Dark Horses: (Blood Brothers #5)

by Manda Mellett

  His words hover in the air for a moment, they could be taken in any number of ways. The fact he’d expected me to get on with my life without him probably means he already has. I wonder how many women he’s tortured since I last saw him. The thought makes me feel ill.

  I shouldn’t see him. I should let him move on, and then do so myself. My mind’s blocking out what I don’t want to accept.

  “It’s alright, Janna. I’ll start the divorce.”

  “No.” The word comes out before I have second thoughts, “No, I’ll come to the embassy do.”

  I hear a sigh of relief, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. What should I wear?” A woman’s perennial problem.

  “Just a cocktail dress would be fine. You have something like that?”

  I’ll have to go shopping. “Yes, I can find something. When is it, Jasim?”

  “Next Tuesday. I’ll come pick you up. You’re still at the same address?”

  “I am. What time?”

  We finalise the arrangements, and then end the call.

  Finding a suitable cocktail dress isn’t difficult. Getting one that fits me is. I end up buying a size larger than normal, one that’s still snug over my breasts but a little too loose over my flat stomach and hips, making me recall how my appetite seems to have fled since I returned from Amahad. If I’m going to lose weight, why can’t the loss be equal all over?

  Surprisingly, the boys took it in their stride that I’m going out with Jasim tonight. I’d expected an argument, but they seemed more relieved he’s contacted me at long last. I’d told them to butt out of what I described as our complicated relationship, explaining if they wanted me in the band, my sacrifice was living apart from my husband while he performed the duties his country required of him. As Mickey sighed and gave me a hug, I saw a twinge of guilt in his eyes, as if he believed he and the rest of Anarchy Rules were the only reason for Jasim and I being apart.

  Sunny fusses over me, doing my hair and what I’ve got to pass for nails—long on my right hand, short on my left, the hazards of playing guitar. She evens them out as best she can, and paints them a discreet pink. She helps me with my make-up, a lot less than I’d wear on stage. The end result, as I look in the mirror, is someone I think would pass for a diplomat’s wife.

  “There!” she says with a flourish, presenting me with an evening bag she’s dug out of her wardrobe, “You look perfect.”

  I think I’m far from perfection, but hopefully have done enough that I won’t embarrass my husband. The nerves churning inside me seem to leach blood from my complexion, and I’m biting my lips, making them red.

  “You’ll be fine.” Sunny assures me, and I reply with a little nod. I’m not worried about going to the embassy, I’m wondering how the hell I can pretend to play the part of a loving partner, and not risk being deceived into thinking it’s real.

  At seven on the dot, the limo arrives and Jasim gets out of the back. Dressed in a tuxedo, he takes my breath away, making me realise all over again that this is a mistake. But it’s too late to back out now. We don’t say a word as he stretches out his hand. I take it, and soon I’m seated beside him. The awkwardness stretches out between us.

  “You are well?” It’s a polite enquiry, a million miles away from the way he’d addressed me in the heat of the desert.

  “Yes.” It’s a small lie, but one which will do for now. “And you?” I’m equally well-mannered.

  “I’m doing okay.”

  There’s something in his voice that makes me turn to look at him, to really see him for the first time in three months. I draw in a breath, and can’t stop reaching out my hand to touch a still healing scar marring the side of his cheek. “You’ve been hurt.”

  He captures my hand, and holds it tight, “Got into some trouble in the desert when I was inspecting the pipeline. It’s nothing.”

  “What happened?” I gasp, horrified at the thought. He’d been injured and nobody told me.

  His eyes stare into mine, as if divining whether I really want to know, or I’m just making conversation. To show I really am interested, I phrase it slightly differently, “Please, tell me what happened? I don’t like the idea of you being hurt.”

  He jerks his chin and sits forward, his hands clasped between his knees, “Ah, my habiti. Always with a soft heart.” A quick glance at me, and then back down toward his hands. “The attack came out of nowhere. First, Ryan was shot.”

