by Penny Jordan
'You are as timid as the gazelle that grazes by the oases,' he mocked softly. 'Your eyes are those of a timid, hunted creature. Where is your bravery now, daughter of Hassan? Am I not only a man—only flesh and blood, whose heart beats even as yours does. Can't you feel it beneath your fingers?'
Her hand was trapped and spread against the warmth of the flesh beneath the thin gown. She prayed desperately that someone would come and rescue her from this nightmare situation, and as though he read her thoughts Jourdan said sardonically, 'No one will come to rescue you. These are my private quarters. Think upon this, daughter of Hassan. Should I choose to show you exactly what it means to know my possession there is none to gainsay me; none to overhear your timid virgin cries . . .'
'I am not a vir . . .' Danielle began, but he swept aside her words with a husky laugh.
'You lie, Danielle. If it were otherwise you would know without my having to tell you that a man finds piquantly attractive the thought of a girl whose body is as the most perfectly concealed courtyard. Indeed, I am surprised that Sancerre has not already told you this.'
'What makes you think he hasn't?' Danielle retorted, wishing she had the courage to press harder against the hard warm chest beneath her splayed fingers, and thus free herself, although, of course, whatever puny effort she might make to escape would be swiftly quelled by the iron-hard arm circling her waist.
'Because had he done so, he would not merely have told you in words,' was the calm reply. 'And your fingers would not tremble so timidly against my flesh, nor your eyes widen with fear of the unknown when I touch you thus . . .'
Danielle gasped and stiffened as her robe was pushed carelessly aside and lean fingers cupped her breast. Beneath the caftan she was wearing only tiny lacy briefs, having been persuaded by Zanaide that her taut youthful breasts needed no extra support.
Her heart hammering like a drum, she felt her mouth go dry, her frantic thoughts protesting that this could not be happening, that this careless, arrogant stranger could not be sweeping aside all her defences and caressing her breast in this intimate fashion.
'How young you are! And how foolish.' Jourdan's voice seemed to have deepened, his touch mockingly sure as the tiny loops fastening the front of the caftan were released, and Danielle's panicky protest was lost beneath the pressure of his mouth as it descended to hover threateningly over hers before its cool mastery was forcing her stunned senses to assimilate emotions and sensations completely outside all her existing experience.
Beneath his tormenting fingers she felt her breast swell and harden, her mouth parting irreasistibly for the demanding insistence of his tongue as it slid moistly over her lips, her whole body becoming pliant with a sensation that made her feel as though she were unable to do anything bu give in to the strange power he seemed to have over her.
When his mouth left hers sanity returned and she tried to push away from him, but his lips were sliding from her throat downwards, his voice husky with mingled mockery and laughter as he murmured.
'Be still, daughter of Hassan, lest I take your inexperienced squirming for a plea to know that complete possession of which you are at once so innocent and so scathing.'
'Let me go!' Danielle demanded breathlessly, conscious of hurried breathing and thumping heart, but Jourdan ignored her, his lips continuing their downward path until they came to rest for a heart-stopping moment against the smooth curve of her breast. Shocked, Danielle froze, only to gasp and tremble as his fingers curved warmly against her breast and his mouth closed over the tender pinkness of her nipple, savouring its burgeoning arousal and encouraging it until Danielle felt weak with the throbbing pressure of her own body, and horrified by the overwhelming sensation of pleasure radiating all over her body from the place where his mouth was caressing her flesh.
When he moved and straightened she all but collapsed, and would have fallen had his arms not come round her with lazy amusement.
'What has shocked you the most?' he asked her laconically, casually fastening her robe. 'What I did or how you felt?'
'I felt nothing,' Danielle lied vigorously, 'Unless you count my revulsion . . .'
'Revulsion?'
For one hideous horror-filled moment Danielle thought he wasn't going to release her, but then to her relief he stepped backwards, his hair gleaming under the light, his eyes brilliant with sardonic amusement.
'Oh no, little one, I can't be challenged in that fashion, and besides, I am too tired to begin the initiation of a virgin tonight, although I confess it would be intriguing to lie with you in my arms on a bed of satin cushions and remove the layers of prudery and pride with which you think you have so successfuly protected yourself.
