by Abby Green
She blushed, but forced herself to say, ‘This is more important, though. I don’t want to be responsible for taking you away…’
He silenced her words with a kiss, drawing her into a secluded alcove. People passed them by, but they were oblivious to everything but the heat between them. They finally came up for air and Jamilah groaned softly, resting her forehead on Salman’s chest. Would she ever be free of this insanity?
When he took her hand again and led her out she was silent. Back in the car, she noticed that they weren’t heading towards their hotel, and finally they pulled up at a small, slightly battered-looking restaurant boat that was moored near the Île de la Cité on the Seine. Lightbulbs were strung around the perimeter, bathing it in a golden glow. Her heart lurched. This had always been one of her favourite parts of Paris.
Salman led her down rickety steps and said, ‘I thought you might be hungry…’
Jamilah’s stomach growled, and she smiled. ‘You seem to be more in tune with my eating habits than I am.’
He smiled, too, and for a second looked years younger—as if some of his dark intensity was lifting. She had to stem the rising tide of tenderness. Just then a rotund man came to the door and exclaimed over Salman effusively. Clearly he was a well-liked visitor. They were soon seated in a quiet corner, overlooking the slightly choppy river. The glowing lights of hundreds of apartments shone down on them, and on the water. Jamilah could see a couple on the path by the Seine stop and share a passionate kiss—it might have been her and Salman, six years ago. She sighed.
Salman took her hand and said lightly, ‘You don’t like this place?’
She shook her head and said quietly, avoiding his eye, ‘It’s perfect. I love it.’ And I love you. Still. She curbed her words.
The waiter came then, to take their order, and Jamilah forced herself to relax. Salman ordered champagne and oysters, and they spoke of inconsequential things in an easy conversation that didn’t stray anywhere near difficult topics. Jamilah could almost imagine for a second that she’d dreamt up Salman’s horrific revelations…but then she only had to think of the charity and the work he was doing and remember.
By the time they had gorged on the succulent morsels, and after Salman had kissed and licked away the droplets that clung to her mouth, she was trembling with desire. When he stood up and took her hand to leave she didn’t hesitate.
There was an ethereal quality to the silence between them as they travelled back to the hotel in the car, hand in hand. It lasted all the way up to their suite, and made Jamilah feel as if they were the only two people in the world.
Once they were in Salman’s room, he took off his clothes with efficient gracefulness. Only once he was naked did he peel her dress down to expose her breasts and say throatily, ‘I’ve been waiting to do this all night.’
With his hands on her waist he drew her into him, bent his head, and his hot mouth and tongue paid sensual homage to her breasts until she was gasping for air and her hips were squirming for more intimate contact.
When he had her naked on the bed, underneath him, he took her hands and lifted them over her head, capturing them there with one of his. He said, as he ran one hand down the side of her body, before his fingers sought the hot wet ache between her legs, ‘I’m going to take this slowly…until you’re begging for mercy…’
Jamilah whimpered as his fingers explored her moist heat and her hips bucked. She already felt like begging for mercy, but could only succumb to Salman’s masterful seduction as he did exactly as he’d promised…
Jamilah had fallen into a sated drowsy slumber, but woke in an instant when she felt Salman brush her hair over one shoulder. He whispered in her ear. ‘If you think this finishes here then you’re very much mistaken, Jamilah Moreau.’
She said nothing—just felt a lump come into her throat. Salman settled himself around her, and eventually his breaths evened out. She knew he was right. She could no more resist him now than she could stop breathing and survive.
The only way she could make him reject her for sure would be to tell him how she felt. But the awful excoriating memory of that day six years before and the cruel rejection she’d suffered made her loath to reveal herself ever again. Even though she knew now that he hadn’t wanted to hurt her.
