Desert Hostage

by Diane Dunaway

  "So, you have had your revenge, Cherie," he said at last. "But now it is my turn."

  "What are you going to do?" she whispered huskily.

  His charcoal eyes burned into hers as he laughed shortly. "You don't know? Has marriage taught you so little, madame?"

  Juliette's eyes blinked wider-eyes that Brandon recalled now had once enchanted him. Now they only reminded him of her father's eyes. Why hadn't he realized the resemblance before?

  "Don't touch me! Murderer!" There was sudden panic in Juliette's voice as she crawled as far away as the limits of the divan would allow.

  He didn't try to stop her. "It's too late for mercy." His smile was the snarl of a wolf. "Certainly you showed none to me-nor did your father to mine. And you call me murderer? I think you're forgetting the facts!"

  "You're mad!" she said. "I don't know what you're talking about! I haven't committed any crime. It is you ... you who…"

  ". .. So you admit nothing! I imagined you wouldn't. You are too clever for that. And you know I can be weak where you are concerned. But I'm afraid this time your charming innocence won't help you."

  His fingers reached forward to twine themselves in the cape before tearing it off and slinging it across the floor. Juliette cried out, frantic hands trying to catch the garment back to herself. But then suddenly she was crouched, naked, his gaze moving slowly over her.

  Quickly she drew up her arms to cover her breasts, tucking long legs beneath her and rolling to sit on one side of her slender flanks. She bit her upper lip, one lower tooth gnawing at the corner. I will not beg him, she ordered herself, though she was shaking uncontrollably and felt her courage ebbing. His eyes drawing up and down her form, Brandon felt his blood pulsing, and didn't bother to slacken the powerful surge and hardening in his groin.

  During the month since he had seen her, she had lost none of her appeal. Her added slenderness gave her fine bone structure a feline grace, and the childlike quality that had marked her before had given way to a new womanly sense of maturity. Now with her hair wet, and silver, and falling against her trembling flesh, she was like a primitive wild thing. How good it was to have her, he thought, to own her, and to make her pay.

  "Once I wanted you in your `English' way," he said in a low deadly voice. "But you wouldn't have me-an Arab. So now I will take you . . . in mine!"

  Then casually, deliberately, his eyes never leaving hers, he removed his clothes, letting them fall on the carpets, and revealing in turn his powerful scarred chest, his arms, hard and heavily corded his long muscular legs. Then as he removed his last garment, his hardened member sprang into sight.

  Taking a quick gulp of air, Juliette pressed herself against the woven hanging on the wall behind her. She had never seen a man naked, and, while it horrified her, at the same time, she couldn't take her eyes from this engorged manhood.

  A jagged flash of lightning came through a window, illuminating him as suddenly he laughed. Then in two long steps, he was on the divan. It was impossible to evade his arms that immediately dominated her, pulling her beneath him. And even as Juliette squirmed and struggled, she was aware of his firm flesh against her nipples, of the crisp hair of his groin, and of that hot appendage pressing against one thigh.

  "Brandon. No…’

  But then his mouth stopped her words. She kept her teeth clenched until with animal fierceness he forced them apart, his hot demanding tongue plundering every inch of her mouth before finding and dominating hers.

  She couldn't struggle or think or breathe, and when his mouth eased its pressure on her swollen one he murmured, "I should have done this the first time we met. It would have saved me a lot of trouble."

  His fingers intertwined themselves in her hair, forcing her struggling head back and down so the long slender expanse of her throat was exposed. His lips pressed there, and she felt his teeth impress her skin as if tempted to tear out her jugular. Then still holding her head motionless, his mouth continued downward to her heaving breasts.

  She tried to twist away as he reached the trembling flesh but it was useless and suddenly he had taken a nipple into his mouth and was sucking, teasing it until it grew enlarged and taut; a quivering prisoner beneath his tongue.

  Juliette heard the blood pounding in her ears as he moved to the other breast and bit the already erect nipple before sucking hard. His hand was moving down along her silken belly then, his strength leaving her no choice but to open her legs to his fingers as they searched, found, and opened, the inner lips, slowly circling them before entering into the tight mouth where nothing had ever touched before.

  She moaned, her heart thudding with outrage, fear, and now a new tremor of ecstasy as she grew shamefully wet and her loins filled with a strange ache. His fingers explored the inner rim of the opening then slid further to test the inner softness before slipping out.

  Lightning flared from the window, silhouetting him in blue-white light as he suddenly shifted position, placing both his knees between her thighs and parting them helplessly wider.

  Juliette felt the thick head of his rod push against her, inserting its fiery heat just inside the opening. She gasped, feeling herself stretched taut around the pulsing of his member as he paused as if to savor his conquest.

  Then, as thunder pounded overhead, he rammed forward. A horrible searing pain shot through her followed by pressure and fullness that threatened to tear her apart.

  She screamed, but it was muffled against his chest struggled, but couldn't move, her body shaking and quivering beneath his as she panted. For a moment she thought she would faint. But then the agony receded and when she lay quiet, beaten, he slid out almost all the way before moving in again, his largeness stretching the inner walls to the deepest length of her.

