by Nalini Singh
She gasped. “Tariq, please.”
He soothed the roughness with his tongue, sending her nerves into further disarray. Then he repeated the whole process with her right leg. Just when she thought that she could feel no more pleasure, he dipped his head and bestowed the most intimate kiss of all upon her.
She screamed and would’ve squirmed away, but his hold on her hips kept her in place as he slowly, and with great care, introduced her to this shatteringly intimate form of loving. His only aim was her pleasure.
With the tiny slice of her brain that was functioning, she knew this was Tariq’s apology. Her warrior was adoring her body, cherishing her response. He couldn’t say the words, but he was showing her that she was more than an object to satisfy his lust. How much more, she didn’t know, but even the depth of her hurt couldn’t survive against this kind of tenderness.
She clutched handfuls of the sheets and gave herself up to his caresses. Once more, she gave her heart and soul to Tariq, her vows to keep him at bay disintegrating into dust. She felt the change in him immediately. His intense, concentrated caressing continued, but his shoulders were no longer so tense under her thighs, and his hands were anchors rather than vices forcing her to stay in place. And then she couldn’t think. She found the kind of freedom that she could only find in his arms and splintered on the wings of pleasure. He held her until the tremors subsided and then gently entered her, as if unsure of his welcome.
Tears pricked her eyes at his hesitation. He wasn’t acting the autocratic despot now. The silent question delivered the final blow to any lingering hurt. She deliberately clenched her inner muscles and held him prisoner, telling him without words that he was wanted, needed, loved. At the same time, she curled her arms around him and dropped kisses across his shoulders. With a groan, he began to move.
“Welcome home,” she whispered, just before she crested the highest pinnacle of desire for a second time that night.
A long while later, she gathered enough confidence to ask, “Why did you return early?”
Tariq spooned her deeper against him and dropped a kiss on the curve of her shoulder where it met her neck. “The trade agreement was completed earlier than expected.”
“Did you…” She began to ask him about the agreement, then stopped, unwilling to be rebuffed. He’d loved her with fire, but she was afraid that she’d be waking up beside the cool, reserved stranger he’d become after Zeina.
“What, Mina?”
“Nothing.”
He was silent for a while and then said, “Zulheil now has a contract with several Western states that will allow our artistic products to cross their borders without duty.”
She took the olive branch, prepared to meet him halfway. “Why artistic products?”
“Zulheil’s jewelry and other artistic products are highly prized. They are our third biggest export. The agreement goes both ways.” He chuckled, warming her heart. “They think their goods will flood our markets, but they’re wrong.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because, Mina—” he squeezed her with unexpected playfulness “—we have had such an agreement with the United States for years.”
“Really? But there’s no mass-market stuff in your streets.” She snuggled into him, her head pillowed on his arm.
“My people are used to the best handcrafted goods. The riches of the land are shared by all. The cheap things they send are never bought.”
“You’re snobs.”
Her husband shrugged. “But we are rich enough to be so.”
His unrepentant reply made her laugh. She couldn’t temper her responses to him when he let his shields fall. “So you’re getting the best of this bargain? Why don’t they know about the experience of the Americans?”
“Nobody likes to admit their mistakes. What would it look like if the world’s biggest power had been… I have lost the word.” He paused, waiting for her.
“Conned?” she suggested cheekily.
“Yes. It would not look good for them if they were seen to have been conned by a tiny sheikdom from the desert. A poor, primitive people.”
She laughed so hard that she cried. “Primitive!”
When she’d stopped giggling, Tariq bit her lightly on her shoulder to catch her attention. She turned into his arms, aware that she’d capitulated too easily, without waiting for words of apology to banish her heartache. But she’d always known that Tariq would never humble himself in such a blatant fashion. He was too much the desert warrior for that. For now, his incredibly tender loving was enough.
It was a start.
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, Jasmine sat on the edge of her Zulheil Rose fountain, listening to the cool splash of the water and the quiet sounds of the birds. Kept awake by her newly reinvigorated demons, she’d made the decision to leave Tariq sprawled in bed, and face them. Face them and defeat them.
First, she accepted that she’d never truly been loved. Not the way she needed to be loved.
Perhaps if she’d chosen Tariq four years ago, he might have learned to love her like that. Perhaps. However, back then, she’d been young and needy compared to Tariq’s strength and confidence. While he’d cherished her, he’d also been her caretaker. Her love for him had been deep and achingly true, but it had been the love of a girl growing into womanhood. Tender. Easily bruised.
Though her hurt had made her doubt her feelings, since she’d come to Zulheil her love had matured and grown, fed by her awakening emotions for the man Tariq had become. All vestiges of the youth were gone, but in his place was a man of integrity, power and charisma. A man who touched her with tenderness that turned her heart inside out. A man who was, quite simply, magnificent.
She loved this Tariq with an intensity that even his anger couldn’t destroy. This love was tougher and gave her the courage to look behind his remarks, to the pain she’d caused. This love gave her the strength to fight for her lover.
