges as a man?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  Where was this leading? Britt wondered. Why did she feel as if Sharif was backing her into a corner? Perhaps it was his manner. He was way too relaxed.

  ‘So if you agree,’ he said with all the silky assurance of the desert lion she thought him, ‘can you give me a single reason why you shouldn’t take your pleasure in the sheikh’s pavilion…like a man?’

  Her mouth opened and closed again. The only time she was ever lost for words was with Sharif, Britt realised with frustration. He was as shrewd as he was distractingly amusing, and was altogether aware of how skilfully he had backed her into that tight little corner. He was in fact a pitiless seducer who knew very well that, where he might have failed to impress her with the fantasy of the harem tent, with its billowing curtains and silken cushions, or even the rather seductive clothes they were both wearing, he could very quickly succeed with fact. She had always been an ardent believer in fact.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SHE COULD HARDLY believe that Sharif had just given her a licence to enjoy him in a room specifically created for that purpose. Crazy. But not without its attraction, Britt realised, feeling her body’s eager responses. But she would be cautious. She had heard things about Kareshi. And she liked to be in control. What if she didn’t like some of these pleasures Sharif was hinting at? Her gaze darted round. She started to notice things she hadn’t seen before. They might be ancient artefacts, as Sharif described them, but they were clearly used for pleasure.

  She drew in a sharp, guilty breath hearing him laugh softly. ‘Where are you now, Britt?’ he said.

  Caught out while exploring Planet Erotica, she thought. ‘I’m in a very interesting tent—I can see that now.’

  ‘Very interesting indeed,’ Sharif agreed mildly, and he made no move to come any closer. ‘So I have laid you bare at last, Britt Skavanga?’

  ‘Meaning?’ she demanded, clutching the edges of her robe together.

  ‘Have I challenged your stand only to find it has been erected on dangerously shifting sand?’ Sharif queried with a dangerous glint in his eyes. ‘I’ve offered you the freedom of the harem—the opportunity to take your pleasure like a man—and yet you are hesitating?’

  ‘Maybe you’re not as irresistible as you think.’

  ‘And maybe you’re not being entirely truthful,’ he said. ‘What do you see around you, Britt? What do your prejudices lead you to suppose? Do you think that women were brought here by force? Do you look around and see a prison? I look around and see a golden room of pleasure.’

  ‘That’s because you’re a sensualist and I’m a modern woman who’s got more sense.’

  ‘So quick sex in a corner is enough for you?’

  ‘I deplore this sort of thing.’

  The corner of Sharif’s mouth ki
cked up. ‘You’re such a liar, Britt. You have an enquiring mind, and even now you’re wondering—’

  ‘Wondering what?’

  ‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘You don’t know.’

  ‘That’s no answer to that.’

  ‘Other than to say, you’re wondering if there can be pleasure even greater than the pleasure we have already shared. Why don’t you find out? Why don’t you throw your prejudices away? Why don’t you open your mind to possibility and to things we modern-thinking people may not have discovered if they hadn’t been treasured and preserved by tribes like this.’

  ‘There can’t be much that hasn’t been discovered yet,’ she said, gasping as she snatched her hand away when Sharif touched it.

  ‘Did you feel that?’ he said.

  Feel it? He had barely touched her and her senses had exploded.

  ‘And this,’ he murmured, lightly brushing the back of her neck.

  Her shoulders lifted as she gave a shaky gasp. ‘What is that? The sensation’s incredible. What’s happening to me?’

  ‘This is happening to you.’ Sharif explained, gesturing towards the golden dish of cream the women had used to massage her skin. ‘This so-called magic potion has been passed down through the generations. Not magic,’ he said, ‘just a particular blend of herbs. Still…’

  They had a magical effect, Britt silently supplied. The scratches she had acquired during her ordeal in the desert had already vanished, she realised, studying her skin. She shivered involuntarily as Sharif’s hand continued its lazy exploration of the back of her neck, moving through her hair, until she could do no more than close her eyes and bask in the most incredible sensation.

  ‘They put lotion on your scalp as well as on your body, and that lotion is designed to increase sensation wherever it touches.’

  And they touched practically every part of her, she remembered, though the women had taken great care to preserve her modesty. She looked at Sharif, and saw the amusement in his eyes. So he thought he’d won again.

  She stood abruptly, and became hopelessly entangled in her gown.

  ‘I’ve heard of veils being used as silken restraints and even as blindfolds,’ Sharif remarked dryly, ‘but why would you need those when you can tie yourself in knots without help from anyone? Here—let me help you…’