by Lisa Torquay
Both lay down without a word, each with the back to the other.
Lucinda’s thoughts wouldn’t stop whirling. She rearranged the cushion under her head for the thousandth time. Where's home, Lucinda? His deep-voiced question rolling over and over in her mind.
Home was back in her family’s country estate library reading about distant lands she'd never even dream of seeing. Reading adventure romances set in these lands, with heroes riding her imagination. If she had to settle for less, this would be it.
Wrong, Lucinda, try again.
Alright, she’d be fulfilled travelling the continent with her chaperone.
Liar!
A pair of cognac-against-fire eyes flashed in her mind's vision inexorably. Now, Lucinda. Now, good girl! She drifted into a dreamless heavy sleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
Days started early for caravans. Before sunrise, a quick breakfast of flat bread with dry curd. Delicious, if they’d asked Lucinda.
Before he stepped outside to give her time to wash, Tariq had thrown a dark-green long tunic with matching veil and pantaloons on the cushion. “Dress this.” He’d commanded without looking at her. And left.
Lucinda looked wryly at the fine silk garment. The autocratic scoundrel, she huffed! Who did he think he was? The clothes displayed a large cutting and would fit her loosely. As for the veil, she hadn’t the faintest idea of how it should be worn. Without all the layers of clothing she was used to, she’d be naked. She’d folded both pieces and kept in a canvas sac that he’d provided for her dress and appeared at the camp fire in her dusty, sweaty Boudreaux dress.
Tariq saw her, his cognac eyes fuming. But she understood he preferred to die than to show the other men that she’d disobeyed him.
On his camel, he remembered the recent events. He looked far ahead, a blank expression on his manly face. How dare she defy his orders? Did he have to explain the tunic proved fitter for this weather? The stubborn chit! He held the reins of her camel, which rode a few paces behind. He risked a glance at her. She sat ramrod straight sideways on the saddle, her dirty dress spread over it, shawl wrapped around her.
The landscape showed a myriad of sandy dunes, with rocks in the distance. The navy blue sky contrasted with the tawny sand lit by the rising sun. The long caravan weaved around the dunes to keep on flatter ground.
Valiant, that’s the only thing he could make of her and her last night’s attempt. She seemed to have a knowledge of what she did.
“How did you think you could run away in the middle of the night, far in the desert?” His curiosity got the best of him, but he kept his tone low and detached.
“Straight east, I’d find Gabes.”
Surprise sprouted in him with her sharp wit.
“In the night?” He challenged
“The North-Star would be on my left. Mid-morning, I’d have arrived.”
She did have some education, something unknown in his country.
“If you hadn’t encountered any outlaws in the way.” He taunted. “Or scorpions and snakes.”
“I’d take my chances.” She defied, even if the notion gave her the shrills.
“Brave, indeed.” He ironized. He’d never forgive himself if he allowed her to fall in such ruthless hands.
“How did you learn all these things?”
Her shrug registered on the corner of his vision. “School, My father. The travellers’ accounts in our library.”
“How very bookish of you.” He drawled.
In England, she strove to hide her blue-stocking tendencies. Here it didn’t matter. “As much as my origins don’t mean anything to you, your opinion doesn’t signify the least for me.” Her neutral tone didn’t give away the edgy concept his opinion of her might matter, after all.
She didn’t witness his sardonic lopsided grin, but she certainly heard it.
“Touché!” He conceded, none too willing.
This woman lay completely beyond any of his standards. He’d never know how to deal with someone who had equal or more knowledge than him. Her sense of independence, her single-mindedness stood far from his ideal when it came to women.
He’d had his share of concubines. When the time came, his father encouraged him to choose one at his expense. And he’d enjoyed himself with a couple of them through the years. He’d never had any complaints, as far as he could tell; some of them expressed sadness with the parting. Those women were illiterate, of course. The females in his circle were taught to read, write and count in order to manage a household and write letters to their merchant husbands. A woman like Lady Lucinda was definitely out of his depth. Reason enough to keep his distance. If only his body understood that.
