The Panther & the Pyramid (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind)

by Vanak, Bonnie

  Sudden insight struck her. "The birth! That's how you knew how to deliver Badra's baby."

  His mouth quirked. "My qualifications were rather circumspect. I'm afraid I don't make a good midwife."

  "I think you were wonderful," Jillian said softly.

  He studied her a minute, then his hand caressed her cheek. A low cough threw them out of the moment. They turned to see Ramses standing nearby.

  "I am sorry for teasing you and making you uncomfortable, Jillian. It was, ah, a little joke." His sheepish look contrasted with his formal tone.

  She studied the handsome warrior, wondering why he had done it. "It's all right. I did want to learn to milk a camel."

  "And so you did. Your husband taught you. It is a good skill to know... in the desert. On a journey." Ramses looked serious, but an impish light sparked in his eyes.

  Jillian began to understand. "Yes, it is. I'm glad he taught me. But it was a naughty trick to play, Ramses. Do you subject all foreigners to your little pranks?"

  A charming, seductive smile touched his mouth. "Ah, no, just beautiful Englishwomen I like to tease."

  Graham narrowed his eyes. Jillian choked back laughter. Now she understood. Katherine had talked to Ramses. And the warrior cheerfully obliged his wife in not only making Graham jealous, but goading him into teaching Jillian to milk a camel.

  "I'd hate to see what you do to ugly women," she murmured.

  "Oh, those?" He waved a hand with a cheerful smile. "They are boiled in oil. Very tasty with camel milk. Mmmm. But do not fear. You are far too lovely."

  Graham made a choking noise and looked away, color blotching his cheeks. Ramses winked. Jillian winked back.

  "Ignore him, Jillian. He's a rogue and a scamp, despite the fact that his wife has managed to leash him," Graham grated out.

  "A very pleasurable leashing," Ramses agreed cheerfully.

  He stared at her with rapt fascination. Oh goodness, this was fun. Playing the part, Jillian touched her uncovered head. "I hope my uncovered hair doesn't offend you, Ramses."

  "No. I apologize for staring. I have never seen hair of such color. It is like a flaming Egyptian sunset. If I touch it, will it burn me?"

  Beside her, Graham stirred restlessly. "Ramses..." he began.

  "It's all right. Go ahead, feel it," Jillian told him.

  Interest flared on Ramses's face. His fingers traversed up a stray lock to her head, stroking her hair as one caressed a purring cat "Living flame," he murmured. "Al-Hariia. Like the flush of a woman when a man rouses her passion."

  Graham made a strangled noise in his throat. He stepped forward. "Enough," he said roughly, pulling her back. Jillian sank into the hardness of his chest.

  She twisted to look. Graham's bristling expression was unmistakable in its masculine possession. She's mine, it said.

  Ramses gave a wry smile. "It is good to see you back again, Graham, especially with your lovely wife. I think Jillian will prove to be the tempting gazelle that coaxes the shy panther from the safety of its hiding place."

  Her husband pinned him with an icy look, which the warrior cheerfully ignored. Sweeping her an elegant bow, Ramses moved off. Jillian wanted to laugh. She pretended bemusement instead.

  "What an odd remark" she said, studying the muscled warrior as he wended his way among the dromedaries. "And what does al-Hariia mean?"

  His jaw clenched as he glared after the departing Ramses. "The fire."

  Later, Jabari invited them to a special feast he'd prepared in their honor. Graham was to leave the following morning for the deep desert. In the sheikh's tent, they sat on plush pillows about a low, round table laden with roasted lamb, rice, flatbread, and other delicious food. Jillian got interested looks from Ramses and Jabari, and knowing smiles from Katherine and Elizabeth, for the two women had worked to fashion her traditional Khamsin dress that she wore tonight. The ankle-length indigo kuftan felt comfortable and cooler than her tighter English dress. Beneath the kuftan she wore blousy trousers and a loose-fitting shirt. Her flame-gold hair was left unbound like that of her new friends.

  Ramses dipped a wedge of flatbread into the sauce and ate, his eyes never leaving Jillian's hair.

  "Ramses, it's not polite to stare," Graham commented, sounding irritated.

