Lord of the Abyss & Desert Warrior

by Nalini Singh

However, since his trip to Paris, their tiny instinctive gestures of togetherness had disappeared. Now it seemed that Tariq was controlling the intensity of their lovemaking. Though he made love to her without fail, and took care to make sure that she always reached her peak, something was missing. The heady eroticism of their earlier encounters had been dampened.

  Why? Jasmine asked herself. Why would he seek to limit their sensuality, the one place where they’d always been in perfect accord? Surely he wasn’t holding against her the fact that she hadn’t welcomed him with open arms the minute he’d returned? She almost shook her head to dismiss that idea. Tariq had apologized to her in his own way, she was sure of that. They’d made their peace.

  Then why? The answer flitted just out of her reach.

  “That is enough for now, Jasmine.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  STARTLED, JASMINE BLINKED. Only when she attempted to get up did she comprehend how long she’d been in the reclining position. Reaching over her head with her hands, she stretched in a luxurious curve, feeling muscle after muscle relax.

  “I’m going to head off to the shower. See you at dinner,” she murmured.

  Tariq looked up. Desire burst into life in the green fire of his eyes. He stifled it almost as soon as it arose, but answering heat rushed over her in reaction to that single searing glance. So, his passion ran as deep as ever. He’d just decided to hide it from her. Relief that he wasn’t truly indifferent to her made her almost dizzy.

  “But why would the thought of a shower set it off?” Jasmine muttered to herself. She was in the shower before she figured it out. “Idiot.” She laughed at herself. Tariq was the man who’d made love to her in front of a mirror. The sultry possibilities presented by soap and water would be tantalizing to him. They were already affecting her.

  It stunned her that she wanted to be in a shower with her husband. She could imagine the darkness of his hand against her sudsy skin, and almost feel his big body pressing her against the wall. As a result of her imaginings, she stepped out of the shower hotter than when she’d entered. Her predinner preparations were undertaken in a state of sexual anticipation.

  “I have to entice him into a shower with me,” she decided. “Otherwise this fantasy is going to drive me crazy.” She would much rather be driven crazy by Tariq himself.

  Midway through brushing blush onto her cheekbones, she paused, hit by a thought that she’d earlier rejected as implausible. Her hair was already secured on top of her head in an elegant knot, with a few loose tendrils around her face. Those tendrils now framed her startled eyes.

  “What if he thinks our passion doesn’t affect me with the same power it does him?” One simple fact that she’d always known was that her husband desired her deeply. His hunger was palpable, or it had been until he’d begun to withdraw. Even at his angriest, Tariq had made love to her until she screamed. She tapped her nails on the wood of her dresser in a staccato beat. “I did manage to resist him after Paris, but that was because I was hurting so much, and even then…he could’ve seduced me if he’d stayed another minute.”

  However, Tariq didn’t know that. To him, it would appear as if her need was nowhere near the strength of his. To a warrior like him, that would be a blow. It wouldn’t just affect his masculine pride, but would be hurtful. He stubbornly refused to believe in her love, but he’d accepted her passion as real and unfeigned. Jasmine wondered what it would be like if someday she began to believe that Tariq didn’t want her with the same fervor that she needed him. It would rock the one solid foundation in their relationship.

  “Goodness.” Her eyes widened in the mirror, bright with realization. “I have to convince him that I want him, or he’ll just continue to withdraw and I won’t even have our passion to build on.” However, the idea of seducing her husband was daunting. He tended to take charge in bed, and his control was amazing. It was annoying, too. If she was going to lose control, then he could damn well do so, too.

  “Hmph. Any ideas?” she asked her reflection.

  “Do you always talk to yourself?” The amused question had her spinning around in her seat. Tariq lounged in the doorway between their rooms. For a second, she thought he might have heard too much, but his expression was the by-now-familiar warm and extremely irritating one.

  “It’s good for the soul,” she quipped. Out of habit, she went to secure the tie on her robe. Then she noticed the way he was looking at her under his eyelids. If she hadn’t been concentrating, she would have missed it. She changed direction, picked up the blush again and turned to the mirror.

