by Penny Jordan
She did as he told her, conscious of the scantiness of her brief bra and pants, as he methodically stroked the brush through her hair.
The effect was nerve-tinglingly sensual, but he seemed impervious to it, brushing her hair until it fell round her shoulders in a soft bell.
‘That is your hair disposed of,’ he said grimly, ‘but as far as your shower goes, I’m afraid you’ll have to forgo that in favour of something a little less exhausting. Stay there.’
He disappeared into her bathroom, and came back with a sponge and towel.
‘I want to put some of this cream on your burns, but I think we had better remove some of the dirt first,’ he told her.
‘I can do it myself.’ So this was what he had meant by ‘less exhausting.’ Felicia shuddered at the thought of having to endure the clinical touch of his hands on her body, when she longed for them to caress her in fierce possession.
He didn’t bother to reply, merely pushing her back on to the pillows and disposing of her protests by the simple expedient of ignoring them.
His touch was sure, and strangely relaxing, as he bathed the dust from her tired limbs. There must be something wrong with her, she thought achingly. She was actually enjoying this, even though she knew Raschid felt not a single jot of answering desire. Only when his fingers brushed the exposed curve of her breast did she move, trying to stop the colour rising betrayingly in her cheeks.
Raschid seemed unaware of her tension.
‘Soon be finished,’ he told her coolly—so coolly that she replied crossly, ‘Yes, doctor!’
His eyebrows rose, as he reached for the tube of cream he had placed on the floor.
‘I can manage the cream myself,’ she began hurriedly, but the glint in his eyes warned her that she was treading dangerous ground.
‘I think not,’ he murmured silkily. ‘Now turn over, please.’
She knew better than to defy him, so she presented him with a mutely protesting back, hunching her shoulders and burying her face in the softness of her pillow. Nothing happened and she relaxed her tensed muscles, raising her head to look at Raschid. He was regarding her with glinting anger, coupled with another emotion she could not name.
His fingers were cool against her overheated skin, massaging the cooling lotion into her shoulders with a circular movement at once intensely relaxing and yet somehow subtly seductive.
At first she told herself she was imagining the steely determination she had read in his eyes, but as the pressure of his fingers deepened, their subtle message increasing with each punishing stroke, her breathing became more and more erratic as she fought to control the desire pulsating through her. Her brain screamed at her to tell him to stop, but she lacked the willpower. His hands lifted the heavy weight of her hair off her shoulders, his fingers kneaded the bunched muscles at the base of her neck, until the tension eased.
‘Turn over, Felicia.’
Her heart seemed to be beating in her throat. She couldn’t breathe. She felt his hands slide down to unclip her bra, the weight of his body as he kneeled over her. She closed her eyes, trying to breathe evenly and slowly while she fought for self-control.
Hard fingers slid under her, turning her resisting body. She refused to look at him, glad of the protective darkness of her room. She would not let him see the desire she knew must be in her eyes.
His touch remote, he smoothed more lotion along her burning forearms and neck.
Perhaps she was going mad, she thought hazily. Perhaps she had only imagined the sensuality of those earlier caresses?
Tears welled in her eyes. She lifted her hand surreptitiously to brush them away, but it was pushed away, as Raschid’s hands cupped her face, forcing her to meet his eyes.
‘Tears?’ he whispered mockingly. ‘For whom do you shed them, Felicia Gordon?’
‘Myself.’ One sparkling tear accompanied her forlorn admission, trembling like a diamond against the darkness of Raschid’s skin, and then unbelievably she heard him curse, his arms tightened urgently around her, the warmth of his skin a welcome panacea for her bruises, his mouth brushed her face in light, butterfly kisses, teasing and tantalising, his hands returned to cup her face, so that her lips were forbidden the contact they craved.
‘Well, Felicia Gordon, am I a substitute for Faisal now?’
Faisal! The letter! But it was too late. Her tears flowed faster, her hands going up of their own accord to lock behind the dark head those tormenting few inches away, pulling him down towards her.
