Lord of the Abyss & Desert Warrior (35 page)

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?

“A
RE YOU BUSY
?” S
HE 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 state
ment 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 him 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.

However, since his trip to Paris, their tiny instinctive gestures of togetherness had disappeared. Now it seemed that Tariq was controlling the intensity of their lovemaking. Though he made love to her without fail, and took care to make sure that she always reached her peak, something was missing. The heady eroticism of their earlier encounters had been dampened.

Why? Jasmine asked herself. Why would he seek to limit their sensuality, the one place where they’d always been in perfect accord? Surely he wasn’t holding against her the fact that she hadn’t welcomed him with open arms the minute he’d returned? She almost shook her head to dismiss that idea. Tariq had apologized to her in his own way, she was sure of that. They’d made their peace.

Then why? The answer flitted just out of her reach.

“That is enough for now, Jasmine.”

S
TARTLED
, J
ASMINE BLINKED
.
Only when she attempted to get up did she comprehend how long she’d been in the reclining position. Reaching over her head with her hands, she stretched in a luxurious curve, feeling muscle after muscle relax.

“I’m going to head off to the shower. See you at dinner,” she murmured.

Tariq looked up. Desire burst into life in the green fire of his eyes. He stifled it almost as soon as it arose, but answering heat rushed over her in reaction to that single searing glance. So, his passion ran as deep as ever. He’d just decided to hide it from her. Relief that he wasn’t truly indifferent to her made her almost dizzy.

“But why would the thought of a shower set it off?” Jasmine muttered to herself. She was in the shower before she figured it out. “Idiot.” She laughed at herself. Tariq was the man who’d made love to her in front of a mirror. The sultry possibilities presented by soap and water would be tantalizing to him. They were already affecting her.

It stunned her that she wanted to be in a shower with her husband. She could imagine the darkness of his hand against her sudsy skin, and almost feel his big body pressing her against the wall. As a result of her imaginings, she stepped out of the shower hotter than when
she’d entered. Her predinner preparations were undertaken in a state of sexual anticipation.

“I have to entice him into a shower with me,” she decided. “Otherwise this fantasy is going to drive me crazy.” She would much rather be driven crazy by Tariq himself.

Midway through brushing blush onto her cheekbones, she paused, hit by a thought that she’d earlier rejected as implausible. Her hair was already secured on top of her head in an elegant knot, with a few loose tendrils around her face. Those tendrils now framed her startled eyes.

“What if he thinks our passion doesn’t affect me with the same power it does him?” One simple fact that she’d always known was that her husband desired her deeply. His hunger was palpable, or it had been until he’d begun to withdraw. Even at his angriest, Tariq had made love to her until she screamed. She tapped her nails on the wood of her dresser in a staccato beat. “I did manage to resist him after Paris, but that was because I was hurting so much, and even then…he could’ve seduced me if he’d stayed another minute.”

However, Tariq didn’t know that. To him, it would appear as if her need was nowhere near the strength of his. To a warrior like him, that would be a blow. It wouldn’t just affect his masculine pride, but would be hurtful. He stubbornly refused to believe in her love, but he’d accepted her passion as real and unfeigned. Jasmine wondered what it would be like if someday she began to believe that Tariq didn’t want her with the same fervor that she needed him. It would rock the one solid foundation in their relationship.

“Goodness.” Her eyes widened in the mirror, bright
with realization. “I have to convince him that I want him, or he’ll just continue to withdraw and I won’t even have our passion to build on.” However, the idea of seducing her husband was daunting. He tended to take charge in bed, and his control was amazing. It was annoying, too. If she was going to lose control, then he could damn well do so, too.

“Hmph. Any ideas?” she asked her reflection.

“Do you always talk to yourself?” The amused question had her spinning around in her seat. Tariq lounged in the doorway between their rooms. For a second, she thought he might have heard too much, but his expression was the by-now-familiar warm and extremely irritating one.

“It’s good for the soul,” she quipped. Out of habit, she went to secure the tie on her robe. Then she noticed the way he was looking at her under his eyelids. If she hadn’t been concentrating, she would have missed it. She changed direction, picked up the blush again and turned to the mirror.

When she leaned forward, she was well aware that her robe parted in the middle, offering an enticing view of the rounded curves of her breasts. Or at least she hoped it was enticing. It would kill her if the reason for him keeping his distance was that he no longer found her sexually compelling.

