if the damage was irreversible? What if Mina did hate him? Her body had been so stiff in his embrace, her lips so silent. She’d been like a small creature frozen in front of a predator. The painful image forced him to accept that what he’d felt from Jasmine hadn’t been anger or a need for revenge, but…hurt. His temper vanished in the face of that truth. He had hurt his wife, his Mina. There was no satisfaction in that knowledge, only disgust at himself. She was his to protect. Even from himself.
For the first time in an eternity, Tariq was uncertain about his next act. A sheik could rarely indulge in indecision, but it appeared that a husband had plenty of opportunity to do so. He knew he’d acted badly, but he wasn’t a man accustomed to asking for forgiveness. With a sound akin to a growl, he stalked into the shower, his mind on the small woman with big blue eyes next door.
Familiar hands, rough but gentle, stroked the naked line of her spine. Jasmine frowned, sure that she’d been clothed before sleep, but in this dream, skin touched skin. A kiss on her nape, on each vertebra, possessive hands grasping her hips…She moaned and turned onto her back, welcoming her lover. When he pressed his lips to her breasts, she arched into him. Waking thoughts merged with hazy dreams as her fingers tangled in thick silky hair. A beard-roughened jaw angled across her breast. She shivered and the spot was immediately kissed.
“Tariq,” she whispered, awake and aware. It was too late to stop her response. Her whole body was open in invitation. Jasmine sighed and gave in to the inevitable. Whatever he said, whatever he did, he was hers. How could she possibly deny him when he touched her as if she was precious?
When he kissed her, she returned his kiss joyously, unable to hide how much she’d missed him. He shuddered against her and broke away to drop kisses across her breasts. Under her fingers, his shoulder muscles bunched as he moved down her body, dropping a line of kisses across her stomach and flicking his tongue over the indentation of her navel.
Shivers racked her body as he found an unexpectedly sensitive spot. Her reaction made him repeat the quick caress. Her stomach muscles clenched and her hips jerked upward without conscious control. Pressed so close, she could feel his heartbeat in the pulse of his body.
She parted her thighs for him without prompting, but he didn’t rise to possess her. He lifted her left leg and placed it over his shoulder. Her sensitive skin burned from the heat of his body. Then he rubbed his rough jaw across the tender skin on the insides of her thighs.
She gasped. “Tariq, please.”
He soothed the roughness with his tongue, sending her nerves into further disarray. Then he repeated the whole process with her right leg. Just when she thought that she could feel no more pleasure, he dipped his head and bestowed the most intimate kiss of all upon her.
She screamed and would’ve squirmed away, but his hold on her hips kept her in place as he slowly, and with great care, introduced her to this shatteringly intimate form of loving. His only aim was her pleasure.
With the tiny slice of her brain that was functioning, she knew this was Tariq’s apology. Her warrior was adoring her body, cherishing her response. He couldn’t say the words, but he was showing her that she was more than an object to satisfy his lust. How much more, she didn’t know, but even the depth of her hurt couldn’t survive against this kind of tenderness.
She clutched handfuls of the sheets and gave herself up to his caresses. Once more, she gave her heart and soul to Tariq, her vows to keep him at bay disintegrating into dust. She felt the change in him immediately. His intense, concentrated caressing continued, but his shoulders were no longer so tense under her thighs, and his hands were anchors rather than vices forcing her to stay in place. And then she couldn’t think. She found the kind of freedom that she could only find in his arms and splintered on the wings of pleasure. He held her until the tremors subsided and then gently entered her, as if unsure of his welcome.
Tears pricked her eyes at his hesitation. He wasn’t acting the autocratic despot now. The silent question delivered the final blow to any lingering hurt. She deliberately clenched her inner muscles and held him prisoner, telling him without words that he was wanted, needed, loved. At the same time, she curled her arms around him and dropped kisses across his shoulders. With a groan, he began to move.
“Welcome home,” she whispered, just before she crested the highest pinnacle of desire for a second time that night.
A long while later, she gathered enough confidence to ask, “Why did you return early?”
Tariq spooned her deeper against him and dropped a kiss on the curve of her shoulder where it met her neck. “The trade agreement was completed earlier than expected.”
“Did you…” She began to ask him about the agreement, then stopped, unwilling to be rebuffed. He’d loved her with fire, but she was afraid that she’d be waking up beside the cool, reserved stranger he’d become after Zeina.
“What, Mina?”
“Nothing.”
He was silent for a while and then said, “Zulheil now has a contract with several Western states that will allow our artistic products to cross their borders without duty.”
She took the olive branch, prepared to meet him halfway. “Why artistic products?”
“Zulheil’s jewelry and other artistic products are highly prized. They are our third biggest export. The agreement goes both ways.” He chuckled, warming her heart. “They think their goods will flood our markets, but they’re wrong.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because, Mina—” he squeezed her with unexpected playfulness “—we have had such an agreement with the United States for years.”
“Really? But there’s no mass-market stuff in your streets.” She snuggled into him, her head pillowed on his arm.
“My people are used to the best handcrafted goods. The riches of the land are shared by all. The cheap things they send are never bought.”
“You’re snobs.”
Her husband shrugged. “But we are rich enough to be so.”
His unrepentant reply made her laugh. She couldn’t temper her responses to him when he let his shields fall. “So you’re getting the best of this bargain? Why don’t they know about the experience of the Americans?”
“Nobody likes to admit their mistakes. What would it look like if the world’s biggest power had been…I have lost the word,” he paused, waiting for her.
“Conned?” she suggested cheekily.
“Yes. It would not look good for them if they were seen to have been conned by a tiny sheikdom from the desert. A poor, primitive people.”
She laughed so hard that she cried. “Primitive!”
When she’d stopped giggling, Tariq bit her lightly on her shoulder to catch her attention. She turned into his arms, aware that she’d capitulated too easily, without waiting for words of apology to banish her heartache. But she’d always known that Tariq would never humble himself in such a blatant fashion. He was too much the desert warrior for that. For now, his incredibly tender loving was enough.
It was a start.
Early the
