by Mallory Rush
He made to withdraw and she grabbed blindly for his wrist.
"How can you leave me like this?"
"With great difficulty, that's how. But knowing that you do care, apparently more than you want to, gives me enough reason to leave you like this."
"You make me need you and then you leave? It's cruel, Rand. How can you say that you care and be so cruel?"
"Do you think what I'm doing is easy for me? Good God, Rachel, if you can't sense how close I am to the edge, surely you can feel me against you, so hard that I hurt. The way I see it, I'm not being cruel. But kind."
"Damn you, Rand." This was kindness? This horrible, empty ache he had created yet again and was leaving unappeased was kind? It seemed the cruelest punishment a man could devise. "Damn you for inviting me inside just to slam the door in my face."
"Damned if I do. But more damned if I don't. You see, angel, there's more I need to know before we take this all the way. What I'm leaving you with is some time to think. As much about your motives as mine. We both deserve it." He shut his eyes and she thought he sighed. A sad sound, a distant whisper.
"Joshua deserves it."
Chapter 12
"Joshua?" How could he spin riddles and names at a time like this? His reasoning was madness and his timing was even worse. She opened her thighs and wrapped them about his. Arching, all but begging, she clung to his waist, demanding more than his desertion.
His head fell forward and Rand stared down at her with more complexities of expression than she could possibly interpret through her distress. She knew one thing and one thing only: The instinct to mate with him, to bond.
"Joshua's very close to Sarah. Probably much closer to her than he is to me, though lately he's been paying me some surprise visits. But enough about him." His teeth clenched as he growled a final warning. "Unwrap your legs, Rachel, before I decide to finish what we've hardly started. My more honorable nature just clocked out since it's already put in some overtime."
She shook her head, a stilted negation, more torn and confused than denying. His face discarded the wisp of tenuous discipline and bore down on her with carnal dictate.
She glimpsed a discovery she couldn't define. It tugged at her, this niggling sensation of having brushed the gentlest core of him, only for Rand to jerk it away before she could touch it. Her physical need peaked and interlocked with the drive to reach out, to go where he had withdrawn to. Her frustration was more than sexual; it came from being denied access to what composed him as a man.
"You're hiding something from me, aren't you? You managed to get what you wanted out of me and now that I want an equal return, you're shutting me out. You're running."
"Be glad I'm offering to run. We're in a country that gives me absolute rights to your body and those are some rights I'm past ready to claim. This is our bed. This our bedroom. It's only the possibility that we can have something we both need that's keeping me in check. But just barely." He thrust down. Up. Then down again. A hard, rolling grind. "Unlock your legs," he commanded, then snapped out, "Now."
She forced herself to release him. A shattering, broken glass sensation sliced through her extremities.
"It wasn't supposed to be this way." It sounded like an accusation, and at the moment she did blame him for all the terrible things she felt. "This wasn't part of the deal."
"The deal's apparently changed. Seems to me we've both been guilty of lying to each other as well as ourselves."
He got up and adjusted his robe. She grappled for the sheet with nerve shaking fingers. Rand caught her wrist and covered her himself. She glared at him, in outrage he'd dangled the bait, hooked her, and was leaving her floundering alone on a deserted shore. Her begging cries were still in her ears and she winced with the memory of his rejection. He'd refused her body, her need to know him. One was humiliation, the other was hurt. She lashed out for both.
"Sounds like you've got it all worked out, Mr. Slick."
"Not yet, but I'm getting there."
"With your rules, right?"
"That's right. After I tend your wrists we'll share a nice dinner." He paused, then gentled his voice. "I'd like us to enjoy a pleasant evening our first night together."
"Since you want it to be pleasant I suppose I can count on you disappearing into another bedroom?" God, she hoped so. He'd found her out and no amount of acting ability could retract what had transpired.
