Lord of the Abyss & Desert Warrior

by Nalini Singh

  LATER, WHEN JASMINE HAD forced herself to ask, Aunt Ella had taken pity on her and told her about Mary. Apparently, in order to avoid any hint of scandal, Mary had moved to America after Jasmine’s birth. She’d never returned. The people who’d raised Jasmine, Mary’s older sister, Lucille, and her husband, James, had already had two children, Michael and Sarah, and had been unwilling to take on another, until they’d been given a financial incentive. Yet they’d gone on to have another child of their own—a beloved younger son named Mathew.

  That day, Jasmine had been slapped in the face with the fact that any care she’d ever known had been bought and paid for. Searching for someone to love her, she’d written to Mary, saying hello. The response had arrived on her thirteenth birthday, a cool request to make no further contact because Mary had no wish to be associated with a past “indiscretion.”

  An indiscretion. That’s all Jasmine was to her birth mother. And to her adoptive mother she was bad blood. Neither Mary nor Lucille had been able to love her. Today, she was forced to accept that the lack hadn’t magically disappeared. She was still unloved. Still unwanted.

  THE NEXT DAY, JASMINE decided there was nothing to be gained by crying over something she couldn’t change. Despite the hurt that existed inside her like a living, breathing creature, she forced herself into her workroom and picked up the scissors she’d dropped the day before.

  She had to do something until she figured out how to handle the situation with Tariq, the man whom she’d married in a blind haze of love. Perhaps she’d made the biggest mistake of her life, but she didn’t want to think about that now. Neither did she want to think about the way her old fears and insecurities had tormented her last night.

  An hour into her work, she heard a telephone ring, but ignored it. There was a knock on her door a minute later.

  “Madam?”

  She looked up to find one of the palace staff at the door. “Yes, Shazana?”

  “Sheik Zamanat wishes to speak with you.”

  Jasmine’s throat locked. About to ask Shazana to tell Tariq that she was busy, she recognized the possible consequences of asking a loyal staff member to lie, and nodded.

  “Please transfer the call to this phone.” She indicated the one near the door of the turret.

  Shazana nodded and left. The phone rang seconds later. Jasmine stood up and walked over. She picked up the receiver…then hung up. Heart thudding, she hurried down the hallway, into her bedroom and out into the garden. The phone rang again just as she escaped. She hid under her tree.

  It was cowardly to hide from Tariq but she couldn’t bear to talk to him, couldn’t bear to hear the voice that she’d dreamed about for years rip her to pieces with the painful truth about her inadequacy. Last night, she’d believed that all her illusions had been destroyed, but today she realized she couldn’t face the total loss of hope. Not yet. Not yet.

  Perhaps an hour later, she emerged and made her way back to her workroom. There was a message on the table by the phone. She picked it up with shaking hands. It instructed her to call Tariq at a given number.

  “Go to hell!” She crunched the note into a ball and threw it into the wastebasket, then began to work on the top she was making. Her movements were jerky and uncoordinated, as for the first time, anger began to simmer under the hurt and sorrow. So Sheik Zamanat expected her to come to heel when he hollered? She almost stabbed the material with her scissors. He was about to learn that his wife was not some toy he could throw aside and pick up whenever he felt like it.

  TARIQ HUNG UP THE PHONE for the fourth time. He was annoyed by his wife’s subtle rebellion, but another, more dangerous emotion threatened. That emotion would not let him forget the naked pain in Mina’s eyes when he’d last spoken to her.

  After so long, the anger and hurt he’d ruthlessly controlled for years had shattered its bonds and lashed out. When Mina had voiced her love, he’d felt as if she’d torn open wounds that had barely begun to heal. The almost unbearable pain had sprung from a need that he didn’t want to accept. It had caused him to say things he shouldn’t have.

  Guilt was not something he was familiar with, but pangs of it had been stabbing him since the moment Mina hadn’t appeared on the balcony to bid him goodbye. His sense of loss had shaken him. He felt as if he’d damaged something fragile between them. Only angry pride had kept him from returning to her.