“Ridiculous,” she muttered. Tariq’s fires were the kind that would burn forever. That was what made him so precious.

“What is?” He moved to stand behind her, hands in the pockets of his slacks. While he normally wore traditional garb, sometimes he preferred Western dress. Today
he was wearing a blue silk shirt and black pants, the solid colors setting off his rugged masculine beauty in vivid relief.

Her nape prickled with awareness of his nearness, supremely sensitive to his presence. The urge to lean back and rest her head against his firm stomach was so enticing that she had to issue a firm reprimand to herself to behave. If she gave in now, her beautiful, arrogant, sexy husband would once again have her screaming in ecstasy while he remained in control.

With that thought to spur her along, she leaned forward a bit more. It seemed that a lot of seduction in her life went on in front of mirrors, she thought, in an effort to fight her anxiety over her sudden decision to seduce a man who’d proved so capable of controlling his physical passion. Ignoring the voice of fear, she crossed her legs in a movement that looked unconscious. As she’d expected, the robe parted over her thighs and slid off the leg on top, leaving her practically naked.

“Oh, I was just thinking about some of the recent designs on the catwalks.” She waved airily and put down the brush, then picked up the lipstick. Curving her lips into a softer-than-normal pout, she began to smooth on the pale bronze with deliberate slowness. It was more of a gloss, which left her lips looking wet and full, rather than a rich hue. She knew her husband preferred to kiss her lips devoid of lipstick, and tonight was about her husband. By the time they got through dinner, the gloss would be gone, but she hoped that by then she wouldn’t need its seductive qualities. Right now, the glistening sheen looked like a brazen invitation.

Tariq coughed and shifted behind her, but didn’t move
away. Jasmine took that as a good sign, but wondered how far she could go. She didn’t want him to guess her plan before she had him safely in bed and at her mercy. She grinned.

“What is so funny?” His voice was rough. She recognized that timbre. Anticipatory heat blossomed in the pit of her stomach. Her heart’s beat turned ragged and needy.

“Homosexual male designers and their ideas about the female body,” she stated with a decisive nod, proud of herself for being able to keep her head while her hormones were in full riot mode. “I mean, look.” She swept her hand over the curves of her breast and hip, lingering just a millisecond too long. “As we discussed before, women are rounded, right?”

“Yes.” He sounded as if he was strangling.

“Then why—” she spread her hand on her bared thigh, drawing his attention to the way the fiery curls at the apex of her thighs were barely covered by the blue satin “—are the latest trends going toward boxes and flat, jagged edges?”

When he didn’t reply, she looked up into the mirror. Before he met her eyes, she gleefully noted the flush along his cheekbones and the heavy-lidded gaze on her thigh. She thought he’d forgotten what they’d been talking about. Wonderful.

“I am sure you are correct in your view,” he said at last.

Nodding in vigorous agreement, she returned to her makeup, aware that he was watching her in the mirror. Keeping a straight face was difficult, but her need to make him feel the same sensual hunger as her gave her
the strength. She took her time finishing her makeup and then stood up and crossed to the wardrobe. To her pleased surprise, Tariq lay down on the bed to wait, his arms crossed behind his head. He reminded her of a lazy panther, all liquid muscle and barely contained strength.

Her scowl only surfaced once she was inside the closet. How was she supposed to seduce him with artless ease if he couldn’t see her? The bed was placed parallel to the dresser and faced away from the closet behind it. That meant Tariq’s eyes were on the bedroom door and she was behind the headboard. Frowning, she pulled an almost-sheer blue skirt off its hanger. The two thin layers of chiffon were just opaque enough for decency, and she’d never before worn the skirt, but today, it was war.

The matching top had tiny cap sleeves trimmed with fine silver braid, and was cut to fit snugly under her breasts, leaving her abdomen bare. She didn’t bother to grab a bra because the top was tight enough, and every time she bent forward, the scoop neck would hint at that revealing fact. Walking out of the closet, she put her clothes down on a nearby chair. She almost shimmied into them in haste, before she suddenly understood exactly how sneaky Tariq was.

Far from not being able to see her, her husband had a perfect view of her in the mirror. Her hands went to the knot of her robe. She heard Tariq shift on her bed, and out of nowhere, a belated wave of nervousness hit her. Playing with him was one thing, but could she actually do a striptease?