"Another bedroom?" he shouted toward the door. "You will warm my bed and that's final. Sultan's decree." He kissed the top of her head and murmured, "You and me, Rachel, in ways we're one of a kind. Should be interesting to see what kind of bed partners we make."
"Something tells me you steal the sheets."
"And something tells me you're a natural cuddler. Can't wait to feel you snuggle into my backside."
"Don't count on it." Drawing on the remnants of her bruised pride, she sought to get back at him where it hurt. "This whole set-up smacks of stacking the deck in your favor. Devious. Underhanded. Just the way you work your business. You've turned out to be just as much a shark in the relationship department as you are behind a desk."
"Maybe. But I wouldn't exactly call you merciful at the moment. I'd think you might be grateful. After all, you're in bed alone, aren't you? If I didn't have some morals we'd both be screaming by now."
She didn't want to be merciful; and she sure as hell wasn't shelling out any gratitude. Rachel's fingers closed round the first loose pillow she could grab. She hurled it at him and he caught it neat as a pro player handling a pass.
"Don't bother coming in here tonight. Just go snuggle in another bed."
"Sure about that? There are plenty of whores in this town. Judging from your reluctance to let me go, my guess is you'd rather have me settle for a few kisses and some intimate fondling than spill what we both want into a woman who's making her money on her back."
"Money! Money! It always comes down to that for you."
"I thought that was your line," he returned quietly. "But since I know better, I'll be honest. Even for me a million's a lot to pay for a woman. Especially one hurling enough pillows and insults to make a man go limp." He smiled wickedly as he fielded another well aimed throw. "Then again, it seems to have the reverse effect on your Lord and Master."
"Get out! Just get out and leave me alone."
"I would have gone sooner but those thighs of yours have quite a grip."
Her cheeks burned with the reminder. "That's right. Run for the control panel," she screamed at him. "Hit the right knobs. Touch her breasts, blur the lines between acting and what's not. You, the grand master, so smug and full of his own power. But I know better, Rand. See how you run."
"Actually, I'd prefer to stay for a change, even with your nasty turn of temper. And as for running, you're doing a good job yourself. Admit it, Rachel, your feminine ego's been pricked and you'd rather throw me out than have me walk."
"Don't flatter yourself." Damn the man, standing there looking so insufferably sure of himself while she felt more stung and discarded than ever in her life. "I wouldn't sleep with you if you were the last man on earth."
"As far as you're concerned, I am. You do belong to me and we can't let anyone think otherwise," he said in a subdued, stern tone. "Therefore, you do sleep with me, Rachel. Sex or no sex. But judging from this little encounter, it won't be long until we're both too far gone to forget about pride, and who's right or wrong. I just hope by then I've got a few things resolved myself."
"What things?" The question was out before her pride could intervene.
"Stick around and we'll both find out."
"Do I have a choice?" she retorted, miffed at his easy deflection.
"You have choices, and so do I. It seems we've both made some important ones already. By the way, a wardrobe's in your closet. You will wear the white silk tonight?"
"Not if that's what you want." She'd wear black or green or purple. Anything but white silk or a muslin sheet.
"S
uit yourself. They all end up on the floor for the servants to see anyway. Enjoy your bath, Rachel."
"Go to hell, Rand."
He stopped, his hand at the polished brass doorknob.
"Too late, angel," he said softly. "I've already been there and back."
A click sounded just before another pillow could hit its mark. Rachel dropped her head in her hands, vowing not to scream or cry should he be listening at the door. Taking deep, unsteady breaths she realized the smell of spice was on her palms, mingled with the scent of bay. She sniffed her arms and realized she was covered with his scent. It was doubtless on her neck, her breasts, and even in the haven of her thighs.
She hurt there, almost as much as she hurt in the twisted up, inside out span of her chest. What had Rand done to her? What had she done to herself? She didn't know. Hell, she didn't know anything but that she craved him, resented him. This lesson in emotional survival with Rand Slick left her jarred, stunned, and terrified of any brutal lessons he was capable of administering in their uncertain future.
