Ross wrenched his gaze away from Juliet, suddenly impatient to be alone with her. He would watch enough of the dancing to satisfy his host, then excuse himself.
A shout went up from the onlookers as half a dozen dancers whirled onto the floor with snapping fingers and tinkling finger bells. Dancing boys were common, but these performers were women—lithe, voluptuous women, whose bodies moved in ways designed to rivet the attention of any normal man.
Vast expanses of golden skin were revealed by their colorful costumes, but their faces were covered with translucent veils through which soft features were dimly visible. To an Eastern audience, the display was as provocative as thinly veiled breasts would be to a European audience.
The first dance was slow, with each succeeding one a little faster. The swirling skirts and rolling hips of the dancers were an invitation as old as time. The crowd began clapping with the music, the noise adding a harsh urgency to the night.
With the fourth dance, the music changed and the lead dancer dropped to her knees. Pelvis grinding suggestively, she bent her shimmying body backward until her head brushed the floor.
Sight and sound had a primitive power that bypassed the mind and went directly to the blood. His breath quickening, Ross glanced across the floor and his gaze met Juliet's for a moment before two dancers came between them. He wanted to fulfill the pagan promise of the dance, but only Juliet could quench the fire in his veins.
When the lead dancer sprang to her feet again, Abdul Samut Khan beckoned her to come to him. She wove her way through the troupe, then dropped to the ground in front of the nayeb in a posture of deep submission. She was only a yard from Ross, so close he could have touched her sweat-sheened, lushly curved body. "Yes, master?" she said in a husky voice.
The nayeb gestured to Ross. "Here is the man of whom I spoke earlier."
Lithely the dancer realigned herself so that she was coiled in front of Ross. She was still breathing hard from her exertions and her ripe breasts threatened to burst from her minimal bodice. Golden bracelets jingling, she purred, "Tell me what you desire, O lord of the ferengi."
A wave of heat coursed through Ross's body, for the dancer was the embodiment of sensuality and she was acting out a man's deepest fantasy. It was impossible not to be affected, and he had to swallow hard before he managed to say, "You dance very well."
"Zahra is my gift to you for the night, Lord Khilburn." Abdul Samut Khan accompanied the comment with a knowing elbow in Ross's ribs. "I realized that you have been deprived of what a man needs for health and happiness, so take her to your room and dance with her to your heart's content."
Zahra slithered forward and lifted her veil so Ross could see her face. Though the movement was coy, the invitation was as blatant as if a Western woman had ripped open her bodice. Her black lashes fluttered over dark velvet eyes as she raised a languid hand to run her fingers through Ross's hair, whispering, "Like fine-spun gold."
She was a gift few men would—or could—refuse. If Ross had been the man he claimed to be, with a staid wife back in England, it would have been almost impossible to resist temptation, at least a temptation that was half-naked and in his lap. But he wasn't that man, and his wife was thirty feet away.
Glancing up, he found that Juliet's gaze was on him and even across the width of the dance floor her outrage was palpable. Ross almost laughed out loud.
Deciding that it was time for the night's real entertainment to begin, he removed the warm hand that was creeping up his leg. "A thousand thanks for your consideration, Abdul Samut Khan. Zahra is magnificent, a gift fit for an emperor, but since I am a married man, I must decline your generosity."
The nayeb gave him an astonished glance. "Your wife is on the other side of the world and Zahra is right here."
"True, but the laws of my religion forbid adultery, and there is no exemption for being far from home."
His host's heavy brows drew together. "There will be a troupe of dancing boys next. Would you prefer one of those? That would not be adultery."
After detaching the soft fingers that had resettled on his knee, Ross got to his feet. He saw that the spot on the other side of the floor where Juliet had been was now empty, and hoped she wasn't circling around so that she could knife him in the ribs. "But it would be equally a sin in the eyes of my people."
The nayeb looked at him with disbelief and some respect. "Truly you are a devout man."
