He’d already felt the pattern affix to his skin, but for a moment she didn’t move. Looking into the mirror, knowing she couldn’t see, Vidar let his hungry gaze roam her reflection. The black leather pants and sleeveless vest fit her like a second skin, hugging firm, high breasts, slim hips and thighs. Her tattoo only emphasized the wiry strength of her arms, the reds, oranges and gold of the roc a perfect complement to her skin. She always wore her hair up, sometimes under a cap or, like tonight, rolled into a casual bunch at the top of her head. It left her throat bare, and his fingers clenched into fists, the urge to stroke that smooth, glorious skin almost too much to suppress.
As though feeling his regard, she looked up. Her gaze swept over his reflection and he swore he could feel it rush like fire over his skin too. She licked her bottom lip and her fingers definitely trembled against his skin. Then she met his gaze in the mirror and gave his hip a little push with her hand, indicating he should turn back around.
“I can do that.” Was it his imagination, or did her voice sound a little raspy? “It is an interesting story, if I might say so myself.”
Vidar grasped the edge of the table and squeezed his eyes closed as the machine started to buzz. “Tell me.”
He was hoping to sink into her tale the way he usually did. Jasmina had once explained storytelling was an important part of jinn life, and her gift for it was evident. She wove words into strangely beautiful patterns and used her voice the way other people used their hands in emphasis.
There was the first touch of the needle and Vidar began to relax. Despite her hand moving lower and lower, holding the flesh in place to be inked, they were back on a more businesslike footing. And there was nothing unusual about the fact that she didn’t start the story right away. Making him wait, building anticipation, was part of her natural showmanship.
She lifted the needle away from his skin and wiped the area with gauze.
“I come from a very traditional, old-fashioned jinn family.” She pitched her voice so he could hear it clearly over the hum of the machine as she went back to applying the tattoo. “So old-fashioned that if my father had his way, I would never see anything but the inside of his house or, should I marry, that of my husband.”
Jasmina paused to wipe at the tattoo again, and gave a little chuckle.
“What’s so funny about that?” Vidar asked.
“I was just picturing my father seeing me tattooing your ass and reading my mind, realizing just how badly I want to fuck you. He’d lock me away forever.”
Every muscle in his body went into rigor, and Vidar couldn’t restrain the low moan that broke from his throat.
So much for getting lost in the story.
She definitely was trying to kill him. He just knew it.
Chapter Three
I really should stop doing that.
But Jasmina wasn’t really contrite. Sure, Vidar was hesitant about them sleeping together, but she wanted to keep reminding him the door was open. All he had to do was walk through. Although feeling him stiffen beneath her hand gave her a small pang of remorse, it wasn’t enough to make her stop. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed that while intellectually he wasn’t ready to take her up on the offer, physically he was still raring to go.
Besides the renewed tension in his body, Vidar made no comment so, as she moved on to outline the rest of the first root, she continued her tale.
“While most jinn families have moved away from the traditional lifestyle—allowing their female members almost as much freedom as the males—my family has clung to the old ways. My father’s wives and daughters were secluded from all outside men, kept at home until they’re married and allowed to study only subjects deemed fitting for women.”
“What kinds of subjects are those?”
Jasmina smiled to herself, pleased he’d picked up on that so readily. One of the joys of telling Vidar a story was his quick grasp of the important points.
“The jinn, as I’m sure you know, are the master enchanters of our world. There are other races able to enchant items, but none do it as well, or as elegantly, as we do. It takes a high level of expertise to ensure the object does exactly what you want it to, without fail. Jinn women are particularly skilled in figuring out what enchantments will bring about the desired result, and are trained from early in life to master the necessary abilities.”
She paused, leaning back to check her work. Vidar shifted slightly, and Jasmina was distracted by the movement of his ass and thigh muscles. Damn, but he was gorgeous.
“So are there other subjects boys are allowed to learn, and girls aren’t?”
With a little sigh she went back to work, and to her story.
“Boys are taught many other spellcasting abilities deemed unfit for girls, like stun spells, along with mindreading, alchemy and translocation. Anything a woman could use as a tool to best a man, or avoid being overseen by her male relatives, was forbidden.”
Vidar looked over his shoulder, almost jogging her hand. “Mindreading?”
Unable to resist, she patted his butt, supposedly in reassurance but really just because she wanted to. “Don’t worry. There are only a handful of faie races without natural shields against it. The jinn who use it most are those that venture to the human world.”
He was still staring at her. “Do you know how to do it?”
Jasmina wasn’t about to admit she did, or that she’d tried to use it on him, to no avail. Scowling up at him, she asked, “Do you want to hear the story or play twenty questions?”
With one last, hard look, he silently turned back around. She gave a little huff of annoyance, just for effect.
“So, as I was saying. That was the type of home I grew up in, but I was lucky. My mother came from a more progressive family. She believed knowledge equated to power, taught me a lot of the forbidden arts and encouraged me to read about everything going on outside of our cloistered world. I used to sneak books from my father’s library and the more I read the more I wanted to know. When I asked my mother if we could use our skills in translocation to go out into the world, she told me no. The entire house was enchanted to allow my father, and those guarding it, to know when anyone entered or left.”