  He moved slowly then in and out, again and again as each time the feeling of pain receded further to be replaced by sensations of a different kind, rippling wonderful feelings that had just begun to churn and grow when his husky voice came in her ear.

  "There will be no pleasure in this for you, madame!"

  He rode her swiftly then, pounding, until the wild ecstasy that so unexpectedly swept her was interrupted by a sudden inward explosion. His movement slowed then and he pulled out of her immediately to stand up beside the divan, his hands on his hips, his manhood shiny now with the mingling of her wetness and his. Closing her legs she shrank from him.

  "So! You were a virgin," he said.

  There was surprise and a touch of triumph in his voice. Her horrified gaze followed his to the wet stickiness dripping from between her thighs onto the divan. Slowly, staring, Juliette reached a finger to touch the soiled fabric and suddenly realized it was blood.

  Of course, she thought numbly. She had heard somewhere virgins bled, but she had never understood exactly what was meant until now.

  "You are a heartless bitch," he was saying. "Not only have you cheated me, but your foolish husband, too. We have both been fools to care for you," he finished with a shake of his head that seemed almost sad.

  Then retrieving his clothes and quickly pulling them on, he abruptly opened the door and stepped out, banging it behind him before a key clicked the lock closed.

  Chapter 44

  "Damn him!" Juliette said aloud the next morning when her eyelids snapped open with a start, and brushing back the hair straggling into her face, she rubbed her still tear swollen eyes.

  Yes, she must have slept finally, since now the daylight streamed through the window, revealing a large cabin, luxuriously appointed with silver and black draperies and thick Oriental rugs.

  Instinctively she covered her nakedness with a pillow before turning to hastily glance around the room. No, Brandon was not there. The cabin was empty, and through the window beside her, a thick shroud of fog made it impossible to gauge their direction though the ship rolled regularly back and forth beneath her.

  Sliding to the end of the divan, and dropping her feet into the deep softness of a sapphire-blue carpet, Juliette went
to retrieve the cape Brandon had torn off her the night before and, shivering, wrapped herself in its dark folds. Then walking to a porthole, she twisted the latch, pulling inward, and stood on tiptoe to look out.

  The gray-green water splashed high against the hull as the bow sliced through it. The masts creaked overhead, and the smells of salt water, of well-scrubbed decks, and the sharp tang of the wind against her face all seemed familiar from her voyages on the Whimsy.

  Her head spun. Had they been traveling all night? Where was he taking her and what more would he do? Unconsciously she touched between her thighs, finding herself caked with blood and semen. No, he hadn't finished with her yet! There would be more of the same, or worse, to follow last night's assault. And knowing this made the air seem suddenly thick and heavy in her lungs.

  Squaring her shoulders, she walked to a chair thrown with gold and black spotted pelts and, sinking down, her fingers pressed her throbbing temples, pain coming from every part of her body.

  Her wrists, her buttocks, her scratched legs and ankles all ached. What hadn't been bruised in her struggles with Rodney, or during that wild ride across country, had apparently been injured by Brandon last night. Already she was turning black and blue where his fingers had gripped her shoulder.

  Devil! Murderer! Liar! Last night had been the final degradation. And yet she had to admit-it had not been altogether painful. There had been something else. And this morning, even now, she was peripherally aware of a mysterious new feeling. Where he had filled her the night before ached, and yet there was also an awakening of an untried element of her being-a powerful force able to sweep her away until, for a fleeting moment last night, she had forgotten her hatred and terror and pain, and there had been only him.

  The realization made her quiver and she refused to dwell on it. Again she whisked her thick mane back from her face and a pain shot through her wrist.

  "Damn him!" she said rubbing it with the other hand. "I won't be treated this way, like his thing, his slave! He wants to dominate me, to make me cower." Her teeth clenched. "But next time he tries to touch me, he'll have to murder me, too," she swore aloud. "I'll never give in to him. Just wait until he comes again. Then he'll find he hasn't kidnapped a spineless wench, but a serious enemy to be reckoned with!"

  Seeming in answer to her thoughts, footsteps came outside the carved Moorish door.

  Her heart jumped and, standing up, she pulled the cape closer. But to her surprise, it wasn't Brandon who came through the portal as it widened, but a girl, seemingly her own age, buxom,--with skin the color of browned butter, who paused and bowed deeply from the waist, her palms pressed together at her chest as if in prayer.

  "Who are you?" Juliette asked.

  The girl raised honey-colored eyes. "Je m'appelle Cassia," the girl answered in thickly accented French. "Our master has sent me to serve madame."

  Juliette's lips compressed. "He is not my master!"

  Cassia's smile faltered as she noted the dangerous tone in the white woman's voice and the bright fury in her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again.

  Juliette hesitated also.

  Oh! To be forced to appear a willing guest before this girl was insufferable. Yet what choice did she have? More hysterics would do her no good. Besides, this girl was in Brandon's power-willingly too, or so it seemed by the reverent way she said "master."