If she'd had any doubts before, she had none now.
He did have the power to break her heart.
The sound of water splashing in an adjoining room was a soothing contrast to the chaos of her turmoil. The bath he'd ordered drawn beckoned her to cleanse herself of the cloying musk that had tainted her at the auction. She would try to rid herself of the musk Rand had called from her own body and wash away the hold he exerted even now that he was gone.
"Your bath is ready." A weary, olive skinned face peeked through the door that Rand had exited. "You may go through the side door in your bedroom. The Master has given his permission."
"The Master can die and rot before I need his permission to soak." Rachel felt badly when the woman ducked her head in a subservient manner. But not before she'd caught the flicker of admiration and surprise in the servant's eyes. That, and her approving smile. "Have you got a name?"
"Jay-nah."
"Jayna." So this was her guard. Rachel wrapped the sheet around her body as she rose to her feet, sizing Jayna up as she did. Trusting her gut instinct, Rachel decided she liked her. Maybe it was just that she was upset with Rand and Jayna seemed to sympathize. Whatever, if she had to have a guard, Jayna seemed like an A-okay one to have.
"Thanks, Jayna. I could use a bath. Maybe get my head on straight while I read a good book. Have you got anything around here I could read? Something the, uh—" make that ugh, "master would approve of?"
"The Master left instructions to give you this." She smiled and extended a thick volume. "It is in English so that you might read and gain knowledge."
"Thanks. It's probably a travelogue, judging from his twisted sense of humor." Rachel accepted the book and headed for the side door. "Take the day off, Jayna."
"But the Master. I cannot—"
"Sure you can. If Mr. Master has a problem, you tell him to come see me. I've got the only goods he's interested in getting under control." Rachel winced, remembering just how under control he'd had her goods. "Now go on. I can see to myself. Go watch a soap opera or eat some lunch. Or better yet, go round up some cards and chips. I'll teach you how to play poker tomorrow."
"You think to play cards tomorrow?" She laughed behind her hand. "It is not likely."
"How come?"
"The Master. He is young and strong. And his eyes, they glow darkly when he speaks of you. No, I do not think he has plans that you should play cards with me tomorrow."
"You mean I need his permission for something as simple as playing cards?"
"Of course. He is the Master. You are his bed slave. You would be wise to obey him." Jayna smiled sympathetically. "Even wiser to please him and gain his favor. He is your Master but he is also a man, no? Even a bed slave might have power over a man."
If the auction and Rand's bedchamber "performance" hadn't driven home the absolute control he could wield over her in this perverse country, Jayna's observation did.
Shaken, Rachel grasped the gravity of the situation she was in the thick of, a danger far different from any before.
"Thanks for the advice, Jayna. If you don't mind, I'd like to be alone and think on it awhile. Check you later."
"As you wish."
Jayna bowed out and for a long time Rachel stared sightlessly at the closed door. The rich mahogany wood took on the substance of iron, the engraved design resembling vertical bars. Shaking herself out of the trance she looked around, absorbing the elaborately carved teakwood furniture, the walls draped in raw silk, the central location of the bed proclaiming its importance.
A gilded cage. And here she was in it, a woman in a country where women were covered from head to foot just to walk the streets. No freedom there either, because they had to trail ten paces behind the man they were bound to or, if a concubine, as Sarah was, and her too, they were guarded by a servant of the master. Rand possessed a master's rights. She had none, other than those he chose to grant her.
The harsh reality of it hit her harder than the unreal memory of the kidnapping. Her hands clenched into the binding of the book. By golly, he'd better be generous, or else... what? What leverage did she have besides the tangled web of emotions they shared? Sarah? No bargaining chip there. This had become a personal mission and she an avenging angel.
What it came down to, she realized, was her trust in Rand and his respect for her. Talk about testing a relationship.