  “Attack? Shot? Ryan? Is he alright? He’s not…”

  “No,” his hand reaches for mine again, “It was touch and go for a while as he’d lost so much blood, but he’ll make a full recovery.”

  “What about you?” I stare at him as though there are injuries I can’t see. Something tells me there’s more than he’s telling me.

  “I took a bullet too. In my back.” He pauses and laughs, “Knocked me off my feet and against a rock,” he points to his face, “Split my cheek open.”

  I go cold, realizing that all the time he’d been in my thoughts, I’d never for a moment imagined him in danger. “Jasim…”

  “I’m alright, Janna. Nothing vital was hit.” His fingers wipe a tear from my eye that I hadn’t known had escaped. “I’m well, now, habiti.” When he adds the Arabic endearment for the second time, I admit how much missed hearing that word.

  Sitting up straighter, I watch the streets of London go by, wet roads flashing under the streetlamps, missing the stars of the desert and the easy companionship that had been between us there. Despite his slip up in calling me ‘my love’, which I knew from having looked the Arab word up on Google, he seems as distant as he’d been that night we’d first met. This man isn’t my husband. He’s a stranger. His life since we last met, is outside of my comprehension. He’d been hurt and I hadn’t known. It can’t have been serious. He seems alright now.

  He’s dismissed my concern as unnecessary, so I turn to a more immediate worry. “What do you need me to do tonight?”

  A shrug, “Just be yourself. You will be by my side.”

  “What if I’m asked what I do?”

  “Tell them the truth. That you play in a band. There’s nothing to hide.”

  “Except our fake marriage.”

  He grimaces. “Well, there’s that, of course. Janna, I’ve looked into it. We’ll have to stay married a year. But I won’t tie you down.”

  I wish you would. Tamping down my traitorous thoughts, which just prove the time we spent apart has done nothing to dull his effect on my libido, I try to get more information, “Who will be there?”

  “Diplomats, people from the oil industry. And it won’t be for long, it’s a reception, not a dinner. Drinks and canapes. We’ll leave as soon as we can.” He pauses and looks at me, “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re doing this. There’s been some gossip about us not being seen together.”

  “It’s hardly a chore.” I try to summon a smile. Just being here with him, knowing we’ve lost that easy intimacy between us, trying to act like it doesn’t matter is perhaps one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. The memory of riding with him in the desert comes into my mind, such a stark contrast to riding in this limousine.

  “I haven’t heard anything about Sally. Do you know what happened at the end of her month?”

  “I do.” He grins. And teases me by keeping silent for a moment. When I’m about to prompt him, he continues, “Nijad went to an exhibition in Al Qur’ah. Sally’s been busy and was exhibiting some of her photographs there. Fadi set it up for her.”

  “Was he with her?”

  He laughs, “Yes, he was. And completely besotted. Let’s just say, Sally has captured her sheikh.”

  Unlike me. “I’m pleased for her,” I manage to say indifferently, while thinking some of the weirdest arrangements have a way of working themselves out.

  We pull up outside the doors of the Amahadian Embassy, and wait for the chauffeur to open the doors. Once outside, Jasim links his arm with mine, and leads me insi
de. His closeness awakens sensations which should stay dormant. I can do this. I can pretend, I can have him touch me and still keep my bruised heart intact. I have to.

  That Jasim’s the guest of honour is apparent when we step inside. Men in smart suits vie for his attention. I stand at his side, doing my best to keep a pleasant smile on my face. To all intents and purposes, I’m ignored by the men, but subjected to various glances from the women around. My facial muscles start hurting after being frozen in place for so long, as I wonder whether any of the females have had the pleasure of being his sub. Oh, I can read their expressions, they’re curious about the woman who’s managed to snag the bachelor sheikh.

  I take a glass of champagne when it’s offered but put it down after one sip. And don’t partake of the Amahadian delicacies that are offered to me, knowing they’d only form a lump in my already fragile stomach.