"Perhaps, but I am still a man, and subject to temptation, so I think it best that I retire to my chamber before I succumb." Ross patted Zahra on the head. "Sin was never so sweet."
Unmollified, she pulled her veil over her face again and flounced up to join the other dancers, her eyes snapping with anger. The way Abdul Samut Khan's gaze followed her gave Ross a reasonably good idea of where Zahra would be spending the night.
After taking leave of his host, Ross worked his way through the sweaty enthusiastic crowd, Yawer Shahid Mahmud and another soldier behind him. The air was fresher inside the house, but scarcely quieter, for the pulsing beat of the dance music permeated the mud-brick walls. When they reached the door of his rooms, Ross turned to bid his escorts good night.
The young soldier bobbed his head amiably, but Shahid responded with a scowl. "Because of you, ferengi, I have been deprived of the pleasure of going to war."
"I regret that," Ross said, a statement that was true for a number of reasons. "It is a crime to waste a warrior's skill, but the decision to keep you in Bokhara was not mine."
The yawer jerked his head at the guard, who prudently withdrew out of earshot. Then, eyes narrowed, Shahid said, "Nonetheless, you are responsible, and you shall pay for it."
Ross suppressed a sigh. "I'm sure you have a suggestion for how I can make it up to you."
"In gold or in blood. The choice is yours." Shahid's face twisted threateningly. "Give me two thousand gold ducats and I shall guard you as tenderly as a mother with her firstborn babe. If you refuse..." He shrugged his massive shoulders eloquently.
"No one in Bokhara seems to believe this, but Englishmen are not made of gold," Ross said mildly. "Good night, Yawer Mahmud."
As he started to open the door, Shahid snapped, "So the devout infidel retires to his bed, there to hump his Tuareg boy."
Ross's hand tightened on the knob and he half-turned to the Uzbek. "I do not hump boys, Tuareg or otherwise." His eyes narrowed. "I believe that is a military habit."
"Lying swine." Shahid spat on the floor. "Once Abdul Samut Khan is gone, you will be my prey." He beckoned the young soldier closer. "Don't think you will escape tonight, for your door will be guarded."
Impassively Ross went into his apartment, then closed and barred the door, thinking that he was getting a little tired of extortion and melodramatic threats.
A single lamp burned in the reception room, and the door to the balcony was open, admitting the full volume of festival merrymaking. He glanced around for Juliet, surprised not to see her, for he had assumed that she had preceded him into the house. No, she must have returned or the lamps would not be lit. Hungry to have her in his arms, he crossed into the bedroom.
Another flickering lamp revealed Juliet as a dark form curled at one end of the divan. As he entered the bedroom, her caustic voice said, "What, no chubby charmer?"
Ross grinned and began removing his coat and boots. "I was tempted, naturally, but knowing that you would cut out my liver had a dampening effect."
"Wise man." Juliet's gaze followed him but she didn't rise.
Ross had thought that mock jealousy was just another of their teasing games, but her aloofness made him wonder if she might be genuinely upset. With most of her face covered by the tagelmoust, it was hard to judge her mood. Softly he said, "Surely you don't believe that I was interested in that dancer."
She gave a snort of disbelief. "Of course you were interested. What man wouldn't be?"
"Not seriously interested," he amended. "Even wrapped in a black blanket and scowling, you are mo
re alluring than she."
"I'm glad you have such good judgment." With one dramatic gesture, Juliet swept to her feet and cast aside her mantle and tagelmoust to reveal a dancer's costume of black silk so sheer that every detail of her body was visible.
Outlined in dark surma, her eyes shone like silver as she gave a slow, provocative smile. "I improvised this out of the silk I bought from Hafiz's father. Now I'm going to prove that there is nothing that plump hussy does that I can't do better."
Ross's breath caught in his throat and for a moment he couldn't breathe. A cord around Juliet's hips secured ethereal veils and more floated from her shoulders to cover, but not conceal, her torso. Though she was completely covered, even her cascading hair dimmed by a veil, the transparency of the fabric gave the effect of total, seductive nakedness.
