Desert Warrior

by Nalini Singh

  "This is the private garden of..." Mumtaz stumbled over her words. "I am sorry, sometimes my English..."

  "That's okay." Jasmine waved her hand. "I'm trying to learn the language of Zulheil, but I'm not very good yet."

  Mumtaz's eyes sparkled. "I will teach you, yes?"

  "Thank you! You were saying about the garden?"

  Mumtaz frowned in thought. "This is the private garden of the people who live behind these... entrances." She pointed to Jasmine's door and to two other similar ones to the left. Together, they encircled three quarters of the garden. A high wall overrun with creeping vines completed the enclosure.

  Jasmine nodded. "Oh, you mean it's the guests' garden."

  Mumtaz shuffled her feet and gave her a smile. "You like your rooms and this garden?"

  "How could I not? They're stunning."

  "Good, that is good. You will stay in Zulheil?" Jasmine looked up, surprised at her tone. "You know?" Mumtaz sighed and took a seat on a bench near the fountain.

  Jasmine followed. "Hiraz is Tariq's closest friend, and as Hiraz's wife-- "

  "You're Hiraz's wife?" Jasmine choked. "I thought you were...never mind."

  "A maid, yes?" Mumtaz smiled without rancor. "Tariq wished for you to be with someone you felt comfortable with when you arrived. I work in the palace and will be here every day. I hope you feel you can ask me for anything you need."

  "Oh, yes." A little spark of warmth ignited inside Jasmine. Tariq had cared enough to arrange for this lovely woman to welcome her. "But why didn't he say anything?"

  "Both he and Hiraz are terrible when they are in a temper. Tariq is angry with you, and my husband with me."

  "Why is Hiraz angry with you?" Jasmine's curiosity got the better of her.

  "He expects me to agree with something he and Tariq are doing, even though he himself does not agree with Tariq." Before Jasmine could question her further, Mumtaz continued, "Hiraz told me the story of what happened in your country. But it is common knowledge in Zulheil that Tariq had his heart broken by a red-haired foreigner with blue eyes."

  Jasmine blinked. "How?"

  "Hiraz would go to his grave with Tariq's secrets, but oth ers in that party were not so...loyal," Mumtaz explained. "You are a mystery, but it is good you have come now. After his parents' deaths, Tariq is much in need."

  "He's furious with me," she confessed.

  "But you are in Zulheina. It is better to be near him even if he is angry, yes? You must learn to manage your h--"

  The sudden look of distress on Mumtaz's exotic face alarmed Jasmine. "What is it?" she asked.

  "I...I have forgotten something. Please, you must come inside."

  She followed, bemused by Mumtaz's sudden change in mood.

  "A bath has been drawn for your comfort. Afterward, please wear these." Mumtaz pointed to clothing that had appeared on the bed.

  Jasmine touched the soft and incredibly fine fabric with her fingers. It was as weightless as mist and the color of Zulheil Rose--pure white with a hidden heart of fire. There was a long flowing skirt sprinkled with tiny shards of crystal that would catch the light each time she moved. The top was a fitted bodice bordered with the same sparkling crystals. Though the long sleeves would end at her wrists, the garment itself was short and would leave her midriff bare. Multiple strands of fine gold chain lay beside the top. Clearly, they were supposed to go around her waist.

  "These aren't mine," Jasmine whispered.

  "There is a special ... meal, and your clothing is not correct. This is for you as, uh..."

  "A guest?" she suggested. "Well, I suppose if this is nor mal practice, then it should be okay. I just wouldn't feel com fortable wearing something so expensive otherwise."

  She had to repeatedly ensure Mumtaz that she'd be fine before the other woman would leave. "It's something formal, this dinner?" she asked, just before Mumtaz walked out.

  "Oh yes. Very formal. I will return to do your hair and make sure you look beautiful."

  As Mumtaz left, Jasmine was certain that she heard her muttering under her breath, but the delicious promise of the scented bath distracted her.

  "I feel like a princess," Jasmine whispered, almost two hours after she'd entered the palace. She touched her hand to the gold circlet that Mumtaz had insisted on placing about her head. Her deep-red hair had been brushed until it shone. Now it flowed in riotous waves to the middle of her back, the fine gold strands within it complementing the simple circlet.

