by Dana Marton
“You’ve never been down here before?”
“Never had the need.”
She admired his self-restraint while she ogled the pool. After having ridden across a good stretch of desert, acquiring significant amounts of sand in places it didn’t belong, the pull of the water was irresistible. She kicked off her shoes, yanked off her socks while hopping on one foot, then finally stuck her toes in. Cool, but not overly so.
He watched her with a smile playing on his lips. “You may bathe if you wish.” He set the flashlight on a rock in a way that it illuminated the larger room of the cave but left her in the shadows, then walked away from her.
She shed her clothes and slipped into the pool quickly, held her breath as the cold water surrounded her, swam to the other end then back until she got used to it. Around the edges she could stand up, but in the middle her toes did not touch the bottom.
She dunked her hair in, went under completely and stayed under as long as she could before breaking the surface again, her gaze settling on her dirty clothes. Would have been nice to get them clean.
“Here. Try these.”
Saeed’s voice made her spin around.
He stood a few feet from the pool’s edge, his gaze on her face, and spilled an armload of silk to the ground.
She knew he could not see anything below her neck, there wasn’t light enough to see under the water, and yet her pulse quickened, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. She drew a deep breath, trying to relax. It wasn’t as if she were shy. Women in the military were not allowed that luxury. She had been on countless missions where she’d been the only female member of the team. She had gotten used to lack of privacy a long time ago.
And yet, Saeed’s gaze made her so self-aware she wanted to hide from it, feeling it on her skin as if he had touched her.
“Thank you,” she said, hoping he would leave.
He didn’t budge.
She stared at him, unable to look away as the light coming from behind illuminated his wide shoulders. Ali Baba and his treasure. The man and everything about him fell way outside her circle of experience.
“I’ll be done in a minute and you can take your turn,” she said to break the tension between them.
He nodded and turned at last to leave. She watched him as he went back to the crates and looked through them, brought poles and ropes from the back, unrolled a few dozen carpets, made a tent.
She washed her clothes while he secured the top and side flaps, amazed at the elaborateness of the structure that resembled a miniature castle rather than the Bedouin tents she’d seen so far.
She emerged from the water and stayed in the cover of the boulder that separated the pool from the main portion of the cave, pulled the clothes to herself, lifted them one after the other. They weren’t clothes after all, but lengths of fabric, silks in every color.
She dried herself in one and wrapped another, pale azure, around her torso. It reached from her armpits to the floor. She took a sea-green piece, folded it in half and twisted it around her waist to make sure nothing gaped open, looped it up to cover her shoulders, but it was long enough only to cover one. Oh, well. She tucked the end into her “waistband.” The end result was a cross between an Indian sari and a woman’s toga from ancient Rome. But most of her body was covered and she could be reasonably sure she wouldn’t expose herself when she moved. That was what counted.
The silk felt luxurious on her bare skin as she walked toward the tent, wishing for a moment for the kind of style and grace some women were lucky enough to possess, then angry at herself for even thinking of it. She knew little about being alluring, spent most of her life in army fatigues. And it shouldn’t have mattered whether Saeed found her attractive or not. It didn’t matter, she reinforced the thought. Their relationship was strictly professional.
“You look like a water nymph from a myth,” he said, looking at her with open admiration.
“A portable palace?” she asked, unsure how to handle the compliment.
“About a tenth of one. I didn’t think we needed all of it, but we might as well spend the day in comfort. We can’t ride to Shelfa until we have the protection of the night. Too many planes flying overhead.” Saeed let his gaze glide over her, sending her heartbeat galloping.
He pulled open one of the front flaps for her. “I suppose in my grandfather’s time rulers were more given to pomp and ceremony.”
A half dozen oil lamps burned on the sumptuous carpets that covered the floor inside, silk pillows scattered in the corners. The sight took her breath away. A stage set for seduction. She bit her lip to bring herself back to reality.
Saeed wasn’t about to seduce her. They were on a mission.
And if he had somehow forgotten that, it was her job to remind him. Still, that he might have thought to seduce her— The idea and the images it brought sent tingles across her skin.
“When I go to the oasis tonight, I wish you would stay here in safety,” he said.
And just like that, she was brought back from her little self-indulgent moment of fantasy. He wasn’t trying to seduce her, he was trying to get rid of her. She forced herself to be patient. “I couldn’t very well guard you from here, could I?”
“You insist on putting yourself in the way of harm.” He bit out the words.
“So do you. You went to the palace without taking anyone with you.”
“I could have taken every guard I had at the house and it wouldn’t have mattered. It would have made Majid’s case stronger against me. He would have claimed I went against him with force.”
“You could have taken me.”
The intense expression on his face broke into a small smile. “You came anyway.”
“Exactly. Don’t leave me behind again. It takes a lot of effort to track you down. Effort that would be better spent protecting you.”
“I do not need protection.”
She gave him an impatient look. Things would go so much smoother if only he were willing to admit that he needed her.
“I would have gotten out of the palace on my own.”
“You got out faster with me.”