Rachel padded into the bathing chamber and dropped the sheet. How could anything be so decadent for the purpose of washing up? Water spouted from a dolphin's gold mouth. She turned the handles, crafted into the shape of golden starfish, then got in. With a weary sigh, she leaned back.
The deep, sunken tub could easily accommodate four of her, which was good since she felt trapped in one of those tri-fold mirrors, multiplying her into a dozen different images. She shut her eyes, willing the perfumed warmth to absorb the convolution of years measured in mind boggling days. She couldn't begin to piece everything together, too exhausted to even try.
In spite of her resolve to block it all out, images played in cinematic fashion behind her lids:
Rand in her office. Rand in her home. Desperate, sensitive, hard and mean. Rubik's Cube spinning on jagged edges until it blurred with too many colors and none of them matching. She felt as if she was screaming inside in frustration and then in horror as the auction revisited itself. The velocity of it propelling her into the bedroom where he made her feel too good, too weak, and then he was leaving her, leaving her still screaming, wanting, hurting....
Rachel grabbed for a nearby Turkish towel that had been draped next to something she thought was called a bidet. Pressing the thick cloth against her mouth, she gave into the need to scream, purging her system with a long, agonized wail. The towel absorbed her volatile grief again and again. When her throat was too raw to do more than whimper, she thrust the towel aside and took deep gulps of air.
"Buck up," she ordered herself. "Quit wallowing in what's past, hold out till you know if this is the real thing and get your act together. Read a book. Maybe he left you P.D. James."
Determined to escape her troubled thoughts, she fingered the bound volume on the marble floor beside the sunken tub. Rachel hoisted it up and flipped to mid-volume page.
Her eyes bulged, or at least they felt that way. The green of her irises nearly tumbled onto a well-thumbed illustration. With a burst of frazzled nerves she flung the book away like a spit ball over home plate. Her aim was a little too appropriate for all intents and purposes.
The Kama Sutra flew into the adjoining room and landed neatly in the middle of the silk cushioned bed Rand had dictated they were to share. Sex or no sex, according to him.
Well, Rachel thought with an internal huff, no sex as far as she was concerned. She had a job to do and Rand's earlier manipulation—and rejection—was too slick to be trusted.
But she wanted to trust him. She steeled her wayward heart against the flowering softness he commande
d with shameful ease and concentrated on how to go about getting the information she needed. The first question was there already:
Who was Joshua? And just what did he have to do with Rand, Sarah, and the relationship that was spinning beyond her control?
Rand could determine her physical responses, and he'd probed the tender emotions she was losing the battle to. But she'd felt the proof of his body's need, had glimpsed his deeper regions and felt his protective sensitivity. It gave them an equal footing of sorts. Their hunger cut both ways and she'd get her answers. Her dad had taught her a lot, but table turning was something she'd learned from Rand.
And what of that she'd learned from Jayna? He is also a man, no? Even a bed slave might have power over a man.
She was no slave but Rand was all man. She had let him call too many of the shots and it was high time she exerted some influence of her own. Feminine influence. Potent stuff.
That decided, she lined up her strategy:
Tonight. The bedroom. Answers.
A showdown. His turf.
But her way.
Chapter 13
Rand paused outside the bedroom door, hesitating as he remembered the volatile exchange marking his earlier exit. He'd won a minor but significant battle for Joshua, and he thought for Sarah, at the expense of Rachel's self-exposure. And, unfortunately, her wrath.
Listening, he heard nothing of her movements. Of course she just might be standing inches away, ready to clobber him with something more substantial than a pillow. Like more detrimental slurs about his character. He was still licking his wounds. Rachel possessed the uncanny ability to hurt him; the equally disturbing ability to summon Joshua's ghost from his past. Did she realize she held that power? Whether she did or not, he most definitely felt the internal struggle between the two men slugging it out.
How vulnerable he felt standing here. Dreading to enter and so eager that adrenaline made him feel like a car shifted in park with the accelerator pressed to the floor.