by Lisa Torquay
She took a sip of tea, ripping her eyes from him. His smile too appealing, it made his features utterly magnetic. He should do it more times. With his men, he usually behaved carefree, and she’d witnessed him smile and laugh during the trip through the desert. But never to her unless one counted those sardonic lopsided smirks a smile.
“Are you enjoying your food?” She became suddenly silent.
“Oh, very much. Thank you.” She took another bite. “I’d like to know what Adriana’s father did to you.” Her eyes searched him. “You never mentioned it.”
Remembering his quest with Graziani did not list as the most pleasant subject after the bath they’d shared, he mused. “We had dealings for many years, as he had with my father. Then I discovered he’d been dishonest from the time my father passed.” His father had always told him he could trust Pietro and Tariq never cared to check their agreements thoroughly. “He’d been stealing and blaming me to the other merchants.” His cognac eyes, lit by the lamps’ glow, darkened with revolt.
Lucinda saw how the people in the villages respected him. He sold his goods at a fair price and bought their handicrafts at reasonable rates, without exploiting their work. Adriana’s father’s fraud must have been hard on him. “That’s a serious disloyalty.”
“I agree. I took a long time to clean my name and be able to build up a solid trade again.” Talking about what led him to seek atonement, forced him face the fact he needed to decide what to do about her now. They’d reached his home, and he’d planned to take her back when his trade in the desert finished. He had time as he didn’t lead his caravan during the hottest summer months. The intention came before, well, before everything. He didn’t want her gone; he wanted her here with him, in his bed, in his life, in his arms. Until this…this fever seeped out of his blood. No sign it’d occur any soon. He couldn’t stand the simple possibility of her gone, let alone take her back himself. No, oh no! She was here, and she’d stay here. The rest be damned!
Not even knowing he had abducted her, a lady, would stop him from trying to keep her with him.
In the cool, starred night, Tariq held Lucinda close to his strong warm body, under the blankets. Not even in his nightmares he would admit to her gone.
Lucinda took time to sleep, despite the fact she was extremely tired. His bed was so comfortable, like a nest. Added to him snuggling her tight, she lay safe and warm, revelling in it. She didn’t wish to think; only wanted to engrave this content moment in her memory. She fell asleep with a smile on her face.
CHAPTER TEN
When Lucinda awoke, Tariq had already dressed and broke fast, watching her. She got up and quickly put on her tunic set and rolled her hair in a bun at the nape of her neck. Even if the silk curtains hanging from the posts had been pulled closed, he could see through them. His scorching eyes on her made her giddy. Breakfast lay on a low table on the corner. She picked a few dried-dates.
"I'm going to the market this morning" She said as she sat down to eat. Curiosity to wander a little around Tunis and experience such a foreign place filled her.
Tariq snapped his eyes to her. The idea of her leaving his domain too vexing, he couldn’t think clearly. What would she do if she stepped out of it? "No, I don't allow you to go." His velvety voice dry.
She glared at him, brows arched. Nothing wrong about going to the market, she reckoned. “I didn't ask for your permission, I informed you barely" She defied.
"And I say you won't" He made a show of drinking his tea calmly, her defiance biting him, though.
“And may I hear the reason for this, at least?” Her hands on her hips, her brows pleated.
“This is very different from London.” He said with finality and didn’t bother to elaborate.
She never thought he’d react this badly to a simple trip to the market. It wasn’t like she understood nothing about his country. She’d even learned several words of Arabic. "What?” She pushed. “You're keeping me here as a prisoner?"
His cognac-against-fire eyes darted annoyance. “If I say no, you’re to obey me!” He stood and left in callous strides.
The word prisoner unleashed conflicting reactions in him. As his woman, she should do his bidding as any woman in this country. On the other hand, she did not travel here by choice which made the situation too muddy. It should give him pause, but he did not wish to let go or bring it up. Topsy-turvy it would remain.
