by Nalini Singh
Not now, he decided.
When he took her, he wanted hours, days, weeks in which to linger over her. But that long-suppressed craving had to be fed something, or it would shatter the bonds he’d imposed in order to keep from being eaten alive. Anger threatened to flame at the edge of his consciousness as he crushed her soft lips under his. He’d kill any man who’d dared to touch her. He would never forgive her if she’d allowed a single caress.
Mina was his.
And this time, he wouldn’t let her forget.
In his arms, she shivered, and the simmering need inside him threatened to take complete command. He stroked his tongue across the seam of her lips. She opened at once. The taste of her was an elixir, a drug he’d starved for for years. His feelings for her were as wild and chaotic as a desert storm. How dare she leave him? How dare she take four years to return? When she gasped for breath, he breathed into her mouth, feeding her even as he took from her.
“No one else has touched you.” He found some peace in that. Not much, but enough to rein in the beast.
“And,” Jasmine responded in shocked surprise, “no one else has touched you.”
He smiled that predator’s smile. “I’m very hungry, Mina.”
Jasmine felt her body begin to react as it always had to Tariq’s dark sensuality. “Hungry?”
“Very.” He was stroking her neck with his thumb in an absent fashion, feeling the vibration as she spoke.
“I need time.” She was unprepared for the reality of the man he’d become. Dark. Beautiful. Magnificent. Angry.
He raised his eyes from his perusal of her throat. “No. I am no longer willing to indulge you.”
She had no response to that flat statement. Four years ago, Tariq had delighted in letting her have her way. She’d never had to fight this warrior. Back then, he’d been careful with her innocence, but when he’d touched her, Jasmine hadn’t felt like an outcast. She’d felt cherished. Today, she didn’t feel that beautiful but fragile emotion. Tariq wasn’t acting like a lover, but rather a conqueror with his prize. The true depth of what she’d lost was only now becoming clear.
He moved and set her free, but remained on her side of the car, one arm slung negligently over the back of her seat. “So, you have been studying fashion design.”
“Yes.”
“You wish to be a famous designer?” He threw her a look full of male amusement.
Jasmine bristled. Though used to her family mocking her dreams, she’d never expected it from Tariq. “Why is that funny?” She aimed a scowl at his savagely masculine features.
He chuckled. “Sheathe your claws, Mina. I simply cannot see you designing those ridiculous things on the catwalks. Your dresses wouldn’t be see-through, hmm, displaying to the world treasures that should only be viewed by one man?”
She blushed at his heated gaze, ridiculously pleased that he wasn’t laughing at her.
“Tell me,” he commanded.
“I want to design feminine things.” Her dream was real to her, no matter what anyone said, but until this moment, no one’s opinion had truly mattered. “These days, the male designers seem to have an incredibly macabre idea of the female form. Their models are flat boards with not a curve in sight.”
“Ah.” It was a wholly male sound.
She looked up, suspicious. “Ah, what?”
Tariq spread one possessive hand over her abdomen. She gasped. “You’re full of curves, Mina.”
“I never pretended to be a sylph.”
His warm breath close to her ear startled her. “You misunderstand. I’m delighted by your curves. They’ll cushion me perfectly.”
Biting hurt turned to red-hot embarrassment and shocking desire. Blinded by longing, she barely finished her explanation. “I want to design pretty things for real women.”
Tariq regarded her with a contemplative expression. “You’ll be permitted to continue this.”
“I’ll be permitted to continue my work?”
“You will need something to do when I’m not with you.”
She gave a frustrated little scream and shifted until her back was plastered against the door, making it possible for her to glower up at him. “You have no right to permit me to do anything!” She poked him in the chest with her index finger.
He captured her hand. “On the contrary, I have every right.” The sudden chill in his voice stopped her.
“You are now my possession. I own you. That means I have the right to do with you as I please.” This time there was no hint of humor in his expression, not even the shadow of the man she’d once known. “You would do well not to provoke me. I have no intention of being cruel, but neither will you find me a fool for your charms a second time.”
When, after a frozen moment, he released her and moved back to the opposite side of the car, she gathered the shreds of her composure around her and turned to the window. Had she done this? she asked herself. Had she with her cowardice so totally destroyed the beauty of what had once been between them? She wanted to cry at the loss, but something in her, the same something that had urged her to come to him when she’d heard of his parents’ deaths, refused to surrender.
Unbidden, she remembered the way he’d held her so protectively in his arms when she’d run to him, frightened by the suffocation of her home.
“Come home with me, my Jasmine. Come to Zulheil.”
“I can’t! My parents…”
“They seek to capture you, Mina. I would set you free.”
It was a bitter irony that the very man who’d once promised her freedom was now intent on caging her.
“I was only eighteen,” she exclaimed abruptly.
“You are no longer eighteen.” He sounded dangerous.
“Can’t you understand what it was like for me?” she pleaded, despite herself. “They were my parents and I’d only known you for six months.”
“Then why did you—what is your phrase?” He paused. “Yes…why did you lead me on? Did it amuse you to have an Arab royal at your beck and call?”