Surreptitiously, Lucinda traced the directions, the landscape. A midnight flight wouldn’t be wise now. The further they rode, the harder it’d get. She had a vague idea the sea shouldn’t be far, but how close exactly, she had little measure. She’d have risked yesterday, but today, she’d have to travel along. And stay put for a while. Her second day away. Her absent gaze fell to the sand grains moving with the camel’s step. How would her chaperone deal with this? Adriana and Mrs Croft must be sick with worry. Right now, few options were available. After last night, she was certain Tariq would keep double watch on her. If you never try, you never know, she sighed.
Lucinda entered the just readied tent for the night, happy for the respite, a day in the sun made her face and neck rather sunburnt and the discomfort burned hotter in the shade.
She stopped in her tracks. Tariq stood already in it, his now bare head bent over his sac and his arm deep into it. The fading sunbeams dimmer under the canvas, made his sleek hair look darker. He hadn’t shaved in two days and the shadow of his stubble lent him a mysterious air.
As his eyes strolled over her, his attention focused on reddened skin, his brow pleated, his cognac glint hard. “Why the darn didn’t you dress the clothes I told you to?” Tendrils of her dried dates-coloured hair fell around her face.
“Why on Earth would I do it?” She defied
He paced towards her. “Because they’re more appropriate for this weather, that’s why!”
“Well,” she shrugged, “you didn’t explain this and I didn’t see a reason to do something only because you said it.”
His cognac beams darted vexation. “I don’t have to explain a damn thing!” He pointed at her. “You are supposed to obey!”
She breathed humourless ironic grin. “Never!” His arrogant stance irritated her more than she could tell. He must be the only man on the planet capable of burning her up!
Her answer did it. He fumbled with something in his sac and cast it aside. He strode to her, a pocket knife in his hand. Her eyes widened, and, before she had time to prevent his hand, he tore the dress’ neckline. Her left shoulder bared.
In a reflex, she pushed him away and the knife fell on the carpet. “How dare you?” She breathed in fury.
Immediately he caught her by her upper arms and their bodies clashed. Both breathed fast as their eyes combated in iron-wills.
“Now you’ll do the right thing and your skin will be protected.” His voice so close his breath fanned on her cheeks, a lock of his obsidian hair falling on his forehead.
Her arms trapped between them, she found herself unable to move. His manly scent wafted to her and clouded her senses. She met his eyes head on, as a hot wave cut through her.
"How do you manage to squeeze all this fire in that senseless corset, Lady Lucinda?" His scornful whisper caressed her.
Her eyes burned on him, as much as her body responded to his proximity. "You don't have the right!"
“You may try, but you’ll not succeed in clamping your wit, your fire or your determination in those tasteless layers!” He provoked in an almost inaudible hot breath
She cursed his sharpness in assessing her. She doubly cursed her breath coming in short, insufficient intakes, triply cursing the unprecedented, unwelcome waves rippling through her, making her tear between mort
al anger and suicidal attraction.
If someone asked Tariq how they came to be locked in this jumble of arms, breath and storm, he’d never be able to recount it. The woman tested his sanity to breaking point. Anger and fiery desire mingled in him, shoving clear mind to the desert winds.
His cognac eyes perused her wide, fuming green eyes, her parted rosy lips and his gaze fell on the ivory skin that the dress and the chemise revealed for his torment. He’d never cared for that whitish, unhealthy shade on a woman, but now… Oh, now…it seemed the most compelling view since the beginning of time. His eyes continued pleasuring themselves with the view. Creamy and enticing. He tried closing his eyes, because, if he continued staring, he’d go mad. One short breath. Two short breaths, three… He never realized he’d moved, but his parted lips touched her impossibly soft shoulder and it threw him in an agonizing paradise. Her skin was soft, warm, her womanly scent setting him ablaze. His breath fled in a groan of delight and it was impossible to stop grazing that patch of what became the entire world to him. His head moved right, left, right, left in a feather-like caress, savouring every inch of that tormenting heaven.
