by Penny Jordan
'Jourdan!' Without thinking Danielle released the door, her eyes flying to the divan, where she half expected to see Catherine's seductive form reclining, even though she knew that the French girl had already left the castle. She had thought that Jourdan had gone with her, and if the truth were known, it was this which had contributed to her own inability to sleep.
Jourdan stood up, his own robe doing little to conceal the potent masculinity of the body be neath it, the deep vee exposing the hair-darkened breadth of his chest, making Danielle's heart lurch betrayingly, as she dragged her eyes away from his tall frame. He had been looking at something which he placed face downwards on the seat beside him, before crossing the room.
'I couldn't sleep.' Danielle explained weakly. 'My sleeping pills were up here.' Jourdan was standing so close to her that she could feel the heat emanating from his body. Her legs suddenly refused to support her and she stumbled towards the seat he had just vacated, dislodging a framed photograph as she did so.
Her shocked gasp mingled with Jourdan's curse, and she reached instinctively towards the floor to retrieve the frame. A shaft of moonlight illuminated the photograph within it, and Danielle stared at it, unable to look away.
'So now you know,' Jourdan said harshly, taking it from her. 'I was in Qu'Har when I learned of my uncle's marriage to your mother. I went to England to try to dissuade him from such a foolish step and instead of doing so, fell headlong in love with a child . . .' His mouth twisted bitterly, pain scored deep in the grooves running from nose to mouth.
'I don't understand,' Danielle whispered. 'That photograph—it was of me ... I remember having it taken. My stepfather . . .'
'Commissioned it at my request,' Jourdan said harshly. 'You were fifteen at the time, growing from adolescence towards womanhood. I told myself I was losing my mind, but it made no difference ... I couldn't get you out of it, and Hassan, of course, did little to discourage me.'
'What . . . what . . . what are you saying?' Danielle demanded tremulously, gasping as Jourdan turned suddenly, his fingers grasping her arms as he dragged her to her feet, his face a mask of pain and self-contempt as he said hoarsely.
'Damn you, Danielle, what are you trying to put me through? You know how I feel about you. I didn't want you to ... I wanted to wait ... I wanted to give you time to get used to me, to come to feel something for me, but Sancerre forced my hand. He knew how I felt all right. . .'
'Philippe? But . . .'
'You love him, I know,' Jourdan said grimly, 'and if you knew how close I've come to killing him because of it! Jealousy is a very powerful emotion—just as love is a very strong one. God knows I've tried to smother my love for you. You were fourteen, for God's sake, and I was already a man, but I wanted you ... It was as though I knew what you were going to be, and wanted the woman I could see growing inside the child. Hassan understood, encouraged me even. He loves you and thought it would be an excellent way of securing your future and Qu'Har's, and I didn't discourage him. I wanted you too much.
'I told myself that once you were married to me I could woo you, teach you to love me in return, and then Hassan told me that you had refused to even consider marriage to me; that you wanted Sancerre. I think I must have gone a little mad. When I discovered from Hassan that you were in Qu'Har, I left Paris immediately. The Sheikha knew how I felt; she helped me ... I wanted you, Danielle, and like a blind fool thought that I could teach you to want me in return. Instead I've stolen from you the right to bestow your love where you wished. I can't say I approve of your choice . . .'
'Can't you?' A deliciously heady sense of ex citement engulfed Danielle. She was sure she must be dreaming. This couldn't be Jourdan admitting that he loved her; had loved her from childhood. This couldn't be Jourdan looking so haggard and drawn; so much the supplicant instead of the arrogant, lordly creature she knew.
'Don't play games with me,' he told her roughly. 'Oh, I don't blame you for wanting your revenge . . . Catherine told me you would; told me about how you and Philippe had planned to run away . . .'
How clever Philippe and his sister had been, Danielle reflected, twisting and turning the facts until both she and Jourdan were convinced that their lies represented the truth.
'Catherine told me that you wanted to marry her,' she said lightly, still not wholly convinced that she wasn't dreaming.
Jourdan made an arrogantly disdainful gesture, his face hardening. 'Never,' he said succinctly, moving away abruptly. 'Now where are your sleeping pills? The midnight hour is not a good one to share confidences, Danielle, because inevitably, when emotions ride high it leads to the sharing of other things . . . things which are often regretted in the sober light of day, and while I hope I am not an animal governed by basic instincts, neither am I a saint.'