He’d never been at her beck and call. At eighteen, she’d had even less self-confidence than she did now, but he’d always made her feel…important. “No! No! I didn’t….”
“Enough.” His voice cut through her protests like a knife. “The truth is that when your family asked you to choose, you did not choose me. You did not even tell me so I could fight for us. There is nothing further to say.”
Jasmine was silenced. Yes, it was the truth. How could she even begin to make a man like him understand what it had been like for her? Born with a mantle of power, Tariq had never known how it felt to be crushed and belittled until he didn’t know his own mind. Shrinking into her corner, she thought back to the day that had changed her forever. Her father had forbidden her to see Tariq, threatening to disown her. She’d begged on her knees but he’d made her choose.
“The Arab or your family.”
He’d always called Tariq “the Arab.” It wasn’t racism, but something much deeper. At first she’d thought it was because they expected her to marry into another high-country farming family. Only later had she understood the ugly reality of why they’d crushed her small rebellion under their feet.
Tariq had been meant for Sarah.
Beautiful Sarah had wished to be a princess, and everyone had assumed it would happen. Except, from the moment he’d arrived, Tariq’s eyes had lingered on Jasmine, the daughter who wasn’t a daughter, the daughter who was a cause for shame, not celebration.
The huge spread in the hills, which had been Jasmine’s home, had been in the Coleridge family for generations. As the beneficiaries of that heritage, Jasmine’s parents had been used to controlling everything in their high-country kingdom and they had feared Tariq’s strength of will. Added to that, his choice of Jasmine over Sarah had made him anathema. To let Jasmine have him when their darling Sarah couldn’t, would have meant being continuously faced with both their failure to manipulate Tariq and the wrong daugh
ter’s happiness. It was ugly and it was vicious, but it was the truth. Jasmine was no longer a needy child, and couldn’t pretend that they’d had her best interests at heart.
“Did you implement that irrigation system?” Her voice was softened by pain. They’d met when he’d visited New Zealand to learn about a revolutionary new watering system discovered by a neighboring family.
“It has been operating successfully for three years.”
She nodded and laid her head against the seat. At eighteen, she’d made the wrong choice because she’d been terrified of losing the only people who might ever accept her, flawed as she was. A week ago, she’d turned her back on those very people and ventured out to try and recapture the glorious love she’d had with Tariq.
What would he say if she told him that she was now alone in the world?
Her father had carried out his threat and disowned her. But this time she hadn’t compromised her soul in a bid for acceptance. She’d walked away, aware that she’d made an irrevocable decision. There would be no welcome back.
The only things Jasmine had in the world were her determination and a soul-deep love that had never died, but she couldn’t tell Tariq that. His pity would be far worse than his anger. She’d chosen him and completely forsaken everything else. But was it too late?
“We are approaching Zulheina, if you wish to look.”
Grateful for a chance to escape the distressing memories, she pressed a button by her elbow and the window rolled down. Warm air floated in, caressing her cold cheeks. “Oh, my,” she whispered, distracted from her emotional agony.
Zulheina was a city of legend. Very few foreigners were ever allowed into the inner sanctum of Zulheil. Business was usually carried out in the larger town of Abraz, in the north. She could see why the people of Zulheil guarded this place with such zeal. It was utterly magnificent.
Fragile-seeming minarets reached for the heavens, illusions that touched the indigo-blue sky. The single river that ran through Zulheil, and eventually fed out into the sea, passed by in a foaming rush. The white marble of the nearest buildings reflected its tumbling, crystalline beauty.
“It’s like something out of a fairy tale.” She was fascinated by the way the water flowed under them as they drove over the bridge and entered the city proper.
“It is now your home.” Tariq’s words were a command.
Strange and wondrous smells drifted to her on the warm breeze. Sounds followed, then the vibrant living colors of the people as the limousine passed through a busy marketplace.
Hard male fingers encircled the soft flesh of her upper arm. Startled, she faced Tariq. His green eyes were hooded, hiding his emotions from her. “I said that it is now your home. You have nothing to say to that?”
Home, Jasmine thought, a sense of wonder infusing her. She’d never had a real home. Her smile was luminous. “I think that it will be no hardship to call this place home.” She thought the panther opposite her relaxed a little. In the next moment, she saw something out of the corner of her eye that made her gasp. “I don’t believe it. It can’t be true.” Ignoring the firm but strangely gentle grip on her arm, she stretched her neck to peer out the window.
Rising in front of her was the most fragile-looking building she’d ever seen. It seemed to be formed out of mist and raindrops, the artistry in the carving magnificent beyond imagining. The crystal-white stone of the building seemed to glow with a pale rose luminescence that had her transfixed.
She turned to Tariq, wide-eyed, forgetting his anger in her amazement. “I could swear that building is made of Zulheil Rose.”
Though Zulheil was a tiny desert sheikdom, enclosed on three sides by bigger powers, and on the fourth by the sea, it was a rich land, producing not just oil, but a beautiful, precious stone called Zulheil Rose. The striking, clear crystal with the hidden fire inside was the rarest gem on the planet, found only in Tariq’s land.
