She thought about it for a moment, but there was only one answer that was truthful. "No."
"Then what is wrong?"
Everything, she thought, but said only, "No man has ever put his hands on me like this before."
"I know," he said, surprising her. "Your innocence is why we are here instead of in there." He nodded toward his bedchamber.
Chantelle immediately took hope that the day of reckoning had not actually arrived, that this meeting was for her to become used to him and no more. He was quick to disabuse her of that notion.
"Do not mistake me, Shahar. We will go inside— when you are ready."
She would never be ready. She almost told him so but thought better of it. What would he consider readiness on her part, anyway? She wasn't going to appear so, whatever it was.
He sighed then and caught the hand that rested next to his side, pulling it out from under her. "You cannot relax unless you lie back."
"I don't want—"
"Lie back, Shahar."
It was an order, given in such a tone that she obeyed it instantly, afraid to do otherwise. And what else could she do, anyway, with him so close that he could easily make her obey him? But if he thought she could relax, he was crazy.
She laid her head on the very edge of his knee, keeping as much distance between them as possible. She was acutely aware of his hips so near her shoulder, and one of the things Vashti had taken particular delight in telling her about pleasuring him came to mind, and with it a scalding blush. But his position didn't change. His hips were nearly flat against the pillow. Only the upper portion of his body was twisted to face her.
"I am going to taste you now, Shahar."
That softly murmured warning caused her to bolt straight up, only to have him push her right back down. Visions of him biting her flashed through her mind, and she tried frantically to remember if she had seen the scars of his teeth on any of his other women. But before the thought was even finished, his hand moved to grip her side and his mouth opened on her navel. She jerked, a scream welling in her throat, only to feel his tongue, not his teeth.
She relaxed so completely then that he chuckled. "Did you think I meant to devour you, little moon? I must confess I do have the urge to, though I promise you it would not hurt. Another time, perhaps."
His mouth returned to her navel, making her desperate to leap up and away from him. But she couldn't, not with his right arm lying across her rib cage with enough pressure to keep her from rising off the pillow. She tried closing her eyes and concentrating on something else. Her eyes popped open immediately, for with them closed she felt his tongue too intensely. But even so, there was a wealth of agitation just beneath his mouth, as if she were trembling deep inside.
She didn't recognize the sensations he was causing her to experience. She wanted to push his head away. She wanted to hold it to her. Irrational—God, what was wrong with her?
She heard his sigh, deep and fanning over her wet skin, making her shiver. "You still won't relax, will you?"
"I'm sorry, but I can't," she nearly wailed, afraid of his displeasure after being warned never to cause it.
"If I stop tasting you here"—and his tongue delved once more into her navel—"will you accept my lips in a more conventional place?"
"Yes." Anything to get his mouth away from her belly.
Too late did she wonder where that more conventional place was, and there was no time to ask. Before she could even draw another breath, he had scooped her up and placed her in his lap, covering her lips with a scorching kiss that was painful in its intensity. She couldn't lessen the pressure, for his hand had slipped up beneath her hair to hold her head still for this ravishment.
And then, seemingly from far off, she heard him groan and was terrified again that she had displeased him, or hurt him somehow, when she was the one hurting, his kiss was so passionate. But he didn't stop what he was doing. On the contrary, his other arm tightened around her back, smashing her upper torso against his chest until she became light-headed from lack of breath.
And then, abruptly, all pressure ended. "I'm sorry, Shahar, but you cannot know—"
Derek stopped when he realized what he was saying. Christ, what was wrong with him? Jamil would never have apologized, for any reason, and he was supposed to be Jamil in every way. She was not to know otherwise, yet he hadn't truly played his role since she'd walked into the room.
Jamil would never have waited this long to carry her to his bed. He would have done so the moment he felt the urge, and Derek had felt it even before she had arrived. But he hadn't acted on it, not completely. He couldn't bring himself to rush her through this experience, her first experience with a man. Her innocence demanded more consideration from him than that. And yet he didn't consider waiting until another day. He couldn't deviate from Jamil's character that much—or so he told himself.
He had also told himself that he was doing this for the girl. True, he was the one benefiting by her dilemma, but he wasn't going to lose too much sleep over that, for she would benefit, too, in the long run. He had thought long and hard about it the first night he'd seen her, and had finally concluded that if he didn't take her for himself, Jamil would when he returned. She would then be just one of so many, a circumstance that he knew any Englishwoman with a lick of pride would find utterly abhorrent. Then, too, Jamil's heart was already taken. Derek just couldn't see such an exquisite beauty taking second place to anyone. She deserved to be loved and cherished, and this way she would be found a husband for herself. Derek could insist it be a man with no other wives. He could do that much for her.