'And you really love me?' Danielle queried in a low voice.
'Yes, damn you!' Jourdan ground out, in a decidedly unlover-like voice. 'Now get the hell out of here before I forget all my good resolutions and take you to bed with me!'
He had his back to her, but Danielle made no move to leave, nor to pick up the bottle of sleeping pills he had placed on the window, and she could almost feel the tension stiffening his body as he waited for her to go.
'Danielle.' It was more of a groan than a command, and it took all her courage to meet the look in his eyes. 'This is your last warning,' he said thickly. 'Go now, or face the consequences.'
When she still didn't move he gave a muttered curse and reached for her, his voice raw with a longing which was like a match to her own desire. 'So be it,' he groaned, his arms closing round her. 'But why? As a punishment? Or is it just that that tender heart of yours wants to leave me at least one sweet memory?'
He was lifting her off her feet, carrying her to the divan, his fingers trembling over the fastening of her robe which was discarded with an impatient haste, baring her body to the hunger of his gaze.
'Aren't you going to kiss me?' she asked in nocently.
A hectic flush lay along his high cheekbones, his eyes glittering beneath the thick lashes. His body seemed to burn against hers as he flung off his own robe.
'Danielle.'
It was the hoarse plea of a man who knows he has reached the limit of his endurance and prays that he will not be pushed past it, and Danielle felt his agony as though it were her own, her control breaking as she reached up towards him, her arms urging him impatiently downwards, her body yielding to the fierce heat of his touch.
'Love me, Jourdan,' she whispered against the lips he had clamped shut in a tight line, shivering against him. 'Please love me the way I love you.'
His control broke like the giving of a dam, his mouth hotly possessive on hers, forcing from her a sweet surrender to the passion she could feel rising up inside him.
Not until every inch of her skin had been sens uously explored and worshipped by his hands and lips did Jourdan allow her the freedom to respond in kind, their mutual need to assuage their longing for one another obliterating everything else.
Jourdan's fierce cry of triumph in the ultimate moment of possession reminded her of the first time they had made love, and her body responded paganly to the need to know complete abandonment and fulfilment.
Later when they were both at peace, Jourdan's dark head resting against her breast, his tongue making lazy forays against her flesh, he said softly, 'You little witch. You enjoyed tormenting me like that, didn't you . . . getting me to unburden myself to you . . .'
'Only because I couldn't believe it was really true,' Danielle responded indignantly, loving the feel of his crisp dark hair beneath her fingers. 'I thought you loved Catherine. She told me you loved her. You said you knew how I felt, and I thought you meant you knew I loved you and felt sorry for me.'
'When in reality what I meant was that I knew you loved Sancerre, or thought I did,' Jourdan added wryly. 'For two comparatively intelligent people we were very easily duped.'
'Because we were in love,' Daniell
e said softly, her eyes shining. 'Oh, Jourdan . . .'
'Oh, Jourdan what?' he mimicked lazily.
'Nothing. Just—Oh, Jourdan, I'm so glad we discovered the truth before it was too late. Just think if I hadn't come up here tonight looking for my sleeping pills, we would have gone our separate ways and never known . . .'
'Maybe, and then maybe not. I doubt if, when it actually came to it, I would have been able to let you go,' Jourdan admitted wryly.
'Daddy will be pleased,' Danielle murmured idly. 'He told me that Philippe was exaggerating your murky past and that I wasn't to pay too much attention to what he was saying.'
'Well, it isn't entirely spotless,' Jourdan admitted, suddenly serious. 'Oh, I've never loved anyone else, but . . .' he grimaced slightly, 'there were times when I thought it might be a good idea if I erased your image from my mind, and that's what I tried to do. But never successfully.'
Danielle was too wise to dig more deeply into the past. What was past was past. Jourdan had been a man when she was still a child.
'Are we going to talk all night?' she asked with exaggerated impatience, her eyes wide and mock innocent.
'Why, what alternative did you have in mind?'
The words were tinged with lazy indulgence, but the gleam in the night-dark eyes was far from lazy, and Danielle's pulses raced in answering acknowledgement as Jourdan lowered his head, his voice cool no longer but husky with emotion as he murmured, 'Praise be to Allah, Danielle, for he has given me that which I most coveted, a jewel I shall forever treasure and keep from envious eyes.'
Her own reply was lost beneath the sweetly fierce passion of his kiss, as he drew her down with him into a whirlpool of emotion where nothing existed save their love.