  But Mina didn’t hold grudges. Once he spoke to her, she would return to normal. And the next time he picked up that phone, he would talk to her.

  JASMINE FELT AS IF SHE was getting ready for a knockdown, drag-out fight. She’d ignored Tariq for two days. At first, it had been blind instinct, an attempt to save herself from rejection. She’d had enough of that in her lifetime. Later, when she’d calmed down, she’d realized that she needed some time and distance to sort out her feelings. Tariq had given her a rude shock, waking her up forever to the fact that the man she loved was not the man she’d married.

  Did she love this Tariq?

  Her mind wasn’t completely made up, but her anger refused to be ignored any longer. This time, Tariq would get an answer to his call. A call that came as soon as dawn was breaking over Zulheil. She picked up the phone on the second ring.

  “Prized possession speaking.” It slipped out without thought. She was horrified, but just a little proud of herself.

  There was complete and utter silence on the other end of the phone. “I am not amused, Jasmine,” he said finally.

  “Well, since I’m not a comedienne, my ego isn’t too badly wounded.” Sitting in bed, her legs hanging off the edge, she felt the simmering anger start to bubble. “Did you have anything to say or did you just ring to remind me of my place?” Where had that come from?

  “You are being obstinate.”

  “Yup.”

  “What did you expect when you returned?” A thread of anger crept into his so far calm tone. “That nothing would have changed? That I would lay my trust in your lap?”

  “No. I expected you to have forgotten me.” It was a cruel truth. “But you didn’t. You took me and you married me, giving me a place in your life. How dare you now treat me like…like an object? Like something to scrape off the bottom of your royal shoe? How dare you?” Tears threatened, riding the crest of her anger.

  “Never have I treated you as such!” His response was a harsh reproof.

  “Yes, you have. And you know what? I don’t want to talk to a man who treats me like that. I could almost hate you. Don’t call me anymore. Maybe by the time you get home I’ll have calmed down. Right now, I have nothing for you. Nothing!” It was the raw pain of her emotions speaking.

  “We will talk when I return.” His voice held a note she’d never before heard, a note she couldn’t understand.

  Jasmine hung up the phone with shaking hands, surprised by her own outburst. She’d planned belligerence, but had ended up ripping apart the shields protecting her heart. She hurt. And yet it felt cleansing. She was worth more than this treatment. She might not be loved but she was worthy of respect.

  Something her husband might never give her.

  I COULD ALMOST HATE YOU.

  Tariq stared out at the cobbled streets of Paris, Jasmine’s words ringing in his head. He was used to being adored by her, being the center of her attention, as he’d been since their first meeting. He’d never considered being with a Jasmine who didn’t treat him that way.

  He didn’t like the sensation. Not when his need for her ran so deep that he missed her every moment she wasn’t by his side. He’d only survived the four years without her by working night and day, striving for mindless exhaustion. Her laughter and affection since her return had been a balm to the hunger inside him. Now she was furious with him.

  He’d underestimated the woman she’d become. A woman who apparently felt things more deeply and wildly than he’d given her credit for. She’d always had quiet feminine courage, but this was the first time she’d dared to rebuke him for his acti
ons with such blunt honesty. He finally listened to the inner voices he’d been ignoring, accepting that she’d changed dramatically from the Jasmine he’d known.

  That Jasmine would never have hated him.

  That Jasmine had also walked away from him.

  If he opened his heart just a little, what would this Jasmine do? Would she treat him with the same disregard she’d shown four years ago or…? The possibilities were as intriguing and as tempting as the evocative scents borne on the Paris winds.

  But first, he’d have to win Mina back. She was his. She wasn’t allowed to hate him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HE’S in the courtyard?” Jasmine cried, shoving her hands through her tumbled hair.

  Mumtaz shrugged her delicate shoulders. “I persuaded Hiraz to delay him so I could warn you.”

  “But it’s Friday night. He wasn’t supposed to be back until Monday!”

  Heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway. Mumtaz’s eyes widened. “I must go. I wish you luck.” She slipped out the door. Jasmine heard her say something to Tariq.