‘Please, Raschid!’
Where was her pride? Her determination to keep her love a closely guarded secret? They were gone, swept away in the wild tide of longing that surged through her, destroying the barriers of years. In the darkness her eyes begged silently. His hands moulded the fragile bones of her face, tracing the curve of her mouth which parted involuntarily to press a kiss against their hard warmth.
‘Please what?’ he mocked, his lips a mere breath away from hers.
All her need of him was in her eyes, giving her the message her lips could not frame.
Triumph edged the glittering look that swept her from head to foot, but Felicia closed her mind to it, tormented by a yearning desire to know his full possession just this once.
Moonlight silvered her body as she arched closer to him. Her body felt weak with longing, her hands trembling as she reached feverishly towards him.
‘Very well,’ he murmured at last. ‘But be sure you know who it is who possesses your body, Felicia Gordon,’ he told her as his mouth feathered across hers. ‘Do you know?’
Her mouth dry, Felicia answered his whispered demand with a small nod of her head.
All the promises she had made herself, all the warnings were forgotten. With an inarticulate murmur, she pressed herself against him, and was lost in the punishing ferocity of his kiss, as his lips ceased teasing, and instead swept her into a maelstrom of passion, that left her shaking and vulnerable to the fierce hawk eyes, as they surveyed her bruised mouth and pale face.
Every instinct for self-preservation was sublimated to the desire that swept through her, curling insidiously through her body until a strange lethargy possessed her, and her flesh and bones seemed to melt into the burning heat of Raschid’s skin, until there was no part of her he did not know.
His mouth traced paths of fire along her body, drawing from her a response that would once have shocked her to the core. His hands seemed to know instinctively how to teach her pleasure, and his lips followed their erotic journey, until she was pressing feverish kisses against his shoulders and throat, her hands trembling uncertainly against him as she tried to imitate his own skill.
The speed with which he had turned from cool mockery to heated desire reduced her to a mass of quivering nerve-ends, each one receptive to his every breath. Her need to know his complete possession was like nothing she had ever experienced before; wave after wave of a longing so strong that she could barely contain it, surging through her body.
At one point he paused, and she felt a cool shaft of air, followed by the realisation that now nothing separated them apart from her tiny lace briefs. She caught her breath as she acknowledged the full potency of his desire. His knee parted her thighs, his hands sliding over the softness of her stomach and upwards to cup her breasts, before sliding beneath her and lifting her against the hardness of his own body, crushing her against him, as his mouth possessed hers with heated urgency.
Her fingers touched the smooth muscled back. His mouth left hers, descending to the taut fullness of her breast. He muttered something in Arabic, and all at once the wave of sexual excitement she had been cresting crashed downwards, leaving her floundering in painful reality. What was she doing? She might love Raschid, but he did not love her. Why was he doing this? Not because he wanted her.
Her anguished protest was ignored, her thrashing attempts to evade his embrace stilled, as hard hands gripped her body.
‘Oh no, you don’t!’ he grated in her ear. ‘
I don’t play games, Felicia Gordon. Did you really think you could lead me on and then not pay the price?’ He laughed deep in his throat, a feral sound that turned her blood to ice. ‘You may play those games with Faisal, but not with me. And don’t tell me you don’t want me,’ he said softly. ‘Your own body betrays you, and anyway it has gone too far now. Nadia is with Zayad; the others will not return for some time. We have all night to spend together, and whether you are willing or not I intend to stay here with you. When the sun rises tomorrow, Felicia, Faisal will never accept you as his wife.’
He turned her to him before she could speak, leaving her in no doubt as to his intentions. What sort of man was he, she wondered incredulously, that he could cold-bloodedly make love to her, just to prevent Faisal from marrying her, especially when all the time he must know that Faisal no longer wanted her?
Her mind might realise the cruelty of what he was intending, but her body still ached for him. Her skin stung in a thousand places from the sun and sand, and she cringed instinctively from the look she saw in his eyes, as he let her feel the full force of his impatient desire.