Before she lost her courage, she undid the robe and shrugged it off. When she leaned forward to throw it
across the top of the chair, she thought she heard Tariq’s breath hitch. Her own wasn’t too steady, but she kept going. She picked up her panties and forced herself to speak.

“Where are we having dinner?” Jasmine slid on the fragile creation of lace and satin, smoothing it over her bottom with fingers that trembled. She snatched them away before he could notice in the mirror, and grabbed the skirt.

Instead of dropping it over her head, she bent over to step into it. She could imagine the picture she presented, and it was making her blush. She hoped the dimness of the light near the closet concealed that betraying fact.

“I had thought the main dining room with Hiraz and Mumtaz, but I’ve changed my mind. We’ll eat in our private dining area.” Jasmine didn’t miss the possessive edge in his voice. She hadn’t heard it for two weeks. At one time, she’d believed it meant he thought of her as an object. She was beginning to understand that Tariq would always be possessive about his woman, even if he loved her. He was simply that kind of man. His possessiveness and protectiveness were traits that she could get used to, she decided. In fact, they made her feel almost cherished.

“Hmm.” She buttoned her skirt at the side, picked up the top and turned a little so that her breasts were displayed to him, though her face remained in shadow. She decided that she deserved a medal for bravery. Who would have believed that shy, quiet Jasmine would be trying to entice her virile, sexy husband with such an audacious exhibition? Certainly not her.

The top buttoned down the front, so she slipped it on and then did up the row of five tiny buttons made
of white crystal. It was unexpectedly tight across her breasts, which surprised her. However, when she looked down, the line of buttons wasn’t distorted, so it appeared that the design required that final snug fit.

Finally, she stepped into a pair of Arabian sandals that she could easily shuck off. Their private dining area was in essence a room full of huge cushions.

“Almost finished.” She was thankful that the breathy quality in her voice wasn’t too evident.

“There’s no hurry.” He sounded at ease.

Jasmine wondered if she was mistaken and he hadn’t been watching. Walking over to stand beside the bed, she put her hands on her hips and twirled around.

“What do you think?”

He unobtrusively bent his leg at the knee, but wasn’t quick enough to hide the arousal straining against the material of his pants. She swallowed a sigh of relief.

“Perfect.” His mild tone didn’t fool her.

“Hmm, but I think I need some jewelry.”

The stroll to her dresser took every ounce of nonchalance she possessed. She didn’t even glance in the mirror to check her appearance, not wishing to meet Tariq’s eyes and give herself away by accident. From inside the built-in jewelry drawer, she pulled out the fine gold chains that she’d looped over her hips on her wedding day, and put them on. Then she clasped a necklace around her neck. It was pretty but unremarkable, except for the fact that the long spherical Zulheil Rose pendant fell between the globes of her breasts.

“Come on, lazybones, I’m starving.” She beckoned to him and pushed through the connecting door to his room. She could have reached the dining room through the cor
ridor, but she couldn’t resist the temptation of leading him past the huge double bed. The one in her room had never been used, except for the week that he’d been in Paris.

She heard him mutter, “Me, too,” as he rose from the bed. His tone was distinctly bad tempered. She smiled. A starving panther was more to her liking than one attempting to play at being a pussycat.

Her hand was on the knob of the door that led into the dining area when Tariq gripped her waist. Burning heat sizzled through her nerve endings where his hands touched bare skin. His big body pressed her against the door.

“You will wait here while the servants finish.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind helping them.”

His fingers tightened on her skin. “You
will
wait here.” Spinning her around, he sealed her next protest with a hard kiss. Giving her a warning glance, he opened the door. It shut with a click behind him.

Jasmine lifted her hands to her tingling lips. He hadn’t kissed her like that for weeks. She leaned against the wall because her knees felt as if they’d crumple at any moment. The imprint of his hands on her waist was a living touch that continued to burn her skin.

“I guess I can put up with the arrogance this once,” she said out loud, a smile wreathing her face. But she couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t let her enter the room. Then she happened to glance at the mirror. Her jaw dropped.

She almost ran into the other room to cover herself. The skirt wasn’t
almost
sheer. It was absolutely, utterly, scandalously sheer. The outline of her legs was visible
with stark clarity, and when she moved, the cloth revealed more than it hid. To make matters worse, the lace front panel of her flimsy panties didn’t exactly hide anything, either. The gauzy blue of her skirt granted any watcher blatant hints of the dark red curls at the juncture of her thighs.