  When she leaned forward, she was well aware that her robe parted in the middle, offering an enticing view of the rounded curves of her breasts. Or at least she hoped it was enticing. It would kill her if the reason for him keeping his distance was that he no longer found her sexually compelling.

  “Ridiculous,” she muttered. Tariq’s fires were the kind that would burn forever. That was what made him so precious.

  “What is?” He moved to stand behind her, hands in the pockets of his slacks. While he normally wore traditional garb, sometimes he preferred Western dress. Today he was wearing a blue silk shirt and black pants, the solid colors setting off his rugged masculine beauty in vivid relief.

  Her nape prickled with awareness of his nearness, supremely sensitive to his presence. The urge to lean back and rest her head against his firm stomach was so enticing that she had to issue a firm reprimand to herself to behave. If she gave in now, her beautiful, arrogant, sexy husband would once again have her screaming in ecstasy while he remained in control.

  With that thought to spur her along, she leaned forward a bit more. It seemed that a lot of seduction in her life went on in front of mirrors, she thought, in an effort to fight her anxiety over her sudden decision to seduce a man who’d proved so capable of controlling his physical passion. Ignoring the voice of fear, she crossed her legs in a movement that looked unconscious. As she’d expected, the robe parted over her thighs and slid off the leg on top, leaving her practically naked.

  “Oh, I was just thinking about some of the recent designs on the catwalks.” She waved airily and put down the brush, then picked up the lipstick. Curving her lips into a softer-than-normal pout, she began to smooth on the pale bronze with deliberate slowness. It was more of a gloss, which left her lips looking wet and full, rather than a rich hue. She knew her husband preferred to kiss her lips devoid of lipstick, and tonight was about her husband. By the time they got through dinner, the gloss would be gone, but she hoped that by then she wouldn’t need its seductive qualities. Right now, the glistening sheen looked like a brazen invitation.

  Tariq coughed and shifted behind her, but didn’t move away. Jasmine took that as a good sign, but wondered how far she could go. She didn’t want him to guess her plan before she had him safely in bed and at her mercy. She grinned.

  “What is so funny?” His voice was rough. She recognized that timbre. Anticipatory heat blossomed in the pit of her stomach. Her heart’s beat turned ragged and needy.

  “Homosexual male designers and their ideas about the female body,” she stated with a decisive nod, proud of herself for being able to keep her head while her hormones were in full riot mode. “I mean, look.” She swept her hand over the curves of her breast and hip, lingering just a millisecond too long. “As we discussed before, women are rounded, right?”

  “Yes.” He sounded as if he was strangling.

  “Then why—” she spread her hand on her bared thigh, drawing his attention to the way the fiery curls at the apex of her thighs were barely covered by the blue satin “—are the latest trends going toward boxes and flat, jagged edges?”

  When he didn’t reply, she looked up into the mirror. Before he met her eyes, she gleefully noted the flush along his cheekbones and the heavy-lidded gaze on her thigh. She thought he’d forgotten what they’d been talking about. Wonderful.

  “I am sure you are correct in your view,” he said at last.

/>   Nodding in vigorous agreement, she returned to her makeup, aware that he was watching her in the mirror. Keeping a straight face was difficult, but her need to make him feel the same sensual hunger as her gave her the strength. She took her time finishing her makeup and then stood up and crossed to the wardrobe. To her pleased surprise, Tariq lay down on the bed to wait, his arms crossed behind his head. He reminded her of a lazy panther, all liquid muscle and barely contained strength.

  Her scowl only surfaced once she was inside the closet. How was she supposed to seduce him with artless ease if he couldn’t see her? The bed was placed parallel to the dresser and faced away from the closet behind it. That meant Tariq’s eyes were on the bedroom door and she was behind the headboard. Frowning, she pulled an almost-sheer blue skirt off its hanger. The two thin layers of chiffon were just opaque enough for decency, and she’d never before worn the skirt, but today, it was war.

  The matching top had tiny cap sleeves trimmed with fine silver braid, and was cut to fit snugly under her breasts, leaving her abdomen bare. She didn’t bother to grab a bra because the top was tight enough, and every time she bent forward, the scoop neck would hint at that revealing fact. Walking out of the closet, she put her clothes down on a nearby chair. She almost shimmied into them in haste, before she suddenly understood exactly how sneaky Tariq was.