She could not plead for mercy. Nothing she could say would stop him from pursuing his reckless course. She turned her head, closing her eyes so that he would not see the betraying shimmer of tears filming their jade depths, tensing every muscle against what she knew now would be a bitter defilement of all her dreams. Raschid must know that Faisal did not want her, so why this?
He meant to humiliate her; she sensed it, and bit down hard on her trembling lip as she felt the determined pressure of his thighs, hurting, unyielding.
‘Don’t play the innocent with me!’ he gritted above her, his fingers grasping her hair and forcing her head round. ‘Or has my nephew got a fetish about virginity that you pander to?’
Her eyes gave her away, her face bone-white as she flinched back.
Tears streaming down her face, she screamed at him, ‘Stop it! Stop it! You know Faisal no longer wants me—I saw the letter. He told me he was writing to you.’
‘Faisal no longer wants you?’ He had gone very still.
‘You know he doesn’t,’ she accused bitterly. ‘I heard you telling your sister that he would never marry me. Because you’d written telling him about my “wanton” behaviour. Is that what this was all about? Another example of my unsuitability to be his wife? Why bother to put yourself out? You’ve already done enough. I would have been gone from here long ago if Faisal hadn’t urged me to spend all my savings.’ She faced him proudly with bitter eyes. ‘Have I suffered enough to pay for my ticket home, or must you humiliate me further?’
Raschid got off the bed, his back to her as he pulled on his clothes.
‘I don’t rape virgins,’ he told her harshly, turning round suddenly, his face suffused with angry colour. ‘What were you thinking of? Has no one ever warned you about pushing a man too far? Think yourself lucky I stopped when I did.’
He turned on his heel, leaving her alone with the shattered fragments of her dreams.
Not until she was quite sure that he would not return did she allow herself to break down, crying until she could cry no more. He had come to her room with one purpose and one only—to deliberately humiliate and denigrate her. Even knowing that Faisal did not want her he had still felt the need to torment and torture her. How he must hate her!
DAWN BROUGHT her no surcease from pain. Her heart felt like a lump of lead. How could she have thought—even for a moment—that Raschid actually wanted her? How could she have been so stupid? She had allowed her own love to blind her to the truth. Bitterly disillusioned, she contemplated the cynicism with which he had made use of her emotions, playing on them until she was too bemused to know what she was doing. That last painful scene her mind shied away from. Perhaps in time she might be able to relive it, but not now.
The bedroom door opened and Nadia walked in.
‘How are you feeling? I looked in earlier, but you were still sleeping, and Raschid said you were not to be disturbed.’
‘How thoughtful of him,’ Felicia said tightly. ‘But I’m fine. I think I’ll get up.’
‘Felicia….’ Nadia said gently, ‘what is wrong? You have been crying. Tell me what is the matter, or I shall go and bring Raschid. Are you not happy with us?’
She could not have hit upon a more effective threat. At the mention of Raschid’s name Felicia went white and then red.
‘Nadia, I must get away from here,’ she burst out desperately. ‘If you really do care anything for me, will you help me?’
‘To do what?’ Nadia asked shrewdly, coming to sit by the bed. ‘Return home, or escape from Raschid?’
‘Both,’ Felicia admitted bravely. ‘Raschid despises me, Nadia. Please help me,’ she sobbed. ‘I can’t endure to stay here any longer….’
Weak tears flowed helplessly down her cheeks, as though from some bottomless well, and Nadia’s own eyes moistened in sympathy.
‘I will do everything I can. I shall go and find Achmed, and ask him to make the arrangements. I am sorry that my family has brought you so much pain, for I see from your eyes that it has.’
‘And you will say nothing to Raschid, promise me?’
What fresh, subtle forms of torture might he not dream up, if he knew how she longed to get away? His behaviour last night had not been that of a man with human failings and feelings, but a cold emotionless machine bent on exacting the last measure of payment for the crimes of which he had convicted her. The relentless manner in which he had destroyed Faisal’s love for her, the way he had tortured her—they both pointed to a man without pity or compassion, and she had to get away—now—before her pride deserted her completely and she begged him to allow her to stay.
