Devil's Daughter (26 page)

“No,” she said. “I will not try to harm you again.”
She raised her eyes to his face. “I discovered that I am not a murderer.”

“I consider myself fortunate that you have some qualms, my dear. Odd, but you look like a queen when you raise your chin. A very cold queen.”

“I do not wish to fight with you. I wish only to make you understand, to make you believe that my parents are not what you have been told.”

Kamal raised his wine goblet and sipped at the sweet liquid, all the while his eyes narrowed on her pale face. “I’m listening,” he said.

“Lella told me that you lived for many years in Europe, that you are not like other Muslim men, that you are kind.”

“Ah, my sweet Lella. Did you despise her for her defense of me?”

“Perhaps,” Arabella said. “At least I disbelieved her. You have not been kind to me.”

“Would you have been kind to a wild creature who called you vicious names and hurled more insults than my soldiers have scimitars?”

“You had not been held alone in the dark hold of a ship for a week with naught but rats for companions.” She added bitterly, “I suppose I should thank your mother for making me look like a crone, else I would certainly have been raped by all your honorable men.”

“Yes,” Kamal said. “She did show some mercy, did she not? I wonder why. She has been single-minded in pursuit of her revenge.”

Arabella leaned forward to plead with him, but before she could open her mouth, he said, “Likely she didn’t want to take the chance that you would become diseased, and thus harm me. But then, of course, she
could not be certain that all your dalliance at the court had not resulted in the same thing.”

She stiffened, jerking back.

Kamal frowned at the pain he saw in her eyes. “Why do you draw away at the simple truth?” he asked. “Why do you continue to act like the innocent maid? My God, woman, if you wish me to listen to you, you will cease this nonsense.”

Arabella choked back tears of frustration and dashed her hand across her eyes. It was an oddly childish gesture, and Kamal felt an instant of compassion for her. No, he thought, honest with himself, it was tenderness he felt, and it alarmed him.

“I should not have had you brought to me tonight,” he said.

“No. I mean that I wanted to see you.”

She seemed so damned transparent, so guileless. He shook his head, his shoulder reminding him that her guile could fool a saint.

“Why? To plead with me? To charm me into giving in to you?”

“I am not charming, at least with you,” she said, and he flinched at the open candor in her voice, the damned innocence in her eyes.

She drew a deep breath, and her chin tilted upward. “I do not mean to anger you. It is just that I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you want to do, Arabella?”

He watched her eyes widen and her tongue caress her lower lip. It was a sublimely sensual gesture, and he felt his body leap in response. He drew back, knowing it was but another ploy, but toward what end? “Do
you want to bed me? Compare me, the savage barbarian, to your other conquests?”

To his utter surprise, she did not fling angry words at him. She bowed her head in silent submission. His loins tightened and he felt his pulse begin to race. Even as he damned her silently for her effect on him, he rose gracefully to tower over her.

“Come, Arabella, I wish also to compare you to my other women.”

She raised her face to his. Again her tongue moved unconsciously over her lower lip. Her mouth felt dry with fear. “You will not hurt me?”

“Hurt you? I would not hurt you even if that is what pleased you.”

Her eyes went blank at his words.

Damn her. When would she cease acting? He stretched out his hand to her. For a moment Arabella gazed at his hand, at his strong fingers, their blunt tips. Bronze hairs covered the back of his hand, and she shuddered at the image of his hands on her.

She closed her eyes a moment, drawing strength from herself. She had naught but her body, and her body would be all of her that he would possess. He would not touch any other part of her. Slowly she rose to her knees and raised her hand to his. She felt his warmth as he drew her to her feet.

“Your hand is cold, Arabella,” he said, pulling her gently against him.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She felt his arms close around her back.

He held her, lightly stroking his hands down her back. He felt her quiver but knew it was not from desire, not
yet. “Give over, Arabella,” he said against her temple. “I will give you pleasure. It is what you desire, is it not?”

His arms slid over her hips and in a swift graceful movement he lifted her into his arms.

“Your shoulder.”

“I shall survive.”

She forced herself to wind her arms around his neck and lay her face against his shoulder.

Kamal smiled grimly. She was soft and giving now. He eased her down upon his bed and released her. “You are made for pleasure.”

“I do not understand this pleasure you speak of.”

“Do you not?” Why did she continue to lie to him? He stepped back, unfastened the leather belt at his waist, and drew off his white shirt.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Arabella said, raising her hand to touch the white bandage.

Kamal drew back, then sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots. When he rose he was wearing only his trousers. His hands were on the buttons when he chanced to look down at her. He saw fear and embarrassment in her eyes. Did she dislike naked men? He shook his head, suddenly angry with her, and stripped off his trousers. He straightened slowly and watched her eyes fall down his body.

Arabella felt herself go cold at the sight of him. He was more beautiful than any of the statues in the Parese gardens, and more frightening. The golden hair that was sprinkled over his chest narrowed to a straight line down his flat belly, then bushed out at his groin. His sex was swollen, thrust out from his groin, and she could not imagine how he could come inside her.

She was unaware that Kamal was standing quietly watching her reaction to his body.

He sat down beside her, and she tried to pull away, but he pressed her onto her back. She could feel the heat of him. He clamped his arms on either side of her, holding her still.

“Arabella,” he said, and lowered his head.

She breathed in the scent of him, sweet and musky, a heady male smell. She felt his mouth lightly touch her forehead, her eyelids, her nose.

“Touch me, Arabella,” he said against her lips.

