hope, she would try. This time, she wouldn’t let anyone, even Tariq, keep her from fighting for their love.
“Your eyes are getting bigger and bigger.” He raised one finger and ran it across her lips.
“I meant it. I love you.”
His face underwent a sudden change, from open and teasing to totally reserved. “We must go.” He turned away without another word and preceded her outside.
She sucked in a breath of air that felt like a knife blade slicing across her heart. Oh, it hurt so much to have her love not even acknowledged. But her struggle would be worth it if she succeeded in getting back what she’d lost so carelessly in her naiveté.
Tariq waited for Jasmine outside their tent, careful to keep his emotions from showing on his face. It would not do for his people to see their leader in turmoil.
Why did she do this?
Did she truly believe that she could control him with a declaration of love? Words so easily said…promises so easily broken. He’d offered her his very soul four years ago, and she’d thrown it back at him as if it was a worthless token, after promising him forever. Though he would never let her know it, he still hurt from that emotional blow.
Part of him wanted to believe her, whispering that she was no longer the scared girl who’d crumbled under the slightest pressure, but a woman strong enough to fight him at his angriest. However, Tariq refused to listen to that voice. His heart was still raw from her rejection, not yet convinced of the depth of her commitment.
More than once, when she’d thought him occupied, he’d glimpsed shadows in his wife’s blue eyes. His pride had stopped him from hounding her, as he had in the desert, but the knowledge ate away at him. Even now, even after he’d told her so much, she kept her secrets, and that he could not forgive. Women’s secrets had always caused him pain.
By force of will, he buried that part of him that had become entranced by her. It shocked him just how close he’d come to laying his heart at her feet once again, even when it was clear that she didn’t trust him. He wouldn’t make that mistake twice. He couldn’t. Not when his vulnerability to her ran so deep it had become his greatest weakness.
Seven
The next few days felt as if they’d sprung fully fledged from Jasmine’s worst nightmares. Tariq had withdrawn so completely from her that it scared her. No matter what she tried—humor, anger, pleas, protestations of love—none of it reached him. The strength of will implied by such total emotional excision was a huge blow to her fragile confidence. Tariq could apparently cut her out without a thought.
“Tariq, please,” she said, in the car on the way back to Zulheina, “talk to me.” She was frantic to make him respond.
“What do you wish to talk about?” He looked up from his papers, his eyes holding the mild interest of a stranger.
“Anything! Stop shutting me out!” She was close to tears, which horrified her.
“I do not know what you mean.” He bent his head again, dismissing her.
With a cry torn from deep inside, she pulled away the papers and threw them aside. “I won’t let you do this to me!”
His eyes flashed green fire as his hand snaked out and gripped her chin. “You have forgotten the rules. I no longer follow your demands.” No anger, no fury, only calm control. Even his touch gentled and then he let her go.
“I love you. Doesn’t that mean anything?” she asked in a broken whisper.
“Thank you for your love.” He picked up the papers she’d hurled aside, and sorted them. “I am sure its worth is the same as it was four years ago.”
The subtle, sardonic barb delivered in that smooth, aristocratic voice hit home. “We’re not the same people as we were then. Give us a chance!” she begged.
He met her gaze with eyes so neutral they were unrecognizable as her panther’s. “I need to read these.”
He’d beaten her. Tariq’s anger she could deal with, but she had no defense against this cold, inaccessible stranger. It was clear that he regretted the indulgences he’d allowed her in Zeina, the small things that had caused her guard to slip. She could imagine his thought processes. He probably thought that she believed she could control him now, because he’d allowed her so much, been so open.
Despite that knowledge, she didn’t buckle. Tariq was stubborn, but she’d realized that when it came to loving him, she was obstinate beyond belief.
Their first night back, she was tempted to sleep in her own room, hurting and unsure of her welcome. Instead, she brushed her hair in front of Tariq’s mirror and lay down in his bed. And when he reached for her, she went to him. In this place, they connected. Their loving was always wild, always passionate. It gave her hope, because how could he touch her like that, how could he whisper, “You’re mine, Mina. Mine!” as he moved inside her, if only lust was involved?
A week later, Jasmine pinned some silver cloth in place and picked up her scissors.
“I wish to talk to you, my wife.”
Startled by the deep rumble of Tariq’s voice, she dropped the pins she’d been holding in her mouth. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” She put one hand on her T-shirt, above her heart. “And stop looming.”
He frowned, and she knew he was about to remind her that he gave the orders around here. Since their return from Zeina, he’d been more autocratic than usual, and colder. It was hard to battle this warrior every day, but his anger strengthened her resolve. Anger this powerful had to spring from deep emotion.
And, she realized, she was willing to fight the warrior because he was a part of the man she loved. The ice that tempered the fire.
Mentally rolling her eyes, she raised her arms and smiled in invitation. Loving him was the only way she knew to prove that she’d changed. For a moment, she thought that he would refuse, and her heart clenched in anticipation of another bruise. But then he came down on his haunches beside her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. He let her be the aggressor, remaining quiescent in her arms, but Jasmine couldn’t forget the power humming just under the surface. He could have taken over at any second, but he let her control the kiss, seemingly content to taste her.
When she drew back, he removed her hands and clasped them between his own. “I am going to Paris for the week.” Any fire that her kiss might have aroused was carefully hidden, if it existed at all.
“What?” She couldn’t conceal her surprise. Her hands curled into fists in his grasp. “When?”
“Within the hour.”
She blinked. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
His jaw firmed. “I have no need to tell you such things.”
“I’m your wife!”
“Yes. And you will stay in your place.”
The unexpected verbal reprimand hit her like a slap. She bent her head and
