for his attention these last few days, and self-disgust curled inside him when he remembered the one who’d eventually fallen into a drunken slumber beside him earlier that morning.
He’d vowed to order his private jet and get rid of the horde of unwanted guests, realising what a mistake he’d made, but it would appear by the look on Jamilah’s face that it had already been taken care of.
‘How dare you?’ Jamilah was saying now, in a suspiciously quivery voice which he guessed had more to do with anger than emotion. ‘How dare you come back here and proceed to turn this castle into your personal playground? Poor Hana is distraught. She has quite enough to be doing without pandering to you and all the Little Lord Fauntleroys you invited to join in the fun. And apart from the chaos and destruction here, your friends’ constant arrival by helicopter has been spooking the horses at the stables.’
Energy crackled between them.
Salman rocked back on his heels and surveyed Jamilah with a lazy sweep, up and down. He seemed to be oblivious to the fact that he was soaking wet, and with a gulp Jamilah could see that this was not proceeding the way she’d expected at all. Salman didn’t look remotely contrite, or even drunk. His eyes were as sharp as ever. And on her. She had to consciously not let her gaze drop to where his jeans must be plastered against his crotch and thighs.
He crossed his arms nonchalantly across his chest, making his biceps bulge, and Jamilah had the very belated realisation that she’d just wakened a sleeping panther. He drawled, ‘Not even a kiss hello to greet me? That’s not very nice, now, is it?’
Jamilah put the bucket down because she was afraid she’d drop it. She stood up to see Salman staring at her with a disturbing glint in his eye. Feeling the sudden urge to escape, and fast, she said glacially, ‘Clearly you feel that Merkazad is too boring to sustain your attention. I’d suggest that if you’re looking for entertainment you should follow your friends to B’harani, where they’re headed right now on a tour bus.’
For a second Jamilah could have sworn she saw the merest smile touch Salman’s lips, but then it was gone. And the urge to escape grew more acute. She whirled round to leave the room, but before she could reach the door she was whirled back again by a strong hand gripping her arm and a guttural, ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘What the—?’ she spluttered ineffectually.
Salman knew he should be letting Jamilah go. He’d told himself that he would not pursue her. But faced with her now, her timeless beauty, that sleek curvaceous body, he knew it was too much for his battered soul to resist.
Salman arched one ebony brow. ‘Like I said, can’t you even greet me with a civil hello?’
Jamilah glared up at him, already cursing herself for having come here to deal with this. ‘Why would I want to bother saying hello to someone who can’t even treat his own home or staff with any respect?’
His eyes flashed blackly. ‘Exactly. This is my home, and you would do well to remember that.’
Jamilah spat out, ‘You mean remember my place? Is that it, Salman? It’s been a long time since anyone had to remind me that I’m not part of your family.’
She tried to break free, but his grip was too strong, and then two hands drew her round in front of him, and his gaze fairly blistered down into her defiant one. Of course she wasn’t a member of their family; for all of Nadim’s care, inclusion and protection after her parents had died Jamilah had always known her place—so why was she provoking Salman like this now?
‘That’s not what I meant at all, and you know it. The fact is that this is my home and I shall do as I like here. As acting ruler I don’t have to answer to anyone.’
Jamilah stuck her chin out pugnaciously, something deep and visceral goading her on. ‘You’ll answer to me. I may not be the ruler, but the staff here know who is in charge and it’s not you. You need to earn their respect first. And I won’t stand by and watch you come in here and desecrate Nadim and Iseult’s home.’
Before Jamilah could even question where that urge to provoke had come from suddenly they were a lot closer, and her breath faltered as Salman’s unique and intensely male scent washed over her. Dimly she recognised that she couldn’t smell drink on his breath. He hadn’t been drunk? That didn’t fit with the scene she’d just witnessed.
‘Like I said—’ his voice was as glacial as hers ‘—this is my home as much as it is Nadim’s, and I will invite whomever I want, whenever I want.’
Unable to articulate a response, and quickly becoming overwhelmed by Salman’s intoxicating proximity, Jamilah tried to break free of his hold again, twisting around in his hands.
All it did, though, was force her back into his hard chest—and then she heard a muttered curse. Suddenly strong arms were below her breasts, and she was being lifted clear off her feet and carried bodily towards the bathroom. She kicked out with her legs, but her struggles were futile and puny in the face of Salman’s overpowering strength. She was plastered against a hard, wet body. And that was entirely her fault.
She couldn’t even get a word out before they were in the bathroom, and Salman easily held her with one arm while he turned on the shower. Both her hands were trying to free herself, to no avail. His arm was like a steel bar. She could feel her hair loosening from its untidy ponytail.
The water was running, and steam had started to rise around them when she finally spluttered out, ‘What the hell do you think you are doing? Let me down this instant!’
In that moment Salman walked them both under the warm spray of the huge shower, and she heard him say grimly over her head, ‘Giving you a little taste of your own medicine, Miss High-and-mighty.’
CHAPTER THREE
THE inarticulate rage that had risen up within Salman seconds ago was already diminishing, and he knew it had had more to do with this woman’s effect on him than her belligerence and anger. And now he couldn’t see anything but Jamilah, her clothes already soaked through and sticking to that glorious body.
Jamilah was gasping in shock, her back against the wall of the shower. Water was streaming over her head, face, into her eyes, and Salman’s hand was splayed across her abdomen, holding her in place. Through the steam she could see his glittering obsidian gaze, his hair plastered to his skull, and water sluicing down that powerful chest, through the dark smattering of hair, over his blunt nipples.
She tried to smack his hand away, but he merely put it back and said grimly, ‘You’re not going anywhere.’
Humiliation scorched up through Jamilah as she became very aware of how drenched she was, and how her clothes were plastered to her body. As if reading her thoughts, Salman dropped his eyes, and she could feel her breasts respond, growing heavy, her nipples peaking almost painfully against her wet bra and shirt. She could only imagine how see-through the flimsy material must be under the powerful spray. A flash of fire lit his eyes, and they went darker in an instant—and, awfully, she felt an answering rush of heat.
Once again she tried to get free, but Salman merely moved closer and took her hands, raising them above her head. She struggled in earnest now, feeling intensely vulnerable, but it was a struggle against the fire that was gathering pace inside her body, in her blood. She had to stop abruptly when her hips came into explosive contact with his.
‘Let
