Secrets of the Oasis

by Abby Green

  Blisteringly he said, ‘I don’t need anyone’s pity, Jamilah, and I certainly don’t need yours. I’ve made my choices along the way, and if I had to choose again I wouldn’t do anything differently.’

  At that pain lanced her so acutely that Jamilah gasped—but it all got eclipsed when Salman’s mouth covered hers and she was thrown into the fire. Full of emotion—anger mixed up with an awful treacherous yearning and, unbelievably, a helpless and inexplicable tenderness—Jamilah gripped the lapels of Salman’s coat and held him to her, matching his kiss passion for passion. The fire was stoked higher and higher.

  With a guttural groan that resonated within her, he put his arms around her back and arched her up and into him, so that her breasts were crushed against his hard chest. They ached for his touch. Mouths fused again. Jamilah’s hands delved into Salman’s silky hair, moulding his skull, holding him to her. In that moment she would have gladly given everything up just for this. This hot insanity and distraction from the pain. The ever-present pain. Caused by this man.

  That thought sliced through the frantic desire and the pulse beating through her blood. She pulled back in the same moment that Salman did. She was practically supine on the back seat of the car, Salman crushing her to the seat. She could feel the hard ridge of his erection against her thigh and her lower body throbbed painfully. She felt dishevelled, undone, and utterly exposed.

  Salman lifted his head. The dark colour slashing his cheekbones and his heavy breathing sent only a sliver of comfort through Jamilah. She couldn’t speak. It was only then that she noticed the privacy partition had gone up, and mortification drenched her to think of the driver witnessing this.

  Salman’s voice grated across her exposed nerves. ‘Like I said…I don’t want your pity. But I do want you. And you want me, too, Jamilah. Nothing’s changed. We want each other as much as if it were that first time all over again.’

  She opened her mouth to deny it, ridiculously, and Salman ruthlessly cut her off.

  ‘Don’t even think of saying it. You’re not a liar, Jamilah. One of the things I’ve always admired about you is your honesty.’

  She shut her mouth, and with an effort slithered out from under him, pressing her legs together and pulling her coat around her. She could feel her hair falling out of its chignon, and with shaky hands attempted to repair the damage. Her mouth felt swollen; her cheeks burned. It was futile to deny it any longer. ‘I may want you, Salman, but that doesn’t mean I’ll go there. You washed your hands of me once already, remember?’

  Salman was back on the other side of the car, his long legs spread out. His voice was tight. ‘I never intended to hurt you, Jamilah. I should never have seduced you.’

  Utter shock had Jamilah turning to face Salman’s rigid profile. Only a deep self-preserving instinct had her saying faintly, ‘I’ve already told you that you didn’t hurt me, Salman.’ Liar. ‘What exactly are you saying?’

  He flashed her a look, and she saw something indefinable in his eyes. ‘I wasn’t ready to let you go. I still wanted you. I’ve always wanted you. But I had to let you go…’ his mouth twisted ‘…when you said you were in love with me.’

  As she watched he seemed to compose himself, and that smooth mask of urbanity came back. It was as if she’d just imagined his slightly tortured look. He turned to face her more fully and said, ‘But now that time has passed, and seeing as you’ve assured me that you’re unscathed are you sure you want to persist in denying that this attraction is still there? After all, what do either of us have to lose now? We’re both adults, experienced…’

  Shock was rushing through Jamilah. She was trying to make sense of his words and at the same time make sure he couldn’t see the turmoil she felt. He was saying that he’d let her go just because she’d been in love with him? That he hadn’t wanted to let her go? It put such a new spin on what had happened that she wanted to go to a quiet place and assimilate the information… But even as she wanted that, she was aware that really it didn’t change much. He’d still cast her out because he hadn’t welcomed her ardent affections…

  He was waiting for her response—so impassive, so implacable. Panic beat at her breast, and Jamilah cast him as cool a look as she could muster. ‘I’m not interested in pursuing this line of conversation, no matter how adult we might be. Out of the myriad women you’ve no doubt entertained in your suite, I’m sure one will be available to meet your needs. Because I am not.’