'Come, show me that you are not such a child as you appear, and admit that my touch was not . . . unpleasant . . .'
'Unpleasant? Oh no, it was not unpleasant,' Danielle gritted, fear and anger igniting to push her beyond the bounds of caution. 'Rather it was degrading, insulting, revolting and totally and completely repulsive!' she stormed at him, turning tail and running back down the stairs before he could reach out for her.
At the bottom of the first flight she paused to get her breath, listening for the sound of him behind her, but only silence had followed her.
She descended two more flights at a more de-corous pace, and then discovered where she had originally gone wrong. Zanaide was waiting for her in her room. 'The Sitt is late,' she began anxiously, but Danielle silenced her, explaining that she had got lost.
'I thought Jourdan was in France ,' she added.
'The Sheikh has returned this very evening,' Zanaide told her, paling a little as she eyed Danielle's flushed face. 'The Sitt did not take the staircase to the Sheikh's private quarters in error?'
'Unfortunately, yes,' Danielle admitted dryly.
What had happened to her on the stairs refused to be banished to the far recesses of her mind; her heart was still thundering and her breast still throbbed betrayingly, but she wasn't going to discuss with anyone else what had occurred, even someone as sympathetic as Zanaide.
'The Sheikh Jourdan is very handsome,' Zanaide confounded her by saying, 'and very much a man. To lie with him would surely bring great pleasure. He is not of our faith and for this reason must only take one wife. Many of the Sheikha's family wish that he would choose from amongst their daughters, for he is powerful and wealthy . . .'
'He is arrogant and domineering,' Danielle said through gritted teeth, 'and I don't want to hear one more word about him.'
'The Sitt does not find him attractive?' Zanaide asked, plainly puzzled.
'About as attractive as a snake,' Danielle muttered as Zanaide helped her off with her caftan. 'And twice as dangerous!'
When Zanaide had gone and she was alone in her room, compelled by some strange inner prompting Danielle slid out of bed and moved like a sleepwalker to the mirror-lined dressing room, where she slowly stepped out of her night-dress and studied the pale, glimmering shape of her naked body, one hand going instinctively to cup the swelling breast which was somehow no longer completely part of her, but seemed to have developed an alien life of its own, a life summoned into being by Jourdan's knowing touch. A sound suspiciously like a sob broke the silence of the room. Danielle reached frenziedly for her night-gown, unable to bear the sight of her naked flesh and know how it had betrayed her, willing herself not to remember with such vivid clarity exactly how it had felt to have Jourdan's lips tease her nipple into erect obedience and the pleasure which had followed.
CHAPTER FIVE
the following day was so busy that Danielle wasn't given the opportunity to brood. As soon as she had breakfasted on fresh rolls, honey and hot sweet coffee she was hurried downstairs by Zanaide and out into a large courtyard where a large black Rolls purred softly in tune to the gentle fall of water from a fountain into a basin.
A white chauffeur wearing a dishdash opened the door for her and Danielle slid obediently inside, to sit next to the Sheikha, who greeted h
er with a kind smile.
‘You slept well, daughter of Hassan?' she asked.
Danielle nodded wishing she could pluck up the courage to ask the Sheikha to call her by her own name; 'daughter of Hassan' roused too many memories she would rather leave sleeping, and she could feel her body tensing as they surfaced.
'It is the normal practice for the silk merchants to visit the palace when we choose new clothes,' the Sheikha explained. 'They normally come once a month-an occasion of great excitement for my household, when everyone gathers in the audience room. My daughters-in-law join us also with their households, and we spend the day choosing fabric and drinking coffee.'
'It sounds fun,' Danielle murmured politely, but it was obvious that she had not deceived the Sheikha, because the older woman gave her a shrewd glance, and signalled to the driver to close the panel which separated the driver and escort seated in the front of the Rolls from the Sheikha and Danielle in the back.