  With a muted cry of frustration, Jasmine secured the azure silk robe around her waist. It was too late to change. She didn’t want to greet Tariq wearing a robe that hit her midthigh, with her hair loose around her shoulders, but the doorknob was turning. Quickly, she settled onto the stool in front of her dressing table and picked up her brush. At least this way, if her legs collapsed, he wouldn’t know.

  She heard Tariq enter the room and close the door. Her fingers tightened convulsively around the carved wooden handle of the brush, but she continued the smooth, full-length strokes, ignoring his presence. She felt him move until he was standing behind her. He leaned forward and put both hands on her dressing table, one on either side of her, effectively caging her with his body. She kept brushing her hair, though she couldn’t feel her fingers anymore because they were shaking so hard. She didn’t look in the mirror, avoiding the trap of green fire that awaited her.

  “How’s your throat infection?” He reminded her of one of her earlier excuses, not referring to the last painful call.

  “Much better.”

  “I can hear that. And you’re feeling well?”

  “Yes.” She tried to avoid touching her head to his chest. Every time she moved an inch away, he leaned closer, until she was on the edge of her stool with nowhere to go.

  “Good. I was worried, as you seemed to be sleeping so much when I called.” Though his tone was calm, she knew he had to be furious. He wasn’t a man used to being reprimanded.

  And she wasn’t ready to face his anger. Despite her bravado, she didn’t hate Tariq. Her feelings for him were raw and undefined, but they didn’t come close to hate, and their depth and promise scared her. What if she began to love him even more deeply than she had all these years?

  The heat of his body seemed to surround her. She wondered if he’d subtly moved. It was becoming difficult to continue to brush her hair, because with every stroke, she touched him. She chanced a peek at his arms and saw that he’d lessened the gap between them. He was wearing a blue shirt, his jacket discarded.

  He reached out, took the brush from her nerveless fingers and put it on the dresser. Then he tucked her hair behind her ears, baring her face. She froze as he stroked the knuckles of one hand down her cheek in a simple but powerful caress, reminding her of the times he’d done that after they’d made love. She curled her fingers into fists and gritted her teeth against the response he could call forth so easily. The memory of his parting gibe helped, but it wouldn’t hold up forever against this gentle persuasion.

  “Will you also refuse to talk to me now that I am home?” He continued the lazy caress.

  “I’m talking to you right now.” She was overjoyed when her voice didn’t break.

  “No. You are answering my questions and hiding yourself from me.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “You are very angry with me, my Jasmine?” The husky timbre of his voice was close to her ear, his body almost totally enclosing her. “You have not calmed down?”

  “I’m not angry.” Her heart thudded hard against her ribs. The anger had long since burned out, leaving behind a residue of hurt so deep she felt ravaged.

  He kissed the lobe of her ear. A shiver raced through her. She couldn’t disguise the instinctive reaction, but neither did she do anything else.

  “Ah, Mina, you cannot lie. Come, look at me. Welcome your husband home.”

  His words were an unwanted echo of his commands before he’d left. “Do you wish to have sex? If you’ll move, I’ll get on the bed.” Dark and violent emotions rose in her throat, daring her to release them. She stifled the urge, refusing to let Tariq see just how badly he’d hurt her when he’d brought her deepest fear to the surface and given it form.

  His body turned to stone around her. She could feel his muscles tensing as if to strike. He drew back so fast that she nearly fell off the stool, unbalanced. She’d barely got herself grounded when he lifted her and stood her in front of him. In bare feet, she only came halfway up his chest. Startled, she almost met his eyes but managed to fix her gaze on his shoulders.

  “Mina, do not do this. You know you will turn into liquid fire in my arms.” He curved one hand over her hip and used the other to cup her cheek, but didn’t force her to look up.

  “Yes, I know you can make me pant at any time.” She swallowed the lump in her throat as she repeated his taunt. A taunt so true it made her cry inside. If he touched her much longer with those sensitive fingers, she’d shatter like fine crystal. Something wild and needy in her recognized his touch and wouldn’t let her pull away. “I’m not going to fight you.”