  "Then I have done my job." Mumtaz laughed.

  "I thought flesh wasn't meant to be shown?" Jasmine put her hand on her abdomen. The fine gold chains about her hips were lavish and utterly seductive.

  Mumtaz shook her head. "We are reserved in public only. Zulheil has no strict laws, but most women prefer modesty. In our homes with our men, it is acceptable to be more..." She waved her hands at her own clothing. She was wearing wide-legged harem pants in a pale shade of yellow, cinched at the ankle, and a blouse fitted much like Jasmine's. However, her clothing didn't glitter with sparkling crystal shards.

  "I won't be overdressed?" Jasmine didn't want to change. She'd been imagining the look in Tariq's eyes at her appear ance. Maybe he'd think her beautiful, because for the first time in her life, she felt that way.

  "You are perfect. Now we must go."

  A few minutes later they entered a room full of women, all dressed in stunning costumes bursting with color. Jasmine's eyes widened. At their entry, conversation stopped. A second later, it started again in a chaotic rush. Several older women came over and invited her to sit on the cushions with them. With Mumtaz acting as a translator when necessary, Jasmine was soon laughing and talking with them as if with old friends. Something about them seemed familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on what.

  The innate tensing of her body was the only warning she needed half an hour later. She looked up and found Tariq standing in the doorway. Unbidden, her legs uncurled and she stood. Silence reigned again, but this time it was full of expectancy, as if everyone was holding their breath.

  He looked magnificent, dressed in a black tunic and pants, the only ornamentation being gold embroidery on the mandarin collar of the tunic. The starkness of his clothing set off the dark beauty of his features. He walked across the room and took her hand. She was vaguely aware of other men following him inside, and the rustle of cloth as the women around her stood up.

  His eyes blazed with heat when he gazed at her. "You look like the heart of the Zulheil Rose," he whispered, for her ears only, his eyes on her hair. He drew back, but she felt as if she was in the center of an inferno.

  "I have a question for you, my Jasmine." This time the words were crystal clear in the otherwise silent room.

  She stared up at him. "Yes?"

  Green fire met her. "You came to Zulheil of your own free will. Will you stay of your own free will?"

  Jasmine was confused. Tariq had made it clear that he wasn't going to let her leave. Why ask her this now? However, she instinctively knew that she couldn't question him in front of witnesses, not without doing damage to his pride and stand ing among his people. "Yes."

  Tariq's smile was quick and satisfied. He reminded her of a panther again and she suddenly felt stalked. "And will you stay with me of your own free will?"

  The question was the trigger her mind needed. She under stood what was happening, but the knowledge didn't change her answer. "I will stay," she said, and sealed her destiny.

  The savage satisfaction in his eyes burned unfettered for one bright second. Then his lids lowered and hid the fire. He lifted her hand to his lips and turned it over, to lay a single kiss on the pulse beating rapidly under her skin. "I take my leave of you, my Jasmine ... for now."

  Then he was gone, leaving her standing, her mind in shock at what she'd just done. Giggling women came to her side and directed her back to her cushion. Jasmine caught Mumtaz's worried expression as the other woman took a seat next to her.

  "You know?" The wh
isper reached only her ears, muffled by the buzz of conversation in the room.

  Jasmine nodded. Aware that she was the center of attention, she tried to appear calm, even though her heart beat so hard she was afraid that it was going to rip out of her chest. The secret that she'd successfully buried under her love for Tariq raised its head, like a cobra readying itself to strike, taunting her with its inevitability. Unable to face his rejection, she'd planned to tell him once she was certain of her welcome in his life. Now it was too late. Much too late. How could she tell him the truth now?

  "Jasmine?" Mumtaz interrupted her thoughts, reminding her of the act that had just taken place.

  "When he asked me those questions..."

  "I wished to tell you the truth, but they forbade it." "And your loyalty is to Tariq." Jasmine couldn't hold the omission against Mumtaz. The other woman had done every thing she could. "I thought the country was in mourning?" "One month we have mourned, but it is part of Zulheil's culture that life conquers death. Our people would rather live joyously as an offering to those who are gone, than shroud ourselves in darkness."

