SILK AND SECRETS (34 page)

Ross unwound his cravat and tossed it toward his coat. As he did, his white shirt gaped open at the throat, exposing curling sandy hair. Catching an unexpected glimpse of what was usually covered was disquietingly erotic, and Juliet had trouble wrenching her gaze away. The tumult she had experienced when her husband was taken had left her emotions raw, and she knew it would take very little to fracture what was left of her control.

Unaware of her reaction, Ross subsided into the cushions, his expression fine-drawn as a medieval painting of a suffering saint. “The amir did say rather jovially that while he would not release Ian’s bones, he was willing to send my bones instead.”

She shuddered. “His sense of humor is as revolting as the rest of him.”

“I can’t say that I found his jest very amusing myself. He is a most exhausting gentleman to visit,” Ross remarked. “Since my mission to discover Ian’s fate has now been accomplished, I asked permission to leave Bokhara. That set Nasrullah off on another tirade, the gist of which was his wanting to know why I disdained his hospitality after all he had done for me. Three ambassadors had come from Herat saying he should execute me, yet he had not listened to them. How could I demand to leave when he had treated me like a brother?”

“As I recall,” Juliet said tartly, “he slaughtered four of his own brothers. Or was it five?”

“The number varies depending on whom you ask.” Ross rested his head against the whitewashed wall. “In my most tactful manner—Mother would have been proud of me—I said that I was deeply grateful for his generosity but that my father is old and frail and if I am absent too long, I might not see him on this earth again.”

“That at least is true.”

Ross cocked an amused eyebrow at her. “I am not averse to using the truth if it will serve. At any rate, my statement mollified the amir a little, which is surprising in light of the general belief that he poisoned his own father. After allowing that aged parents should be respected, he asked in a hurt voice if I would rather leave Bokhara without honor and in disgrace, or with honor and filled with favor.

“Naturally, I expressed a preference for leaving with his majesty’s favor—it seemed the politic thing to do. Nasrullah said that if I was patient, I would soon be free to go with his blessing. Then he spun on his heel and disappeared through the curtains and my audience was over. Shahid was most disappointed to have to escort me back here.”

Juliet buried her face in her hands, her body shaking with chill even though the night was warm. Ross had been lucky tonight, but it sounded as though Nasrullah might just as easily have ordered his execution. Luck never lasted forever. “Do you think the amir will grant you permission to leave?”

There was a long pause before Ross said in a neutral voice, “He has nothing to gain by keeping me prisoner.”

That was true. But since the British had suffered setbacks in Afghanistan, Nasrullah might equally decide that he also had nothing to lose by executing his “guest”—and it was well known that he despised Europeans.

Raising her head, she said in a choked voice, “Tell me the truth, Ross. You think we’re going to die here, don’t you?”

He met her gaze without flinching, and in his stark eyes she saw that he had accepted the likelihood of his own death. “I almost certainly will,” he said quietly, “but you and the rest of our party won’t be stopped if you try to leave. I think you should all go with the next westbound caravan.”

Perhaps Saleh and Murad should, but Juliet could not imagine abandoning her husband while he was alive. She looked at him hopelessly, her throat tight. Ever since they had met in Persia, she had held herself away because she could not bear to become intimate while knowing that he would inevitably leave her. There could be no future for them, for if by some chance Ross did want her back as a wife, she would be forced to make an impossible choice between living a lie or revealing an appalling truth that Ross would never forgive her for.

But now they truly had no future. The shadow of death had narrowed time down to this instant, this infinitely precious shower of moments. What did consequences matter when life could be measured in hours or days? “Time is running out, Ross,” she said, her voice laced with anguish. “Let’s not waste what little we have left.”

The atmosphere changed, becoming as charged as the wind before a storm. Ross became utterly still, his brown eyes shocked and wary.

For a moment Juliet thought he did not understand her oblique words, or, infinitely worse, that he was rejecting what she offered. Burying all her pride, she said, “You have every right to despise me. But if for tonight you can pretend to forget the past… if you still want me, for passion or solace or even anger…” knowing that she was doing this as much for herself as for him, she stretched out a pleading hand. “… I am yours to do with as you will.”