From the first day she’d arrived, Tariq had been demanding. Now, she saw that as a gift. He no longer thought of her as a girl to be protected, but as a woman who had to confront her mistakes.
That was the first truth. The second was that she still wasn’t loved. And that terrified her. Her naive belief in her ability to reach Tariq with her love had been smashed beyond repair that day before Paris, and she couldn’t face that kind of torment again. She’d been rejected so many times in her life that once more might break her. So, while she would continue to fight for her sheik’s trust, she wouldn’t do it by offering him her heart…or betraying her hunger to be loved in return.
“I THINK WE’RE GETTING somewhere,” Jasmine said to Mumtaz two weeks later. They were browsing in an art supply store in Zulheina. “He’s talking to me.”
“Talking about what?”
“Business, mostly.” She was drawn to the easel in the corner.
“Hmm, that is good, but what about your relationship?”
Jasmine ran her fingers down the polished wood of the easel. Perfect. Leaning down, she picked up several prepared canvasses and stacked them on the easel. Tariq had always liked to prepare his own, but these would do for a start.
“I don’t want to ruin it by pushing.” She wandered over to the oil paints and began selecting tubes. Phthalo blue, burnt umber, viridian hue…
“You are waiting for something?” Mumtaz absently added titanium white to Jasmine’s collection.
“I want some sign that… I can’t explain it.” Ever since his return from Paris, Tariq had treated her with kid gloves, keeping an emotional barrier between them. He didn’t hurt her with his anger any longer, but conversely, she couldn’t breach his shields to teach him to trust in her again.
This lukewarm companionship was simply wrong.
Nothing had ever been lukewarm between them. Their love had been a blaze and their separation pure pain. Even the anger and hurt between them was jagged and sharp enough to draw blood. The sudden change in his behavior mystified her.
; “Do not worry about explaining. Simply do what you must.” Mumtaz squeezed her hand.
“Good advice, I think.” But, Jasmine thought, what could she do to breach the wall her enigmatic husband had erected?
“ARE YOU BUSY?” SHE PEERED into Tariq’s office. At the sound of her voice, he looked up from his desk.
“You are always welcome, Jasmine.”
She ignored the desire to rile him just to get him to respond with more heat. What sane woman would prefer an angry, simmering lover to a friendly, warm one? She had to be insane, because she definitely favored honest fury over a gentle illusion. At least then she knew his emotions ran deep.
Pushing aside those disturbing thoughts for the time being, Jasmine ducked out and picked up the pile of purchases and put them on his desk. The easel she left outside, unwilling to spoil his surprise.
“What is this?” He tugged at the string around the brown paper wrapping.
“A present. Open it!” She moved around to his side and perched on the arm of his chair.
He frowned and immediately curved one arm around her waist. “You will fall in such a position.”
“Here.” She wiggled and fell into his lap. “Now open it.”
He seemed nonplussed by her unexpected cuddling. When she pushed at his hands, he picked up his letter opener and cut the string. His body stilled around hers when he saw the canvasses, paints and brushes.
“I know you’re busy,” Jasmine began, before he could talk himself out of it. “But surely you can find an hour each day? Think of it as doing something for your sheikdom.”
He raised an expressive eyebrow at that.
She smiled. “A workaholic sheik will become stuffy and stressed out, and of no use to his people.” She ignored his snort of disbelief. “You used to paint as a way to relieve the stresses of the day. Why not try that again?”
“My responsibilities—”
She stopped him with a hand on his lips. “An hour. That’s not too much to ask. And I’ll help you.”
“How?”
“I’m sure I can do something to lighten the load for you. Filing? Summarizing reports? I’m smart, you know.”
He chuckled at her earnest words and his shoulders subtly relaxed. “I know you are smart, Mina. I’ve always known that. All right. You may assist me and you must also sit for me.”
“You’re going to paint me?” She sat up on his lap, excited. “Will it be a nude?”
He frowned at her impudence. “Such a painting would never be seen by the world and would be burned upon my death.”
Jasmine kissed his cheek, delighted by his acceptance, and scrambled off his lap before he could stop her. “There’s an easel, too.” She collected the materials. “I’ll put this in a corner of my workroom and come back to help you.”
She ended up spending the rest of the day with him, reviewing reports. He told her she could leave at any time, but when she saw the amount of work that required his attention, she was more than happy to sit down and dig in.
One of the reports gave her an unwelcome shock. “Tariq?”
He raised his head at her sharp tone.
“It says here that the sheik can have more than one wife.” Her brow furrowed.
Tariq’s lips twitched a little. “That is an ancient law.”
“How ancient?” She didn’t intend to share her husband. Ever.
“Very. It is a historical oddity. Both my grandfather and my father had only one wife.”
“Your great-grandfather?”
“Four.” It seemed to her that his eyes were bright with withheld amusement. “Do not worry, I believe I have only enough stamina for one wife.”
“I’m going to get this law repealed,” she declared.
“The women of Zulheil would salute you. It only applies to the sheik, but the law seems to threaten Zulheil’s modern image, some say.”