Jamilah bit her lip. She had to batten down the fragile and fledgling flame of hope that rose up like a persistent desert flower in the face of certain demise once the rains had gone. She had to learn from the past. She would be the biggest fool on earth if she walked willingly back into Salman’s arms once they returned to Merkazad. He’d only be there for another couple of weeks, and if she could just survive that long…
Next day, Salman cast a suspicious glance across the aisle of the private plane to Jamilah. Her chair was reclined and she was asleep—or she was pretending to be. Her face was turned away, and even that hint of obliviousness to his presence angered him. The minute they’d taken off she’d turned down the offer of lunch and yawned loudly. In all fairness he couldn’t blame her. They hadn’t got much sleep last night.
He tried to make sense of the tangled knot in his head. He couldn’t feel regret for having seduced Jamilah again—because it had felt too right. And now, as they flew back to the home he’d rejected a long time ago Merkazad was the last thing on his mind. To his surprise, he’d found himself enjoying the past few days, standing in for Nadim. They’d even managed to have a near-friendly conversation the previous evening, when Salman had filled him in on developments. And that was something that hadn’t happened in a long time.
The woman sleeping so peacefully just a few feet away, or not, was the catalyst for these changes. Salman knew it, and it sent warning bells to every part of his body and brain. And yet he didn’t regret telling her. If anything he felt guilty for burdening her with the images that had tortured his days and nights for years… He frowned; the images were already beginning to dissipate like wisps of cloud.
His mouth firmed and he turned away from the provocative sight of her tempting body. Resting his head back on the headrest, he closed his eyes. Things were different now from six years ago. Jamilah had matured and lived, had experienced things. He grimaced. She knew everything about him. But, despite that, he would be walking away and leaving her behind in Merkazad some day soon—and this time it really would be over. There simply was no other option.
‘Stop the Jeep, Salman.’
When he didn’t automatically obey, Jamilah was about to speak again, but then he did pull in. They were in the main courtyard of the Al-Saqr Castle. To the left the road led up to the castle, and to the right to the stables complex and training grounds.
Salman looked at Jamilah as she got out. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
As nonchalantly as she could, while her heart was beating a rapid tattoo and every beat screamed to her, coward, coward, Jamilah said, ‘Back to the stables, Salman. I’m going to be busy for the next few days, catching up.’
Salman jumped out of the Jeep so fast Jamilah’s head swam. She instinctively moved away, but Salman cornered her at the back of the Jeep and caged her in with his hands by her head.
Dark eyes blistered down into hers, and she was instantly breathless. He ground his hips against hers and she could feel his arousal through his jeans, pressing her. ‘So this is how it’s to be? You run and hide at the stables?’
Jamilah tried to push him back, but he was immovable. She gritted out, trying to resist his magnetic pull, ‘There’s nothing stopping you coming with me—I have work to do, remember?’
Immediately he tensed, and Jamilah automatically wanted to say sorry when she saw the abject terror in the depths of his dark eyes. He pulled back and said coolly, ‘Have it your way, then…we’ll see how long you can last.’
He didn’t have to say it. He wasn’t prepared to deal with those demons. And, in all honesty, could she blame him? Even she felt sick when she thought of what he’d had to do. No wonder he’d escaped from here as soon as he’d had t
he chance.
Silently Jamilah told herself that she’d last until Salman was safely back in France and there were thousands of miles between them again. But as she watched him get back into the Jeep and drive away she had to fight back the treacherous feeling of disappointment that he hadn’t tried harder to persuade her to go with him.
She turned and made the five-minute walk to the stables. When she arrived in the yard, which was normally her favourite place in the world, it suddenly felt cold and desolate and laden with malevolent images.
For the first day back in Merkazad at the stables Jamilah heard nothing from or about Salman—except the over-excited chatter of the girls who’d caught a glimpse of him that morning while they’d been exercising the horses. Jamilah wondered grumpily to herself where Abdul was when she needed him to nip that ardent gossiping in the bud.
By the time she fell into bed that evening, exhausted, she felt treacherously dissatisfied, wondering if Salman had lost interest after all. Perhaps he was going to import some of his hedonistic friends again to keep him amused?