The moment his stubbed lips touched her, a boiling wash of sensation poured over her. Chocolate hair fell back and a sigh escaped her parted lips. She wanted more, so much more, and she didn’t even know what more meant. But his stubbed lips incandesced her untried skin leaving want and fire in its wake. He softened his hold and her palms opened to feel his muscled chest over his white kaftan. She wanted her palms to rover over all of his tall strong body. She wanted to touch and see him with her senses, she wanted to dive in those sensations and never again surface. Society, conventions be damned!
“Tariq.” Someone outside the closed tent called.
Tariq startled and released her, with heavy, short breath. Something in Arabic came from him, eyes clasped on hers.
Lucinda almost lost balance with his sudden parting. Her gaze stared at him lost, her thoughts confused, a vague upset feeling at the interruption.
Tariq couldn’t get a hold of himself either. Dissatisfaction and frustration tore at him, causing a sour taste to emerge. No discernible speech was available and his hunger swallowed him. In a tense gesture, he raked his hand through his sleek obsidian hair, turned and left.
Lucinda’s weak legs gave and she sat trembling on the cushions. Her head in her hands, shaking from one side to the other. What kind of starving wanton was she anyway? All the man had to do was touch a few inches of skin and she reacted in shameful total abandon! She’d never behaved like this with any man in her life. Physical contact with the gentlemen in her circle did not survive in her memory, she’d never craved it and even less reacted to it. The desert sun must be frittering her brains. And it had to stop! At once!
Not that she didn’t understand the mechanics of what happened between men and women in intimacy. Her lady’s maid used to be very...graphic when Lucinda became bold enough to impart a few tentative question. But the reality of it had never stuck her as pleasant. Not until this day at least. The way she responded whenever Tariq neared her could only be described as astounding. Something she preferred to forget, though. Standing up, she tried to shake the thoughts and sensations from her whole being.
Tariq busied himself with whatever there was to do, but the warmth of her continued on his lips. The want was gnawing and he had not in the best of moods. He ate with his men around the fire and kept talking to them for a long time.
Lucinda ate the dinner Aziz brought, understanding that in his world, women were supposed to remain in secluded places. Naturally, women were who travelled with caravans in the desert, accompanying their husbands, fathers or brothers. They had a tent only for themselves and remained inside it the entire time of the camping.
So, Lucinda didn’t venture outside the tent. But the rug on the ground witnessed a great deal of pacing. She dreaded the time Tariq would come to sleep. And was damned excited about it. Apprehension at the incandescent intensity he made her experience nagged at her. All of this so new to her, as she’d never had these sentiments before. The desert put her away from everything familiar, in hostage, and without a clue as to what would happen next. This situation would interfere with the manner she reacted to it. And she wondered if she wasn’t overreacting. Possibly, yes. But this earthquake passion he suffused in her? No, it didn’t seem likely. She paced some more, with her chin on her joined hands. The lamp beside the mattress on the floor made her shadow long and gave a reddish glow to the carpeted space. The hour grew late, anyway, and he did take his time out there with his men.
She decided to take out her torn dress and corset and sleep in her chemise. It’d be more comfortable and Tariq always left the tent before dawn, too dark for him to see her in it. The night was chilly as she hurried to tuck herself under the blankets. To drowse off at once.
Tariq came in and tied the strings to prevent the opening from flapping with the night’s cool breeze. All his men had retired, except Mustafa, who was scaled for the first watch. There was no postponing lying down beside the woman he craved more than he ever thought possible. It’d be a hell of a night. He turned to the mattress, the lamp still burning on his side of it. Her dress and corset folded neatly beside her on the rug. He groaned inwardly. What did she wear? That lacy thing he saw under her dress? The image made his body react instantly at the memory of her skin against his lips. The glow from the light played on her dried-dates tress, lending it a copper glitter. This would be a very, very difficult night!