She did not know whether she could bear it if he refused her—but he did not. Instead, face taut, he wordlessly reached out and caught her hand in his.

As soon as their fingers touched, all the passion that simmered between them flared to stunning life. They came together with fierce inevitability, mouth to mouth and body to body, with none of the hesitation of new lovers.

It had been mad to speak of forgetting the past, for recognition of Ross’s touch was imprinted on every fiber of Juliet’s being. She would know his kiss anywhere, in the darkest night, the most distant land. Dizzy with reunion, she felt as though they had stepped off a precipice and were falling out of control into some strange new land.

An instant later she realized that they were literally falling, tumbling the short distance from the divan to the Turkoman carpet, with Ross absorbing most of the impact when they hit. They stayed locked together as they rolled across the floor in a flurry of fabric and tangled limbs, coming to a halt at the foot of the bed. Neither would interrupt the embrace, for bruises were unimportant compared to the overwhelming need to meld into one space, one flesh. Violent emotions demanded violent expression, and they kissed feverishly, their bodies grinding together in a frenzied attempt to unite.

They were tearing at each other’s clothing when Ross abruptly went still, then pressed his face against Juliet’s neck while he inhaled in ragged gulps. When his breathing had slowed a little, he pulled away and stood. “I’ve waited a dozen years for this. We’re going to do it right.” Bending over, he grasped her hands and effortlessly lifted her to her feet.

All that mattered to Juliet was that finally they were together again, and details of technique seemed irrelevant, but as she opened her mouth to protest, he drew her into his embrace. “Slow down, my lovely vixen.” Holding her motionless against him with one arm, he stroked a gentling hand down her head and back. “You’re like an armful of lightning—exciting, but moving too fast for full appreciation. Though we may not have much time, at least we will have tonight. As you said, let’s not waste it.”

For an instant she resisted, for her body ached to join with his. But Ross was right: their reunion demanded something more caring and more memorable than a frantic coupling that would be over in minutes. She had always loved the fact that he had the strength of wisdom and patience, so different from her own reckless temperament.

Forcing herself to relax, Juliet melted into his embrace. “If I am lightning, you are the rod that brings me back to earth and saves me from self-destruction.” She pressed her lips to his throat, taking the time to savor the salt flavor of his skin, the intimate pressure of his beating pulse. With her tongue she felt the rate increase; it was gratifying to know that his control was neither effortless nor unlimited.

He gave a long sigh of pleasure before reluctantly stepping away. “The first thing to do is remove all these clothes.” Deftly he unwound her tagelmoust and dropped it on the floor, then pulled the sheathed dagger from her sash. “You won’t be needing this.” Knife and sash joined the pile on the carpet.

Lifting her braid, he untied the ribbon at the end and ran his fingers through the bright tresses until they spilled freely across her shoulders. “This is how I thought of you most often,” he said softly. “With your hair blazing across the pillow like fire. Guli Sarahi, the flower of the desert.” He buried his face in the heavy silken mass, his warm breath caressing her throat.

“I hated my hair until I met you,” she whispered. And because Ross had loved the outrageous color and uncontrollable curls, she had never cut it since they met.

He submerged his hands in her thick locks and began massaging her scalp with his fingertips. Juliet let her head fall forward onto his shoulder while sensual pleasure rippled through her. There wasn’t a single part of her body that didn’t love Ross’s touch, and he knew it.

After a delicious interval, she decided it was time for another kiss and raised her face, but he said, “Not yet.”

Since Juliet was not wearing her mantle, the next item of apparel to go was her long robe. She raised her arms as Ross lifted it over her head, leaving her standing in her loose trousers and the vest she wore to flatten her breasts.

Then he halted, his arrested gaze fixed on her chest. At first she didn’t realize what the object of his attention was. Then she remembered. Her cheeks flamed and she put a protective hand over the ring suspended around her neck on a gold chain.