Tariq had a lot of work when his caravans reached Tunis. He mused, as he walked through the tortuous streets. He brought goods to organise and trade with the vendors in the markets. Deliveries, payments collecting and managing his helpers listed among his tasks. The morning’s exchange affected his mood greatly. Why couldn’t the damn woman just behave meekly and let him make the decisions? But then it wouldn’t be Lucinda, would it? His fears churned his guts. Fear that she’d try to run away, like she did during the crossing of his caravan. The danger she’d put herself in would be bottomless. And how would he live without her? The risk too high. Better to keep her home.
Lucinda watched from the latticed windows as Tariq’s men loaded carts of goods, probably to deliver somewhere, she assumed. They entered and left by the large, canopied door in the yard. White garbs, faces covered to protect from the sun and dust. Hard work, but they didn’t need to be confined, like her just now.
A golden cage.
Exactly like the one she dreaded in wedlock. Locks. Did he intend to keep her like this? As if she took part in his…harem? He had no other women. Not in this house at least. He was no green boy, she fathomed. He displayed…skill. She made an attempt not to remember his ‘skills’, or else she’d be daydreaming soon. No harem here, but her range of action got limited, to say the least.
And then what?
They had no future. Not one that’d be acceptable. Not one which would give her security. He wouldn’t be able to marry her here because she didn’t belong to his community. The same would occur in England. They could not legally marry. He didn’t seem inclined to the idea.
Neither was she.
There had been no talk about the issue anyway. The hypothesis came outplaced if she imagined the scenario. Linking herself with a man in his condition would surely be social suicide for her. She’d lose everything familiar and dear for her. Her countrymen, the peers of the realm would ostracise her. Not even the poorest soot-darkened factory worker would offer her friendship. It’d be an afflicting life. Too much sacrifice. What would she gain in its stead?
A life as a concubine. Kept by him, like a mistress. And what happened when he tired of her? Yes, because men tired of their mistresses. Invariably. She’d heard countless stories whispered behind fans. Even if she wasn’t supposed to know about it, being little more than a debutant. Albeit she did and now connected the dots. A concubine or a mistress, what’s the difference?
A fallen woman.
Degraded, disinherited from all she was due socially, personally and in her family.
Her family. Oh, dear. She’d certainly put herself in a tight situation, but she wouldn’t stain her bloodline or damage her siblings’ chance for an adequate marriage. They were younger than her. Under age. She’d be expected to open the way for them. This, Tariq, Tunis would have to remain a secret, whatever the outcome.
If only she had never set eyes on him! Not even the first time. For he’d affected her almost instantly, upon seeing him in the market in Syracuse. After everything which passed between them, she predicted what she’d lose when he left her. He had her coming for more. And she couldn’t get enough. Her body boiled for him. Ever eager for the next encounter. Encounters. Endlessly.
He’d eventually get married, no doubt. With a woman, or women, who suited his cultural background. That woman would not be her. He’d shun her aside then, with nothing left for her or her life. Lucinda envisioned a desert of bitterness ahead of her in this scenario.
For him to have abducted, had not been her choice; to be in Tariq’s bed was. There’d be no way
round it. Sooner or later, she’d have to make a decision. With this in mind she walked to the library. If nothing else, she’d enjoy his book collection.
She entered the bedroom and froze. Tariq stood there, probably just come from wherever he’d gone. She’d been to the bath and came back to keep her things. The evening well advanced. The sun already set, the lamps lit. He gazed at her with his magnificent eyes glowing under the reddish light. Her heart skipped off in her chest as she took in his tall broad-shouldered frame, his obsidian sleek hair. The memories of their bath flashed in her mind bringing an undisguisable blush to her cheeks. His eyes narrowed as if the same happened to him. She turned from him.
The lamps lent a crimson shade to her braided dried-dates hair. Diaphanous silk curtains surrounding the bed floated suave with the fresh breeze coming from the latticed windows.
