She meant it as a joke. She could see him trying to see it as such and wondered why it was such a struggle. ‘You are a very brave woman.’ He reached out to touch her face, curling a long strand of her hair around his finger. ‘I am glad we talked.’ He unwound her hair. ‘We leave at first light. You should get some sleep.’
‘Wait. I haven’t finished yet. You wanted to know what it was that made me behave so wantonly, especially when I told you that I know nothing of the arts of love.’
‘You need no artifice to arouse me, I assure you. You did that simply by being yourself.’
‘Really?’
Zafar took her hand and kissed her palm. It was the most fleeting of touches, his lips on her skin, but it sent her pulses fluttering. ‘Really,’ he said.
‘That is most—interesting.’ Her voice sounded breathless. Her mind was racing, thinking outrageous thoughts. The tone of this conversation was becoming more shocking by the second. Even more shocking, Colette was finding it exciting rather than shameful. ‘That is most interesting,’ Colette said again, ‘because that is the main reason I behaved as I did. You being you, I mean. Just kissing you, just being near you, to be honest, I find that I cannot—That I—I’ve never felt like that before and I liked it. A lot, actually, I liked it a lot.’
She paused, trying to order her thoughts, and when Zafar made to speak, she held up her hand to silence him, momentarily distracted at the way he tried to hide his shock at being told to be quiet. ‘I thought that I was never likely to meet anyone like you again,’ she continued. ‘I thought that I would regret it if I allowed modesty, propriety, whatever you wish to call it, to get in the way. After what I’d been through, such things seemed so trivial. In that sense, I suppose you could say I was affected by my ordeal.’
‘Do I have your permission to speak?’ Zafar asked, putting his hands together and lowering his eyes the way she had seen Firas do.
‘Yes, I’m quite finished,’ Colette replied, laughing.
‘Thank you. I am honoured that you feel able to be so frank with me. And in that spirit of frankness I want to assure you that the attraction between us is entirely mutual.’
Relief—not only at having finally been able to confess such intimate truths, but at realising that she was not the woman she thought she was, that the secret pleasures of the flesh were not beyond her reach—gave way to a recklessness in Colette. Having come this far, once again she felt she had nothing to lose. It was a liberating feeling. ‘Have I reassured you that you would not be taking advantage?’
‘You are still under my protection.’
‘But you cannot harm me if you take only what I want to give,’ she persisted. ‘Knowing that I give myself freely to you, that would satisfy your sense of honour?’
‘I...’
‘How long do you think it will take to make the arrangements for my return to France?’ Colette interrupted impetuously.
‘A month, perhaps less. I will try to expedite things—I have contacts—but I will not compromise your safety. Colette, what are you proposing?’
‘What I am proposing, for once in my life, is to do something purely and simply for the pleasure of it,’ she said, and the truth of this gave her confidence. ‘I am proposing that for the next month I occupy your empty harem and you—you induct me into the arts of love.’
He stared at her for so long she began to wonder if he had understood her. ‘What I mean is, Zafar—’
‘You are propositioning me!’
‘I suppose you’re going to tell me that’s against protocol, but you did say that you wished to talk to me as a man and not a prince.’
‘You are not asking me to believe it is any more common in your culture, surely, for a woman to proposition a man? No, don’t answer that. I know it is not. You are quite outrageous, Madame Beaumarchais.’ He was laughing, though he was trying not to let it show, but his eyes were sparkling and his mouth was trying desperately to curl up at the corners.
‘I am sure I could learn to be much more outrageous, under your tutelage,’ she said, allowing the silk cover to slide enough to reveal her shoulders, the faintest glimpse of her breasts.
Zafar, she was pleased to note, was momentarily distracted but did not, she was also pleased to note, allow his eyes to linger. ‘Are you serious?’ he asked.
‘Very serious. When I return to France, it will be to a rather more mundane life.’ Which was putting it mildly, Colette thought, recalling just how pitiful Leon’s pension was. ‘I will never again have such an opportunity to indulge my senses. In a royal palace. With a prince. In his harem.’
