Climax of Passion

by Emma Darcy

  Neatly arranged, Amanda thought, certain now she was dealing with Jebel Haffa himself, the most loyal of Xa Shiraq’s lieutenants. Her business in Xabia would be discussed privately in his tent. The decision of how to deal with her might have already been made. She might never get to Xa Shiraq. Nor to the crystal caves in the mountains.

  ‘Get my bodyguard,’ Amanda directed Mocca.

  ‘There is no need. We are under protection,’ he excused.

  ‘Some bodyguards they turned out to be,’ Amanda scoffed. ‘The first time I need them, they evaporate like water under the midday sun. You can reimburse the palace for them, Mocca.’

  He gestured an eloquent appeal for forbearance. ‘They will be at your service, if service is required. But this is a matter of hospitality, not hostility.’

  Amanda knew all about complimentary hospitality, as masterminded by Jebel Haffa. With a sense of fatalism, she picked up her bag and stepped down from the truck. The least she could do was conduct herself with dignity. Her heart was pounding painfully but she would show no hesitation, no fear, no faltering. She had come to right an injustice. She would be heard, if nothing else.

  The Berber guard escorted her to the tent and gestured for her to enter. She felt the trap closing around her as she stepped inside and the door flap behind her was lowered into place, ensuring complete seclusion from Mocca and his extended family.

  Richly patterned carpets had been laid on the ground. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted on the air. But there was a stronger scent permeating the interior of the tent, a fresh, beautiful scent she had never smelled the exact likeness of before. It was tantalising, making it difficult to concentrate on the proceedings that were about to take place.

  It was intensely discomfiting to find only one man waiting for her, the man in the black burnoose who had sat beside her in the truck. For the past hour he had known this moment was coming, ignoring whatever transpired between Mocca and herself because he knew all he had to do was ensure they took the road to this tent. When had he laid his plans...this morning after she had left the city?

  He stood beside the table where the coffee and plates of sweet biscuits and fruit were waiting. He waved an invitation to the chair that had been set for her...opposite his. It was not a camp chair, any more than the table was a camp table, set as it was with an embroidered linen cloth. The backs of the chairs were ornately carved, the seats cushioned and upholstered in burgundy brocade. This tent and its contents marked his status as a very important person.

  Amanda decided not to speak until she was spoken to. There was no profit in saying anything until the situation was clarified. She moved to the chair indicated and sat down. He walked to the other end of the tent where there was a large divan bed covered with the same burgundy silk as on the chairs. A group of plump, decorative cushions were piled on top of it. Her host obviously didn’t believe in sleeping rough.

  Outside the tent music began to play. Amanda wondered if this was to be the entertainment. She identified a violin, flute, tambourine, and possibly a guitar.

  What was the scent teasing her nose? It seemed to be sharpening all her senses...or was she confusing it with the very real sense of danger that was making her feel more acutely aware of herself and everything else? Especially the man who was now discarding his burnoose, tossing it negligently on the bed.

  He swung around to face her and Amanda’s stomach contracted as though absorbing a physical blow. She stared at him, her mind cartwheeling through a dizzying series of logical steps that brought home the realisation she could never achieve what she had set out to achieve. Not in the way she had planned it. Xa Shiraq and his men had been one step ahead of her, all the way.

  And this man...who would have been her lover if she had allowed it...this man who had pursued her from Fisa...this man who could command the Chugah, Jebel Haffa’s personal troops...could she still touch him...sway him from his loyalty to the sheikh?

  He stood absolutely motionless, watching her reaction to him with those all-knowing, all-seeing black eyes. She should have known, in the truck, who he was. Her instincts had told her. Neither cloak nor cowl could smother the innate power of the man. She had never met his like before their encounter at Fisa. It had been blindly stupid of her not to link the same force with the same source.

  Not that it would have changed anything, Amanda assured herself. He would have engineered this result regardless of any effort she might have made to change it. This was his territory. Without an army to fight his troops, Amanda could not have evaded him. Tirham was the gateway to the mountains that held the crystal caves.

