MasterofSilk

by Gia Dawn

  To her utter shock he reached out and took her chin in his fingers. She shuddered as she remembered those same long fingers fastening the delicate clamps around her nipples before reaching so deep between her legs she thought she’d never survive the pleasure. “In many ways you remind me of Laylia.” His thumb brushed across her marred cheek. “You have the same drive, the same concern for others.”

  With a sigh he let her go and reached to pour another cup of coffee. “Shall I tell you a story?”

  Isabella nodded, resisting the impulse to cradle her cheek as if she could somehow capture his touch and keep it with her forever. But she had always been enthralled by the sound of his voice. It soothed across her senses like silk, the purr of his accent enough to make her body burn with need. And she needed the distraction.

  “I would love to hear a story.” She smiled when she saw the glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes and the way his lips twisted up at the corners.

  “Once, in the beginning, the desert was ruled by djinn and other minor gods who believed men were nothing more than playthings created for their amusement. And they coveted perfection above all else.” He ran his tongue across his lips, making her heart flutter.

  “In those days, there was a carpet maker,” he continued after taking a drink of coffee, “who created works of such perfect beauty, they were sold to princes and kings for exorbitant sums of gold. One king—having not enough money in his coffers—even gave the carpet maker his daughter’s hand in marriage in exchange for one of the excellently crafted rugs. Seeing this, the immortals came to covet the works of this craftsman with an obsession, stealing every new one he finished. One djinn even went so far as to steal the man’s wife, the princess, for hers was a beauty unmatched by other mortal women.” He stopped and popped a strawberry into his mouth, his lips twisting up sensuously at the corners.

  Despite herself Isabella giggled at his obvious relish in telling the story. The same relish with which he’d seduced her before, his sexual appetite as exotic as his stories. “So did the carpet maker give up his trade and turn to camel herding instead?” She took a strawberry herself and nibbled on the sweet, fresh fruit.

  Zayne chuckled, a sound that tingled along her skin. Damn, if a man could pleasure a woman by the sound of his voice alone she felt certain Zayne could with his tales of magical creatures and the history of his desert home.

  “Oh, no, no, no.” His eyes flashed with a dark fire as he shook his head and gazed at her under the cover of his thick, black lashes. “The carpet maker was a very clever man. He realized that if he wove the smallest of flaws into his rugs the djinn and other immortals would have no use for his carpets and would never again grow jealous of his skill or plague his household.” Now he leaned forward and touched the back of her hand so lightly she barely felt the contact. But her heart pounded in her ears and her chest tightened so she could barely take a breath.

  “Since then many other artists weave such a flaw into their works so that they do not reawaken the gods of old and tempt them with perfection. And indeed these imperfections do not detract from the beauty of a thing but add a uniqueness that is prized even more highly.” Before she guessed his intent he had moved his hand to tuck back the curtain of her hair, baring her scars again to his intense and mesmerizing stare. “Do not hide your imperfections, Isabella. They add to your beauty in ways you do not fully understand.”

  “So was your Laylia perfect? Is that why the immortals snatched her away from you?” Had she really asked such a rude question? She wished she hadn’t as she saw his expression shutter.

  “Laylia was far from perfect.” He shut his eyes and hesitated, as if uncertain he wanted to continue the conversation. “She was angry at her country, angry at her God. She was angry at so many things beyond her control that I grew concerned for her safety. I wanted to protect her, keep her from being harmed. In my eagerness to save her I became the thing she hated most—a husband who took away her power.”

  Now he uncrossed his legs and moved back toward her, his eyes as dark as a moonless night. “It took me many months to realize I had lost her affection. Where once she admired and respected the freedom I gave her, she grew resentful of my demands that she cease her protests and focus on our marriage. She refused. She became involved with a man who promised to let her do anything she desired and she planned to leave me after we returned from a last humanitarian trip to Iraq.”

  “Where she was killed.”

  “Yes.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” When she saw the guilt he tried to hide she reached out to close her hand around his. “You know that, right?”

  He shrugged but did not take his hand from hers. “I have spent many years trying to dissect my feelings and yet I still cannot help but feel I played some part in her death. If I had given her more freedom…if I had tried to better understand her thoughts perhaps she would have been more content with what I had to offer.”

  “Or not.” Isabella finally pulled away. She did not want to feel his pain from the loss of another woman. “There are many of us who are not satisfied with just being a wife or a mother.”

  “I understand that now.” He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers together. “So you will tell me something in exchange for all I’ve shared with you.” He pointed one finger at her cheek. “How did this happen? Did someone hurt you?” His voice promised that if they had he would hunt them down and make them pay. Isabella shuddered. She had not seen this cruel side of his nature. And yet it aroused her, made her feel as if he truly cared.

  “No. Nothing like that. It was an accident, mostly my fault. I was fifteen and out with a friend. We were bored and in our stupidity decided to borrow a friend’s car. Neither of us had our driver’s license but we weren’t going far, just around the corner.”

  He raised one pitch-black eyebrow. “A night of mischief that did not go as expected.”