He inclined his head at that, the first sign of agreement he’d shown so far. “I do not want you to come to harm.”
“I skirt harm for a living.”
“It should not be so,” he said, his face serious once again. “A woman like you should be cherished.”
She groaned in frustration. “Can you not, even temporarily, consider us partners, working toward a common goal?”
His gaze burned into hers. “Partners in many things but not in fight.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“You must know that you’re a very desirable woman.”
His deep voice sent tingles to the bottom of her stomach. Then he stepped closer.
Not a good idea. She held out a hand. “Your bath is ready.”
He held her gaze for a couple of eternities back-to-back. “I will not rush you,” he said, then walked away.
She sank onto a pillow and watched through the open flap as he walked to the edge of the pool, then she squeezed her eyes shut when he began to undress.
Chapter Seven
The water was cold. Good. Saeed leaned his head against the pool’s ledge.
The woman was distraction personified. Just what he didn’t need right now when everything around him was falling apart. Or perhaps, she was exactly what he needed.
The thought brought his head up.
He didn’t like the idea of needing her, liked it even less that the need went beyond the physical. He hadn’t expected ever to feel this way about a woman, wasn’t sure if it was right.
He threw some water into his face and shook his head. And then he heard her scream. The startled sound bounced off the walls of the cave.
He launched himself out of the pool, wrapped one of the strips of silk around his waist loincloth-style as he ran for the tent. She wasn’t there.
“Dara?�
� Fear filled his lungs. He grabbed his gun, scanned the cave, blamed himself for leaving her alone. He shouldn’t have assumed they were safe for even a moment. Had someone come after them?
“Over here.” Her voice sounded muffled.
He followed it, checking behind bigger rocks and stacks of crates.
“I fell through a crack,” she said.
And he saw it in a dark corner, an even darker opening in the rock floor. Then he was there and on his stomach, reaching for her.
She grabbed onto his arm. “I didn’t see it.”
“What the hell were you doing back here?”
“Getting the lay of the land. Looking for an easily defendable spot should anything happen.”
He pulled her up, against him, and didn’t let go.
“I’m fine,” she said, but her voice shook.
He lifted her into his arms, carried her into the tent, and laid her onto the pillows, pulling a lamp closer as he sat to examine her.
No new injuries but a small scrape on the shoulder left exposed by the silk. He waited for his heart to stop trying to jump through his throat.
“Your body looks like a battlefield.” His gaze skimmed from the purplish bruise on her right shoulder that peeked from under her makeshift dress, to the bullet wound on her left arm below the elbow, and settled on her latest injuries.
“I’m perfectly fine,” she repeated.
Relief untangled his guts at last. “You are.”
But he wasn’t.
He couldn’t stand the thought of anything happening to her, that he might lose her. The thought was akin to physical pain. And reminding himself that she wasn’t his only made things worse.
She stood. “I’m going to get some water.”
Her movements were graceful and smooth, the creamy skin of her bare arms glowing in the lamplight. Her loose hair, the dark color richer than anything the best painter in the world could mix up, swung forward as she bent to pick through a handful of jars.
He looked at the way the silk fell from her waist over slim legs, at the kissable arc of her slender neck, and knew that a hundred years of looking would not be enough. “I want you.”
“Mmm,” she murmured, distracted.
“I mean to have you.” He gave her fair warning.
She turned, listening now, her eyes as round as the gold coins he had spilled earlier. Her breathing grew shallow. Then she gathered herself.
“What’s this?” She lifted a jar in a transparent attempt to distract him.
He broke off the seal and sniffed the contents. “Myrrh and balsam. Both plants have medicinal qualities. Myrrh is thought to help in the healing of wounds.” He held her gaze. “Some women rub it into their skin to soften and scent it for their lover. There was a time when it was worth as much as gold.”
He dipped a finger into the jar, then captured her left arm and smoothed some ointment over her velvet skin, careful with her injury. He moved up and spread some of the sweet-scented substance over her shoulder, letting his fingers play on her collarbone and the hollow of her neck longer than necessary. He caressed the edges of the fading bruises that peeked from under the silk on her right side.
“That one is fine. It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she said in a breathless whisper.
Better be sure. He prided himself on being thorough. A quick tug sent the cloth sliding obediently to the ground. She sank to her knees in front of him to retrieve it, bringing them to the same level, but when her fingers closed around the material she didn’t get up.
“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he said, and it scared him to realize that his attraction to her went far beyond beauty. He dipped into the jar again. Some of the ointment, having the consistency of honey, dripped from his fingers before he reached her.
He caressed her soft skin and she swallowed hard, the sound making him smile. He worked the scented substance over her arms, shoulders and neck. When he reached the fabric that covered the rest of her body, he tugged it loose. The silk pooled around her waist.
For a moment he could but stare. Then once his limbs obeyed him again, he dipped into the jar and let his fingers glide over her breasts. She was soft and firm at the same time, the feel of her body starting a thousand burning fires in his. Her glorious breasts glistened in the flickering light of the lamps. She looked like one of the pagan goddesses his people had worshipped centuries ago.