  ‘You knew I would be coming here,’ she stated flatly.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The promotion at Fisa was to see if I would be content with a career in hotel management.’

  Again that flash of respect in his eyes. ‘Yes.’

  ‘The cachet blanc from Xa Shiraq...that also was a deliberate test of my purpose. To see how quickly I could think.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why was I allowed to come this far?’

  ‘There is a saying in your country—”Give a person enough rope so they can hang themselves.” You were given sufficient rope, Miss Buchanan.’

  He paused to let her feel the noose tightening around her neck. Both ruthless and relentless, Amanda thought, with a little shiver of apprehension. As he had been with Charles Arnold, after giving him enough rope to damn himself.

  They both knew he could have had her arrested at the embassy in Bejos for false representation of the sheikh’s authority, but it would have been dealt with by officialdom in Bejos. Perhaps the fraudulent act might have been dismissed as a misdemeanour at that point. Not any longer.

  ‘You wanted me in Xabia,’ Amanda reasoned.

  ‘It had a certain piquancy. Yes!’

  ‘Revealing my intentions.’

  ‘Beyond all reasonable doubt,’ he affirmed.

  ‘Putting myself in your power.’ Would he use it to condemn her or rescue her? Did he still want her, or had she put herself beyond the pale as far as he was concerned?

  ‘I arranged it that way,’ he acknowledged.

  ‘Under the jurisdiction of Xa Shiraq,’ she mocked, reminding him he wasn’t entirely his own man, hoping it might prick some deep core of pride that she could reach and use to her advantage.

  There was a hard, unyielding look to his face. His black eyes bored into hers with merciless judgement. ‘You cannot dispute you have broken the law. You made an illegal entry into this country. To that offence you have added the illegal acquisition of permits and goods that would be considered criminal acts in any country. You are guilty of so many counts of fraud and grand larceny, there is no international body you could appeal to that would interest itself in fighting your cause.’

  ‘I have justice on my side,’ Amanda bit out determinedly, refusing to accept the defeat he was pressing upon her.

  His lips curled in contempt. ‘Fiat justitia, ruat coelum,’ he said. ‘Let justice be done though the heavens fall.’

  ‘As you sow, so will you reap,’ Amanda retorted.

  He dismissed her words with a wave of his hand. ‘You have discredited yourself in the eyes of the world.’

  ‘The same ploy was used on my father.’ She stood up in disdain of his indictment of her. Her eyes flashed their contempt back at him. ‘Do you feel proud of your petty schemes and plotting?’

  ‘It was efficient,’ he stated coldly. ‘And served its purpose. You are here in Xabia, Miss Buchanan. There is no avenue of escape.’

  Was there no chink in his armour? Did he belong body and soul to his sheikh?

  ‘That doesn’t mean you win,’ Amanda fired at him, trying to stir the sense of contest he had seemed interested in before.

  It provoked him. The black eyes blazed, their chill obliterated by a heat that seared her skin. ‘Time is on my side. As much time as I need. As much time as I want. You can hardly say I have lost, Miss Buchanan.�
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  Amanda was left in no doubt of what he meant. The arrogant confidence with which his eyes roved over her made her burn with furious resentment. It also triggered a flood of responses that shamed her.

  Chemical reactions were uncontrollable, she reasoned wildly. There probably wasn’t a woman in the world who wouldn’t think he was overwhelmingly attractive in those form-fitting trousers and riding boots, outlining the strong muscularity of his legs and drawing attention to his virility. It was only natural that she should feel...a tingle of interest.

  Though, if she was honest with herself, it was more than that. Much more. She had the strong sensation of desire licking over her skin, sending curls of excitement through her stomach, down her legs. She found herself staring at his mouth, wanting it to ravish hers. She dragged her gaze down to his throat. The smooth polish of his bare skin in the V of his open-necked shirt incited a compelling urge to touch. She wanted to feel the power of the man enveloping her in physical intimacy, surging inside her, loving her for what she was.