Her dreams that night were hot and tangled, and she woke aching, and with an even bigger feeling of dissatisfaction.
Jamilah groaned as she got up for work. This was after only one day? She was a lost cause.
Around mid-morning, one of the castle maids appeared, and handed Jamilah a note in a blank envelope. With her heart skittering ominously, she turned away to read it. The slashing confident scrawl was instantly familiar.
Was yesterday as hard for you as it was for me? I want you, Jamilah…
Jamilah dismissed the girl, who’d obviously been waiting to see if she wanted to send a reply, and it took her a couple of hours to get over the note and its sheer audacity. It also took her that long to quiet down the tumult of emotions the note had provoked: relief that Salman hadn’t forgotten about her, anger at herself for feeling like a lovestruck teenager, anger that he was intent on pursuing the affair despite her declaration in Paris, and anger at her body’s clamour to give in.
Just as she was thinking that, her mobile phone beeped. Jamilah opened the text. Did you get my note? it read. After a moment of deliberation Jamilah replied. Yes. Not interested in pursuing this topic of conversation. I am very busy.
She got another one back almost instantly. I’m busy, too. In case it’s escaped your attention I’m the acting ruler of Merkazad. Yet I can’t seem to concentrate.
Jamilah found she was smiling, and had to stop and rearrange her facial muscles. She resolutely turned her phone off and got back to work. But as the day progressed a flurry of envelopes kept arriving via staff from the castle. And they all contained increasingly explicit notes about Salman’s varying states of arousal, what he imagined she might be wearing, how he wanted to remove it, and what he wanted to do to her once he had removed it.
By the end of the day Jamilah was over-hot and overwrought, but refused to give in to the pull to go and confront Salman directly and tell him to lay off. That was no doubt exactly what he wanted, and in the semi-aroused state she was in there was no way she’d be able to resist him if he tried to seduce her.
The stables were her only hope of sanctuary, and she hated that she was using them as protection.
The following day the same pattern emerged. Note after note. Her phone beeping constantly even though she deleted his messages now, without reading them. He was driving her insane. She amended that. She was driving herself insane. But only because she couldn’t stop thinking about what he was saying and reacting to it.
Are you hot right now? Are you thinking of that shower we had together in Paris? Where do you ache most?
It was a sensual attack for which Jamilah was woefully unprepared. And that night, when her phone rang by her bed, she snatched it up and said irritably, ‘Yes?’
She heard a dark chuckle. ‘Why so grumpy? Can’t you sleep? Too hot?’
Jamilah gripped the phone hard in a suddenly sweaty palm, acutely aware of how hot she did feel in her small T-shirt and panties. She forced herself to sound as cool as she could. ‘Not at all. Unlike you, I’ve been extremely busy.’
Another chuckle floated down the line, and Salman said with a mock self-effacing tone, ‘Luckily I possess above average intelligence, so I find multi-tasking very easy. Although writing those notes was having an adverse affect on me while I conducted a public meeting in Merkazad.’
Jamilah had to stifle a giggle at the thought of Salman becoming aroused and trying to hide it, and then the giggle died when she realised that the thought was making her aroused. She couldn’t believe it; they were no better than teenagers. She squirmed and pressed her legs together, aghast that he could have this effect on her down a phone line.
‘Are you in bed now?’
‘No.’ Jamilah immediately lied.
‘Liar,’ Salman chided huskily. ‘What are you wearing?’
‘Seeing as how I’m not in bed, I’m wearing jeans and a shirt.’
‘Like I said: liar. Let me guess. You’re a small T-shirt and panties girl? That is when you’re not naked with me.’
Jamilah squirmed again. ‘No, actually. I wear pyjamas buttoned from top to toe.’
He made a tsk-tsk sound. ‘At this rate you’ll be going straight to hell, Jamilah Moreau.’
Quickly she quipped, ‘Sounds like it’ll be a bit overcrowded, with you there, too.’