DARA WATCHED HIS EYES DARKEN at her quick intake of breath, as he trailed his fingers from her breasts to her waist and pushed the last of the silk out of the way.
“Lie down,” he said, and when she lay on her back, wanting him, ready for him, he surprised her by turning her over.
His hands felt like heaven, melting her bones wherever they roamed. He massaged the myrrh into her shoulder blades, down the curve of her waist, his long fingers caressing her buttocks, dipping between her thighs and pushing them apart. Heat pooled down below. She felt herself grow moist. Now, she thought, but he went on to work her legs, the bottom of her feet, covering every inch before he turned her again to take care of the front.
She was mesmerized by his intense blue gaze as he smoothed the scented ointment over her breasts for the second time, dragged his fingers over her belly, her hips, rubbed myrrh onto her inner thighs. Her skin was so sensitized, each touch sent shivers of pleasure through her. He took his time, and when he was done, when she was a quivering mess beneath his hands, he pulled away.
No. She gathered her strength and came to her knees to face him, wanting to touch his body in turn.
She dipped her own trembling fingers into the jar and let them glide over the muscles of his chest, shocked by the intense pleasure the simple touch brought her.
He came up to his knees, too. Their eyes were level with each other as he pulled her closer, bare skin to bare skin, and claimed her mouth. Her tightened nipples touched his chest at the same time that their lips met, sending a shock of pleasure to her core.
He did not take her mouth gently as he had touched her body, but ravished her lips, made them his in every way. Her heated blood drummed an erratic rhythm as he consumed her, and yet his fervor did not scare her. She reveled in it. He left barely a coherent thought in her mind when he moved back.
“Ya lilly ya aini,” he breathed the words.
“What does that mean?”
“You are my eyes,” he said with a smile.
“That’s beautiful.”
“Ya noori. You are my light.”
His gaze was on her face, but the burning expression in his eyes and his words touched her as profoundly as if he ran his hands over her body, maybe even more so, leaving not only her skin tingling, but reaching deeper inside.
She leaned forward, into him again, not wanting the sensations to end. She was a grown woman who knew what she wanted, without shyness or apologies. She had seen both the best and the worst life had to offer, too much perhaps of the latter. In her line of work, moments of respite were few and far between. Moments like this… She’d never quite had one like this before.
Saeed held her gaze, took her hand and placed it on the top of the fabric twisted around his waist. She understood his unspoken message: it was up to her how they proceeded. He was willing to stop even now.
She wasn’t.
Without hesitation—although, with slightly shaky fingers—she pulled the material free. To see his obvious proof of desire was a heady feeling. Touching it raised her body’s level of urgency a notch. She moved to straddle his lap, but he put a hand to her waist and stopped her halfway.
The protest died on her lips when his other hand cupped her, long fingers parting her flesh. He worked her with finesse and patience that took her breath away. When his hot lips closed around her nipple—his teeth grazing the hard tip—she held on to his shoulders and let her head fall back.
He felt right, and it went beyond what he could do for her body.
Faint intentions nudged the back of her mind. She should be doi
ng something, give pleasure for pleasure. She slid her hands downward but they stopped over his chest, her fingers kneading his muscles while the pressure inside her built to the breaking point. A moan slipped from her lips as wave after wave of satisfaction washed over her body, cresting still when he cradled her against him.
Before she could catch her breath, he reached under her and shifted her slightly, then pushed inside her. The fullness of him nearly sent her over the edge again.
He rocked her, his hands splayed over her buttocks, massaging, squeezing, caressing. His lips found hers and they were gentle this time, almost reverent. He filled her to stretching, the slow rhythm he set making her want to jump out of her skin. He was holding back, teasing her. The sensation drove her mad.
She wanted fast and furious. She was ready. But he would not give it to her.
“We have all day,” he said and nipped her bottom lip.
When she arched against him, he smiled.
Then she moved her hips in a deliberate circular motion and he grew serious.
“A battle of wills?” The strain in his voice betrayed what his restraint cost him. “I must warn you, the Bedu are legendary fighters. I come from a long line of warriors.”
“So do I.” She dipped her head to nip at his neck, tightening her inner muscles at the same time.
He groaned, but did not pick up the speed, shifted instead so he could reach even deeper. And there it was, that critical moment that comes in every battle when the outcome is decided.
She fought to win, with every weapon at her disposal.
She tightened her muscles around him, and again, hard quick squeezes even as she felt her own pleasure build to a peak. And he thrust inside her with force then, and pushed her over the edge.
Through the haze of complete satisfaction, she felt him shudder inside her body and empty himself into her. And she smiled.
Minutes passed before they were able to move. He took her with him to the carpets, cradled her in his arms. Their bodies depleted, their limbs intertwined, they rested.
She stared at the ceiling of the tent, trying to push her thoughts past the short-circuit in her mind. He had shocked her. Her own body had shocked her. She hadn’t known it could be like this. Did other people?