  Amanda struggled to come to terms with the strength of these feelings. It wasn’t like her to have erotic thoughts. There was something else bothering her, as well. The scent...it seemed heavier, richer now. But that was irrelevant to the problems she faced.

  ‘I have had this tent prepared for you. For your comfort and pleasure.’ His voice was suddenly a low velvet purr, a caress that squeezed her heart.

  ‘What is that scent?’ she blurted out. It was a stupid question, yet she somehow needed to have it settled and out of her mind.

  ‘It is the scent of the jasmine that was banned by the Sultan of Zanzibar.’ He walked towards her with the slow, threatening grace of a panther on the prowl, his black eyes gleaming with satisfaction. ‘The Arabs complained that it unduly excited the women when they were having sexual relations. Personally, I don’t mind that happening.’

  Resentment welled over the strange excitement that had gripped her. ‘Does having me as your prisoner give you the right to do anything you like with me? Is that what you think?’

  ‘I will use whatever means I have to make you face the truth of your feelings as a woman. And your response to me as a man.’

  ‘Does that include taking me whenever you want to?’

  He laughed derisively. ‘I want more than that.’

  He was close now, so close that the compelling demand in his eyes made her feel intensely vulnerable. ‘Do you have Xa Shiraq’s approval for what you are doing?’ she fired at him, desperate to find some weakness she could play on.

  ‘If I risk that disapproval, it is for you.’ His arms came around her waist, drawing her to him. His eyes burned into hers. ‘What would you risk for me, Amanda?’

  It was the first time he had taken the familiarity of using her name. It was seductive. It was also revealing. For all his steely control he was not immune to her. She still touched him...and troubled him...as no other woman had. That was what he had told her in Fisa. The critical question was how far would he go to have the complete conquest he wanted.

  She pushed her hands up his chest to retain some distance between them. She barely resisted the impulse to explore further. She had to think, act, win!

  ‘What do you want me to risk?’ she asked.

  ‘Yourself. Open yourself to me—your mind, your heart—in ways you never have before.’

  ‘And you?’ she whispered, spreading her fingers over the firmly delineated muscles of his chest, feeling them tighten under her touch. The primitive urge to claw, to hold the beat of his heart in her hands was incredibly strong. ‘Would you do the same for me?’

  ‘Yes,’ he rasped.

  But would he pay the price?

  ‘Even if it means being disloyal to Xa Shiraq?’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AMANDA felt the brief suspension of his heartbeat beneath her palm. It stopped completely then resumed at a slower rate. Shock, followed by a clamp of control that amazed her with its swift and steady application. A shutter came down on his eyes, as well.

  Mentally regrouping himself, Amanda surmised, and doubted this man would ever entirely lose himself in passion, no matter how deep or urgent or compelling the physical desire.

  ‘Do I take a viper to my heart?’ he mused. His hold on her slackened.

  ‘You said you would open your mind to me,’ she pressed, sliding her hands up to his shoulders, moving closer in desperate supplication, her eyes begging his for a stay in judgement. ‘Have you never questioned Xa Shiraq’s decisions? Might they not sometimes be wrong? Wrong about my father?’

  She saw his eyes harden.

  ‘You said you wanted to know my heart,’ she argued. ‘Well, I have loyalties, too, and they go as deeply as yours. How can I commit myself to you if you deny what I am?’

  ‘You are mistaken,’ he said flatly.

  ‘How do you know? Does the sheikh tell you everything? Or do you carry out his orders with blind faith in his judgement?’

  He stiffened, his pride stung. His eyes flared a warning. ‘It is well that I had the musicians play to drown out all sound. You talk of disloyalty and treason...’

  ‘I need a few days of freedom. That’s all. You’ve let me come this far. Please...’ her hand moved instinctively to touch the pulse at the base of his throat ‘...it means so much to me.’

  His head jerked back. He pulled her hand away from him and stepped out of her reach, his eyes slashing her with fresh contempt. ‘You seek to corrupt me with your body. I will not take it. Your price is too high.’