  Far from not being able to see her, her husband had a perfect view of her in the mirror. Her hands went to the knot of her robe. She heard Tariq shift on her bed, and out of nowhere, a belated wave of nervousness hit her. Playing with him was one thing, but could she actually do a striptease?

  Before she lost her courage, she undid the robe and shrugged it off. When she leaned forward to throw it across the top of the chair, she thought she heard Tariq’s breath hitch. Her own wasn’t too steady, but she kept going. She picked up her panties and forced herself to speak.

  “Where are we having dinner?” Jasmine slid on the fragile creation of lace and satin, smoothing it over her bottom with fingers that trembled. She snatched them away before he could notice in the mirror, and grabbed the skirt.

  Instead of dropping it over her head, she bent over to step into it. She could imagine the picture she presented, and it was making her blush. She hoped the dimness of the light near the closet concealed that betraying fact.

  “I had thought the main dining room with Hiraz and Mumtaz, but I’ve changed my mind. We’ll eat in our private dining area.” Jasmine didn’t miss the possessive edge in his voice. She hadn’t heard it for two weeks. At one time, she’d believed it meant he thought of her as an object. She was beginning to understand that Tariq would always be possessive about his woman, even if he loved her. He was simply that kind of man. His possessiveness and protectiveness were traits that she could get used to, she decided. In fact, they made her feel almost cherished.

  “Hmm.” She buttoned her skirt at the side, picked up the top and turned a little so that her breasts were displayed to him, though her face remained in shadow. She decided that she deserved a medal for bravery. Who would have believed that shy, quiet Jasmine would be trying to entice her virile, sexy husband with such an audacious exhibition? Certainly not her.

  The top buttoned down the front, so she slipped it on and then did up the row of five tiny buttons made of white crystal. It was unexpectedly tight across her breasts, which surprised her. However, when she looked down, the line of buttons wasn’t distorted, so it appeared that the design required that final snug fit.

  Finally, she stepped into a pair of Arabian sandals that she could easily shuck off. Their private dining area was in essence a room full of huge cushions.

  “Almost finished.” She was thankful that the breathy quality in her voice wasn’t too evident.

  “There’s no hurry.” He sounded at ease.

  Jasmine wondered if she was mistaken and he hadn’t been watching. Walking over to stand beside the bed, she put her hands on her hips and twirled around.

  “What do you think?”

  He unobtrusively bent his leg at the knee, but wasn’t quick enough to hide the arousal straining against the material of his pants. She swallowed a sigh of relief.

  “Perfect.” His mild tone didn’t fool her.

  “Hmm, but I think I need some jewelry.”

  The stroll to her dresser took every ounce of nonchalance she possessed. She didn’t even glance in the mirror to check her appearance, not wishing to meet Tariq’s eyes and give herself away by accident. From inside the built-in jewelry drawer, she pulled out the fine gold chains that she’d looped over her hips on her wedding day, and put them on. Then she clasped a necklace around her neck. It was pretty but unremarkable, except for the fact that the long spherical Zulheil Rose pendant fell between the globes of her breasts.

  “Come on, lazybones, I’m starving.” She beckoned to him and pushed through the connecting door to his room. She could have reached the dining room through the corridor, but she couldn’t resist the temptation of leading him past the huge double bed. The one in her room had never been used, except for the week that he’d been in Paris.

  She heard him mutter, “Me, too,” as he rose from the bed. His tone was distinctly bad tempered. She smiled. A starving panther was more to her liking than one attempting to play at being a pussycat.

  Her hand was on the knob of the door that led into the dining area when Tariq gripped her waist. Burning heat sizzled through her nerve endings where his hands touched bare skin. His big body pressed her against the door.

  “You will wait here while the servants finish.”

  “It’s okay, I don’t mind helping them.”

  His fingers tightened on her skin. “You will wait here.” Spinning her around, he sealed her next protest with a hard kiss. Giving her a warning glance, he opened the door. It shut with a click behind him.