'When women live as we do, we must make our own pleasures,' the Sheikha said firmly. 'And you must not despise us for those pleasures, Danielle My daughters-in-law all have university degrees, all are fluent in English and French, and all run large households, but it is the rule of our religion that the sexes may not mingle freely, and a rule to which we adhere.' Her face relaxed a fraction and the smile she gave Danielle was comprehensive and understanding. 'It sounds harsh to you, I know, but it is less so than it seems. My husband, although not as forward-thinking as Hassan, does permit us to have lectures and slides on topical subjects, to that we are all well versed on inter-national matters. We have stimulating debates for those of us who wish to sharpen the mind, and if all these pleasures are restricted purely to our own sex, is it not really a little hypocritical of Europeans to take less pleasure in them for that, for surely if stimulating company and discussion is the sole object of debate and discussion, it is an insult to one's own sex to presume that their company is less pleasurable than that of a man.'
The Sheikha was a skilled debator, Danielle acknowledged. And in essence what she had said was quite true, However, what she objected to most was not the lack of male company, but the lack of free choice.
When she said as much to her companion, the Sheikha shook her head and smiled.
'You think this is so, but it is not. One may have the company of one's husband, or one's father . . .' 'But only at their discretion,' Danielle said bitterly.
The Sheikha's eyebrows rose.
'And you think it beyond a woman's powers to ensure that a man—especially her husband— enjoys her company; treasures the precious moments he may spend with her like an oyster guarding pearls. Shame on you, Danielle! Your Woman's Lib has robbed you Europeans of your faith in your own ability to attract and hold, something which our girls know almost from the cradle. A woman can make her husband's life heaven or hell if she chooses; a wise women chooses to make-it heaven, for when there is harmony in the home there is happiness in the heart. You underestimate your own sex, I think, Danielle,' the Sheikha concluded. 'Do you not have a saying, "The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world"? Think upon the truth of those words.
'Now,' she said briskly, changing the subject, 'Kadir will drive us down al Muhammad Street
, so that you might see the new buildings our family are erecting. There is the new library,' she announced, pointing out a gleaming new building, built on Eastern lines and extremely attractive. 'And next to it the medical college and the hospital. Hassan has told my husband that we must educate our sons for the day when oil will no longer reign supreme, and to this end many new industries and technologies are being developed, but these are all concentrated on an area several miles away from the capital. Later we shall take you to see the other side of the town which lies along the coast. Beyond it are beaches and a small island which used to be the centre of our pearl industry.'
'Do men still dive for pearls?' Danielle asked, intrigued.
'A few, but they are mainly Europeans,' the Sheikha replied with a certain amount of dry humour. 'It is a dangerous occupation and a brief one, and unless one finds pearls of perfect colour and shape a poorly rewarded one.'
Their driver turned off the main arterial highway and down another dual carriageway with a centre aisle planted with flowering shrubs and discreetly placed street lights from which hung flowering baskets.
'You are admiring our flowers,' the Sheikha commented. 'They are indeed a pleasure to all of us, especially those of us who can remember when all this was arid desert. It is the work of my brother,' she added proudly. 'With Hassan's encouragement he has built a large desalination plant which provides water for the growing of food, and enough surplus to permit us to grow grass, trees and flowers in our city. Truly to the Arab there is no more miraculous sight than those growing where once there was only sand. It is a mark of how far we have progressed that our children merely accept this miracle without wonder.'
Either side of the road stretched impressively facaded shops filled with a mouthwatering assortment of goods, especially jewellery, but it was in front of a discreet, small establishment up a narrow street that the Rolls eventually stopped.
Their escort was in uniform and armed, and Danielle shuddered when she saw his gun.
'It is better to be safe than sorry,' the Sheikha told her gently, seeing her expression. 'These are dangerous times in the Middle East . Qu'Har is a very small and a very rich country, without a strong guiding hand on the reins it could all too easily be torn apart by our powerful neighbours, should they so desire. But today is not the day for serious discussion,' she added, smiling again. 'To do so will cloud the colours of the silks, and spoil their beauty.'
To Danielle's relief the guard remained outside while they entered the shop. To Danielle's surprise, a woman came forward to attend to them, nothing servile about her as she prostrated herself before the Sheikha and then rose with one lithe, swift movement.