Slowly she raised her hands and rested them on his chest. She could feel the steady pounding of his heart beneath her palm. He felt so warm, his flesh smooth. Suddenly she felt his tongue probing against her closed mouth and she stiffened. His hand moved to stroke her throat, then upward to caress her chin. “Open your mouth. I want to taste you.”

She obeyed him.

It was an invasion, relentless but oddly exciting. He probed her mouth, touching her tongue, until she was gasping for breath.

He raised his head and smiled down at her. He ran his fingers along the line of her jaw, back to circle her ears and pull the hair from her face. He looked thoughtful as he smoothed her hair on the pillow, forming a cloud of gold about her face. “Let’s try again,” he said. He lowered his face and this time she didn’t start at the touch of his mouth. She parted her lips this time without instruction from him and felt a jolt of warmth surge in her belly at the touch of his tongue. He said, his warm breath filling her mouth,
“Think of me coming into you as my tongue does into your mouth.”

“You can’t,” she whispered. “You’re too large. You will hurt me.” She felt his body shudder at her words. He stretched beside her, and she felt him pressed against her thigh. “No, you can’t.”

“Hush,” he said. “I am as other men. You know I won’t hurt you.”

Kamal rose upon his elbow to look down at her. She lay very still, her eyes dark as midnight upon his face, deep and questioning.

“Your coloring is fascinating,” he said, stroking his fingertip lightly over her dark eyebrows. “Golden hair, ivory flesh, and eyes as dark as a man’s deepest secrets.”

Slowly his fingers roved down her throat to unfasten the small line of buttons on the flimsy jacket. She raised her hand as if to stop him, then let it fall again to her side.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered.

“Have your other men hurt you? You may be certain that I shall not.”

“You don’t understand,” she began, only to draw in a sharp breath at the touch of warm air against her bare flesh. She turned her face inward to his chest, to hide her embarrassment. She heard a quick intake of breath, and knew that he was staring at her breasts.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, and his voice seemed to come from a great distance. She felt his hand cup her breast, and she jumped. “No, little flower, let me enjoy you.” She stilled, closing her eyes, as if it would blind his vision as well. She felt the strange sensation of her breasts swelling.

“I do not know what—” She felt his mouth close over
her, his lips gently tugging at her, his teeth nipping at her flesh, making her shudder, deep, gulping breaths tearing from her throat. He slipped his arm beneath her, arching her back upward to caress her more deeply.

Kamal raised his head and raised soft kisses on her face as his hands caressed her breasts. To Arabella’s surprise, she heard herself moan. Her eyes flew open and she saw a gleam of triumph in his eyes.

“Please,” she whispered, “do not shame me.”

He laughed softly, and she felt embarrassment hold her rigid. She wanted to strike out at him, and at the same time, her body was trembling, turning toward him. She did not understand herself; she felt her control slipping, her mind becoming vague, her stormy thoughts dissolving.

“I do not want this . . . I do not want you.” She shoved her hands against her chest.

“Do not lie to yourself,” he said, his hand sliding over her ribs down to her belly. “I believe for the first time you are being honest with me.” His fingers pulled at the thin leather belt about her waist. Then the belt was gone and she felt the trousers sliding down her hips. She bucked against him, terrified. He held her firm, throwing a leg over hers to hold her still.

“I will go gently with you. Do not fear me, Arabella. Hush—lie still.” His hand lay quietly in the hollow of her belly. She felt the heat of it searing her, but the ache she had thought building in her abdomen was lower. She tried to bring her thighs together, but his leg kept them slightly apart.

He brought his hand up to hold her face still. He kissed her again, deeply, and when her mouth opened, she accepted him. He sensed it too, and lazily his hand
slid down over her breasts, then lower, to rest again upon her stomach.

“Do not be angry, Arabella. Your body accepts me. In but a moment you will moan again, softly, into my mouth.” But even as he spoke, he found himself wondering at her seeming inexperience. Her fingers clutched at his chest and shoulders tentatively, as if she did not know what would please him.

His hand slid lower, but she didn’t moan, rather she gasped aloud at the feel of his fingers probing until they found her.

“Ah,” he murmured, deep satisfaction in his voice.

“You cannot touch me there, please, you must not—”

“Your lovers have been so remiss? That is the very essence of your womanness, Arabella. You are pushing against my fingers. Do you not enjoy my touch?”

“No.” Arabella didn’t understand what was happening to her. There were sharp, almost painful surges that made her legs stiffen, a swirling of need deep within her. The urgent need receded as his fingers left her, and she wanted to cry aloud for him to touch her again. She felt him exploring her, stroking her inner thighs, touching her intimately. She reared up against him when he slipped two fingers inside her. She heard him draw in his breath.

“You are so small,” he said. “I can feel you stretching for my fingers.” He eased out of her and teased her soft flesh before slipping but one finger inside her.

She tried to pull away from him, but he held her still, and gently began to caress her rhythmically. She felt her moistness, felt the urgent need to give herself over to him. She fought herself, fought against losing herself in this man and giving him power over her. She
shook her head, tangling her hair about her face, but her hands tugged at his arms, moved wildly over him to knead the muscles in his back.

“Please—oh, God—I cannot bear it.” She felt his fingers as white-hot pleasure, burning into her.

“Tell me you want me, Arabella.”

She gazed at him with wild, vague eyes. “I don’t know—please, help me.”

He closed his mouth over hers again, possessing her, the symbolic thrusting of his tongue driving him wild with his own need. He wanted to claim her with his mouth, but something held him back. There was a disturbing innocence about her that he did not understand, and he sensed that she would draw away from him were he to caress her as he wished to. He deepened the pressure of his finger, and saw a darkening passion in her eyes, felt her hips urgent against him.

“Do you want me to give you release, Arabella?”