sweetly accepting response. He’d seen pity, yes, but it hadn’t made him feel as constricted as he might have imagined. He’d always dreaded the reaction he might get. That was why he found it so easy to listen to others tell their tales.
There was an intense battle raging within him: to take Jamilah and slake his lust, drown himself in the sanctuary that he suspected with grim certainty only she could give him, or to push her away so far and so fast that she would be protected from him. Again.
And yet just now she hadn’t run from him in horrified terror at the images that had haunted him all his life. He’d seen the compassion in her eyes and had recoiled from it, even as he’d wanted to bury his head in her breast and beg her to never let him go. He who’d never sought comfort from anyone! Even in the darkest moments, when he’d felt he was going mad with all the nightmares and memories.
The parameters of their relationship had just shifted, and Salman wasn’t sure where they stopped and started any more. All he knew was that he wanted her—now more than ever. Even while he felt that need he acknowledged that after tonight she would have to come to him, but the question was, would she?
Jamilah lay in bed, wide awake, her stomach roiling at the thought of what Salman had gone through. Her head was whirling with all the information. So much made sense now: that terrible darkness that was like a cloak around him, his frosty relationship with Nadim and Merkazad, his fear of horses … And yet he also seemed to be even more of an enigma. She now knew his inner demons, but she’d never felt further from knowing him.
Jamilah turned over onto her side and looked out onto the empty square that housed the iconic hotel. Moonlight lit up the monument in the middle, throwing it into stark relief. Despite everything Salman had told her, what was at the forefront of her mind was the fact that he’d lied about their bond being non-existent. That he’d said it purely to drive her away. And it had worked—admirably.
She had to concede now that if he had been nicer about rejecting her perhaps a doubt always would have lingered, torturing her even more? Perhaps she wouldn’t have left and got on with her life and career?
Eventually she fell into an uneasy sleep, full of dark dreams and scary faces with no features, and when she woke in the morning, nearly late for her first meeting, she was relieved to see that Salman had already left the suite.
In the cold light of day what he’d endured seemed to be so much starker and worse. She sensed that he was waiting for her to make the next move, and in all honesty she didn’t know if she had the strength to resist him any more … not with this new knowledge in her head and, worse, this desire to comfort him, heal him in some way. She was very much afraid that his cataclysmic confession had torn what remained of her defences to pieces, and now she’d have nothing to hide behind. Not even anger.
That night, after another elaborate dinner, which had been held in their own hotel this time, Jamilah accepted an invitation from the Sultan of Al-Omar’s aide to go for a drink to the bar. She’d always felt guilty about how she’d run out on him at the Sultan’s party the previous year, after that tense meeting with Salman.
At least that was the justification for her agreeing to the drink. In truth she’d been avoiding Salman all day, still too raw to be able to deal with him and that penetrating dark gaze now that she knew the reason for the shadows behind it. But she’d known where he was at every moment, and she’d seen how his eyes had flashed when he’d noticed her leaving with Ahmed just minutes before.
Earlier that evening she’d been ready before Salman, and had gone down to dinner without him. She’d congratulated herself, having managed to successfully avoid him yet again. But when he’d arrived at dinner he’d raked her whole body across the room with a look so hot she’d been surprised little fires hadn’t broken out over her skin. She’d thought her dress was modest enough—vee-necked silk, with a tight waist and full skirt to the knee—but one look from Salman and she’d feared he’d melted it right off her.
‘Jamilah.’
Jamilah flinched and looked at Ahmed, and smiled apologetically.
‘I’m sorry, my mind is miles away …’ She put a hand on his arm. It wasn’t fair of her to be here with him when she couldn’t concentrate on their conversation. ‘Look, I think we should take a raincheck. I’m not great company this evening.’
Ahmed smiled ruefully, and Jamilah wished that she found the perfectly nice-looking man half as attractive as she found Salman.
‘This wouldn’t have anything to do with Salman al Saqr, would it?’
Jamilah coloured as Ahmed stood up and waited for her to stand, too.
He said as they walked out, ‘Don’t worry, it’s not that obvious, but I’ve been in close proximity to you two before, if you remember.’
Jamilah went hotter when she recalled Ahmed finding them in the corridor, with tension crackling between them. She couldn’t lie as she followed him out of the bar and to the lifts. ‘He’s got a little to do with it, I guess.’
In the lift Ahmed turned to her and said, somewhat stuffily, ‘I know you won’t want to hear this, but he has got a reprehensible reputation with women.’
Jamilah just managed to stifle a hysterical laugh. Poor Ahmed didn’t know the half of it. But she appreciated his concern. He walked her to the door of the suite and she smiled at him, feeling sad. And then something rose up within her—a sense of desperate futility as she thought of Salman and the impossibility of their relationship. Perhaps if she just gave someone else a chance …
She moved closer to Ahmed and asked, ‘Can I kiss you?’
The other man looked comically shocked, and his glasses practically steamed up as he blustered, ‘Yes … of course.’
He moved forward awkwardly, and in that moment Jamilah knew it was all wrong—she shouldn’t have said anything. But it was too late. His hands were around her waist, gripping too tightly, and then he was bumping her nose, aiming for her mouth before planting a fleshy wet kiss on her lips.
In a move so fast that she didn’t know which way was up Jamilah heard a door open and found herself being pulled back and out of Ahmed’s hands. Her relief quickly disappeared when she realised that it was Salman who now gripped her waist. She could feel his tall, taut strength behind her and her body reacted accordingly. Poor Ahmed was clearly terrified.
He backed away and said a garbled goodnight, then fled. Salman whirled Jamilah around in his arms, and all she could do was open and close her mouth ineffectually. The difference between this man and Ahmed was comical. Her body was rejoicing as if it had just found its long-lost mate. Her hands were fists on his chest. He was still in his ceremonial robes, no tuxedo tonight, and she was very aware of his body through the insubstantial flimsiness of her silk cocktail dress.
He tugged her into the room with him, and her back thudded against the door when Salman slammed it shut. He crowded her, his hands by her head, eyes blistering down into hers. ‘What the hell was that about?’ He mocked her voice. “Can I kiss you?”’
Jamilah welcomed the surge of anger at his arrogant behaviour. It helped to distract her from dealing with the fact that facing this man made her feel so exposed and raw and emotional. ‘It’s rude to listen at doors and spy through peepholes. And who gave you the God-given right to order Ahmed off like that?’
Salman grimaced.
