And then he had to concede bitterly that he’d already taken care of that when he’d rejected her so cruelly six years before.
Curtly, Salman said, dropping the magazine, ‘We should get going, or we’ll be late for the opening speech.’
Jamilah nearly reeled back on her heels. She felt as if she’d just hurtled through a time continuum, been burnt by the sun and then thrown out the other side. Had she just imagined that incendiary moment?
Standing in the lift moments later as they descended, she felt very shaky and vulnerable. Salman was stony-faced and taciturn, and it gave her a sickening sense of déjà-vu to when he’d changed so utterly on that fateful day six years before. She welcomed it, and hardened the tender inner part of herself that had felt an awful weakening as the day had progressed, as if on some level his relentless pursuit was starting to dissolve her own resolve to resist. She could resist. She had to resist.
Outside the hotel, in the cool night air, he helped her to put on her coat. Visibly flinching when his hand brushed the bare skin of her shoulder.
Jamilah tugged her coat from his hands and said curtly, ‘It’s fine. I’ve got it. I’m sorry you had to touch me.’
His car was just drawing up, and he turned her to face him with his hands on her shoulders. Jamilah hated that she was feeling so raw. But the stark hunger etched onto his face sent tremors of awareness through her. Along with confusion.
‘You think that I don’t want to touch you?’
Jamilah couldn’t speak. In her peripheral vision she could see the driver standing and holding the door open, but they weren’t moving. Salman spoke again in low husky tones.
‘If I hadn’t got you out of that suite as quickly as I had, I think it’s safe to say that your dress would already be in ribbons and we’d be indulging in the most frantic and urgent coupling of our lives. All I can think about is how I want to pull you onto the back seat of that car, spread your legs around me and take you right now—because quite frankly the suite is too far away. I’ve never before contemplated stopping a lift to make love to a woman, but I just did. Don’t you have any idea how much I want you?’
Jamilah’s mouth opened and closed with shock. Any resolve that had recently fired through her was washed away by a rush of desire so intense that she literally ached for Salman to do exactly as he’d said. All she could see was their naked limbs entwined, dewed with sweat, hearts beating frantically as they came closer and closer to the explosive pinnacle.
Just then someone emerged from the hotel behind them, and Jamilah blinked as she saw Salman’s urbane mask come back. It was the Sultan of Al-Omar, and she issued a garbled greeting to the tall, handsome ruler. She vaguely heard him ask if he could share their ride to the dinner, as he’d lent his car out for the evening to someone else.
Bodyguards belonging to the Sultan and to Salman hovered in the shadows, ready to jump into their accompanying vehicles. It served to bring Jamilah back to some kind of sanity, and a few seconds later she found herself pressed tight against Salman, who had negotiated it so that Jamilah was on his right, with Sultan Sadiq on his left. All Jamilah could feel was her thigh burning where Salman’s pressed against her. Strong and powerfully muscular.
The men spoke of inanities and their meetings. Jamilah couldn’t contribute a word, her head still whirling at Salman’s intensity just now. How on earth was she going to cope if he directed that at her again? With an awful feeling of fatality she knew she wouldn’t be able to.
A couple of hours later Jamilah’s nerves were overwrought after an evening spent at Salman’s side, trying to ignore the feelings running riot through her system. He’d barely touched her all evening, but she’d felt the burning intensity in his restraint.
Now they were back in their car—without the Sultan this time. He’d come up to Salman earlier, with a gorgeous statuesque brunette on his arm, and it had been obvious he had plans other than returning to the hotel. Sultan Sadiq had almost as notorious a reputation as Salman.
They glided through the moonlit streets of Paris now, with the Eiffel Tower appearing and disappearing intermittently, all lit up like a giant bauble. The tension was thick between them, and just when Jamilah was contemplating the uphill battle she faced if Salman tried to seduce her again she heard him ask the driver to slow down. She only noticed then that they were beside the Hôtel de Ville, where a fairground had been set up in the main square.
Salman looked at her. ‘Do you mind if we get out for a minute?’
Jamilah shook her head with relief. She needed space and air in order to gather her defences again.
They got out, and when the cool air hit her she shivered. She felt Salman dropping his warm jacket around her shoulders. She looked up at him, heart tripping. ‘I can get my coat. You’ll freeze.’
He smiled his lopsided smile. ‘I’ll survive. It’ll take more than the cold to do me in.’
He took her by the hand and reluctantly she gave in, knowing he wouldn’t let her go anyway. They walked towards the tinkling music. Some couples were strolling around, like them, hand in hand, amongst groups of teenagers and even some harried-looking parents with small children, seemingly oblivious to the late hour.
Salman said then, so softly that she almost didn’t hear him, ‘I’ve always loved fairgrounds. There’s something so escapist and other-worldly about them.’
Jamilah’s mouth dropped open, and she closed it abruptly when Salman sent her an amused glance. ‘Don’t look so shocked.’
‘When were you ever at a fairground growing up?’ They had nothing like them in Merkazad.
He was leading her towards where a merry-go-round glistened under a blaze of lights. There was a melancholic quality to his voice. ‘There used to be a fairground in Merkazad, but when the rebels invaded they smashed it to pieces.’
‘Oh …’ No wonder she hadn’t ever seen one. It would have been long gone by the time she’d been old enough to visit it. ‘Why wasn’t another one built?’
Salman shrugged. ‘I think people were having a hard enough time just rebuilding their lives and homes.’
‘Perhaps someone should build one again …’
Salman looked at her with an enigmatic expression. ‘Maybe one day someone will.’
The intensity of his gaze on hers made her look away and say a little breathlessly, ‘You don’t mind these horses …?’
He followed her gaze to the brightly coloured horses that went up and down and round and round. ‘No,’ he said tightly, ‘I don’t mind these horses.’ He looked back at her. ‘I don’t mind any horses in general, Jamilah. I just choose not to go near them. I leave that up to people like you and Nadim.’
His tone brooked no further conversation, and she caught a glimpse of something suspiciously like fear in his eyes. That slightly ashen tinge again coloured his skin. She’d been around horses and people long enough to spot someone who had a pathological fear a mile away, and for the first time she guessed that Salman’s antipathy to horses went far deeper than fear. It reminded her of a phobic reaction. Her curiosity was welling up again, and with it a sense of danger.
She took her hand out of his and stepped up to the