  I didn’t appreciate how hard it would be to pretend as I overhear Jasim’s discussions, recognizing what a true diplomat he is. He’s committing to nothing, even though it’s obvious several people have come to persuade him. Letting them all down gently, with various suggestions of ‘I’ll consider your proposal’ or ‘Please contact my office and I’ll be happy to look at it’. It soon becomes clear everyone wants a part of him tonight.

  And all the time he’s touching me. A hand to the small of my back. His fingers on my arm. A touch to my wrist. And each occasion he does so, I get a tingle inside. At one point he turns, checking I’m alright, and there’s a flare in his dark eyes as I offer a wan smile back.

  It seems like forever, but at last he signals we can leave. A multitude of goodbyes, then we’re heading outside. The limousine pulls up in front of us, before I can consider how I’m getting home.

  He sits me inside. The car doesn’t move.

  Chapter 31

  Janna

  I sit waiting for the car to pull off, not certain whether I’m in a rush to get home to restore my equilibrium or if I’d prefer to steal every moment I can with this enigmatic man beside me.

  “Janna,” his hand comes out and cups my face. “Having you beside me this evening has been torture.”

  For him, too?

  Removing his fingers, he taps both hands on his knees. He looks down at his fingers beating out a rhythm, and when he turns to face me, he looks unsure of himself. “Janna, fuck it. I don’t want to simply take you home.” Raising one of his hands, he brings it up to caress the side of my face. “I’ve missed you.”

  I swallow. Seeing him again, all my thoughts that I was moving on, getting him out of my mind had proved to be so wrong. Unable to find the words to explain, I give a little jerk of my head, hoping the action will convey that I’ve felt the same.

  His eyes stare into mine, so intently I want to turn away, but the touch of his hand has my head held in place. “Janna, our relationship,” he breaks off, trying to gather his thoughts. “I don’t do relationships, you know that. But there’s something between us, something I still want to explore, and I find I’m still not ready to give up on that.”

  Once again I nod, fearful of saying the wrong thing, waiting to hear what he’s going to suggest.

  “My club, my lifestyle, it’s important to me.”

  My eyes widen a little, I’m not sure where he’s going with this.

  He gives a short laugh, “I’m a fucking Dom, Janna, yet I’m find it hard to put this into words. So I’d like to show you instead. What would you say if I wanted to take you to Club Tiacapan? Tonight?”

  What would I say?

  When I don’t immediately answer, he asks me again, “I don’t want to let you go, not right now. Will you consider coming to my club?”

  Christ! That wasn’t what I expected him to say. His club? His BDSM club for goodness sake. And if we go there… “Now? Tonight? To play?”

  He glances back with a dark look on his face, “Yes.” His tone is gruff, as though he’s barely keeping himself in check. “You’ll be my submissive.”

  My teeth find my lip and worry at it. What he’s asking is a long way from anything I’ve experienced before, and it scares me a little. “What would I be agreeing to, Jasim? What would you expect?”

  “Are you worried I’d hurt you?” When I raise my shoulders, he offers a reassuring smile. “Have you heard of the phrase, mind fuck?”

  I haven’t, but I can guess what it might be.

  He looks at the glass between us and the driver, as though ensuring our conversation will be private. And even then, brings his mouth close to my ear. “I get off on your fear, of you not knowing what to expect, of being able to take you to places you never dreamed of going.”

  “But that includes pain.”

  “Have I actually hurt you before? When I spanked you, you liked it.”

  And I can’t deny that that’s true.

  “In a sexually charged situation, your brain translates what you’d otherwise reject by releasing endorphins. When you’re tied up and helpless, leaving yourself open to anything I want to do, your fear of the unknown increases your arousal, and that does the same to me too.”

  “How do you know what I would and wouldn’t like? What if you took it too far?”

  “That’s why we have safewords. If you had more experience, we’d be discussing your limits, what you do and don’t like. But as you’re a novice, we’ll both be finding our way. And I’ll be taking it slow. I’m an experienced Dom, Janna. You’ll find me stopping before you think you’ve had enough, I can read the signs of your body.”