Danielle gasped when she saw her face. She was ono of the most beautiful women she had ever seen, her complexion flawless.
'Zara, this is Danielle, daughter of Hassan,' the Sheikha said by way of introduction. 'Danielle, Zara is my cousin, and what you would perhaps call a career woman, is this not so, Zara?' she appealed, obviously enjoying Danielle's patent astonishment.
Zara laughed.
'My cousin the Sheikha teases you a little, I think, Danielle. It is true that my father permits me to buy silks and run this shop, although of course I only attend the ladies of the palace ... I am fortunate in having such a generous and understanding family,' Zara continued on a more serious note, 'for otherwise I must surely have lost my senses. My husband was killed in an explosion at the oilfield a week after we were married. I was eighteen,' she told Danielle briefly, her eyes clouding. 'As I had no children to comfort me, no will to live without my husband whom I had loved since we were children, Jourdan suggested I start this business. I believe his suggestion saved my sanity and my life. He is a very generous and understanding man.'
'And also a very attractive one,' the Sheikha said, so wryly that for a moment Danielle's heart almost stopped beating. Jourdan was all male animal; she knew that, and Zara was an extremely beautiful woman. Could she be his mistress? Or should she say, one of his mistresses?
She wasn't given time to dwell on the matter, Zara gave a brief command in Arabic and two girls appeared carrying bales of silk which were placed on the low table surrounded by silk cushions.
'Please sit down, Danielle,' Zara offered. 'One of my girls will bring us coffee and then we shall settle down to the serious business of choosing silks.'
'Do you require anything my cousin?' she asked the Sheikha, who shook her head. Danielle envied the way the other two women could sit so com-fortably cross-legged, while her muscles protested violently at the position, and she knew she looked nowhere near as elegant and relaxed as her two companions.
A shy young maid brought coffee which they drank, while more bales of silk were brought to th
e table and when, and only when the coffee cups were removed did Zara assume her business manner and start describing the silks, pointing out those she considered most suitable for Danielle.
'The green with the gold embroidery, and the bronze . . . There is also an amber, a good shade for one of your colouring, and of course yellow.'
In the end the Sheikha insisted on purchasing half a dozen different silks for Danielle, which she told her would be made up by the palace dressmakers.
'Many of our women now prefer to buy their clothes in Paris and New York , but personally I think there is nothing quite as nattering as the caftan.'
'It is very exotic' Danielle admitted, fingering a bolt of pretty turquoise silk embroidered with tiny crystal beads. 'But I should be very reluctant to put away my jeans for ever.'
'We have yet to purchase perfume for you, and shoes,' the Sheikha announced when they had taken their leave of Zara. 'The shoes will be made especially for you at the palace, but perfume blending is an art best left to the experts, and we must visit the suk another day for that. We of the East are great believers in the value of perfumes. Correctly used they can greatly influence the senses, more than you may imagine. You have a saying amongst the men of your country, "At night all cats are grey." Is this not so? However, in our country it is believed that a woman expresses herself as much by her perfume as her personality and that because of it she is instantly recognisable to those who know her even clad in her robe on the darkest night. We take pride in wearing our scent, knowing it to be an important way of expressing ourselves.'
On their return to the palace Danielle was tempted outside into the courtyards she had been told were specifically for the women. After making sure she was wearing an adequate amount of barrier cream and having declined Zanaide's offer to accompany her she went out into the courtyard, walking at first beneath the shady clumps of palms and along the bougainvillea-smothered cloisters before venturing out between the intricately paved paths to sit by one of the many ornamental ponds and watch the multicoloured carp basking by the lily pads. The courtyard was an oasis of peace in what was obviously a busy household, and Danielle had it to herself. No expense had been spared in its construction, and each direction one looked delighted the eye with fresh pleasures. Tiny humming birds darted in and out of the creepers, moving so fast that one only had to blink to miss them; doves cooed softly in the background and the strident call of a peacock somewhere in the distance barely disturbed the drowsy peace of the afternoon.