“Huh. Why do I think you found a way out, despite that?”
Jasmina laughed. “Because you know me very well, Vidar Jarlsen.”
The sound he made could have been an answering chuckle, or it could have been a grunt of pain, since she was tattooing right over his coccyx. “Yeah, right.”
“You do, you know.” Why she felt the need to reassure him of that point, she wasn’t sure. “A great deal better than you probably realize. Anyway, as you said, one day I discovered a secret—one which was supposed to be held only by the male members of our family. I found a book written by my great-great-grandfather, and in it he revealed there were two portals, one in the house, one in the garden, where you could translocate out without anyone knowing. Clearly even back then the men were up to no good.”
“That’s timeless.”
Something in his tone made her glance in the mirror to try to see his expression, as though that would do any good. Between his habitual deadpan face and all the hair, she didn’t know why she bothered. With a small shake of her head and a little grin at her silliness, Jasmina went back to work, and the story.
“Of course I had to figure out if my father was still using the same places his great-grandfather had created, or had moved them elsewhere. For days I spied on the spot in the garden, the one accessible to me, and to my surprise saw my eldest brother, Ahmet, use it. Then I knew—the world was open to me in a way it never had been before.”
“Was that when you took off? What did your mother have to say about you leaving?”
An aching pang made her sigh. Even after all this time it still hurt. “By then my mother had died, and I was pretty much alone. The other wives had their own children to care for, and I was old enough to look after myself. I didn’t mind, because my solitu
de allowed me to read and practice the arts my mother taught me.”
“I’m sorry.” Jasmina felt his muscles tense and then relax again. “Losing a mother when you’re young isn’t an easy thing.”
It was said as a fact, and Jasmina knew he was speaking from experience. Vidar rarely talked about himself. No amount of coaxing and hinting got him to open up very much. She’s even gone so far as to do research on trolls to try to understand him better. From what she’d read they tended to be solitary or live in small family groups, mostly lead by a matriarch. There were cases where troll mothers simply walked away, looking for a new life, leaving the children to fend for themselves. Had that happened to Vidar? Would he even tell her if she asked?
She concentrated on the line she was inking, took a silent, deep draught of air into her lungs.
“No, it isn’t easy. But you apparently know that for yourself.”
Once more his muscles tightened for a moment, seemed to be willed to loosen up. “Yes.”
For a few seconds the only sound in the room was the buzz of the machine, and Jasmina released the breath she was holding. Clearly he wasn’t going to elaborate. Dammit, the man knew almost her entire life story but wouldn’t share even a tidbit of his own with her. A little flash of annoyance made her rub at the line she’d just tattooed a bit harder than was strictly necessary.
“Anyway, I didn’t ‘take off’ as you so eloquently put it. Not right away. I wasn’t unhappy at home, just curious about life outside. Once I was sure I wouldn’t be detected, I started disguising myself and slipping away at night.”
For a moment the wonder of it came back to her, as though she were reliving the first glimpse of the wider world.
“Oh Vidar, it was dazzling, amazing. For the first time in my life I was seeing people of all types, exploring life in all its divergent glory. The colors and scents confused and delighted me. The bustle of crowds, variety of faces made my head spin. I wandered through the souk, gawking at the stalls, the merchants and their customers. There was a club, and I stood outside, staring at the people going in and out, listening to music I had never even known existed. As I walked I eavesdropped on those around me, hearing snippets of stories, words I didn’t understand, and I wanted to know more.”
In her excitement she’d stopped tattooing him, and she laughed softly before bending back to work.
“I spent almost every night out exploring, although I didn’t go very far. There was no need to. I had so much to see and experience just outside the walls of my family’s house. Disguised as a maid, I had my first love affair, saw my first live concert, swam in the sea. While I enjoyed the luxury of living in my father’s home, I had this other life, completely separate and terribly exciting. It was, I thought, the best of both worlds.”
She let her voice trail away, building tension, and was rewarded when Vidar said, “Until?”
His impatience made her smile.
“Until my father decided it was time for me to marry.”
The muscles beneath her hand went rock hard.
“Marry?”
“Uh-huh. Of course the thought filled me with terror. The man he wanted me to marry came from a family as traditional as ours, which meant I would once more be locked away. Worse though was the fact I was no longer a virgin. How would I hide that from my husband? And if he found out, what would he do to me?”
Slowly his muscles lost their tension, although a hint of it remained. “So what did you do?”
Jasmina snorted. “What I didn’t do was think. If I had simply pretended to be compliant, I could have escaped without a problem. Instead, I told my father I didn’t want to marry and he locked me away.”
Vidar moved slightly, spreading his hands farther apart on the edge of the table, his fingers clenching against the leather-covered padding. “But you could just translocate out of wherever he put you, couldn’t you?”
“Not from that place.”
He turned his head to look down at her and, holding the machine away from his skin, she met his gaze.
“Where was that?”
“He bottled me.”
Vidar’s brow creased. “He what?”
“Bottled me. Locked me in a bottle specially enchanted so that once the cork was in place I couldn’t translocate or be transported out.”
