It was a husky whisper. “This isn’t war.”
His mouth twisted. “It’s worse.” After her rejection, he’d barely been able to function. He had loved her more than he loved the endless deserts of his homeland, but it had been the desert wilderness that had helped him heal the wounds she’d inflicted.
“I don’t want to fight with you.”
Her words calmed him and made him gentle in his response. “You belong to me now, my Jasmine. There’s no reason for us to fight. This is forever.” He would not trust her with his heart again, but neither would he let her go.
Forever. Jasmine lay her head against Tariq’s chest and swallowed her tears. At one time she would’ve crawled on her hands and knees across broken glass for the promise of forever with Tariq. Now that wasn’t enough. Forever with a Tariq who didn’t love her and would never love her wasn’t enough.
The obstacles in her path had grown to almost insurmountable proportions. Convincing Tariq of her loyalty would not be enough. He might eventually forgive her for not fighting for their love against her family, but she doubted it would be easy. But would he ever forgive the second staggering blow to his warrior’s pride?
And what if she caused a third, with the secret that had broken a child’s heart?
Panic threatened to choke her. No! No one would know about her illegitimacy! No one would shame her husband. Only her family knew, and they valued their position in society too much to let the truth slip out.
You think your prince would marry a girl who can’t even name her father? Keep dreaming, little sister.
Four years ago, Sarah had picked at her most vulnerable spot and then kicked hard. Jasmine still hadn’t recovered from the blow, because she knew her sister was right. How could Tariq accept her, much less love her, if even her adoptive parents hadn’t been able to?
He wouldn’t believe that she’d been so overwhelmed by the marriage ceremony, she’d forgotten the one vital fact that made her the wrong choice to be his wife. As a girl of eighteen, she’d planned to tell him…until Sarah had bluntly thrown the consequences in her face. Believing her sister, Jasmine had kept her hurtful secret, and her family had used it to batter her down when they’d asked her to choose.
“You will speak to me.” The rough order jerked her out of her maudlin thoughts. He liked her speaking to him, did he? Yesterday, he’d teased her that she chattered like a magpie.
Allowing a smile to escape, she let hope fill her heart about her ability to inspire love in this complex man. So the fight would be harder. So what? She’d almost died living apart from him. As long as there was the slightest hope, as long as her panther liked to talk to her, as long as he touched her body like he was starving for her, she’d persevere.
Maybe one day he’d trust her enough, love her enough, to accept all of her. Until then, she’d keep the secret she desperately needed to share, the anguish she needed to fight with his love, deep within her. And she’d make up for that one lie by fighting for other truths, however much it hurt.
“Tell me.” Her tone was quiet but determined.
“What?”
“Tell me exactly what they tried to do.”
“Mina.” Tariq’s annoyance was clear. “I have said that the past is the past. If you do not wish to fight, we will not speak of this.” His hard body moved behind her as he made an adjustment to the reins held negligently in his left hand.
“And I’m supposed to obey your decree without question?” She was unable to let such an arrogant presumption pass.
He was silent for a long moment. “No one challenges the sheik when he has spoken.”
“You’re my husband.”
“Yet you don’t act as a submissive wife should.”
His tone was so neutral that she almost missed the wry undertone. He was teasing her, no longer cold, as he’d been after the revelation in the oasis. Jasmine decided to continue her quest for the truth, despite his implied forgiveness for the pain she’d reawakened that morning. If she let it go now, Tariq would always refuse to discuss the past. An incredibly strong man, he needed a woman who would challenge him when required, not buckle under to his demands.
“If you wanted submission, you should’ve gotten a pet.” She didn’t add that a submissive wife would bore him out of his aristocratic skull within a week.
His arms tightened around her. “No, Mina, I need no pet. Not when I have you to pet.”
The wordplay made her blush. “You speak English just fine when you put your mind to it,” she noted. “But I’m not going to be distracted.”
“No?” Under her breast, his arm suddenly came to life. Muscle flowed and shifted, caressing her without any visible movement.
“No.” Her voice was firm, though desire crackled through her like white lightning.
He slid his hand down to press against her stomach. Then, without warning, he said, “We stopped in Bahrain on our return, for diplomatic reasons. On the way from the airport, my car was separated from the cavalcade by two large trucks.”
“Hiraz?”
“I was not good company at that time.” Tariq’s quiet response drove another nail into the bruised flesh of her heart. “Hiraz was riding in the foremost car with two guards. Another two were in the following car.”
“You were alone.” Instinctively, her hands left the pommel and pressed over his.
“I am never alone, Mina.” His words were as close to a complaint as she’d ever heard. Even a sheik, she understood, needed privacy. A man like Tariq would need it more than most. “My driver is always a trained guard.”
“What happened next?” She was caught in the destructive grip of a past that could have physically stolen Tariq from her. As it was, the emotional damage caused by the attack was profound.
He leaned down and moved her headgear aside so he could whisper into her ear. The intimate gesture made her glad that they were riding at the back of the group.
“We took care of them.” His masculine scent surrounded her, his warmth an experience she didn’t want to escape.
“That’s all you’re going to say?” she protested, disturbed by the way he seemed to be withdrawing once again.
“There isn’t much else. They were religious zealots from a troubled nation who sought to kill me with their bare hands. I disabled three, my driver two.” He nuzzled her neck, a gesture so achingly familiar that tears threatened. The tone of his voice belonged to an exasperated man tired of a topic, rather than one bent on rebuilding an impenetrable wall.
“And the other guards took care of the rest after breaching the barrier of trucks?” she guessed.
Tariq drew back from her and pulled the covering close around her face. “You are too fair,” he grumbled.
“Maybe I’ll tan.” There was always hope.
His
