leave Tariq sprawled in bed, and face them. Face them and defeat them.
First, she accepted that she’d never truly been loved. Not the way she needed to be loved.
Perhaps if she’d chosen Tariq four years ago, he might have learned to love her like that. Perhaps. However, back then, she’d been young and needy compared to Tariq’s strength and confidence. While he’d cherished her, he’d also been her caretaker. Her love for him had been deep and achingly true, but it had been the love of a girl growing into womanhood. Tender. Easily bruised.
Though her hurt had made her doubt her feelings, since she’d come to Zulheil her love had matured and grown, fed by her awakening emotions for the man Tariq had become. All vestiges of the youth were gone, but in his place was a man of integrity, power and charisma. A man who touched her with tenderness that turned her heart inside out. A man who was, quite simply, magnificent.
She loved this Tariq with an intensity that even his anger couldn’t destroy. This love was tougher and gave her the courage to look behind his remarks, to the pain she’d caused. This love gave her the strength to fight for her lover.
From the first day she’d arrived, Tariq had been demanding. Now, she saw that as a gift. He no longer thought of her as a girl to be protected, but as a woman who had to confront her mistakes.
That was the first truth. The second was that she still wasn’t loved. And that terrified her. Her naive belief in her ability to reach Tariq with her love had been smashed beyond repair that day before Paris, and she couldn’t face that kind of torment again. She’d been rejected so many times in her life that once more might break her. So, while she would continue to fight for her sheik’s trust, she wouldn’t do it by offering him her heart…or betraying her hunger to be loved in return.
“I think we’re getting somewhere,” Jasmine said to Mumtaz two weeks later. They were browsing in an art supply store in Zulheina. “He’s talking to me.”
“Talking about what?”
“Business, mostly.” She was drawn to the easel in the corner.
“Hmm, that is good, but what about your relationship?”
Jasmine ran her fingers down the polished wood of the easel. Perfect. Leaning down, she picked up several prepared canvasses and stacked them on the easel. Tariq had always liked to prepare his own, but these would do for a start.
“I don’t want to ruin it by pushing.” She wandered over to the oil paints and began selecting tubes. Pthalo blue, burnt umber, viridian hue…
“You are waiting for something?” Mumtaz absently added titanium white to Jasmine’s collection.
“I want some sign that…I can’t explain it.” Ever since his return from Paris, Tariq had treated her with kid gloves, keeping an emotional barrier between them. He didn’t hurt her with his anger any longer, but conversely, she couldn’t breach his shields to teach him to trust in her again.
This lukewarm companionship was simply wrong.
Nothing had ever been lukewarm between them. Their love had been a blaze and their separation pure pain. Even the anger and hurt between them was jagged and sharp enough to draw blood. The sudden change in his behavior mystified her.
“Do not worry about explaining. Simply do what you must.” Mumtaz squeezed her hand.
“Good advice, I think.” But, Jasmine thought, what could she do to breach the wall her enigmatic husband had erected?
“Are you busy?” She peered into Tariq’s office. At the sound of her voice, he looked up from his desk.
“You are always welcome, Jasmine.”
She ignored the desire to rile him just to get him to respond with more heat. What sane woman would prefer an angry, simmering lover to a friendly, warm one? She had to be insane, because she definitely favored honest fury over a gentle illusion. At least then she knew his emotions ran deep.
Pushing aside those disturbing thoughts for the time being, Jasmine ducked out and picked up the pile of purchases and put them on his desk. The easel she left outside, unwilling to spoil his surprise.
“What is this?” He tugged at the string around the brown paper wrapping.
“A present. Open it!” She moved around to his side and perched on the arm of his chair.
He frowned and immediately curved one arm around her waist. “You will fall in such a position.”
“Here.” She wiggled and fell into his lap. “Now open it.”
He seemed nonplussed by her unexpected cuddling. When she pushed at his hands, he picked up his letter opener and cut the string. His body stilled around hers when he saw the canvasses, paints and brushes.
“I know you’re busy,” Jasmine began, before he could talk himself out of it. “But surely you can find an hour each day? Think of it as doing something for your sheikdom.”
He raised an expressive eyebrow at that.
She smiled. “A workaholic sheik will become stuffy and stressed out, and of no use to his people.” She ignored his snort of disbelief. “You used to paint as a way to relieve the stresses of the day. Why not try that again?”
“My responsibilities—”
She stopped him with a hand on his lips. “An hour. That’s not too much to ask. And I’ll help you.”
“How?”
“I’m sure I can do something to lighten the load for you. Filing? Summarizing reports? I’m smart, you know.”
He chuckled at her earnest words and his shoulders subtly relaxed. “I know you are smart, Mina. I’ve always known that. All right. You may assist me and you must also sit for me.”
“You’re going to paint me?” She sat up on his lap, excited. “Will it be a nude?”
He frowned at her impudence. “Such a painting would never be seen by the world and would be burned upon my death.”
Jasmine kissed his cheek, delighted by his acceptance, and scrambled off his lap before he could stop her. “There’s an easel, too.” She collected the materials. “I’ll put this in a corner of my workroom and come back to help you.”
She ended up spending the rest of the day with him, reviewing reports. He told her she could leave at any time, but when she saw the amount of work that required his attention, she was more than happy to sit down and dig in.
One of the reports gave her an unwelcome shock. “Tariq?”
He raised his head at her sharp tone.
“It says here that the sheik can have more than one wife.” Her brow furrowed.
Tariq’s lips twitched a little. “That is an ancient law.”
“How ancient?” She didn’t intend to share her husband. Ever.
“Very.