‘With this prince. In my harem.’ Zafar’s smile, like his eyes, had a tigerish quality. ‘I only hope I can live up to your expectations.’
‘From what I saw at the oasis, I think there can be no doubt of that,’ Colette said, risking a meaningful glance.
‘Something, chérie, for which you must take all the credit.’ Catching her unawares, he leaned across the divan and kissed her swiftly. ‘I think you have a natural talent for this,’ he whispered, nipping the lobe of her ear. ‘It is a talent I would very much like to explore, but not tonight.’
Zafar got to his feet and picked up his headdress. ‘If you are still as certain when we arrive in Kharidja, then it will be my pleasure to accept the challenge you offer. And, I very much hope, to our mutual satisfaction. Bon nuit.’
He pulled the curtain of the tent closed behind him. She could see his shadow as he sat guard, as he would sit guard all night. Colette blew out the lamp and settled down on the divan. Tomorrow she would be inducted into her brief career as a concubine. She could think of nothing that would have scandalised Leon more, save the fact that she knew without a doubt that she would enjoy every single second of it.
Chapter Five
Kharidja was built around an enormous oasis. Irrigation allowed orange and lemon groves, vineyards and olive groves, and palm trees heavy with dates to flourish, creating a vibrant green contrast to the golden desert sands. The palace stood perched on a hill overlooking the city. Four large battlemented towers connected by high walls protected the inner buildings, which glittered white under the fierce heat of the sun above. At the gatehouse the caravan split, with the majority heading through the outer courtyard to the stables and servants’ quarters. Firas jumped down from his camel, handing the reins to one of the house servants, and immediately hurried off, presumably to his office.
Alone with Zafar, Colette stared about her at the tinkling fountains, the refreshing leafiness of the plants, the gold, green and blue mosaic of the floor. Above the walls of the courtyard the palace loomed, more beautiful and much larger than she had imagined. At the highest point stood a minaret, the brilliant blue, gold and green tiles that decorated it sparklinglike jewels. ‘It is truly lovely,’ she exclaimed.
Noticing the shocked look on the guards’ faces, she realised she ought not to have spoken to Zafar in public thus. Managing just in time to bite back an apology, she instead dropped her head and tried to look suitably respectful. Now she thought about it, no one had looked Zafar in the eye. In fact, several people had thrown themselves in front of his camel in obeisance, despite his impatiently signalling that he wanted them to do no such thing. She began to realise the extent of the liberties she had taken with his person and wondered, not for the first time, what it was he saw in her that made him tolerate, even encourage, such impertinent behaviour.
‘Come,’ Zafar said, ‘I will show you to your quarters.’
She walked in his wake, through the door at the far end of the courtyard into another, much more elaborate courtyard containing a huge pool with a fountain at the centre. Following him around the pillared terrace at what Colette thought was a respectful distance, she began to feel quite intimidated by the majesty, the power and the wealth that this enormous palace represented.
‘There is no need to walk like a servant.’ He stopped, waiting for her in the next doorway.
‘The guard
s were all staring at me when I spoke to you.’
‘Because you are a foreigner. And a woman. You are my guest, Colette, not an inferior.’
‘I feel very inferior.’ She clutched the cloak she wore over her borrowed tunic more closely around her. ‘I hadn’t expected this to be so grand. It is as big as Versailles.’
‘Don’t you like it?’
‘It’s beautiful. Truly beautiful,’ she said as the courtyard opened out into a high room adorned with so much gold leaf she blinked, ‘but I can’t help but feel under observation. There are so many guards.’
Zafar laughed. ‘These are the public rooms. In the private rooms, one can be quite alone. Let me show you.’
She felt as if she had been walking for miles when they came to the huge oak door of the harem. ‘No eunuchs,’ she said half-jokingly.
‘Another custom I have outlawed. No key either.’ Zafar pulled the door open and ushered her in. ‘Your harem, Madame Beaumarchais, which has not been used since my father’s day. I trust that the rooms have been adequately prepared. I am afraid I must leave you to explore them, but I will return to take dinner with you in a couple of hours. If there is anything you require, just ask Barika.’