  “Janelle was driving but I grabbed the wheel and tried to spin us into a doughnut. We lost control. Rammed into a wall. I hit my head on the window as it smashed. The glass sliced all the way to the bone and shredded the skin. This was the best surgery could manage.”

  “It managed well enough, Isabella,” he told her gently, “compared to some of the terrible things I have seen.”

  Her cell rang, breaking into the silence that fell between them. With an apologetic glance at Zayne she answered before slipping it back into her pocket with a sigh. “Work. I’m sorry, I have to go.”

  “But you will be my guest next week? I will not take no for an answer.” He stood with her, putting his own cell to his ear. “My driver will drop you off at the hospital. Thank you for your company this evening.” He bowed over her hand, always formal and polite…except in the bedroom.

  It gave her a thrill of satisfaction to know she was the only one in the city to have ever seen his dangerous side. But it also brought a deepening depression she would never see that side of him again.

  “I will be there next week, I promise.” She stuffed her hands into her pockets to keep from doing something stupid, like kissing him until they both forgot to breathe. Instead she turned and walked away, feeling his eyes linger on her until she’d been safely secured in the backseat of his car, missing his company with a desperation that made her want to cry.

  Chapter Seven

  By the time the night of the fundraiser arrived Isabella hoped she had everything planned, although the thought of all that could go wrong was enough to keep her tossing and turning well into morning.

  She had decided to wear her hair in a simple knot at her neck that could be taken down for her dance and easily put back up again. A plain black dress and heels completed her ordinary attire and she had opted to wear a galabeya dress for her costume, a one-piece gown and hip scarf in traditional Egyptian style, which could be put on and taken off within a couple of minutes.

  Her veil was a single swath of silk she attached to her hair with a comb on top and
then draped around her face. But the galabeya was slit on either side most of the way up her thighs and her hip scarf jingled with tons of coins and beads and bells.

  Stashing her costume in the trunk of her car—she had sternly declined Zayne’s offer of his limo—Isabella sat behind the wheel and gave herself a last look in the visor mirror. She had mostly recovered from the nightmare of the week before—at least the dark circles beneath her eyes were less noticeable beneath a layer of concealer and powder. Her makeup was simple, as befitted Dr. Seda, but she had several pieces of stick-on rhinestones she could use to add pop to her appearance during the performance.

  All in all, she was satisfied she could play both her required parts that night with no one leaving any the wiser. Especially Zayne Saladar.

  And after tonight they would be finished.

  Disappointment threatened to drown her completely as she started the car and made her way across town. She had tried to find another solution to the situation. When they’d had their last dinner together she’d wanted to confess innumerable times but humiliation had made her mute in his company. How do you admit to a comparative stranger that you dream of being his slave forever and you will never find another man who knows just exactly what you need in bed? Or that you deceived him and broke several ethical and professional policies in the process and that you wanted so much more if only he would give you a chance at a normal relationship?

  And he hadn’t made a single effort to contact her in days. No calls, no texts, no risqué invitations. Well what had she expected—him to fall to his knees and beg for Silk’s affection or woo the scarred Dr. Seda in her place?

  Not in the real world.

  With her head held high she walked into the Gaston Plantation restaurant, awed by the amount of local celebrities present. She saw Ryan Marquis and his fiancée Alaina Winter drinking champagne with Manette Brisson, who had a magnificent Asian American man on her arm. On the other side of the room was a veritable throng of people she recognized as being born into old Charleston money, who were listening to Zayne as if he’d cast a desert spell upon them. Which he had. His voice was magic. She’d heard it often enough to know.

  Music was already playing on the temporary stage as she accepted a glass of wine from a passing server. She had worked with the band before and they already knew Silk was dancing later in the evening. Satisfied, she made her way to the elaborate buffet. Plenty of protein and vegetables, she noted in approval, grabbing a huge cocktail shrimp and dipping it in the spicy sauce. Then she checked her watch, noting it was nearing eight and wondering if Zayne had eaten yet.

  It took most of her willpower not to corner him and ask what he’d had to eat and when, as though she had a personal right to the information. So she made herself a plate instead, sitting in a corner where she could continue to watch Zayne and his retinue.

  But as eight thirty rolled around with Zayne having no interruption from his bevy of admirers Isabella began to worry in earnest—especially when she saw him reach for a second glass of champagne. Alcohol lowered blood sugar and, especially if he hadn’t eaten, could pose a potentially dangerous situation. With a frown she put her own dinner aside, stood and made him a plate of food before carrying it over to where he was regaling the crowd with another of his marvelous stories.

  “And then the djinn led the maiden by the hand—oh, good evening, Isabella!” he said with a smile that took her breath away. “I did not see you come in. You all know Dr. Isabella Seda.” He placed his hand at the small of her back. “My most excellent physician.”

  She smiled and shook hands with several people, sticking close to Zayne’s side, even as someone else moved in to capture his attention. He was obviously having a marvelous time and by the checks she saw handed to him on numerous occasions was doing an excellent job in garnering donations for his cause.

  And while she didn’t want to be the pooper to his party Isabella shook her head at the server who came to offer him another glass of champagne, shoving the plate of food into his hands instead.