  Already I’m starting to feel the arousal he’s speaking of. I was brave in the desert, I told him I could match him. And nothing he did there took me too far. But the idea of going to his club where experienced people play, both excites and scares me, there would be opportunities and the equipment to do so much more. I feel my cheeks flush, and that’s when I know that I’m going to say yes. How could I pass up this chance to learn more about his life?

  “So will you try it? Come and be my submissive tonight?” He takes a deep breath, and seems to hold it, waiting for my answer.

  As his submissive. Not as his wife. Not as someone he wants any other relationship with. But wasn’t that all that was ever on offer? I knew that when I gave him my virginity, so nothing has changed. But the chance to give myself to him again, to feel him take charge of my body? For the first time in three months, I feel alive.

  “Yes,” I breathe, answering him with no hesitation, pushing to the back of my mind any thought of how I might regret it tomorrow.

  A quick knock on the glass, a hasty instruction to the driver, and this time, when he takes my hand, Jasim raises it to his lips and kisses it. “Tonight, you’re mine, Janna.” His deep velvety voice washes over me as he clarifies, “Your body belongs to me. Can you give me that?”

  Like a switch being thrown, tingles of anticipation start to run up and down my spine. But it’s his club, and we’ll presumably be playing in public, and my arousal is tinged with trepidation which the bastard probably knows and likes. “What can I expect? I’ve never been to a club before.”

  A smirk and a chuckle shows that I’m right. “It will push you, for sure. But isn’t that just what I’ve always done, habiti?” He has. And everything he’s done, I’ve enjoyed. “If you reached the place where you were so uncomfortable you couldn’t take any more, and I’d missed the signs, your safeword will stop everything. I’d be troubled if you held it back. But my aim is not to push you so far.”

  “I’ve no idea what to expect.”

  “That’s part of the thrill. Isn’t it?”

  Not knowing what I’m going into, having to trust him completely. As a delightful shiver overtakes me, I can’t deny my underwear is getting soaked.

  “Just the thought is turning you on.”

  Jerking my chin, I admit that my smug sheikh is completely right.

  Before long we’re turning up a long driveway and coming to a halt in front of massive wooden doors. The chauffeur agai
n does his job opening doors and allowing us out, then the limousine drives away, leaving us standing at the entrance. As Jasim puts his hand to my back, I’m aware I’m shaking. But along with my anxiety is eagerness, and I’m impatient to see what’s a very big part of Jasim’s life. He’s allowing me to see the real him.

  Wasting no time, he opens the door and encourages me into a reception area, and I’m slightly disappointed there’s no intriguing equipment immediately in sight. Apart from the ornate decoration as befits a mansion three hundred years old, there’s just a desk that could have been in any foyer in any office building. Except, that is, for the scantily clad woman sitting behind it with her breasts hanging out in full view.

  “Jasim! It’s good to see you. It’s been so long since you’ve been here. When did you get back?”

  “Gloria. Good to see you too. I only returned last week. I was away longer than expected.”

  My mouth drops open, and a warm glow rises inside as it becomes clear he had contacted me almost as soon as he’d gotten back. I’d been wrong to spend sleepless nights worrying about him playing with beautiful subs in his club. He hadn’t even been in the country.

  “And who’s your guest?”

  “Let me introduce you to my wife.” His words make me start. I didn’t expect him to be so open. Though I know it’s the role we’ll need to play for another nine months, that he’s so circumspect about it is surprising. I’m not the only one to be taken aback, his receptionist’s jaw almost hits the floor.

  She recovers fast. “Well, let’s get you set up.” When she brings out a box from under her desk, Jasim reaches inside and pulls out two wristbands.

  “White for you, so everyone knows you’re a novice.” I blush at that. After a moment, he reaches up and his fingers trace my neck, “Have we got any training collars handy, Gloria?” he asks over his shoulder.

  “Yes, somewhere. Hang on, how’s this?”

  “That will do fine.” Jasim turns back to me, and a narrow band of red leather comes into sight. “If a sub’s not collared, she’s considered fair game. I’ll put this on you for tonight, habiti, so people know you’ve been claimed.”