“Our meal is ready.” His too hoarse voice provoked goose-bumps on her skin.
She simply acquiesced, unable to utter a word. A deluge of mixed emotions ran inside her. The reflections she had, her lack of a way out and his attitude this morning and how it’d hurt her piled in her head.
They ate the delightful food in a screaming silence. They didn’t ask each other what they’d done during the day and neither bothered volunteering it.
When they took the last bite, both stood from the low table. In silent agreement, they climbed the stairs to the bedroom.
Uneasy forced its way in Tariq. He had a notion he’d handled the circumstances this morning clumsily. Her recoiled behaviour only made him more aware of it. And, for the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do. How to proceed. He wanted her. In his arms. Tonight. Now. Always. He’d been thinking of her all day, going about his tasks absently. Counted the minutes to be back home and hold her. While she seemed so distant.
Lucinda stood by the window looking blindly at the night over the ocean. Through the latticed work, points of light shone on distant ships in the sea. She sensed Tariq pace to her. A shiver of awareness cut through her. He placed his hands on her shoulders.
“Lucinda.” He whispered in his velvety voice, bending towards her right ear.
She nearly melted with the touch and the voice. Anger surfaced though. She hadn’t even noticed she became angry at him, at his peremptory conduct in the morning. She turned and stared him austerely in the eye. “I am not your slave!” her low voice containing her vexation. “And I’ll never be.” She stamped to the bed, took the blankets and left, without looking at him.
Tariq watched her exit amazed. He could deal with her temper because he had one too. Without thinking twice, he followed her. She’d entered the library and bent, arranging the blankets on the cushions.
He hauled her in his arms and they faced each other in fury. The unexpected movement shot a blaze of liquid fire in her.
“Put me down, you overbearing man!” She demanded between her teeth, trying vainly to hide her reaction.
He never did, of course. “No, you’re not my slave!” He stalked out. “You’re my woman and your place is in my bed!”
A lightning of sensation washed over her at his statement. The contact with his body, his voice tantalised her. “I’m nobody’s woman!” She rebelled.
He didn’t bother to answer it and continued marching, a purposeful glint in his cognac eyes. In the room, he stooped to deposit her on the bed and lay over her. His mouth captured hers in a domineering kiss that ignited her entire body.
She tried bravely to resist, palming her hands on his broad chest to push him away. His tongue plundered her mouth with tragic skill. Aware she couldn’t reward him for his wrong actions by acquiescing to his desires, she struggled not to succumb. But hopelessness sprinkled in her insides. Tremendously arduous to fight with him and with herself at the same time. A lost battle. As the combustion of his kisses spread, she moaned and her hands snaked up his shoulders to find refuge in his smooth obsidian hair. Her body slackened on the bed, becoming receptive to his. His arms laced behind her back and her legs cradled him in a scorching embrace, their bodies glued everywhere. And she was thoroughly defeated.
The heat of their locked bodies trespassed beyond the mere physical reaction. It took all of her. As if she melted on the inside, as well. Her body, her mind, her soul, everything she had dissolved in him, with him. She lost clear thought. She lost track of time. She lost herself.
They kissed each other with increasing hunger, in total surrender. Tariq became disoriented. This reaction to her so totally alien to him. He dived in a world where only she existed. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t stop. His ardent response overtook him so completely; it seemed he gave away a piece of his flesh, his sanity, his essence.
“Lucinda.” He lifted his head and sought her eyes in a haze. “It’s impossible to be away from you!” He grazed his day-stubble over her neck, making her skin prickle.
His velvety hot rumble like heated honey on her skin. “You bossy liar!” She breathed.
He nudged his painfully hard erection against her thighs. “This doesn’t lie, Lucinda!” He nipped her ear. “It always comes for you!” He flipped the short opening on her neckline, through which she dressed the tunic, and licked it. Impatiently, he tore her tunic, revealing her full avid breasts. “These things should have a front opening.” He complained, as his mouth ravened her breast as if in starvation.