  Jamilah avoided Salman’s eye as they drew closer to the iconic Paris hotel, feeling acutely vulnerable. As much as she might think she’d had the last word, she felt uncomfortably as if Salman had taken no heed at all and was merely biding his time to pounce.

  As the car pulled in to a halt at the kerb outside the entrance of the hotel she could see doormen rush to the doors. Salman took her hand in a merciless grip and said softly, ‘There’s a lot to be said for slaking this desire between us, Jamilah. Here in Paris. Be done with it for good. I won’t be calling up any other women because that’s not what I need.’ His jaw clenched as if in anger for a second. ‘What I need is you…and it’s the same for you. I’ll be here when you’re ready to admit it to yourself—because your body has already spoken.’

  And then her door was being opened and she had to get out. She ripped her hand free from Salman’s, saying caustically as she did so, ‘Dream on, Salman.’

  A short while later Salman was looking at the ornately decorated door which had just been shut in his face. A key turned in the lock at that moment as a perfunctory accompaniment, and he smiled grimly before turning and walking into the main part of the huge suite. It consisted of two bedrooms, with their own sitting rooms and en suite bathrooms, a formal dining room and salon, and a state-of-the-art office complete with every kind of technology for the modern businessman.

  Sexual frustration pounded through his body. He’d never felt it this badly before. He was used to having his needs met, and for the first time had to face the prospect that he might just be facing his match. Determination fired his blood. He’d seen through the icy veneer that Jamilah had projected all the way up to the suite. He’d seen the pulse beating hectically under the delicate skin of her neck. She’d admitted she wanted him. He was going to woo her as he’d never had to woo a woman in his life.

  With that thought in mind, and quashing the prickling of his conscience because once again he was ignoring her vulnerability, he felt the burning desire finally abate to a more manageable level, and strode into the office to take care of some work.

  The following morning Jamilah felt tired and gritty-eyed after a disturbed night. She’d tossed and turned for hours in the huge luxurious bed, and had finally had to resort to another cold shower in the early hours of the morning. The key she had turned to lock the door on Salman the previous night might as well have been made of air; he’d still managed to infiltrate her every sleepless thought.

  Now she felt more weary and exhausted than anything else as she emerged into the opulent salon. She was dressed in a dark grey pencil skirt and matching jacket, white shirt, buttoned all the way up, and black high heels. Hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail.

  But nothing could have prepared her for seeing Salman standing at the main window, decked from head to toe in traditional Merkazadi robes of cream and gold, complete with turbaned headdress. He was all at once devastating and intimidating. Her heart flip-flopped ominously.

  He turned and quirked a brow, reading her look instantly. ‘What? I can play the part when I want to, Jamilah.’

  Jamilah struggled to find her composure. She couldn’t believe that seeing Salman dressed like this for the first time in years was having such an effect on her, but it was. It was transporting her right back in time to when they’d been so much younger, and he and Nadim had looked like two men old before their time at their parents’ funerals. A deep melancholy assailed her and she valiantly fought down the emotion, terrified he’d see something of it.

  She hitched up he
r chin and said, ‘It’s amazing how regal a robe can make one look.’

  ‘When one is not regal at all?’ He put a hand to his chest, and a mocking smile curled his lip on one side. ‘You wound me, Jamilah, with your condemnation. I’m not likely ever to redeem myself in your eyes, am I?’

  ‘I’m not here to redeem you, Salman.’

  Her words struck him somewhere vulnerable and deep. Salman had to school his expression and walk over to her. ‘I’m not looking for redemption or absolution from anyone.’ He was unaware of the bleakness that flashed through his eyes. ‘I’m looking for something else much more…earthy and immediate.’

  Jamilah took a step back, unable to stand so close to him, and said briskly, ‘I’m going to have breakfast downstairs. I’ll see you at the first of the meetings.’

  She turned and all but fled, and heard from behind her, ‘Run all you want, Jamilah. It’ll make the final capitulation so much sweeter.’

  The main door slammed behind her on the way out, and it was a hollow and empty sound.

