He tugged her nearer, his lips soft, gentle, molding her to him. “I can give you so much more than Gamal ever could, Rahab.” His breath grew hot against her cheek. “He would never have to know.”
Rahab’s lips tingled with another lingering kiss, and she could not stop the desire, the deep longing for more. To be loved and cherished, as Gamal once cared for her. She closed her eyes against the memory and allowed his kiss to deepen. “He cannot know,” she whispered between breaths. “Unless . . .” Horror struck her with such force she drew back, breaking his hold, trembling. “Did Gamal sell me to you for a night?” Of course he had. Why else would a man of Dabir’s standing want her?
Her stomach twisted at the memory of Gamal’s threat a few hours earlier. I’ve had men ask after you. She crossed her arms, shielding her heart and her body from his words.
Dabir cocked his head, studying her, his gaze understanding, his smile congenial. “Dear, sweet Rahab. I am not a man who pays a drunkard for time with his wife.” He lifted a hand toward her, but she took a step backward. He lowered his arm, accepting. “But you . . . you, my dear, are a treasure Gamal should not own, a woman of passion and beauty. The mere thought of you has often robbed me of sleep and invaded my dreams.”
“Men visit the harlots at the temples to appease their dreams, or go to the gaming houses for the women of the night, but that doesn’t mean I want to be one of them.” Her shaking grew.
His soft chuckle incensed her. “My darling Rahab, you are much too beautiful to be a common harlot.”
She looked away, all comments frozen within her. Your daughter is very beautiful, my lord. Gamal did not say those things now. His lack of desire for her had caused her to fear she had lost her beauty due to her barrenness, that she now appeared gaunt, like the ones at the edge of Sheol.
“If you have not paid my husband for a night with me, why are you here?”
“I think you know the answer to that question, Rahab.” And she did know, but she did not want to face it.
“Am I to become mistress to the king’s advisor to repay my husband’s debt?” She was alone with him, unprotected. How could she stop him from doing as he pleased?
“Not if you do not want to.” He lowered his dark head, his shoulders drooping ever so slightly in a gesture of defeat.
She watched him, pulled in a long breath, and slowly released it. She swallowed, summoning courage. “You would leave if I asked it of you?”
He lifted his gaze again, and she sensed his power . . . and his vulnerability. “I would not force you.”
So he did not purchase her, and he was not forcing Gamal’s debt on her.
Dabir’s rich robes swished as he took two steps closer to her. He stopped, stretched one ringed hand toward her. “I would give you myself, Rahab. I would show you all the pleasures Gamal has forgotten.”
She looked from his outstretched hand to his aristocratic face. The lines along his brow showed concern, his strong jaw determination.
“I will not allow Gamal to hurt you ever again.” His promise held a tiny thread of hope, and yet what could he do but cause ill to her husband?
“I would not have you harm him.” She searched Dabir’s face and did not pull away as his fingers slowly encased hers.
“I will not harm him.” He tugged her closer. Exhaustion filled her, and she did not have the strength to resist. His arms came around her, and his kiss barely skimmed her lips. Gentle fingers rubbed circles at her back, and his kiss slowly, tenderly deepened. “Come with me, Rahab.” His feet moved in the rhythm of a dance to the door of her chambers. With the ease of a warrior, he lifted her into his arms.
Common sense whispered warnings. Fight back. Flee. But he had captured her with kindness, leaving all courage behind her.
Dabir stood over her some time later, tying the belt of his robe. She lounged among the bed pillows, feeling warm, accepted. She folded her hands beneath her chin, a smile ghosting her lips. Longing rose to ask him to stay, to come again. But one glance at the moon’s bright glow through her window told her Gamal would soon return, fall into bed with her, and assume she slept.
She clutched the sheets to her and sat up. “Please, my lord, would you hand me my robe?” He had tossed it onto a nearby chair.
He looked at her and chuckled. “You weren’t so shy an hour ago, my love.” He cupped her cheek and bent to kiss her. “Get it yourself.”
She balked at his tone, uncertain. But she did as he said, dressing quickly.
She walked with him to the door. When would she see him again? But she could not ask it. Dare not think it. He had come, and she had given him what he wanted. That was the extent of it.
He pulled a small packet from the pocket of his robe and handed it to her. “For you. Don’t show Gamal.”
She took it but did not undo the strings to the wrapping.
“Open it.”
She searched his face, saw him smile again in that gentle, coaxing way.
She fumbled with the strings until his hands came beneath hers to steady them. At last she pulled free the finest length of scarlet fabric she had ever seen. Never in her lifetime could she duplicate such richness.
“I cannot accept this,” she said without thinking.
His frown made her stomach flutter. “Of course you can. It is a gift.”
“But I did nothing to earn it.”
“Precisely why it is a gift, my dear.” He tipped her chin. “But you did earn it.” He smiled down at her with the gaze of one who has known more than he should. “Keep it.”
His parting kiss left her shaken.
Jill Eileen Smith is the bestselling author of The Crimson Cord, The Prophetess, the Wives of King David series, the Wives of the Patriarchs series, and the ebook novellas The Desert Princess and The Shepherdess. Her research into the lives of biblical women has taken her from the Bible to Israel, and she particularly enjoys learning how women lived in Old Testament times.
When she isn’t writing, she loves to spend time with her family and friends, read stories that take her away, ride her bike to the park, snag date nights with her hubby, try out new restaurants—particularly those with exotic, organic, and gluten-free choices—or play with her lovable, “helpful” cat, Tiger. Jill lives with her family in southeast Michigan.
Contact Jill through email ([email protected]), her website (http://www.jilleileensmith.com), Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/jilleileensmith), or Twitter (https://twitter.com/JillEileenSmith). She loves to hear from her readers.
Books by Jill Eileen Smith
THE WIVES OF KING DAVID
Michal
Abigail
Bathsheba
WIVES OF THE PATRIARCHS
Sarai
Rebekah
Rachel
THE LOVES OF KING SOLOMON (ebook series)
The Desert Princess
The Shepherdess
Daughter of the Nile
DAUGHTERS OF THE PROMISED LAND
The Crimson Cord
The Prophetess
www.JillEileenSmith.com
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