She had not noticed the maid hovering at the far end of the courtyard, which was smaller than any she had so far passed through and much more domestic, with cushions strewn around the little fountain and a table with chairs set in the shade, upon which was a tall silver pitcher of iced tea.
Her basic Arabic and the gentle maid’s intuitiveness made the next two hours very pleasant indeed. After the reviving mint tea, Colette luxuriated in a sunken bath sprinkled with rose petals. In the adjoining bedchamber, she found to her delight a selection of clothes, gauzelike pantaloons and tunics in silk, chiffon and satin all in dazzling jewel colours, kidskin slippers decorated with seeded pearls, scarves and cloaks and headdresses. ‘How?’ she asked the maid in wonderment.
‘Highness’s orders,’ Barika replied with a smile. ‘The seamstresses worked all night. You like?’
‘I love.’ Wriggling into a pair of pantaloons made of coffee-coloured chiffon threaded with gold, pleated and tied at the waist with a gold sash, pulling the matching tunic over her head and staring at her reflection in the tall looking glass, Colette barely recognised herself. Her hair was glossy from the special treatment Barika had given her. She looked exotic, sultry. ‘Like a concubine,’ she said, laughing.
The maid, however, shook her head. ‘Like a princess. A beautiful princess.’
The courtyard door opened and Zafar entered, followed by a procession of servants bearing large silver-and-gold salvers. Once the feast was laid out to their master’s satisfaction, the servants emptied out of the harem. The nerves that had been banished by the novelty of her situation flooded back, making Colette feel slightly queasy. Since Zafar had accepted her audacious proposal, they had not been alone together. Now they were quite alone, and in a harem.
‘Our native dress suits you very well,’ Zafar said, seemingly quite at his ease as he sat down on the cushions beside the low table where the food had been set out.
‘I should thank you for being so thoughtful.’
‘It’s nothing. Won’t you join me?’
She perched awkwardly on a cushion, wishing she had his easy grace. ‘The food looks delicious.’ She doubted she’d be able to eat a thing.
‘Are you hungry?’
‘Honestly?’ She forced herself to put aside the cushion she had been hugging to herself. ‘I’m too nervous to eat.’
‘We don’t have to do anything other than eat. If you are having second thoughts...’
‘No.’
‘I would understand. It is one thing to discuss such an idea, another to face the reality of it in cold blood.’
Her blood didn’t feel at all cold now that she looked at him, but she wondered if he was referring to himself. ‘If you have changed your mind...’
‘No.’ Zafar reached over to touch her knee. ‘The clothes are a gift. You do not owe me any obligation.’
‘I know. I didn’t think that for a moment. I’m just—It is simply that I don’t know what to do.’
She only realised she had been clutching the cushion to her again when he reached over and removed it before holding out his hand and drawing her to her feet. ‘The only thing you have to do is relax and enjoy,’ he said softly. ‘Let me show you.’
He caught her up, holding her high against his chest, and carried her to the bedchamber, but instead of laying her down on the divan, Zafar set her down in front of the looking glass. ‘What do you see?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Tell me, who is this person in the mirror?’
‘Colette Beaumarchais.’
Standing behind her, he shook his head impatiently. Her body was framed by his in their joint reflection. He wore a flowing robe in royal blue, the high neck and cuffs braided and embroidered in darker shades. The simplicity of the tunic drew attention to the muscled form of the man beneath it, the stern, handsome face above it. ‘In our culture, the body is a temple of delights. In order for you to enjoy them, to share your body with a man, you must first learn to love it yourself.’
He bent over to brush a kiss on the top of her head. ‘When I look at you in the mirror, I see a beautiful woman who has not yet learned to appreciate her beauty.’
‘I’m not beautiful. Please, Zafar, there is no need to pay me compliments. I would far rather you were honest with me.’