  After a morning of intense meetings, where Jamilah stayed largely in the background as she was really only there to discuss the stables, she was reeling slightly at seeing how Salman had been so authoritative and informed. And it would appear he’d taken others by surprise, too—people who had perhaps expected him to live up to his feckless playboy reputation.

  She couldn’t in all honesty say that Nadim would have contributed anything more, and in fact Salman had put forward some audacious suggestions that she knew for a fact the more inherently cautious Nadim would never have sanctioned.

  Now everyone was breaking for lunch, and she was trying to make a discreet escape, fully intending to find a coffee shop nearby despite the fact that lunch was being provided.

  Jamilah stifled a gasp when she felt her hand being taken in a much larger one which had familiar tingles racing her up arm and into her belly. Salman.

  He was already tugging her along in his wake, and Jamilah whispered at him, mindful of the people around them. ‘I’m going out for lunch. Alone.’

  He cast a quick glance back, and Jamilah saw the dark intent in his eyes. ‘We’re going for lunch.’

  ‘But you have to eat with the other delegates.’ Desperation mounted.

  Salman faced forward again, pulling her along remorselessly. ‘You should know by now that I generally do not take well to orders.’

  Knowing that he would not budge, nor release her, Jamilah followed with a mutinous look on her face which turned to burning embarrassment as they passed people she knew. One of them was the aide to the Sultan of Al-Omar she had abandoned at that party a year ago. She smiled weakly at him as she passed.

  She could see that they were approaching the gardens at the back of the hotel. A staff member bowed deferentially to Salman as he opened a door, and then they were out in the unusually mild November air. It was a beautiful clear day that held a last lingering hint of the summer just gone.

  Salman led her down a path through immaculately manicured lawns until she saw a beautifully ornate gazebo, with a table set for two, with full silver service place settings. Her stomach rumbled and she blushed.

  Inside the gazebo a waiter bowed and seated them both. Totally bemused, Jamilah let him spread a snowy-white napkin across her lap, and listened while he explained about the specials on offer.

  In shock, Jamilah made her choice for lunch, barely aware of what she was doing. She heard Salman say, ‘I’ll have the same.’

  The waiter poured vintage champagne for her and sparkling water for Salman before taking his leave. A bird called nearby. The faint sound of the rumble of traffic came through the dense foliage of the bushes that climbed huge walls nearby. The gazebo was covered in trailing sweet-smelling flowers, and it was utterly secluded and idyllic.

  Finally sanity returned, and Jamilah put down her napkin and stood up. ‘I don’t know what you’re up to, Salman, but as I told you on the way here yesterday, you really should be consulting your Rolodex of contacts for this kind of thing. It’s wasted on me, and I’d hate to think of you running up your tab needlessly.’

  Salman affected a look of mild boredom though he felt anything but. Panic had clutched his gut when Jamilah had stood up. He knew he had to get this right or she would keep running. ‘This is just lunch. I thought it might be nice to take it outside…’ He waved a hand. ‘I had no idea that they would put on this spectacle.’

  Jamilah hesitated. There was indeed an outdoor area for dining—perhaps Salman had expected it to be there? Insecurity pierced her. Perhaps she was crediting Salman with too much ingenuity. He’d never shown any inclination for grand showy gestures when she’d been with him before…

  She looked at him suspiciously. ‘You really expected this to be in the other place?’

  He nodded, an artful look of innocence on his face. Still thoroughly suspicious, Jamilah nevertheless found herself sitting back down, clutching her napkin. It was lunch. Just lunch. Albeit in the most seductive surroundings she’d ever encountered. Perhaps she was overreacting a little. And if she overreacted then Salman would have her in the palm of his hand.

  Now she affected a look of mild uninterest. ‘Fine. We don’t have long for lunch anyway.’ She flicked a glance at her watch. ‘We have to be back in forty-five minutes.’ And she sat with legs crossed, facing away from the table, as if ready to bolt.

