just a little, what would this Jasmine do? Would she treat him with the same disregard she’d shown four years ago or…? The possibilities were as intriguing and as tempting as the evocative scents borne on the Paris winds.
But first, he’d have to win Mina back. She was his. She wasn’t allowed to hate him.
Eight
“What do you mean, he’s in the courtyard?” Jasmine cried, shoving her hands through her tumbled hair.
Mumtaz shrugged her delicate shoulders. “I persuaded Hiraz to delay him so I could warn you.”
“But it’s Friday night. He wasn’t supposed to be back until Monday!”
Heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway. Mumtaz’s eyes widened. “I must go. I wish you luck.” She slipped out the door. Jasmine heard her say something to Tariq.
With a muted cry of frustration, Jasmine secured the azure silk robe around her waist. It was too late to change. She didn’t want to greet Tariq wearing a robe that hit her midthigh, with her hair loose around her shoulders, but the doorknob was turning. Quickly, she settled onto the stool in front of her dressing table and picked up her brush. At least this way, if her legs collapsed, he wouldn’t know.
She heard Tariq enter the room and close the door. Her fingers tightened convulsively around the carved wooden handle of the brush, but she continued the smooth, full-length strokes, ignoring his presence. She felt him move until he was standing behind her. He leaned forward and put both hands on her dressing table, one on either side of her, effectively caging her with his body. She kept brushing her hair, though she couldn’t feel her fingers anymore because they were shaking so hard. She didn’t look in the mirror, avoiding the trap of green fire that awaited her.
“How’s your throat infection?” He reminded her of one of her earlier excuses, not referring to the last painful call.
“Much better.”
“I can hear that. And you’re feeling well?”
“Yes.” She tried to avoid touching her head to his chest. Every time she moved an inch away, he leaned closer, until she was on the edge of her stool with nowhere to go.
“Good. I was worried, as you seemed to be sleeping so much when I called.” Though his tone was calm, she knew he had to be furious. He wasn’t a man used to being reprimanded.
And she wasn’t ready to face his anger. Despite her bravado, she didn’t hate Tariq. Her feelings for him were raw and undefined, but they didn’t come close to hate, and their depth and promise scared her. What if she began to love him even more deeply than she had all these years?
The heat of his body seemed to surround her. She wondered if he’d subtly moved. It was becoming difficult to continue to brush her hair, because with every stroke, she touched him. She chanced a peek at his arms and saw that he’d lessened the gap between them. He was wearing a blue shirt, his jacket discarded.
He reached out, took the brush from her nerveless fingers and put it on the dresser. Then he tucked her hair behind her ears, baring her face. She froze as he stroked the knuckles of one hand down her cheek in a simple but powerful caress, reminding her of the times he’d done that after they’d made love. She curled her fingers into fists and gritted her teeth against the response he could call forth so easily. The memory of his parting gibe helped, but it wouldn’t hold up forever against this gentle persuasion.
“Will you also refuse to talk to me now that I am home?” He continued the lazy caress.
“I’m talking to you right now.” She was overjoyed when her voice didn’t break.
“No. You are answering my questions and hiding yourself from me.”
She didn’t say anything.
“You are very angry with me, my Jasmine?” The husky timbre of his voice was close to her ear, his body almost totally enclosing her. “You have not calmed down?”
“I’m not angry.” Her heart thudded hard against her ribs. The anger had long since burned out, leaving behind a residue of hurt so deep she felt ravaged.
He kissed the lobe of her ear. A shiver raced through her. She couldn’t disguise the instinctive reaction, but neither did she do anything else.
“Ah, Mina, you cannot lie. Come, look at me. Welcome your husband home.”
His words were an unwanted echo of his commands before he’d left. “Do you wish to have sex? If you’ll move, I’ll get on the bed.” Dark and violent emotions rose in her throat, daring her to release them. She stifled the urge, refusing to let Tariq see just how badly he’d hurt her when he’d brought her deepest fear to the surface and given it form.
His body turned to stone around her. She could feel his muscles tensing as if to strike. He drew back so fast that she nearly fell off the stool, unbalanced. She’d barely got herself grounded when he lifted her and stood her in front of him. In bare feet, she only came halfway up his chest. Startled, she almost met his eyes but managed to fix her gaze on his shoulders.
“Mina, do not do this. You know you will turn into liquid fire in my arms.” He curved one hand over her hip and used the other to cup her cheek, but didn’t force her to look up.
“Yes, I know you can make me pant at any time.” She swallowed the lump in her throat as she repeated his taunt. A taunt so true it made her cry inside. If he touched her much longer with those sensitive fingers, she’d shatter like fine crystal. Something wild and needy in her recognized his touch and wouldn’t let her pull away. “I’m not going to fight you.”
He growled at her response and pulled her into a bruising embrace, holding her head against his chest. Jasmine had to fight every instinct she possessed not to respond. Her hunger for him was a clawing being inside her. She reminded herself that she was prized but not irreplaceable. Not irreplaceable. He felt only momentary lust when he touched her. When she remained stiff, arms at her sides, he released her.
“Go to bed, Jasmine.” He sounded tired and defeated. Leaving her standing in the center of the bedroom, he pushed through the connecting door and into his room.
The door shut with a quiet click.
Out of nowhere, exhaustion slammed into Jasmine. Dreading this confrontation, she’d barely slept the past five nights. Still wearing the silk robe, she crawled under the blankets. However, a sense of loss kept nudging her awake. She knew it was a lie. She’d never had anything to lose. Still, she wanted to go to her husband and hold him…soothe him.
“No.” No, she wouldn’t give in to the need, when he clearly saw nothing wrong with his treatment of her. Respect, she repeated to herself. She was worthy of respect.
Tariq threw his balled-up shirt across the room. She’d denied him! He’d never expected that from Jasmine. He had relied on her generous nature to forgive him. Time and distance, and Jasmine’s passionate anger, had made him regret his cruel words. That day in her solar, he’d allowed the wounded beast inside him to speak, full of years of pent-up anger and pain. It would have been better to keep that uncontrollable part of himself locked up.
He’d been feeling instead of thinking, and the words that had slipped out had been weapons aimed at his wife. More than that,