  He swung on his heel and strode towards the bed, tall, straight-backed, bearing a supreme dignity in his incorruptibility. It struck a deep chord of respect in Amanda. How Xa Shiraq must value this man!

  If only she could have him at her side...his strength of mind, his sense of integrity, the power of his spirit. Her heart clenched. She could not let him go, thinking so badly of her. It wasn’t true. She had to make him see it wasn’t true. Somehow that was far more important than proving her father right.

  ‘How can it be anything more than bodies...when you deny me understanding?’ she said quietly.

  He stopped in the act of bending to retrieve the black burnoose. Slowly he straightened, his back still rigidly turned to her as he considered her words.

  ‘I loved my father,’ she pressed on, wanting him to realise it was a statement of fact, unshakable, enduring, an intrinsic part of her that he could not cut out.

  ‘He is at rest now. It is best that you leave him there,’ he said just as quietly, not without sympathy.

  Relief poured through Amanda. She had touched him again. Encouraged, she asked, ‘Would you, if it was your father?’

  She saw his shoulders lift and fall as he breathed deeply and released some of his tension. He swung around to face her, an implacable look in his eyes.

  ‘If there was good reason, yes,’ he said with steely resolution.

  ‘And I suppose Xa Shiraq gave you good reason for my father to be discredited,’ she said with an acid bite. ‘Making him out to be a liar when all the time he was a victim of your sheikh’s chicanery.’

  He grimaced. ‘Xa Shiraq does not expect you to see the matter in the same way he does.’

  ‘For years I lived with the need to clear my father’s name. Do you expect me to forget it all in a minute on your word that it is best that I do?’

  He made no reply.

  ‘Tell me the good reason!’ she demanded.

  He shook his head.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You know not what you ask.’

  ‘So you decide for me,’ she mocked. ‘Where is the sharing of minds and hearts in that?’

  ‘There are matters of far greater consequence than you,’ he snapped.

  She ignored that and advanced on him, adrenaline running high, determined on touching him again. ‘All the time in the world will not win my trust if you won’t give me yours. Or is it your plan simply to dominate me, and keep yourself apart?’
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  For the first time she saw conflict in his eyes, a dark raging turbulence that coalesced into one searing need. ‘I am tired of being without a true companion.’

  ‘So am I,’ she whispered, her heart turning over at the vulnerability he revealed.

  He stepped forward and scooped her hard against him. She felt a tremor run through him at the full impact of their bodies coming together. There was a quiver inside herself, as though of something momentous being recognised.

  ‘You,’ he murmured, his eyes burning into hers, probing her mind and heart and soul with an intensity that pierced any possible deception. ‘You could be the price that cost a sheikhdom.’

  He lifted a hand to her cheek, his fingers stroking her skin as though needing to draw absolute truth from her. ‘Show me what you promise,’ he commanded.

  Then his fingers raked through her hair to grasp her head and hold it to his as he kissed her.

  If that was what it could be called.

  Certainly his mouth claimed hers and ravished it with an invasion so passionately intense, Amanda was totally lost in the bombardment of sensation, drowning, yet connected to a source of vibrant energy that thrummed through her body, a surging river of it, stirring an overwhelming compulsion to stay linked to him.

  Yet it was not a subjugation. While she had the sense of falling into him, she felt him falling into her. Her arms curled around his neck, her hands cupped his head, holding him to her, and she felt strong and invigorated, and soft and melting all at the same time.

  There was no remaining aloof from what was happening. It was captivating, enthralling, touching deep hidden places that rejoiced and savoured being drawn from isolation, suppressed no longer, released and winging free from the cage of loneliness, soaring and swooping from one to the other in jubilant recognition of finding at last there was somewhere else to belong...welcomed...wanted.

  She was barely aware of his mouth leaving hers, of her head dropping onto his shoulder, cradled there against the warm strength of his neck. Her mind was intoxicated with dreams of what could be possible, her body safe in the warm haven of his arms. She felt him breathe and her own lungs filled. He sighed and she knew it was the wind of change.