  The waiter came back at that moment with their starters. She waited to eat, suddenly very self-conscious. It was only when Salman said, with a smile playing around his mouth, ‘Well? Aren’t you going to eat? You must be starving…’ that Jamilah gave in. She’d barely picked at breakfast that morning and nerves had curtailed her usually healthy appetite for days now.

  So now, in spite of Salman’s presence, she found herself all but licking her plate clean of its white asparagus starter.

  Salman was sitting back, watching her, and she felt heat climb into her cheeks which she tried to disguise by wiping her mouth with her napkin. The little champagne she’d drunk was fizzing gently along her nerve-endings, making her feel all too susceptible to this…idyll. And to Salman’s devastatingly dark and gorgeous presence.

  ‘So…you are now running the stables for Nadim? Not bad for the girl who used to muck out the stalls.’

  Jamilah smiled minutely. ‘I still muck out the stalls, Salman. We don’t stand on ceremony at the stables.’

  He inclined his head and said thoughtfully, ‘I can see that you would be a good boss—tough, but fair. And clearly Nadim values your opinion enough to negotiate on his behalf.’

  An infusing warmth spread through Jamilah. Ever since she’d completed her studies in veterinary science in Paris, her ambition had been to manage the world-famous Merkazad stables, and to be doing it at her relatively young age was no small feat.

  She shrugged lightly and avoided Salman’s intense gaze. ‘You know I always loved animals, I dreamed of running the stables ever since I was tiny.’

  Something hollow sounded in Salman’s voice. ‘I know. Which is why it was good that you went home and followed your path.’

  She looked at him, but his face showed no discernible emotion. And then the waiter came with their main courses and their conversation was interrupted. She’d often told him of her dreams when they’d been younger, when he’d listen in silence as she prattled on. Now she had to recall that he’d never really shared anything personal of himself—just as he hadn’t in Paris. There had just been this intangible quality between them. And it still hurt to think that he’d seen her as an encumbrance.

  But was he saying now that on some level he’d been concerned that she’d sacrifice her dreams for what had essentially been a fling in Paris? Coupled with what he’d revealed in the car the day before, she had to acknowledge that his rejection of her had perhaps not been as arbitrarily cruel as she’d believed it to be.

  That thought made her quiet as she ate. But finally curiosity overcame her, and she asked Salman abo
ut his own work. He wiped at his mouth with a napkin before telling her that he’d graduated to the much more risky world of hedge fund management.

  He grimaced slightly. ‘I’m now a part of that most reviled breed of bankers, the scourge of the recent banking crisis, and yet…’ something cynical crossed his face ‘…reviled as we may be, business has never been so good.’ He smiled, but it was without warmth.

  ‘You have your own company?’

  He nodded and took a sip of water. ‘Yes, it’s called Al-Saqr Holdings.’

  Jamilah’s fingers plucked at her napkin. ‘And you don’t mind being thought of…badly?’

  He shrugged, eyes glinting. ‘I’ve developed a thick skin. If people still want me to invest their money for them, to take risks on their behalf, who am I to deny them?’

  ‘It sounds so soulless.’

  ‘Much like living out of a hotel and leading a disconnected existence? You should know by now, Jamilah, that my soul is lost. I told you a long time ago that I’m dark and twisted inside.’

  Jamilah had the shocking realisation in that moment that he really meant what he said. Why would he think that? On some level he truly did believe he was lost, and her heart squeezed. She could still see the boy who had come to comfort her at her parents’ grave, who had instilled within her a sense of strength she sometimes still drew on. Which was ironic, when he was largely the reason she needed strength.

  But for those three weeks he’d been gentle and infinitely generous. He’d been as she had remembered him—affectionately indulgent to her, and tolerant of her constant chatter and exuberance. But when she’d trespassed too far she’d been subjected to his icy-cold front and dismissed like all the others—cast out to the periphery.

  She couldn’t and would never forget his cruelty to her, but it was already becoming a more ambiguous, multi-faceted thing. Why would he feel like that about himself? What had happened to him to make him believe that? She knew if she kept on this path it would be a very dangerous one. She shouldn’t be curious. She shouldn’t care.