  Someone put a plate of sweetmeats into Jasmine's hands. She nodded an absentminded thanks at the woman, but didn't attempt to eat. Her stomach was in knots. Suddenly, she knew why the guests around her seemed so familiar. All of them had an unmistakable regal bearing that reminded her of Tariq--of course his family would be in attendance on this night.

  "Do you know what happens next?" At the negative shake of her head, Mumtaz explained. "The questions are the first step in the marriage ceremony. Second is the binding, which will be performed by an elder. The final part is the blessing, which will be sung outside. You will not see Tariq again until it is over."

  Jasmine nodded. Her eyes went to the lacy window set in the middle of the dividing wall. Her future awaited on the other side. "I've never heard of such a ceremony."

  ``Zulheil's ways are not those of our Islamic neighbors. We follow the ancient paths," Mumtaz explained. "You truly answered him knowing the consequences?"

  Jasmine drew in a deep breath. "I stepped off that plane with only one goal. I didn't expect this, but he's the only man I've ever wanted. I could never say no to him."

  Mumtaz's smile was understanding. "He is angry, but he needs you. Love him, Jasmine, and teach him to love again."

  Jasmine nodded. She had to teach him to love her, or she was going to spend her life as the possession of a man who didn't care about her love. A man who, unless he loved her, would reject her once she revealed her shameful secret.

  By the time she stepped out of this room, she would be married to the Sheik of Zulheil.

  "It is time for the binding." Mumtaz nodded toward an aged woman, clad head to toe in vibrant red, who had just entered the room.

  Coming to kneel next to Jasmine, the elder smiled and picked up her right hand. "With this I bind you." She tied a beautiful red ribbon with intricate embroidery around Jas mine's wrist.

  Leaning close, Jasmine saw that the embroidery was writ ing-flowing Arabic script. When the elder raised her wrin kled face, there was power in those dark eyes. "You will repeat my words."

  Jasmine nodded jerkily.

  "This binding, it be true. This binding, it be unbroken." "This binding, it be true. This binding, it be unbroken."

  Her voice was a whisper, her throat clogged with the knowl edge of the finality of her actions.

  "With this bond, I take my life and put it in the keeping of Tariq al-Huzzein Donovan Zamanat. For ever and eternity."

  Jasmine repeated the words carefully and exactly. She'd made her choice, and she would see it through, but a deep shaft of pain ran through her at the thought that her parents weren't present on this day. They'd cut her adrift with a cal lousness she still couldn't comprehend.

  Once she'd finished, the elder picked up the other end of the ribbon and fed it through the lacy window halfway up the wall. A minute later, Jasmine felt a tug on her wrist.

  Tariq had just been bound to her.

  For ever and eternity.

  The haunting chant that began outside seemed to echo in her soul.

  Tariq stared at the small aperture that was his only window into the room where his Jasmine sat. As the blessing chant grew in volume around him, he kept his eyes trained on the opening. Images raced through his mind, competing to hold his attention.

  Mina, wearing the dress of his land. He felt fierce pride in the way she'd carried herself. A princess could not have been more regal.

  Mina, her red hair a fall of sunsets that beckoned him with promises of warmth. Soon he'd collect on that promise.

  Mina, looking at him with eyes that betrayed her awakening sensuality. Yes, Jasmine had grown up. It would be his plea sure to teach her the secrets of the bedroom.

  His need to possess her clawed at him, but underlying it was a deeper need and an even deeper hurt, things he refused to acknowledge. He allowed only a sliver of hunger to escape his control. Mina had always belonged to him, but in a few more minutes, the ties between them would become unbreak able.

  Then he would claim his woman.

  He was very hungry.

  Tariq's words in the car refused to leave Jasmine's mind. How was she supposed to relax, knowing that a hungry pan ther was coming to lay claim to her? With a groan, she sat up in the huge bed in the room next to hers. Tariq's masculine presence was everywhere.

  The flimsy nightgown that she'd found on the bed was scan dalous as far as she was concerned. The superfine white linen fell to her ankles like a sheet of mist. It was laced with blue ribbon down to her navel, and had long sleeves tied with the same ribbon at the wrist. Thigh-high slits on either side bared her legs with every movement she made. The sleeves were also slit from wrist to shoulder, exposing her skin. All that wasn't as bad as the fact that the material was almost sheer, her nipples and the darker triangle between her legs far too visible.