  He growled at her response and pulled her into a bruising embrace, holding her head against his chest. Jasmine had to fight every instinct she possessed not to respond. Her hunger for him was a clawing being inside her. She reminded herself that she was prized but not irreplaceable. Not irreplaceable. He felt only momentary lust when he touched her. When she remained stiff, arms at her sides, he released her.

  “Go to bed, Jasmine.” He sounded tired and defeated. Leaving her standing in the center of the bedroom, he pushed through the connecting door and into his room.

  The door shut with a quiet click.

  Out of nowhere, exhaustion slammed into Jasmine. Dreading this confrontation, she’d barely slept the past five nights. Still wearing the silk robe, she crawled under the blankets. However, a sense of loss kept nudging her awake. She knew it was a lie. She’d never had anything to lose. Still, she wanted to go to her husband and hold him…soothe him.

  “No.” No, she wouldn’t give in to the need, when he clearly saw nothing wrong with his treatment of her. Respect, she repeated to herself. She was worthy of respect.

  TARIQ THREW HIS BALLED-UP shirt across the room. She’d denied him! He’d never expected that from Jasmine. He had relied on her generous nature to forgive him. Time and distance, and Jasmine’s passionate anger, had made him regret his cruel words. That day in her solar, he’d allowed the wounded beast inside him to speak, full of years of pent-up anger and pain. It would have been better to keep that uncontrollable part of himself locked up.

  He’d been feeling instead of thinking, and the words that had slipped out had been weapons aimed at his wife. More than that, they’d been untrue. He had four years of midnight awakenings to attest to the fact that she was irreplaceable.

  What if the damage was irreversible? What if Mina did hate him? Her body had been so stiff in his embrace, her lips so silent. She’d been like a small creature frozen in front of a predator. The painful image forced him to accept that what he’d felt from Jasmine hadn’t been anger or a need for revenge, but…hurt. His temper vanished in the face of that truth. He had hurt his wife, his Mina. There was no satisfaction in that knowledge, only disgust at himself. She was his to protect. Even from himself.

  For the first time in an eternity, Tariq was uncertain
about his next act. A sheik could rarely indulge in indecision, but it appeared that a husband had plenty of opportunity to do so. He knew he’d acted badly, but he wasn’t a man accustomed to asking for forgiveness. With a sound akin to a growl, he stalked into the shower, his mind on the small woman with big blue eyes next door.

  FAMILIAR HANDS, ROUGH BUT gentle, stroked the naked line of her spine. Jasmine frowned, sure that she’d been clothed before sleep, but in this dream, skin touched skin. A kiss on her nape, on each vertebra, possessive hands grasping her hips… She moaned and turned onto her back, welcoming her lover. When he pressed his lips to her breasts, she arched into him. Waking thoughts merged with hazy dreams as her fingers tangled in thick silky hair. A beard-roughened jaw angled across her breast. She shivered and the spot was immediately kissed.

  “Tariq,” she whispered, awake and aware. It was too late to stop her response. Her whole body was open in invitation. Jasmine sighed and gave in to the inevitable. Whatever he said, whatever he did, he was hers. How could she possibly deny him when he touched her as if she was precious?

  When he kissed her, she returned his kiss joyously, unable to hide how much she’d missed him. He shuddered against her and broke away to drop kisses across her breasts. Under her fingers, his shoulder muscles bunched as he moved down her body, dropping a line of kisses across her stomach and flicking his tongue over the indentation of her navel.

  Shivers racked her body as he found an unexpectedly sensitive spot. Her reaction made him repeat the quick caress. Her stomach muscles clenched and her hips jerked upward without conscious control. Pressed so close, she could feel his heartbeat in the pulse of his body.

  She parted her thighs for him without prompting, but he didn’t rise to possess her. He lifted her left leg and placed it over his shoulder. Her sensitive skin burned from the heat of his body. Then he rubbed his rough jaw across the tender skin on the insides of her thighs.