But that was for the future. Right now he had probably just frightened the daylights out of her, and he wanted nothing more than to explain that it wasn't intentional, that he had simply lost control of his passion. Only, Jamil wouldn't explain his actions, especially not to a woman. But Derek could make amends in other ways.
He sighed and bent his forehead to hers. Her breathing had quieted, but she was stiff in his arms.
"Shall we try this again?"
She immediately strained against him. "No, please—"
"Shh, little moon. I can be gentle, too. Put your arms around my neck and I will show you."
"I don't want—"
"Do it, Shahar."
He regretted the tone that made her leap to obey him, but Christ, this was pure torture, denying himself for so long. Much longer, and he was going to forget his good intentions. He had to reach her. He had to make her want him, now, before his natural inclinations took over.
Chantelle braced herself for the onslaught of his mouth again as it lowered toward hers. She felt his breath instead, and then his tongue, whisper-soft, smoothing over her upper lip, then the lower, soothing the soreness from his previous kiss. One hand was holding her head again, but the other had come up to warm her cheek.
He leaned back and she caught the full potency of his emerald gaze. For some reason, it made her feel strange this time, almost as if his mouth were still pressed to her belly, causing that trembling inside.
And then his forefinger was tracing the same path his tongue had. "Open, Shahar. I want you to feel what it is like when a part of me is inside you."
"But—"
His finger slipped inside her mouth the moment she opened it to protest. Her natural reaction was to close her lips against it and try to push it out with her tongue.
"Be still." His lips rested on the corner of her mouth. His finger was moving against her tongue, acquainting her with the salty taste of it. "I want you to suck on it . . .no, Shahar, don't question my motives. Forget what you have been told in training. It is my tongue I want you to accept in your mouth, no more than that. But you must know what to do with it when it is there." At her groan, he smiled. "No one has instructed you about kissing yet, have they? I imagine they were only concerned with one thing.
But kissing comes first, Shahar ... or would you rather we move on to the lessons you have learned?
"Gently," he said after a moment. "Yes, now try to catch it." He began plunging his tongue in and out and around, so she couldn't get a grip on it. "Now give me yours."
The sounds she was making deep in her throat only he heard. She was obeying him mindlessly, caught up in something she had no control over. How long it lasted she didn't know, but finally she was aware of something other than the rushing, roiling maelstrom inside her. She was aware of his hand where it shouldn't be.
"How is it you were able to keep this soft bush, little moon?"
She moaned in embarrassment, trying to hide her heated face in his shoulder. And she felt the fingers delving into the curls, touching that most intimate part of her body. It was too much. She went cold, suddenly remembering everything about him that she despised. How could she have let him do these things to her? She should have resisted from the very beginning, and the devil take the consequences.
"Don't!" she gasped, reaching for his forearm to yank it away from her.
He let her, but when she tried to rise from his lap, his arms locked around her. "What is it, Shahar?"
"I can't do this!" she cried, squirming desperately now to break his hold. "I hoped I could, but I just can't, not with you. Please, let me go!"
If she hadn't said "not with you," Derek might have tried to calm her. But he was remembering the same thing she was, her meeting with his brother, and how Jamil's actions had appalled and disgusted her. It was going to take more than one meeting with her to make her forget her first impression. Only that meant letting her walk out of here now, when he was aching so badly to have her that he could barely think straight.
Understandably, his voice was rather harsh, as were his hands on her arms as he pushed her away from him. "Go, and do it quickly, before I change my mind."
Chapter Twenty-five
Across the corridor from Jamil's rooms, a eunuch was waiting for Chantelle, sitting there Turkish fashion on the floor. He scrambled to his feet when she burst through the door, putting out an arm to detain her. It was Kadar.
He made no comment on her haste. "I will take you to my master."
She nodded. At least he didn't ask what had happened. Haji probably would, though, and so she was dragging her feet before she reached the harem.
Kadar led her to Safiye's apartment, where Haji was having a good gossip while he waited for her. But he wasn't expecting to see Chantelle this soon.
"So he truly was impatient, was he?"
Chantelle stood in the doorway, cringing to hear Safiye laugh at this observation. Her fingers worried at the pearls around her throat, and she seized on them as an excuse to avoid giving a reply.
"Will you return these to Lalla Rahine with my thanks for the use of them?"
Haji Agha took the pearls from her, but his expression turned thoughtful at such an obvious evasion. "Did all go well, Shahar?"
She bowed her head to avoid those searching eyes of his. "I would rather not talk about it."
He accepted that, thinking she was merely upset over the loss of her virginity. "Very well, you may go to your room and rest. Perhaps we will talk later."
God, she hoped not, but she hurried away before he changed his mind and decided to interrogate her now. Before she reached her room, she was trembling. She dismissed Adamma with a sharp word and curled onto her narrow pallet. The trembling increased.
