rocked back on his heels, hands in the pockets of his trousers, and whatever fleeting hint of vulnerability she might have sensed about him had been smashed to pieces as his gaze had dropped down her body with lazy, sensual appraisal. ‘Jamilah … we finally meet again. I was wondering if you’d been avoiding me.’
His deep, drawling voice had impacted upon her somewhere deep and visceral, and for one awful moment Jamilah had been transported back in time to that devastating evening in Paris, in his apartment. She’d given up any hope of sticking to the script she’d perfected in her head. With an iron will, she’d struggled to regain composure and sent up silent thanks for the armour of a designer dress and make-up. She’d forced herself to move, stride forward, fully intending to walk past him, but he’d caught her arm and the feel of his hand on her bare skin had caused her to stumble.
She’d looked up at him, and her treacherous heart had beat fast—too fast. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Salman. Why on earth would I be avoiding you?’
An inner voice answered: Because he broke your heart into tiny pieces and you’ve never forgotten it.
Jamilah noticed then that faint grooves were worn into the brackets of his mouth. His eyes were hard—far harder than she remembered them being.
‘Because I’ve never seen you at the Sultan’s party before.’
Jamilah wrenched her arm free. ‘This isn’t exactly my scene. And, not that it’s any of your business, I decided to come tonight because I was invited by—’
‘Ah, Jamilah, there you are. I was just coming to collect you.’
With a rolling wave of relief, Jamilah saw her date approach. She let him come and put a proprietorial arm around her shoulder, for once not minding the way men seemed to find it impossible not to stake their claim. And with a few words of muttered incoherency to Salman she let herself be led away, leaving Salman behind.
Now she stood amongst the throng that had gathered after the sumptuous dinner—a dinner Jamilah had had to force down her throat—horribly aware of Salman’s intense and assessing gaze from across the table.
To her utter relief, at that moment she spotted Sheikh Nadim and his date, an Irish girl called Iseult, who had come to work in Nadim’s stables after he’d bought out her family’s stud farm in Ireland.
Jamilah went to join them, and she could see their concerned looks as they took in her pale features. She felt light-headed. And then Iseult confirmed it by asking, ‘Jamilah, what is it?’
Jamilah smiled tightly. ‘Nothing at all.’
But Jamilah could feel whatever blood was left in her face drain southward when she saw Salman approach with narrowed eyes. No escape. How had she ever thought this would be a good idea?
Muttering something about finding her date, Jamilah fled across the room and out to the patio through open doors, where thankfully few people milled about. She rested her hands on the stone balustrade and sucked in deep breaths, only to feel every cell in her body react when she sensed his presence behind her.
She turned slowly and saw that the patio was now empty, as if the sheer force of the tension between her and Salman had repelled everyone else.
Not caring how she might be giving herself away, Jamilah said unevenly, ‘Leave me alone, Salman.’
His voice was harsh against the silence. ‘If you’d wanted to be left alone you should have stayed in Merkazad.’
Jamilah’s mouth twisted to acknowledge that uncomfortable truth. To think she’d ever thought that she could cope with this … ‘Ah, yes, because you never come home.’
His eyes flashed but he didn’t deny it. ‘Exactly.’
For a long moment neither one said anything, and then Salman took a step forward. Jamilah’s heart lurched, and she noticed that the patio doors had been closed.
He said, with a rough quality to his voice that resonated deep inside her, ‘You’re even more beautiful than I remember.’
Jamilah forgot about escape and glared at Salman. His compliment fell on deaf ears. There was an unmistakably predatory gleam in his eyes and Jamilah railed against it. He had no right. His face was cast into shadow, so she couldn’t make out his expression. ‘The last time you saw me you told me I was beautiful, Salman—or don’t you remember telling me why you took me to bed?’
‘You were undeniably beautiful then, but now there’s a maturity to your beauty … an edge.’ There was something achingly wistful in his voice for a moment, which caught Jamilah off guard.
She forced a mocking smile to numb lips. ‘You should be able to recognise cynicism when you see it, Salman. After all you’re the King of the Cynics, aren’t you? Always coming to the Sultan’s party empty-handed and walking away with the most beautiful woman here. Do you still stick to your three-week rule, or was that privilege afforded just to me? Tell me, how long did the lovely Eloise last?’
‘Stop it.’
‘Why should I?’
Salman stepped closer then, out of the shadows, and when Jamilah saw the starkness of his beautiful features she nearly forgot everything. He blocked out the light behind him.
‘I thought you would have got over that by now.’
Jamilah emitted a strangled laugh. ‘Got over it?’ She crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘I got over you long ago. I don’t have anything to discuss with you—so, if you don’t mind, my date will be looking for me.’
‘He’s no man for you. He’s a runt—an obsequious yes-man to the Sultan. What are you doing with him?’ Salman asked.
Jamilah was belligerent. ‘What do you care? He’s perfect. The alpha male lost any fascination for me a long time ago.’
She went to walk around Salman, but once again he caught her arm. ‘Tell me, do you shout out his name in ecstasy?’ he asked silkily. ‘Do you rake his back with your nails, pleading with him never to stop?’
He didn’t have to say it, but the words hung between them: do you tell him you love him? As if held back by the flimsiest of walls, images and sensations flooded Jamilah’s body and mind. She was unaware of Salman putting his hands on her arms and drawing her back in front of him. Unaware of the intent in his dark gaze. Unaware of the way his eyes dropped down her body, and unaware of the guttural moan as he drew her into him and his head lowered to hers.
She only became aware when the hot brand of his mouth seared hers, plundering and demanding, forcing her soft lips apart so that his tongue could snake out between her small teeth and suck hers deep. Jamilah had no defence. Desire burned up through her like a living flame and hurled her into the fire.
It was shocking how well her body remembered his touch—and how hungry she was for it. His hands on her back felt so wonderful. Even more so when they went lower and cupped her buttocks through the fine silk of her dress. He pulled her up and into him, where she could feel the hardening ridge of his desire, and with a soft mewl of frustration she arched against him, wanting more. Burning up with it. It was as if no time had passed at all.
And all the while their mouths clung feverishly, as if taking a first