  Mischief sparked in the warrior's eyes. "I was simply marveling, your supreme graciousness, at the deep trust you accord our people in leaving your beautiful wife behind while you trek for weeks into the deep desert."

  A barely perceptible growl rumbled from Graham's chest.

  "But do not fear. I personally will take charge of seeing to her welfare. She will stay in our tent."

  "That is very gracious of you," Jillian told him.

  The muscled, handsome warrior waved a hand. "Think nothing of it. Why, I consider you a close member of my own family now. My cousin—you remember him, Graham, the one you always called a... what is that word, Katherine?"

  "Rogue," Katherine supplied.

  "Has offered to teach Jillian how to ride."

  "Jillian knows how to ride," Graham grated out.

  "Ah, but Kamal will show her the Bedouin way. One has not ridden until one has ridden a Bedouin warrior."

  "Like a Bedouin warrior," Katherine interjected.

  "Of course, my beloved wife." Ramses gave an elegant shrug. "My English, it is faulty."

  Scarlet infused Graham's face. A vein throbbed wildly in his temple. He looked murderous. He turned from Ramses and began talking with Jabari about doubling the supplies he needed for the trip. Ramses exchanged glances with his wife.

  "You'll need proper clothing for the trip, Jillian. And a good, reliable camel. Above all, you must listen to me at all times. The desert is a dangerous place," Graham warned.

  "I'm going?" She tried to keep her excitement at bay.

  Graham shot Ramses a murderous glance. "It's safer for you than staying here."

  Jillian dipped her head, hiding a smile as she scooped a bit of rice onto her flatbread.

  When they bade their friends good night and vanished inside their tent, she sensed an enormous need in Graham. He stripped off his clothing, and she shed hers as well. Lifting her to the bed, he kissed her deeply, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, sweeping inside, flicking in invitation.

  After a moment, he tore himself away and began kissing her body, murmuring as his mouth dropped hot, tiny kisses, pinching nips upon her skin, scorching her with his heat. Jillian wriggled.

  "What—what is this?" she cried out.

  "The Khamsin call it the secret of one hundred kisses," he growled.

  Each press of his lips against her aching flesh increased the burn. She writhed. He pinned her down, holding her still. Kissing each inch of her trembling body, nipping in sensitive areas, then chasing with soothing flicks of his tongue. And then he parted her thighs and bent his dark head between them.

  Jillian screamed with shocked pleasure.

  So delicious. So female.

  He bent his head to her feminine core, inhaling the delectable scent of her, female and tangy and spice. Graham studied her, his hunger kicking up a notch as she wriggled in embarrassed heat. His hands pinned her thighs to the mattress. Awed wonder spilled through him at how intricate a woman's body appeared. Filled with soft folds and secret hollows, a complex mystery he longed to explore.

  Hidden places, like the thread of caves he'd found once near the al-Hajid camp.

  When he was eight, he'd managed to run away and hide there for a precious day, feeling the desert heat lessen as the hard rock interior sheltered him in its rock womb. For the first time since his capture, he'd felt safe. He'd hugged the walls, glad for their protection, their sheltered quiet.

  Graham leaned forward and gave Jillian's flesh a delicate, slow lick. His wife wriggled more. "Hush," he crooned against her skin. Here was the greatest mystery yet to be explored. He lowered his head and began to lave her slowly, his tongue running along the curves and folds, tasting her, settling upon her
pleasure point. Absorbing her heat, her moistness, her secrets. He longed to hide inside her, pushing back the haunting pain for a little while. To push inside the damp cavern of her warmth and feel safe, to hear her excited, female cries of erotic bliss.

  The sweet, excruciating pleasure between her legs intensified as her husband continued to love her with his mouth. Jillian writhed, her breath escaping in a sobbing moan. She clutched his hair but he gave no quarter. Heat exploded inside her as she went taut, screaming his name into the night.

  Only then did he cease, giving her shuddering flesh a last lingering kiss. Graham moved over her, his gaze fierce.

  "You're mine, Jilly. Mine. No one else will ever have you." His deep, smoky voice rippled over her and he kissed her ruthlessly, and she tasted her own need on his lips. Jillian clung to him, her limbs boneless as he covered her.