Oh, God, what had she done? Would the next person to appear at her door be the executioner? Was her stupid virginity worth her life? God, no! She had already discovered that she could survive its loss. She had thought herself raped on board ship. She had felt miserable and shamed, but it hadn't been the end of the world.
But this just might be. He had been so angry! If she angers Jamil by resisting him . . . other women have died for less. Other of Jamil's women, or had Rahine been speaking in generalities? As if it mattered now. She had done the one thing she had been told she could not do. She had refused the lord and master the use of her body. If she angers Jamil by resisting him . . . She had done both.
Stupid, so stupid! If only she could go back and do it over. So she despised him. So he was a ruthless, coldhearted barbarian. What did that count next to her life? But she couldn't go back. She could only leave the harem by his summons, and that was unlikely to ever come again. After all, what use did he have for women who found him detestable, when so many adored him?
At this very moment another woman was probably in his bed; Chantelle hadn't mistaken that rigid bulge she had been sitting on for what it was. Jamil wouldn't wait long to relieve it, for his rampant desire had been the very reason he had been furious with her resistance.
Even if he didn't order her death, even if she were only punished for today's defiance, it was doubtful she would ever see him again after she had told him plainly that it was he she objected to. She was going to perish in this horrid place, forgotten, forsaken, wretched.
The self-pitying tears had dried a half hour later when Rahine stormed into her room. In fact, Chantelle had cried herself to sleep, so she was understandably disoriented on being awakened so abruptly, and so loudly.
"You foolish child! In all my years here I've never seen anyone with such a total lack of self-preservation!" When Chantelle paled at those words, Rahine added tightly, "No, you are not to die yet, though I wonder if that isn't the answer. Jamil could be told you had succumbed to sickness, and then he would no longer be infuriated by you, as if he doesn't have enough to inflame his temper already."
"I—I couldn't help it."
"Don't give me nonsense, Shahar. You may be stupid, but I am not. You were warned, yet still you refused my son what is rightfully his. And he is in such a temper now that he has ignored his councillors and left the palace to go riding. Riding! Putting his very life in danger! And all because you think you are too good for the Dey of Barikah."
"That isn't why," Chantelle insisted.
"Isn't it? Or is it that you think you are better than every other woman here? They all came to my son as virgins. Is your virginity more prized than theirs?"
"No, of course not."
"Then what did you think you were saving it for?" Rahine demanded, her fury rising again, mixed with the anxiety she was feeling for Jamil's safety. "Did you forget so soon that you are here to stay? The only man who can take it is Jamil, and if you think he will still want it after today, you are mistaken."
"I realize that," Chantelle said in a whisper.
"Do you? Then you will agree that you are no longer fit to grace this court, let alone the court of the favorites, which you could so easily have aspired to. Let us see if you find the kitchens more to your liking."
"Is that to be my punishment?"
"It will be your life's sentence, if Jamil is wise enough to forget about you. But that is assuming he returns to the palace unharmed tonight. If not, then you may be sure your life will be forfeit for causing his recklessness."
Derek rode hell-bent over the plain, at last able to give the Thoroughbred his head to gallop full speed. He hadn't bothered to dress for the excursion other than to strap on his own boots for riding. He had been too impatient to get out of the palace, away, anywhere. He didn't care about the panic he left behind. His impersonation of his brother was on temporary hold. It was Derek who needed space, who needed the wind in his hair, the surge of a powerful animal beneath him—the distance to keep him from doing something he would regret, for he had been that close to having Shahar brought back to him and forcing her to his will.
Damn her own strength of will for enabling her to deny the potent sensuality he had aroused in her. And damn Jamil for the impression he had made on her that made her deny it. She had enjoyed his kisses. She had melted in his arms, mindlessly giving of herself and taking what he offered. He wasn't mistaken about the comple
te, unrestrained response that had revealed her true nature, and he was convinced it was an extremely passionate nature, if it could overcome her abhorrence and distrust of him.
But only temporarily. The slightest distraction had sparked her resistance and her determination to reject any pleasure he might give her. Stubborn English perversity in all its annoying glory. If she were of any other nationality, would she persevere with such tenacity? No. Only the English dug in their heels even on lost causes.
Derek slowed the stallion when the desert finally stretched before them and brought him to a halt. He barely noticed the beauty of such barren emptiness lit in blue shades of moonlight. He sat there for a moment, letting his thoughts fan his hot temper, rather than cool it.
If he was honest with himself, he wasn't so much angry at Shahar's obstinacy as he was with himself. This lustful impatience on his part was a new experience, one he didn't like at all. Shahar couldn't be blamed for her reaction to him, or for her reluctance to part with her innocence. If he could tell her it was in her own best interests to consummate their relationship, and what the future would hold for her if she did, she might give in gracefully, even with gratitude.
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