  Juliette crossed her arms. "He is not my master," she repeated for emphasis. "And you . . . you are one of Brandon's . . . I mean, Monsieur Phillips's. . . . You are one of his . . . his harem?" Juliette blurted out before biting her lips at her own artlessness.

  She should have remained silent, dignified. But even so, Juliette waited expectantly for the answer.

  Surprise crossed Cassia's face before she looked down at the floor. "Oh, no, madame. I am too insignificant to be given that honor. Only ladies of rare beauty are honored so. I was given to my master as a servant, which itself is far too great an honor.”

  Juliette turned to hide her face and strode to the thick legged table, stopping there and leaning against it. She had been hoping to hear this girl laugh, to say her "master" did not keep a harem. Now there could be no doubt. It was true! He was an Arab, a Moslem. It was all a lie when he said he loved her as none other. But she had hurt his pride, and so he had chosen to hurt her, to degrade her until his anger was expended. And then . . . ? Her heart gave a little thud. How could she predict what he might do with her then?

  Cassia looked cautiously at the white lady's back. "Madame is hungry perhaps?" she asked. "She will eat now?"

  "Eat?" Juliette echoed the word forlornly. Eat when her world had crumbled around her? Eat as if she were a guest and not a prisoner?

  Shaking her head, she turned back to face the girl. "No."

  Cassia looked at her as if she had not heard correctly. "No?" she questioned.

  "No," Juliette repeated. "I'm not going to eat, and you can tell your master I don't intend to either!"

  Juliette could see the girl was trying to hide her surprise. Brandon's female guests were usually more docile, she surmised with a grimace.

  "Perhaps then a bath, madame," Cassia asked, as unconsciously her eyes wandered to where the cape parted to reveal Juliette's mud-splattered legs. Juliette did not have to follow the girl's dubious expression to know that she was filthy, filthier than she had ever been in her life.

  Yes, a bath, she thought. How good it would feel to cleanse herself everywhere he had touched her. So, even while part of her regretted accepting even this from him, she nodded.

  To her surprise, a bathroom which she had not noticed before came into view at the end of the room as Cassia parted a long black drapery. It took only minutes to fill the tub with warm water from a boiler situated above the tub. And when it was done, Juliette needed no urging to strip off the cloak and step into the scented water, letting herself down into a sitting position. Her acquiescence seemed to please Cassia, who would let her do nothing for herself.

  "S'il vous plait, madame," she said in her sweet child¬like voice. "It is my place to serve, and madame's place to be served."

  They were words spoken with the gentleness of a kitten and, Juliette realized, the inflexibility of a rock, and feeling unable or unwilling to fight anymore, Juliette sighed and did lean back, closing her eyes as the girl set about scrubbing every limb with delicately scented soap and a soft sponge.

  The balm of the warm water eased her sore stiffness, and for a time, refusing to think anymore, she let herself be pampered. Moments stretched long, and the water had. begun to cool by the time she was brought to awareness again by Cassia saying, "If madame wishes, I will wash her hair now."

  Juliette leaned forward, letting her hair tumble heavily into the water. The Arab girl poured a liquid from a flagon onto it, carefully working it into every strand before she massaged her scalp with educated fingers that made Juliette's head tingle all over. Then, at last, she was rinsed thoroughly with more warm water and helped to rise before being wrapped in a black towel, undoubtedly one of Brandon's. And after Cassia had dried her, the girl led her back to the divan and, with a bow, indicated for her to sit on it.

  Just the sight of the divan made Juliette uneasy again. The two dark spots near its center had seemed to grow larger. Her virgin's blood, she thought. And while someone else may not have noticed them, Juliette saw the stains as if nothing else existed. She veered away and sat herself instead in the large chair draped with a leopard pelt.

  Cassia followed, giving no reaction or comment but, producing an ivory-handled brush and comb, began the task of untangling her blond mane. It seemed almost hopeless. But Cassia was as gentle as she was relentless, and finally, the long mass once again fell down her back, drying and curling softly in the warmth from the tiled stove.

  Setting the brush down, Cassia now unrolled a bundle to reveal an ankle-length white robe with a low scoop neck and wide sleeves. It was cut in a shapeless tube, but seeing the lightness
of the silk, Juliette realized it would cling to her every curve.

  "But is there nothing else?" she questioned. "What about some of your clothes," she indicated the wide trousers and shapeless cotton top that Cassia wore. "Bring me some of those."

  Cassia backed away, shaking her head. "Oh, no, madame. These are for those who serve, not for those who would give pleasure to the master."

  "I don't intend to give your master pleasure!" Juliette said with a hiss in her voice.

  Cassia stared wide-eyed before dropping her eyes to her own sandaled feet. She had never known a woman like this one-she seemed almost like a man with her defiance and flashing looks. But the master himself had bid her serve this woman, and so it was her duty. Cassia shrugged. All was the will of Allah and determined by fate. And who could tell what secret plan might be unfolding-even now.

  "Madame must please forgive me for angering her," she said. "But this gown is all that is suitable."

  "Very well, then," Juliette said finally waving a hand with irritation and chewing her lip. What use was it to resist anyway. Damn him! And with that, Juliette let Cassia slip the gown over her head and down her naked body.