He lay down with his back to her and put off the lamp. The complete darkness and silence amplified the intimacy of their bed. He found it unfeasible to avoid remembering about what had happened earlier. He imagined how it would be to undress those tasteless layers and uncover her glorious hour-glass shape.
No. No. No! Stop it. Now!
But certain parts of his body responded eagerly and he became hard. He visualized himself in degustation of all of her. Oh, damn, he went rock-hard. He was ready. Ready to bury himself in her and end this agony. This couldn’t continue, with him on the fringe of losing control.
Lucinda had surfaced from her light doze the moment he came in. She pretended to sleep, but sensed all his movements around the tent. And when he lay down, her heart unleashed. His proximity bore steamy images in her head and a sharp sensation gathered in her core. She resisted an urge to move, to turn to him. And what?
Keep still! She ordered herself.
It was when she sensed him sitting up. Her breath caught. What now? Rustles told her he stood and left the tent. After a while he came back, but she had fallen asleep.
Tariq jumped from bed in an impulse and stepped out in the cold desert wind. He needed relief or he’d go mad. Maybe, he’d gone too long without a concubine. He’d take care of this as soon as he arrived in his villa in Tunis. For the time being, this provisory solution would have to do. As he held himself in his hand, dried-dates hair and pepper-mint eyes migrated in his fantasies.
CHAPTER FIVE
Drowsiness seeped into her as sleep had been shallow and full of steamy dream when she stepped out of the tent next morning. Her dark-green tunic fluttered with the breeze and she’d arranged the veil in her own fashion, like her grand-mother would have arranged an old fashionable turban. The garment was utterly strange. She’d dressed her drawers and her chemise, but the fabric grazed her skin as she moved, making her all too aware of every inch of her body. She’d been wearing sandals that Mustafa gave her before they left Gabes, now they completed her new attire.
When Tariq detected her emerging from the tent, he could barely take his eyes from her. She looked even more stunning than she already was. The tunic fell on her body as a glove and, when the wind blew against it, it delineated her curvy shape so temptingly he almost regretted making her dress it. But the veil wasn’t how it should be.
“Come back to the tent.” He commanded curtly.
Would the man ever learn to ask? She looked at him in
confusion as to why he wanted her back in it. She followed to avoid a scene in front of the others.
The men were already walking towards the tent to disassemble it. Tariq motioned for them to wait.
When they entered the dimly lit space, he stopped in front of her, without looking at her. He undid her veil. His body bore a stillness akin to tension, no breathing. He went to a great length not to touch her irresistible skin.
Lucinda’s breath caught. This close his attractiveness struck her with double the intensity. His straight nose, his thick lashes, his sensuous lips, taut masculinity. His sandalwood scent reached her, becoming enticingly familiar now. She forced herself to hold still while he moved around her.
“Now you pull this end and cover your face, so the sun won’t harm it.” His low, hoarse voice caused her heart go overdrive.
Still not looking at her, he swivelled to disappear outside in the stretch of sun. Then she remembered to breath and drew in short puffs of air. A little dizzy, she followed him.
The rising sun tinted the endless sand in purple shades as her camel paced suavely through the dunes. At certain points, the terrain was rocky and brittle. The line of loaded camels sometimes passed by a stone hill, but the landscape swept in paintbrushes of tawny shades.
She sat on the saddle on her own today. Laconically, Tariq gave her the reins and rode ahead, without waiting for her. Irritating man! Not that she cared to be near him after…after…well after yesterday. The mere notion induced her heart to skip a beat. And sleeping beside him, on top of that! She had to use all her will-power not to turn and touch his muscled shoulders, his sleek obsidian hair; how would it feel between her fingers…?
Stop, you senseless girl! These sinful thoughts are unworthy of you! If you’re lucky, you’ll manage to go back to England. And marry a good blue-blood gentleman, which are your duty and your purpose in life, she scolded herself silently.