  Jasmine lifted her hands to her tingling lips. He hadn’t kissed her like that for weeks. She leaned against the wall because her knees felt as if they’d crumple at any moment. The imprint of his hands on her waist was a living touch that continued to burn her skin.

  “I guess I can put up with the arrogance this once,” she said out loud, a smile wreathing her face. But she couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t let her enter the room. Then she happened to glance at the mirror. Her jaw dropped.

  She almost ran into the other room to cover herself. The skirt wasn’t almost sheer. It was absolutely, utterly, scandalously sheer. The outline of her legs was visible with stark clarity, and when she moved, the cloth revealed more than it hid. To make matters worse, the lace front panel of her flimsy panties didn’t exactly hide anything, either. The gauzy blue of her skirt granted any watcher blatant hints of the dark red curls at the juncture of her thighs.

  The top, which she’d thought sexy but not too revealing, was outrageous in its eroticism. The fabric hugged her breasts with loving care, outlining them with clear precision; her nipples were visible, shameless points of desire against the thin silk. The tightness of the top controlled her breasts, but it also lovingly plumped them up. Soft, white flesh overflowed the neckline.

  “Oh my God.” She clutched at the wall behind her. No wonder Tariq had forbidden her from entering the other room. She looked like a houri. She felt like a woman dressed to please her master in any way he chose. A wave of apprehension hit her. In desperation, she took a deep breath. In and out. In and out. The added oxygen must have revived her brain cells, because a bright ray of hope stood out from the chaos in her mind.

  “He didn’t tell me to change,” she whispered. “In fact, he said I looked perfect.” If Tariq had been put off by her sexy outfit, he wouldn’t have been so insistent on leaving her in his bedroom to wait, wouldn’t have agreed on her choice, and surely wouldn’t have kissed her.

  Grinning, she skipped over to the huge bed and perched on the end, away from the mirror. She pasted a bored expression on her face just as Tariq opened the door. He stopped. She saw him swallow, and for once she k
new exactly what her husband was thinking. He wanted to throw her on the bed and teach her not to tease him. Except he wasn’t sure that she was teasing. And, Jasmine decided, he was too much in control if he could resist that primitive urge.

  She jumped off the bed and walked over. “Ready?”

  He nodded but didn’t seem to remember that he was blocking the door. Successfully fighting the urge to tease him, she pushed at his chest. He obediently moved aside to let her pass, then followed.

  Once inside, he didn’t take a cushion on the other side of the low table set with food. Instead, he sat down beside her, propping himself up with one hand flat on the cushion behind her. His shoulder and chest pressed against her and when she leaned back a little, his arm provided a hard masculine backrest.

  Jasmine tried to steady her breathing, and picked up a plateful of small tarts of some kind. She offered the plate to Tariq. He lifted one dark eyebrow in invitation. With a blush she couldn’t control, she picked up a tart and fed it to him. He almost caught her fingers on his second bite. Laughing, she pulled away just in time.

  Her husband had a definite glint in his eye, but she was determined that she wouldn’t be the only one losing control tonight. He was coming with her. However, attempting to ignore the way the panther by her side was throwing her body into chaos was proving to be difficult.

  With a forced smile, she picked up a tart and took a bite. “I’ve never eaten anything like this.” The savory pastry was spicy, with a hint of unfamiliar herbs, but delicious. To her surprise, Tariq reached out and filched the rest of it.

  “Hey!” Surprise overcame her inner trembling.

  “I told you I was hungry. Feed me quickly.”

  Jasmine told herself she was imagining the double entendre in his words—surely he hadn’t meant that he was hungry? She was getting ahead of herself. She mock-scowled at him, but picked up a kebab and fed it to her sheik. He sprawled beside her, seemingly content to eat whatever she chose, as long as she offered it to him. Tariq had never done this before and Jasmine found that she enjoyed cosseting him. Today, for the first time, she’d begun to understand precisely how enormous his duties were. It made her want to fill his life with pleasure, so that those duties wouldn’t burn out the bright light inside him, though that same light threatened to make her love for him impossibly stronger.