  “When did you eat?” she demanded, turning her head to whisper in his ear.

  “Not too long ago,” he replied, snaking his arm around her waist to pull her closer. “A late lunch. Do not worry.” He finally paid attention to the plate in his hands. “This smells excellent. I will just go stick my finger first.”

  Before she could utter a word in protest he handed her back the food and made his way toward the bathroom but was stopped several times by those eager to offer their congratulations or press another check into his hand.

  Damn the man.

  Still, he finally managed to get to his destination and she took a deep breath of relief when she saw him crossing the room toward her a few moments later.

  “Eat.” She handed him the plate again. “Now.”

  “Of course, of course.” He took a few bites of roast beef and steamed broccoli then followed them up with a couple of the cocktail shrimp before he was waylaid again by another of his admirers.

  And while Isabella wanted to remain and make certain he finished the entire plate of food a quick look at the clock told her it was time to get ready for her performance. She slipped away while Zayne was explaining to a potential donor his plans for the Saladar Center and why he had decided to build in Charleston.

  It took very little time to grab her costume and enter via a back exit, where she had been given a private room to change in. In less than fifteen minutes Isabella had transformed herself into Silk, ready to give the performance of her life.

  The bandleader saw her when she came up behind the stage. With a nod he finished the song they were playing and stepped up to the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, please turn your attention to the stage and give a great big round of applause for Silk!”

  As the beat picked up tempo she whirled into the spotlight, hips bumping in perfect time to the rhythm, shoulders shimmying in invitation.

  The crowd clapped and roared their approval as she made her way across the stage, letting the song settle into her soul. She loved to dance, had loved it since she was a child. Isabella was swept away by the music as it seeped into her muscles, forging a bond that took away all her self-doubt and insecurities as she melded with the beat.

  She was beautiful. She was mysterious. She was the most desirable woman in the world…and Zayne Saladar had better understand what he would soon be missing.

  She looked for him as she swirled to the other side of the stage, catching his eye as he smiled and made his way toward her, his hand still holding the mostly full plate. The bastard hadn’t eaten anything at all, she realized as she saw him stumble, try to take another step then fall to his knees on the floor.

  Isabella sprinted, reaching him as he passed out, the crowd gasping as she caught him, lowering him slowly enough he would not smash his head on the hard wood. “Call an ambulance!” she yelled as Zayne started to have a seizure, his jaw snapping shut hard. Frantically she searched in his pockets for the glucagon injection he should have on hand for such emergencies and said a quick prayer of gratitude when her fingers closed around the syringe.

  “I hope this hurts,” she whispered as she plunged the needle into his thigh, fighting down a wave of panic. “Then maybe next time you’ll know enough to eat.” She closed her fingers around his wrist to check the strength of his pulse. Although it had started to steady he was still drenched in sweat so she took off his tie and undid the buttons of his shirt, snatching her veil off in frustration when it slid over her eyes. She didn’t give a damn who saw her now. Her only thought was to get Zayne stabilized and rushed to the hospital.

  She stayed with him in the ambulance—everyone knew who she was as soon as they saw her face—and held his hand as they wheeled him into the emergency room, reassured when he opened his eyes and squeezed her hand in return.

  “You bottomed out.” She held the oxygen in place beneath his nose when he shook his head and tried to take it off. “And if you don’t quit fighting
me and do exactly as I say I swear I will kill you myself to keep from trying to save your idiotic ass another time. Got that? What the hell were you thinking?” Worry made her curt.

  He had the decency to look chagrined. “I was thinking I was happy with my life for the first time in since Laylia died and that she would have been proud of the Saladar Center.” The familiar jealousy shot Isabella through the heart as he spoke. “Then I was thinking how beautiful you looked onstage and how much I had grown to enjoy your company—both in and out of my bed.” Now the jealousy was replaced with affection for the man who rattled her control as he reached out to touch her cheek.

  “You look good enough to eat, my lovely Isabella.” He winked.

  “If you’d eaten we wouldn’t be in this mess,” she retorted, fighting the urge to stretch out on the bed beside him.

  “That is not what I meant.” He ran his thumb among the inside of her arm. “But I will allow you to defy me just this once.”

  “Really? How generous.”

  “That is twice.” His voice had regained a measure of its strength and the threat curled along her spine, bringing with it a welcome and familiar need.

  Along with the knowledge he had seen through her ruse. “How long have you known?”

  “Since that first day in your office. I had watched you dance so many times before, I knew the exact color of your eyes and line of your body—even beneath the baggy clothes you wear to work. Which you will continue to do.”

  “And why is that?” She could not help but bait him after all the worry he’d put her through.

  “Because I refuse to have my woman leered at by every man in this entire city.”

  “Your woman?” She couldn’t resist running her hand down his chest. “I thought you’d grown tired of me.”

  He turned his head to run his teeth across her palm, his eyes smoldering with a fire she had grown to crave. “Never. I knew you needed time to realize how much you cared for me and I am a generous man.” His mouth twisted into an arrogant smile.