  "They might be reserved in public but they could give lessons in eroticism," she muttered, standing beside the bed.

  Uncomfortable in the sensual clothing, she crossed to the closet, with the intention of finding a robe to throw on over it. She found a large blue silk one that was clearly Tariq's. It would have to do, she thought, and pulled it out.

  "Stop."

  Startled, she swiveled around. She hadn't heard him enter. Hadn't heard him move across the room. Tariq was almost upon her, his eyes hot as they skated over her body. Her gaze fixated on his naked chest. He was magnificent. His shoulders were wider than she'd imagined, the muscles thick and liquid when he moved. The ridges on his abdomen appeared hard and inflexible, pure steel under skin. The only thing saving him from nakedness was a small white towel.

  "I did not give you permission to cover yourself."

  Jasmine bristled at his autocratic tone. "I don't need your permission."

  With a single flick of his wrist, he pushed the robe from her nerveless fingers and captured both her hands in one of his own. "You forget that I now own you. You do what I wish."

  "Rubbish."

  "If it comforts you, feel free to disagree," he said, magnanimous in victory. "But know that I am going to win."

  Jasmine stared up at him. Not for the first time, she wondered if she'd taken on more than she could handle. Maybe Tariq really was the despot he was acting. Perhaps he did consider her a possession.

  "I wish to see you, Mina." He turned her with such speed that she would've lost her balance had he not clamped an arm around her waist. His other arm came to lie under her breasts.

  When she looked up, she found, to her shock, that they were standing in front of the full-length mirror in the corner. Her hair was exotically red against the white of her nightgown, her pale skin a stark contrast to the darkness of his arms. His big body was curved over hers, his shoulders blocking out the night.

  "Tariq, let go," she begged, unable to take the erotic intimacy implied by the reflection. She turned her face to one side, so her cheek pressed against
his chest. Her worries about him were buried under the river of need that flooded her body.

  "No, Mina. I wish to see you." He nuzzled her neck, brushing aside the strands of her hair in his path. "I have fantasized about this for years."

  His rough confession made her tingle from head to toe. It no longer felt wrong to know that his eyes were on the mirror, seeing everything she attempted to hide. It felt completely right, as if she had been born for this moment. Born to be the woman of the Sheik of Zulheil.

  "Watch me as I love you." He nipped at the side of her neck, then suckled the spot.

  She shook her head in mute refusal. Despite the feeling of rightness, she was too innocent, too untouched, to easily accept this level of sensual discovery. Tariq kissed his way up her jaw and over her cheek. Her earlobe was a delicate morsel to be sucked into his mouth and savored. He ran his teeth over her skin in a gentle caress. Jasmine shivered and stood on tiptoe in an unconscious attempt to get closer.

  "Look in the mirror," he whispered, spreading his fingers across her stomach and under her breasts. "Please, Mina."

  His husky "please" broke through her defenses. She turned her head and looked. And met his burning green-eyed gaze. Holding her eyes, he moved the hand under her breasts until he was cupping one full globe. She gasped and gripped the arm at her waist. In response, he squeezed her aching, swollen flesh. It wasn't enough. She needed more.

  "Tariq," she moaned, shifting restlessly against him.

  "Watch," he ordered.

  She watched.

  He moved his hand up until his thumb lay near her nipple. Under her wide-eyed gaze, he rubbed his thumb over the throbbing peak once, twice, and again. She was panting for breath. Behind her, she heard his own breathing alter, felt his body harden, muscles and tendons settling into unyielding lines. She cried out when he stopped caressing her, only to sigh and whimper when he repeated the teasing stroking on her other breast. His hands were big, sprinkled with dark hair, and Jasmine ached to feel them everywhere. When he moved, she dropped her hands to her sides.

  He left her breasts aroused and hot. His hands moved over her stomach, smoothing their way to her hips. There, he very carefully spread his hands so that his thumbs met in the middle across her navel. She dug her fingers into the rigid muscles of his thighs behind her when she saw the way the action framed the shadowy curls between her legs. He murmured in approval against her ear and rewarded her with another teasing nibble of her sensitive earlobe.