She spun gracefully into the center of the room, veils swirling about her like smoke. Irresistible as Delilah, she said huskily, "Shall I dance for you?"
"Oh, yes..." Ross whispered as he sank down on the divan, unable to take his gaze off her. "Please do."
For a moment Juliet closed her eyes, immersing herself in the potent currents of sound that eddied through the night. Then she began to sway sinuously. First just her twining arms, then her lithe torso, then her hips and legs, until her whole body was a physical expression of the music.
Juliet was a born dancer. Ross knew that she had learned Highland reels as a child in Scotland and later effortlessly mastered formal European ballroom figures. Heaven only knew what exotic performances she had seen or participated in over the years. Now she drew on everything she had ever learned to create a sensual dance that was all her own.
He watched, entranced, as she went beyond skill to the level of true art, where spirit and movement and music were so much in harmony that it was impossible to separate the dancer from the dance. Juliet was fire and grace and freedom, everything he had ever loved and despaired of in his wife.
Most of all she was the embodiment of desire, and without a single touch she raised Ross to fever pitch. Drifting layers of silk first revealed, then concealed her exquisite body.
A brief flash of her long slim legs might be followed by a tantalizing glimpse of dusky nipples, then the dark triangle between her thighs. Red hair, white limbs, smoky silk; no more was needed to fuel a fire.
Watching was not enough. The next time she swirled within reach, borne on the passionate beat of the music, Ross caught an edge of the veil that covered her head. It came away in his hand, revealing the light-struck brilliance of her hair.
She laughed and grasped the other end of the veil that he held. "Dance with me, O my master."
Ross understood her invitation. In many Middle Eastern societies men and women could not touch in public even if they were allowed to dance together, so they used a scarf to connect them without physical contact.
Rising to his feet, Ross began moving to the music, joined to Juliet only by the silk veil that ran taut from his right hand to hers. Gazes locked, they circled each other slowly, so intent that it seemed as if they held still while the world revolved around them.
He had met Juliet in a waltz, a formal dance with conversation above and yearning below, and even then they had had an instinctive understanding of each other's rhythms. Now they had come full circle, and in the dark heat of a Central Asian night they shadowed each other in a pas de deux of desire.
As Ross yielded to the music, he found himself executing steps he had never consciously learned. Soon they were improvising patterns of increasing complexity, their motions so perfectly attuned that they might have been controlled by one mind, not two.
Steps quickened and gestures became more dramatic as they separated to the full length of the silken tie that bound them, then spun together again, close enough to feel their mutual heat but never quite touching.
Borne by a whirlwind of passion, they soared higher and higher, knowing that soon they would take flight, for they were linked by an intricate web of passion, conflict, and caring as tangible as the fabric stretched between them. Ross's gaze caught Juliet's in a wordless invitation to come closer, but she swung away again. He pulled on the veil to draw her back. "Not so far, my houri."
He raised his arm and she pirouetted beneath, her flying hair a molten shower of red and gold and amber. "A houri is not so easily captured, O master," she said in a throaty voice.
The tempo of the music increased, throbbing and pounding around and through them in an utterly pagan rite of fertility that could have only one possible conclusion. Suddenly impatient, Ross gave a sharp tug on the silk to bring her into his arms. "But capture you I will."
Juliet pivoted in a tight circle, her hair whipping across his face before her back came to rest snugly against the front of his body, heating him from chest to thighs. She smelled of roses and spice and woman.
His breath harsh with urgency, Ross dropped the twisted fabric that had joined them. Then he slid his hands under the whisper-light silk that floated over her torso so he could savor the sleek, yielding female flesh beneath.
Once he touched her, it was impossible to stop. His questing hands glided from tapering waist to taut stomach, hungry for the irresistible eroticism of her supple skin.