“I thought that was just a myth.”
He looked so horrified she had to laugh. “No, it happens. Only a father or husband can have the vessel created to trap a daughter or wife. Each bottle and stopper are enchanted to only hold a specific person. But it sounds a lot worse than it really is. With a little spellcraft, inside can be as big or as small as you want it to be. Quite comfortable if you don’t mind being alone with nothing to do but play around with your environment.”
“How did you get out?”
Jasmina dropped her gaze, absently dabbing the needle on a sponge put near at hand for cleaning the tip. This part of the tale was a little more difficult to tell.
“My father transported my intended husband into the bottle with me.”
Vidar turned around. Reaching down, he grasped her chin and lifted her face so she was looking up into his eyes, which were icy-blue, cold.
“He what?”
Jasmina shrugged, trying to make light of it. “I guess he figured once Mahmud had his way with me, I wouldn’t object to the marriage anymore. Neither of them knew I’d learned stunning spells from my mother, and wasn’t afraid to use them. I kept him immobilized, half out of my mind with terror about what would happen next. But I was ready by the time my father took out the cork. I let my father translocate me out of the bottle and then, when he brought Mahmud out, I grabbed the bottle and translocated myself out into the garden. Before they could catch me I used the secret portal and was gone. I never looked back.” Forcing a smile, she added, “I even kept the bottle. Going into it is great for recreating places I want to see but can’t actually get to.”
She left out the part about seeing the cork in her father’s hands as she fled, and her abiding fear that one day someone would trap her again. Even knowing her bottle was locked securely away at home didn’t lessen the anxiety. Each stopper was enchanted for a specific jinn, so as long as it existed she was never entirely assured of her freedom. All she could do was keep alert to make sure no one snuck up on her and enchanted her back into the bottle.
As if sensing some of what she was keeping back, his gaze grew searching, yet was so filled with empathy she felt suddenly naked, vulnerable. She was afraid he’d say something that would make the tears suddenly pricking behind her eyes begin to fall.
“Where do you recreate, in your bottle?”
Jasmina let her breath out with a little sigh. “The souk sometimes, or an oasis I discovered out in the desert. Places too close to home for me to dare visit.”
Vidar nodded slightly, but there were so many questions still lingering in his eyes. “Did your father never catch up to you?”
“He never tried.” Surprising to feel her throat tighten with that admission. She thought she’d come to terms with her father’s actions a long time ago. “I eventually got word that he’d disowned me, forbade anyone to mention my name ever again. He didn’t have a choice, really, all things considered. I’d disgraced the family name.”
His moustache twitched, his lips firmed to a straight line, and for a moment she thought he might argue the point, but hoped he didn’t pursue it. Remembering had brought all the old pain back with almost shocking intensity and she just couldn’t talk about it anymore.
“So, that’s how I turned into a vagabond.” She forced her lips into a smile. “And ended up here. Quite a story, right?”
“Yes.”
He looked and sounded so grave, she knew she had to change the subject, or risk turning into a blubbering mess. Quirking her eyebrows, she trailed her fingers over his thigh. “So, now that you’ve heard the whole thing are you going to let me get back to work?”
Vidar’s eyes widened
, as though he suddenly remembered he was naked, facing her, his now-flaccid cock pretty much in her face. How she wished he’d just give in, not turn around, let her have her way with him. Somehow, even more than before, she wanted the physical contact, as though to cement this new phase of their relationship. Or perhaps as a means of comfort.
The alacrity with which he turned back to face the table was rather disheartening. Jasmina gripped the nozzle tighter, wrestling with hurt and need. It bugged her how little she knew about him, how hard he was to read. Being honest with herself, she’d just assumed if she offered to sleep with him, he’d jump at the chance. As polite and restrained as he’d been, it had been impossible not to notice his erections while they were together. She’d never dreamed he’d be so resistant to the idea of having sex with her and, while she felt a little sheepish at her arrogance, his rejection still stung.
Reaching over, she turned off the machine, put the needle down on the table. The silence sang in her ears, her thudding heart providing a rather erratic underscore. For a long beat Vidar didn’t move, and then he turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. Jasmine ran her tongue over her teeth, inhaled, hoping to take in some courage with the deep breath.
“Is the thought of having sex with me so repulsive?”
Both his beard and moustache moved, and his cheeks darkened, but his eyes looked completely clear, unclouded.
“No.” She was sure the muscle in his cheek jumped, as though he’d clenched his teeth. “Not repulsive at all.”
He sounded as though they were discussing the weather, damn him, and Jasmina’s annoyance, and defensiveness, grew. “So what’s the problem then? One of the few things you’ve told me about yourself is that you live alone. If you’re free, and I’m free, what’s the holdup?”
Vidar chewed on his upper lip for a moment, and she was overcome with the urge to kiss him, find out what those firm lips felt like under hers. When he spoke she finally heard emotion—sincerity and something suspiciously like yearning—in his voice. “Jasmina—Jazz—I don’t have any friends, except you. I don’t want to lose that, even if it means not knowing what it feels like to…”
StoneHardPassion Page 3