Undeterred, he extricated the ring from her nerveless fingers. There was no need to ask what it was, for it was Ross who had placed that golden band on her hand on their wedding day. Inside were engraved their names and the date of their marriage. Juliet had taken the ring off several weeks after she had left him, but she had worn it on the chain ever since, except for brief occasions like the night they had dined at Serevan and she had worn a low-necked dress.

He studied the simple band, turning it in his fingers as if expecting it to vanish from his grasp. Then he raised his sardonic gaze to hers. She knew instinctively that he would not say anything; equally clearly, she knew that she must, even though the meaning of the ring was blatantly obvious. Quietly she said, “There was much that I didn’t want to forget either.”

“Good.” His expression both wry and tender, Ross released the ring and transferred his attention to the quilted cotton binder that covered her torso. It was fastened by four small string bows down the front. He undid the first and peeled back the fabric panels, then bent over and pressed his lips to the cleft revealed.

Juliet gasped, and her knees began feeling buttery. Without haste, Ross undid one bow after another, kissing the expanding curves as they were released. When the last fastening was untied, he slid the vest off her shoulders so that it could be set aside. Her pale skin was marked with red lines from the unnatural constriction.

He cupped her breasts and moved his hands in slow circles, murmuring, “A crime to suppress such beauty.”

His expert touch stimulated the flow of blood, bringing her breasts to tingling life. Juliet caught her breath as her nipples stiffened against his palms. “It is almost worth having them bound for the pleasure of having you set them free.”

Her trousers were also fastened with a bow, and his next step was to untie it. The shapeless garment immediately collapsed around her ankles. For the first time Juliet felt shyness, because of the number of years that had passed since she had been naked before him and concern that her body might have changed for the worse.

Ross, however, appeared to have no complaints. “Were you always this lovely and I forgot?” His admiring gaze was as seductive as a caress. “Or have you continued to grow more beautiful with every year?”

Juliet blushed, glad that it was not the sort of question that required an answer, but his approval was enormously gratifying. She had never felt really attractive except with Ross, and once more he was making her feel like the most desirable woman since Helen of Troy. Deciding that action was the best cure for embarrassment, she said, “It’s my turn now,” and reached for the buttons of his shirt.

“Soon.” Smiling, he touched his forefinger to her lips. “But I’m curious about what has changed, and since the light is dim, I’ll have to supplement sight with touch. For example, this appears much the same.” He bent his head to her left breast and took the nipple into his mouth. Under the pressure of lips and tongue, it hardened still further. As heat blazed deep inside her, he murmured, “Mmm, exactly as I remember. And your reaction hasn’t changed either.”

After he had given her other nipple equal attention, he shaped her breasts with thoughtful hands. “There seems to be more fullness here.”

“Is that a complaint?” she asked, shifting her weight so that the softer parts of her undulated provocatively.

He caught his breath and for a moment his fingers tightened. “Not in the least.”

Then his hands opened and glided down her ribs and waist in a purely tactile exploration of her contours. “So many lovely curves.” He circled behind her without breaking contact, then lifted her hair and pressed his lips to the nape of her neck. “All of them elegant.”

With leisurely skill he feathered kisses down her spine before turning her to face him. Then he knelt, drawing his palms over her hips and thighs. “A little rounder here as well, in a thoroughly alluring way.”

He pressed his face against the curve of her belly, the faint prickle of whiskers a counterpoint to the damp heat of his mouth. As his lips moved lower, he slipped his right hand between her knees and began drawing teasing patterns on the inside of her thighs, his touch drifting gradually upward. Her legs loosened in response, opening in instinctive invitation.

His left hand cradled her right buttock, steadying her, as his fingers brushed through auburn curls, between silky folds, to the searingly sensitive flesh below. Juliet gave a small choked whimper and caught his shoulders for support. She had forgotten, oh, God, she had forgotten, that it was possible to feel like this…

Waves of heat throbbed through her and she was on the verge of falling when he stood and caught her against him with his left arm. The fabric of his shirt and trousers tickled along the bare length of her body when she wilted against his chest, trusting him to support her. As her fingers curled weakly at his waist, his right hand probed deep into her intimate flesh, feeding a fire that threatened to consume her.