Jasmine nodded, her fears soothed by his practical words. At least another wife was one problem she wouldn’t have to contend with. She settled back to work. There was, she discovered, a kind of quiet satisfaction in helping her husband bear some of the burdens he carried on his shoulders.
“Enough, Mina.” He stood up and stretched, his powerful body drawing her attention.
She’d been sitting on the sofa in one corner of his study, curled up. Putting aside a report, she stood and stretched as well, loosening tight muscles.
“You may regret your offer.” He came to stand by her. “I find your summaries excellent. I will conscript you often.”
Pleased by his compliment, she smiled and put her hand in his. “Good. Now let’s go before someone else catches you.”
Today, for the first time, she’d realized just how many people thought that Tariq was the only one who could possibly provide an answer to their problems. Often they turned up in person. Hiraz and Mumtaz deflected a lot of them, but some were insistent. The relaxed system of government in Zulheil astounded her. However, it appeared to work fantastically well for the small and sparsely populated land.
“Would you protect me, Jasmine?” His smile said he found that a ludicrous idea, given that he was twice her size.
“I think you need someone to run interference. Mumtaz and Hiraz have trouble because they’re not seen as royal.” She was serious about her observations. “But I am. I could deal with most of what they came to you for, leaving you free to take care of bigger matters.”
Tariq was ominously silent. She looked up to find him staring at her, his expression thoughtful.
“I mean, if you want me to.” She was suddenly uncertain. A lifetime of never being good enough tended to overcome her efforts at self-confidence. “I know I’m a foreigner…” With a corner of her mind, she shoved aside the secret that threatened to float to the surface. She didn’t want to think about that now, not when her husband was looking at her with eyes that held something close to tenderness.
Tariq stopped her with a finger on her lips. “You are my wife. I have told you that my people have accepted you as such. What about your designing?”
“I wanted to speak to you about that,” she said. “Would my having business interests damage the royal image?”
He shook his head. “I have many such interests. You wish to develop your designs?”
“I was thinking of a small fashion house. One that markets to the retail sector, but has no shops of its own.”
“You will do well.” His answer was just a simple statement of confidence in her abilities, yet it filled her with immense joy. No one had ever believed in her.
“But, much as I’ll miss not giving the majority of my time to design,” she ventured, “I think it’ll have to slip into second place.”
“Second place?”
“As your wife, my place is here, with you.” She didn’t betray the love driving her decision. Until she was sure of Tariq’s feelings for her, she’d keep that beautiful emotion to herself. Another rebuff, even a gentle one, would tear her to pieces. “My designing will have to be like your painting. Something I do for myself, after serving our people.” It was a sacrifice, but one she made willingly. By marrying Tariq, she’d accepted that the country’s needs would sometimes come before her own. And Tariq needed a partner who could bear some of the many duties of a leader.
Approval glimmered in his eyes. She was encouraged. It was time for her to grow up and accept the responsibilities that came with being the sheik’s wife. He hadn’t pushed her, allowing her to do as she wished, but her place was with him.
“If you wish to do this, then I accept.”
Jasmine smiled and leaned closer. The slight tensing of his body was his only response. By the time they got to her workroom, he was relaxed again. She frowned in thought.
“I’ll work here,” Tariq announced.
She looked up, her introspection momentarily interrupted. Tariq was gesturing to the semicircle of windows in the southern end of the room. The light was brilliant in that corner. She nodded and helped hi
m set up.
“Now, you’ll recline on this.”
Jasmine dutifully stretched out on the plush red chaise longue that he’d dragged opposite his easel. Before beginning to paint, he put a cushion under her elbow to prop her up. She knew that he never bothered with sketches, preferring a light watercolor outline on the canvas itself.
He was, she thought with pride, very, very talented. She cherished the tiny painting that he’d given her a month before they’d separated. It was a Zulheil seascape that he’d painted from memory to show her his homeland.
“You’re frowning.”
She smiled. “Better?”
“Hmm.”
For some reason, his masculine murmur reminded her of her earlier thoughts. Tariq appeared to find physical affection from her somewhat disconcerting. No, perhaps that wasn’t the right word, she thought, stopping herself from frowning again. It was more that he seemed to be taken by surprise. He didn’t reject her touches, he just didn’t seem to expect them. She carefully thought back over the past weeks, and then over the six months they’d spent together four years ago.
Tariq had always loved touching her. Though a highly sensual man, he liked to touch as a gesture of tenderness, as well. He’d been autocratic and reserved with everyone else, but with her, he’d been very affectionate. Conversely, she’d been used to the repressive formality of her own home. It had taken him months to make her comfortable enough in his presence to risk even the simple touches that he’d taken for granted.
“Mina.” Tariq’s disapproving look made her aware of her frown. She shot him another cheerful smile and waited for him to return to his paints. Once he did, she relaxed.
Since she’d come to Zulheil, he’d touched her often. For the first turbulent weeks, it had mostly been sexual and erotic. She’d understood that he wasn’t ready to trust her with his affection. But in Zeina, it had been like being in heaven. After spending so much time pressed together on the back of a camel, their casual touching had merged seamlessly into their lives.