  He moved over her, coaxing a response. Urging her on, he pushed into her, penetrating deep. He took her without mercy, riding her hard. Clutching the hard muscles of his shoulders she melted beneath him. Hard desire glinted his gaze, and he took her hard, thrusting into her welcoming heat. Graham lowered his head and nipped the sensitive juncture between her throat and shoulder. She shrieked, and he followed with a soothing sweep of his velvet tongue.

  She realized what had prompted this impassioned response. It was a primitive mating, a claiming of her to announce to all she was his woman. He made love with a fierce urgency, loving her body, telling her with each kiss and lick how he felt. She writhed and moaned under him. With ruthless power, he drove into her. Over and over Jillian arched and met his demanding thrusts, and they clutched each other as they shattered, filling the tent with her screams and his hoarse cries.

  Afterwards, he held her tightly in his arms. A dull shaft of lamplight pierced the gloom. Distress filled his dark eyes. Jillian brushed back a lock of damp hair from his forehead. Graham kissed her.

  "My Jillian. My wife. Stay with me after the three months are finished. Don't leave me." His voice was low and slightly pleading.

  "Graham," she whispered. "Why are you so sad?"

  Silence draped them. He pulled her to his side, cradling his big, warm body against her. She lay still a long time until he roused again and made love to her. His lovemaking this time was slow and deliberate. Graham showered hot trails of kisses over her heated flesh until she writhed and begged. He mounted her then, and his strokes were slow, deep and deliberate, his dark gaze capturing.

  "Stay with me," he repeated hoarsely. "Don't leave me."

  Arching on the edge of a shattering climax, she gripped him to her. Still he teased, withdrawing, lingering, until she sobbed, begging him to fill her.

  "Stay with me," he repeated.

  "Help me, Graham," she sobbed.

  He drove into her, triggering a cry from her lips as she shattered from the power of her release. Graham tensed above her, his powerful arms taut with strain, his big body shuddering as he bucked and plunged.

  She welcomed his heavy weight as he collapsed atop her, resting his damp forehead on the pillow. His words came again, a coaxing murmur. "Stay with me."

  Stroking his sweat-dampened hair, she whispered into his ear, "I'll consider it, Graham."

  His sleepy, heavy-lidded gaze met hers as he raised his head. "I'll keep you here, beneath me, always, if you dare try to leave."

  A shudder of delicious heat wracked her. "Promise?" she asked.

  Graham dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Promise."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Her limbs felt heavy and languid the next day as they prepared to leave. Jillian felt sleepy and sore from the night's fevered lovemaking. They had dozed and then awakened, Graham reaching for her yet again in fierce heat and passion. Each time she went willingly into his arms. He took her time and again, until she sobbed and begged, and then he brought her repeatedly to mindless, boneless pleasure. It was as if he fought inner demons each time he took her.

  After a quick breakfast of fresh camel milk, yogurt and flatbread, they washed up. Jillian dressed in the odd, blousy indigo cotton trousers Katherine had made and the loose-fitting shirt. She tugged on the indigo kuftan and pinned her little gold watch to it. Next came cotton stockings and boots of the softest leather. Graham outlined her eyes with black kohl, explaining it reduced the sun's glare. Then he wrapped her head in a white turban. He gestured to the mirror.

  She saw her reflection. "I look like a walking mummy."

  "But at least you won't burn." He unfastened the lid of a container of white paste. Graham smeared it over the exposed parts of her skin. He waved the container.

  "Make sure to pack this. Your skin is like pale ivory. If you don't protect it, you'll burn."

  They took with them dried dates and a goatskin filled with butter made from camel milk. Mixed with water, it provided valuable nutrients. Jillian finished packing their things and emerged from the tent, handing her rucksack to Graham.

  Other Khamsin warriors had gathered, assisting. The sheikh as well. Jabari gazed at her steadily with his dark, knowing gaze. Jillian felt a fierce flush heat her cheekbones. Surely all the tribe had heard them last night.

  But what surprised her most was Ramses. The jocular, teasing attitude had vanished. His odd amber eyes looked troubled as he helped secure her pack to Sheba.

  "Thank you for convincing him to take me," she murmured.

  Ramses leaned against the camel. He studied her so intently she blushed under his scrutiny.

  "It is for his own good, Jillian. Be patient with my friend. Do not leave him, no matter what. He will need all your strength in the desert."