‘Touché.’ That hint of bleakness in his voice sounded down the line, and Jamilah instantly felt chastened. But she didn’t have time to think about it because he was saying, ‘Do you know what I’m thinking of right now?’
More huskily than she wanted, she said, ‘I don’t think I really want to know, Salman. In fact I’m quite tired—’
He cut her off. ‘I’m thinking about you lying there with your hair spread out, in a T-shirt which reveals your midriff and exquisitely shaped waist and hips. I’m thinking of how it’s stretched tight across your breasts, and how your pants cling to your hips. I’m thinking of how I’d like to pull your T-shirt up so that I can bare your breasts to my gaze, see how your nipples harden and pout for my touch, for my tongue…’
‘Salman…’ Jamilah said weakly, as a liquid heat invaded her veins. Her hand was on her belly, and of its own volition was sliding down towards her pants.
‘Salman, what?’ he asked huskily. ‘Stop? You don’t want me to stop. You want me there, to suckle on your breasts until your back is arched, while my hand descends to spread your thighs apart, before coming back up to slide aside your pants and explore, to find where you’re so wet and aching…’
It was Jamilah’s own hand almost touching the spot he spoke of that brought her back to cold reality. She jackknifed off the bed and slammed the phone down into its cradle. When it rang again almost immediately she yanked the cord out of the wall.
And only when the waves of heat began to subside did she manage to fall into a fitful sleep.
The following day Jamilah was clinging onto her resolve, which felt like a flimsy life raft in a choppy sea. More notes had arrived that morning, but Jamilah couldn’t even look at them now. She sent them back unopened to Salman, with the bemused maids.
So later that day, when she heard the arrival of a Jeep in the main stable courtyard, she whirled around, heart thudding ominously. He’d come—he wanted her so badly that he’d come to get her. And treacherously her resolve was already dissolving fast.
Salman stepped out of the Jeep and she felt weak with longing. He was tall and dark and she felt as if she hadn’t seen him in months. And the look on his face was so determined it made her tremble all over.
But she couldn’t give in. She couldn’t.
He just stood there for a long moment. An unspoken dialogue hummed between them. Finally he articulated it. ‘Come up to the castle with me, Jamilah.’
She shook her head and backed away, even as every cell in her body was urging her to go with him. At that moment one of the stablehands led a horse out of a stall just a fe
w feet away. She saw how Salman’s eyes veered wildly to the horse and then back to her.
He’d gone deathly pale in the space of a heartbeat, and he gritted out, ‘Damn you, Jamilah. I’m not ready for this.’
And then he was back in his Jeep and screeching out of the stableyard, and she felt as if she’d just done something unutterably cruel. For the first time since she’d seen him again she got a sense that she had the power to hurt him, and it made her reel.
She was still standing there, slightly stunned, when she noticed Abdul by one of the stables. He just looked at her, and then shook his head slowly, and Jamilah felt even worse.
She barely slept a wink that night; not surprisingly there had been no more notes or phone calls from Salman after he’d left. Her head was whirling with guilt and her resolve not to give in to the almost overpowering pull to go to Salman.
She started work in a daze the next day, and was exhausted by four p.m., when the phone rang in her office.
It was a call that made her want to weep with weariness, for it meant that she had to take the chopper to a remote Bedouin oasis village, deep in a mountainous valley. Considering the time of day it was, and the way Bedouin hospitality worked, she’d more than likely have to stay overnight.
Apparently a horse was having trouble foaling, and its owner feared for its life and that of the foal. The stables’ resident vet was away for a few days, and Jamilah had studied veterinary science, so she had the necessary expertise when things like this cropped up from time to time. She gathered her things and called the chopper pilot, then made her way to the launching pad behind the castle. As she drove by the castle she resolutely veered her mind away from the man inside…somewhere.
They flew over mountainous and rocky terrain, and Jamilah’s heart clenched with emotion for this sometimes inhospitable country. It was these local Bedouin people who had risen up and fought back against the invaders all those years before, who had saved the Sheikh and his family from their incarceration. Who had saved Salman.