After tracing around her navel with his middle finger, he stroked the underside of her breasts with his thumbs, then kissed her ear through the fine-spun strands of her hair. When she quivered in response, he raised his hands and captured the soft, fluid curves of her breasts.
The nipples hardened beneath his palms and she gave a long, breathless moan. She leaned back into his embrace and rolled her buttocks against his groin, deliberately finding and inflaming his arousal.
He gasped and lowered one hand to her hip, slipping under the silken veils, skimming the surface of her abdomen, through softly textured hair, until his fingers found the moist, swollen folds below. She shivered and made a small delicious sound deep in her throat as her head fell back against his cheek. For a long suspended moment they stayed locked in sensual abandon.
Suddenly Juliet spun away, the eternal temptress. As she slid from his embrace, Ross caught a handful of veils. They came away in his grasp and drifted to the floor as silent as eiderdown, baring most of her long, lovely body.
She laughed and seized the edges of his cotton shirt. "Two can play at that game." She tore down, rending the garment to the hem, then tugged it off, nipping his upper arm with her teeth as the shirt came away.
The bite was the final spark that kindled the passion that had been building between them. Ross swept Juliet into his arms and onto the bed, following her down and trapping her writhing body with his. As his open mouth found her breast, she fought him like a feral creature that could be possessed only through conquest.
They mated like panthers, with teeth and nails and thrashing limbs. It was the last and fiercest phase of their primal dance, possible only because underneath their wildness was absolute trust in each other. When Juliet worked her arms free and began clawing at his chest, Ross captured her wrists and pinned them to the bed with his left hand while he spread her legs with his thighs and opened his strained trousers with his right hand.
For Juliet, the game ended when Ross entered her with one powerful thrust, sliding hot and hard into her eager body. This was not simple play but the most profound reality she had ever known, the physical expression of all the tormenting emotions that bound them. She bit his shoulder, tasting salt against her tongue, wanting to merge with him so completely that they would truly be one flesh.
Explosion might have been almost instantaneous, but Ross would not allow that. Instead, with diabolical skill he raised her to a pitch of unbearable need until her whole body burned with white heat. The words she had feared came without her volition as she cried out, "Ah, God, Ross, I love you so."
More than anything on earth, she wanted him to reciprocate, to tell her that he loved her even if it was a lie, or only a small part of a complicated truth.
But he did not. Instead he silenced her with his mouth, filling her so completely that there was no room for anything but passion and fulfillment. She dissolved into shuddering contractions that seemed as if they would go on forever.
He broke the kiss, making a hoarse wordless sound as his control finally splintered. She felt his rhythmic convulsions deep inside her, resonating until she could no longer tell his urgent flesh from her own. She had wanted them to be one, and for a few brief instants they were.
But as their throbbing limbs slowed and softened, silent tears were running down Juliet's face. Together they had touched the farthest limits of passion, a place of devastating joy that surpassed every amorous fantasy she had experienced during the long, lonely years.
She would have traded it all for love.
* * *
Ross had barely had the strength to finish removing his trousers and Juliet's veils so they could sleep in comfort. As he lay down and drew her into his arms, he murmured that if Zahra had walked into the room, he would have been unable to lift his head, much less anything else.
Juliet had given a low, satisfied chuckle and doused the lamp. Then they settled against each other and slept the sleep of exhaustion.
As dawn traced rosy streamers across the sky, they made love once more. This time desire was soft and sweet, with Juliet lying sprawled on top of Ross, her tangled hair tickling his cheek and throat as they moved in gentle tandem. Hard to believe that this tender, accommodating lady was the same wildcat who had left her marks all over his back and chest. But that was part of the mystery and wonder of her.
Looking back, it seemed to Ross that their marriage was a play with distinct acts, starting with the magic of discovery and progressing through fulfillment, estrangement, loss, and anguish. The latest, and possibly last, act was their fragile reconciliation in the face of danger.
Now it too was drawing to a close. Of all the stages, this had been the shortest and most intense.
Silk and Secrets Page 32