“If your eyes get any bigger, my Jasmine, they’ll rival the sky,” Tariq teased.
Jasmine forgot the stunning building the moment she heard the quiet humor in his tone. Tariq had apparently decided to put aside his anger for the moment.
“That is your new home.”
“What?” She lost any composure she might’ve attained.
He eyed her flushed features with amused interest. “The royal palace is indeed made of Zulheil Rose. Now you see why we do not let many foreigners into our city.”
“Good grief.” Earnestly, she leaned forward, unconsciously putting her palms on his thighs for balance. “I know the crystal is harder than diamonds and impenetrable, but don’t your people, um, get tempted to chip off pieces?”
His voice was rough when he answered, “The people of Zulheil are happy and well cared for. They are not tempted to lose their place in this society for money.
“And the palace is considered sacred. It was carved where it stands by the one who founded Zulheil. Never in the history of our land has anyone discovered another such concentration of the crystal. It’s believed that as long as the palace stands, Zulheil will prosper.”
Hard male muscles flexed under her fingers. Jasmine jerked up her head. Blood rushed through her veins to stain her cheeks bright red. Flustered, she removed her hands and scrambled back into her seat.
“That, Mina,” Tariq said, as they came to a stop in the inner courtyard of the palace, “is something you’re permitted to do at will.”
Hot with a combination of embarrassment and desire, she muttered, “What?”
“Touch me.”
She sucked in her breath. It was clear that while Tariq had been prepared to wait for intimacy when she’d been eighteen, he was no longer so patient.
They stepped out into the heart of the palace complex—a lush garden protected from the outside by curving walls of Zulheil Rose. From where she stood, Jasmine could see a pomegranate tree heavy with fruit in one corner of the garden. A fig tree dominated the other. Bright, luxuriant and glossy flowers spread like a carpet in either direction.
“It’s like a page of the Arabian Nights come to life.” Any second now she expected a peacock to come strutting out.
“These gardens are opened every Friday to my people. At that time I meet with those who would talk with me.”
Jasmine frowned. “Just like that?”
Beside her, Tariq tightened his clasp on her hand, his big body shifting to dominate her field of vision. “You do not approve of my meeting with my people?” The bright sunlight made his hair glitter like black diamonds.
“Not that. From what I’ve read, your people adore you.” Pausing, she turned her head to avoid his penetrating gaze. “I was thinking about your safety.”
“Would you miss me, my Jasmine, if I was gone?” The question escaped Tariq’s iron control, betraying emotions he refused to acknowledge.
“What a thing to ask! Of course I’d miss you.”
Yet she’d walked away from him without a backward look, while he’d bled from the heart. “It has always been done this way in my land. Zulheil is small but prosperous. It will only stay that way if the people are content. None would hurt me because they know I will listen to their concerns.”
“What about outsiders?” Her hand clenched around his.
He was unable to restrain his smile, seeing in her intent expression echoes of the bright young girl who’d claimed his soul. “The minute a foreigner enters our borders, we know.”
“Your driver tried to convince me this was a taxi.” Her gentle laughter was as light as the desert dawn.
At the happy sound, something deep inside Tariq was tempted to awaken. He had ached for her for so long. Ruthlessly, he crushed the urge. This time, he would not give Jasmine either his trust or his heart. Not when the scars from the hurt she’d inflicted in the past had yet to heal.
“Mazeel is a good driver, but not the best of actors.” He looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps.
“Your Highness.” A familiar pair of brown eyes
regarded him with barely veiled disapproval. Tariq wasn’t worried. Hiraz might let him see his anger, but his loyalty would keep him silent on what mattered.
“You remember Hiraz.” He nodded at his chief advisor and closest friend, allowing the woman in his arms to turn.
“Of course. It’s nice to see you again, Hiraz.”
Hiraz bowed, his manner stiff and formal. “Madam.”
“Please, call me Jasmine.”
Under Tariq’s hand, her back felt incredibly fragile. He didn’t fight the surge of fierce protectiveness that thundered through him. However angry he was with her, Mina was his to protect. His.
“Hiraz does not approve of my plans concerning you, Mina.” His words were a subtle warning.
“Your Highness, I would speak with you.” Hiraz blinked in understanding, but his stance remained stiff. “Your uncle and his entourage have arrived, as have all the others.”
“And he only calls me Your Highness when he wants to annoy me,” Tariq murmured. “It is not the address of our people.” It took an effort to keep his tone even after the blithely delivered message. The arrival of those who would stand witness to the events of this night, brought his plans one step closer to fruition.
Hiraz sighed and relaxed, unable to continue on in such an unfamiliar way. “So you actually did it.” His gaze settled on Jasmine. “Do you understand what he has planned?”
“Enough.” Tariq made the words an autocratic warning.
Hiraz merely lifted a brow and moved aside. He fell into step beside them as they entered the palace.
“What have you planned?” Jasmine asked.
“I will tell you later.”
“When?”
“Jasmine.” His quiet, implacable tone usually commanded instant obedience.