She would have to find Umm Faisal and Zahra and bid them goodbye, Felicia thought wretchedly when Nadia had gone. And then there was small Zayad and helpful Selina, so many people who had touched her heart during her short stay in Kuwait, so much pain when she had to leave them.
She eyed her reflection with distaste. Her hair was all tumbled, her skin flushed from its exposure to the sun. Her body felt gritty with the small particles of sand which had clung to the lotion Raschid had applied. She needed a bath, she decided tiredly, collecting her towel and wrap. Perhaps when she felt clean and fresh she would feel more inclined to tackle her packing.
Although her bedroom possessed a shower, there was only one communal bathroom in the women’s quarters, and her footsteps echoed across the tiled floor as she opened the door. The room really was huge, she thought, and the bath positively enormous. She turned on the taps, pouring essence of roses into the water and watching the oil turn the clear water into milky foam.
It felt good to immerse herself in its warm silkiness, and she soaped herself vigorously, as though by doing so she could wash away the memory of Raschid’s hands on her body.
The warmth of the water induced her taut muscles to relax, tempting her to linger, soaking in its perfumed embrace.
She never heard the door open, only the decisive footsteps crossing the marble tiles. She glanced up curiously and froze.
Raschid! Wordlessly she clutched the sponge protectively against her breasts, trying to sink beneath the milky cover of the water.
‘Why do you want to leave us?’
So Nadia had betrayed her!
‘What possible reason is there for me to stay, in a house where I’ve been abused, reviled, made mock of, tormented….’
‘Tormented?’ His sharp eyes fastened on her trembling hands.
‘Please go, Raschid,’ Felicia begged. ‘If Zahra or your sister were to….’
‘Interrupt us? They won’t. They decided to spend the night with Saud’s family, and Nadia has been warned not to intrude upon us. To make sure that she does not, I have taken a small precaution.’ He reached in his pocket and produced an intricately carved key. ‘So you see, my dear Felicia, you are completely at my mercy. Divine justice, one might say. I want to talk to you,’
he said suddenly, ‘and I cannot do so while you wriggle about in there like a shy fish searching for a lily pad. Besides,’ he added sardonically, his eyes resting on the soft curve of her breasts, luminously pale against the water, ‘I am quite sure the water must be getting cold.’
It was, but her wrap was on a chair out of reach, and she had no intention of leaving the comparative protection of the bath while Raschid remained in the room.
‘If you’ll leave me to get dressed, I will come down to your study,’ she suggested, avoiding his amused, comprehensive glance.
‘Leave you?’ Was it her imagination or had his voice suddenly become slightly husky? His glance impaled her, a curious melting sensation running through her bones. In that moment he swooped, lifting her out of the bath and holding her against him, uncaring of the water soaking through his silk shirt, or the shivers that coursed through her as she tried to hold aloof.
‘Last night when you denied me I thought you either the shrewdest little bitch I had ever met, or appallingly innocent,’ he said suddenly, making her tremble with the swiftness of his attack. ‘Why do you want to leave us, Felicia?’
‘You know why,’ she answered tremulously. His touch was completely impersonal, but she was not going to let him trick her a second time, betrayed by her inexperience into mistaking retribution for desire.
‘Do I?’
She trembled convulsively, tears spilling down her cheeks to lie damply against his throat.
His muffled imprecation reached her as his arms imprisoned her. ‘By Allah, Felicia. I want you!’ he groaned against her lips, stifling her protests. ‘I have wanted you from the moment I saw you. Last night when I discovered that Faisal had not touched you I didn’t know who I hated the most, you or myself.’
He broke off, as his body shuddered uncontrollably against her, cradling her against him, while he murmured something under his breath. She couldn’t move. She was frozen with terror— What was he trying to do? Make her betray herself again? She looked at him, her eyes wild with pain, her expression that of a trapped, tormented animal.