‘I am not complimenting you, I am telling you what I see.’ He brushed his hand down the length of her hair and wound a long tress around his hand. ‘When I see your hair like this, I think of how it would be spread across my pillow. I think of how it would be wrapped around my wrists, manacling me to you. I imagine how you would be naked, with your hair caressing your breasts, your back, the curve of your spine.’ As he spoke he stroked her, trailing a path over her breasts, down her back.
‘You think your breasts are too small,’ he said, cupping them in his hands, ‘but they are incredibly sensitive. When I touch you like this, I can see from the way your eyes change colour, from the flush on your cheeks, what effect it has.’
He stroked her nipples with his thumbs, back and forward, back and forward, through the silk of her tunic. Beneath the filmy fabric she could see them puckering in the mirror, saw too the flush of her arousal on her cheeks, the way her eyes darkened, just as he said.
‘Now, I see a woman who is ready to be pleasured,’ Zafar said, pushing her hair back to nibble on the lobe of her ear, pressing tiny kisses onto the tender skin at her nape, returning his attention to the front of her tunic, slowly undoing the row of tiny buttons that fastened it. The tunic parted, and Colette gasped, closing her eyes on her nakedness.
‘Look, ma chère, do not hide from your beauty,’ Zafar urged. ‘See how lovely is this curve.’ He ran his hand from her cheek down her neck across to her shoulder. ‘And this one.’ His palms flattened on each of her sides down to the indentation of her waist. ‘And this one.’ Spread out over the curve of her hips. ‘There is nothing more beautiful than curves. Your slenderness makes them all the more alluring. Do you see?’
She was beginning to. The creature in the mirror didn’t look a bit like her, but then, Colette could not remember ever examining herself naked in such a way. Zafar was untying the sash that held her pleated pantaloons together. She wore nothing under them. Even now, she could see the outline of her legs, the shadow of her sex, beneath the chiffon. The pantaloons slid to the floor, leaving her naked, and this time she did not close her eyes. Behind her, Zafar was staring at her reflection as if mesmerised. His eyes too had darkened, his cheeks too were flushed with desire. She could feel the length of his arousal pressing into her back.
He spread his hands over her thighs and pulled her back against him in a rocking movement. ‘I dream of you wrapped around me. When I see you like this, your skin so pale against my own, your shape so soft
and pliant against mine, I can think only of what it would be like to be inside you, my hardness melded, enfolded by your softness. I think of your flesh, so cool yet capable of heating mine to boiling. I look at you and I see fire and ice, hidden pleasures waiting to be explored. Do you see it, Colette? Do you see yourself as I do?’
Holding her firmly against him, his shaft a solid weight in her back, Zafar covered her sex with his palm, sliding one finger inside her. She moaned, saw her refection moaning and moaned again.
He withdrew his finger and put it in his mouth. ‘You taste as delightful as you look.’ He cupped her sex again, sliding his finger inside her, over the heat of her, slowly circling, then took her hand and placed it under his. ‘My pleasure is your pleasure,’ he said.
She was shocked. He made no move to force her, merely covering her hand. ‘It is your body, chérie. You should learn to love it. Explore it.’
Tentatively, she touched herself, doing as he had done, sliding in, over, circling. She was so wet. Again, she touched herself. Zafar’s breathing quickened as she did so. Their reflection showed his eyes fixed on her hand, his face dark with desire, his hands gripping her hips, rocking her back against him. She touched herself more boldly, roused by her own touch, by his watching her, by her watching him.
‘My pleasure is your pleasure.’ His words in her voice, husky and sensual, made her smile, and her smile too was sensual. Who would have thought? Confident now, and too taut, too close to the edge to stop, she slid her fingers deeper inside herself and began to stroke harder, feeling her muscles tighten. Zafar’s grip on her tightened, the gentle rocking of their bodies echoing each stroke, until she was so tense she could hold on no longer and came, crying out, panting, held firmly against him, as the waves of her climax shook her to her core.
When it had passed, she was astounded to find herself still upright, still gazing in the mirror, the woman reflected there wild-eyed and sated, the man behind her...
How to Seduce a Sheikh Page 4