  "I have no strength," she protested.

  "You are most wrong," he countered. "You have the greatest strength, that of a woman in love."

  Jillian worried her bottom lip. "How do you know?"

  His gaze softened as he studied his wife, packing a bag of herbs for them. "I know." Then he looked at her once more. "Go with Allah, Lady Jillian. And be careful. The desert can kill the strongest man, but it is the darkness inside a man that can make him lose his soul."

  Determined not to be an encumbrance, Jillian began the journey across the immense western desert with cheerful resolve. It quickly melted into grim willpower under the relentless heat.

  They had ferried across the flowing Nile in a barge and left behind the fertile green valley hours ago. Their caravan of four camels, one carrying their equipment, the other carrying the iron water tanks, plodded along in a swaying gait. The harsh yellow sun beat mercilessly upon them. No escape. Not even a sliver of shade as they rode across the flat, barren plain. Her buttocks and thighs ached from riding in the wooden saddle. She licked her lips, tasting dryness and grit, inhaling the smell of cotton from the scarf covering her lower face. Jillian swatted at an annoying fly pestering Sheba's ears. Nothing in sight for miles and still there were flies.

  When Graham called to take a break, she dismounted in weary relief. He unfurled a small carpet, beckoning to her to sit.

  She settled on the rug, eyeing the stretch of sand. No trees. Not even a rock. Nothing but sand, endless sand. Jillian longed for a hot meal, even a hot cup of tea, but was resigned to eating tinned food.

  Graham fished something out of his rucksack and tossed it to her. She picked up the two smooth stones and the wood stick.

  "Use the stones to get a spark and the wood to catch it."

  "And what do you use for fuel? Sand?"

  "Something equally as plentiful."

  She didn't like the look of impish mischief in his dark eyes. Graham went to another pack and withdrew a small bag. He unwrapped two small brown squares. "Fuel."

  Jillian leaned closer, immensely curious. "Peat?"

  "Camel dung."

  He laughed at her moue of distaste and, using the cloth so his hand didn't touch the bricks, set them on the ground. "Very efficient means of fuel, dried by the sun. The Bedu use it all the time. Nearly as good as coal."

  "I'd rather have coal,
thank you," she said.

  Graham busied himself with setting up a small triangular support, over which he hung a tarnished silver pot with water. "Teatime," he said cheerfully. "All we need now is the fire."

  Glaring at him, she sighed and began striking the stones. Over and over. Frustration filled her as he watched, but Jillian doggedly kept striking the rocks together.

  Finally, there was a spark and the wood caught. She held the stick to the squares of dried dung, surprised at how quickly the flames took. Soon a fire was crackling merrily away.

  Pleased by her success, she glanced at Graham. Mirth danced in his eyes. "Took you quite a long time," he said.

  She sniffed, irritated. "I suppose you can do it faster."

  "With these, yes."

  He tossed a small packet of English matches onto the sand. Jillian narrowed her eyes. "And you watched me... I suppose it was quite amusing watching me make a fool of myself!"

  His expression grew somber. "I had confidence you could light the fire. And you needed to do it on your own."

  He dropped down next to her, drawing his knees up to his chest. "Jillian, this is a hostile environment. Men, hale and hearty, die out here. To survive you must keep all your wits about you and rely upon yourself."

  The idea he had confidence in her left her speechless. Never before had anyone expressed belief in her abilities. She traced a line in the sand with her finger, shyly pleased by his compliment.

  "Tea will be ready soon." Graham shook a small box at her. "Purchased in one of Her Majesty's finest shops in London."

  Jillian eyed the small kettle suspended over the crackling fire. "Is it... different with this means of boiling water?"

  He grinned. "It's like sipping tea in an English garden."

  She wrinkled her nose. "I daresay an English garden smells more fragrant."

  Jillian unpacked a tin of biscuits from the rucksack and set them on the wooden plate, and they prepared the tea. It was a bizarre English tea, the burning blue sky and desolate stretch of sand the drawing room.

  They ate in silence. Her husband, who sat next to her, legs crossed, seemed perfectly at ease. He had clearly done this before, not once, but several times. As if he'd lived like this. Was this one of Graham's secrets? The story of a kindly English couple rescuing a frightened boy seemed less and less likely.