The pleasure avalanched her so acute, Lucinda gasped, throwing her head back, her arms holding him there. His hand teased the other breast, worsening her agony. In a matter of seconds, they’d undressed each other in anxious haste. Ragged breaths, voracious mouths, molten kisses, desperate want took them by storm.
His expert fingers found her core and started a heavenly torment there as she widened her knees as much as she could. Her urgency for him ate at her. He continued the helpless torment to breaking point. She pulled him with her legs and their bodies joined in a long delectable stroke that left both breathless.
Her eagerness for him enthralled him. He lost the feeble control he still held. He thrust blindly as she sighed her escalating famine. His insides lacerated in a mess of emotions, reactions and desperation. They consumed him as if she’d thrown him in a furnace.
Lucinda was no better. She embraced him with her arms and legs, in excruciating abandonment, as pleasure, desire and something indefinable mixed in her, making her move in search for more of him. Then the cataclysmic explosion happened so suddenly, a cry escaped her lips, as she wrenched apart, in countless waves of paradisiacal release.
Her contractions began milking him and he found himself defenceless to go against it. His whole body twisted with the sharp outburst of pleasure, making him pour all he had in her, in between grunts. He fell on her, a wreck, spent and mitigated.
They sank in oblivious sleep, flesh still joined, exhausted. Those diaphanous curtains hanging around the bed cocooned them inside, floating with the sea breeze. The oil lamps threw a warm glow on their entangled bodies and blew off one by one along the night.
The morning sun drew latticed designs on the tiled floor in the room when Lucinda awoke. Tariq propped on his elbows, watching her. She looked at his cognac-against fire eyes in the morning light and stretched languid, shameless before his eyes. He didn’t miss a move.
“Good morning.” He wished in his velvety voice.
“Good morning.” She answered in a sleepy tone. “You’re still home.” It was late for him. He usually got up with the sun.
He took a silky lock of hair which had loosed from her messy tress and put it behind her ear. “Yes.” He said simply. Did she use the word home as if she deemed it her home too? He wondered. Did he want her to think of his villa as home? He bent and brushed her lips with his own, enjoying the smoothness. “Come, Scheherazade, let’s get out of bed.”
“Why the hurry?” She sat up brushing her tangled hair from her face.
“We’re going to the market, naturally.”
“Oh!” She looked for her tunic and then rememb
ered he had torn it. The memory ran a shiver over her followed by a blush.
“Here.” He produced what seemed a silk robe. “I’ve brought you this.”
She took the ultra-fine piece of clothing and dressed it. He was trying to make amends, she reckoned. Warm pleasantness coursed through her. She’d go to the market with him and make the most of this day.
Hours later, they stood in the middle of an utterly crowded and noisy market-place. She dressed a purple tunic set and veil. Canvas canopied stalls selling every possible thing followed a mysterious pattern on the streets. Vendors shouted their prices and goods to whomever might get an interest. Not much different from a market in Syracuse. Tariq bought her hair-pins and copper jewellery. They ate food which the vendors cooked on the spot.
They made a full round on it. At a certain point, Lucinda saw a street that took to the shore. Down there it seemed a port. There were ships, boats, men carrying wooden boxes. Lucinda averted her attentive gaze quickly.
The market itself did not lie far from the villa, a mere ten-minute’s walk eastwards. Convenient for him, a merchant, with deals with the vendors. Lucinda kept her attention on the stalls as Tariq talked to one of the vendors nearby.
“It must be boring to come here when you’re not working.” She commented, as they walked side by side. Men and women didn’t touch each other in public, so she could not hold his arm, as she’d do in England. Well, they’d done a lot of touching recently. She had nothing to complain about, a faint smile on her veiled face. Good he didn’t detect it.
“Not really.” He answered her comment. “I have a lot of friends here.”
