by Connie Mason
“Ah, beauty, what an innocent you are. When I learned that you and Mustafa had tricked me, I was so angry, I wanted to wring your beautiful neck. Later, I was overwhelmed by a fear so great it nearly destroyed me. I doubt, however, that I can forgive Mustafa. What he did was reprehensible.”
“Do not blame Mustafa. It was my wish as well as his to save your life. Why did you not accept our gift?” She clutched his shoulders, her voice desperate. “You must leave, Dariq. Return to your ship and sail away from Istanbul. Do not give your brother a second chance to end your life.”
“I will not leave, beauty.” He cupped her face with his hand. “I do not need light to see you. My memory serves me well.”
She turned her cheek into his hand. “You are making this difficult, Dariq. The longer we linger here, the harder it will be to part.”
“I am not leaving until I make love to you. I cannot bear being apart from you. Each night I dream about loving you, until my insides are crawling with need and I awake in a sweat. I want to undress you, and though I cannot see your body in this blasted darkness, I can still feel and remember how you looked the last time you lay naked in my arms.”
Willow dragged in a shuddering breath. She wanted Dariq to make love to her more than anything. But someone had to be practical. “We cannot. What if—”
Dariq kissed the protest from her lips. His kisses tasted like sin and promised ecstasy. In the blink of an eye, he rid her of her caftan and shift.
He kissed a path down to her shoulder, then over the rapid rise and fall of her breasts, teasing and sucking her nipples, until she dug her fingers into his hair and whimpered with pleasure. His mouth moved lower, laving the hollow of her navel. He dropped to his knees. She trembled, buffeted by waves of raw sensation as he parted her thighs and slipped two fingers inside her. A soft moan left her lips, and her knees buckled beneath her.
Catching her up in his arms, he carried her to the bed and laid her down on the counterpane. She felt him withdraw, and when he returned, the heat of his naked skin against hers felt like heaven.
Dariq was so aroused, he feared his cock would burst. But he had never left a woman wanting and didn’t intend to start with Willow, the woman he loved. Oh, aye, he freely admitted it now. Willow was the only woman for whom he would willingly sacrifice his life. If fate turned against him and he was captured this night, at least he would have these stolen moments with Willow to carry with him to his death.
“Willow, if something happens to me after I leave you tonight, I want you to know that—”
“Nothing is going to happen,” Willow said, stopping his words with a kiss.
One kiss led to another, and another, until his body was raw with sensation. A thousand kisses later, he parted her thighs and found the hooded jewel that was so responsive to his slightest touch. Willow didn’t disappoint him. She arched and whimpered, urging him on with words that made scant sense.
When he parted the sheltering folds to expose her center of pleasure, she choked out his name. Her inner flesh yielded to his fingertips and the moist heat of his mouth. Flames devoured her; she strained against his wicked kiss as his tongue flicked in maddening light strokes that sent unstoppable ecstasy piercing through her.
Rapture held her aloft, endless and unrestrained, then eased into eddies of trembling delight. She sensed Dariq hovering above her, his hands braced on either side of her head.
“I wish I could see your face,” he whispered. “You were made for me, my love. No one is going to take you from me … ever. I am going to come inside you now, my love. Open for me.”
Flexing his hips, he plunged deep into her welcoming heat. She sighed rapturously, her arms wrapping about him.
“I love you, Dariq,” she whispered as his lips closed over hers. “I shall always love you.”
Willow had no idea if he heard, for he was immersed in his own pleasure. His kisses grew frantic; his loins pumped wildly, his staff creating an intolerable friction that launched her to the stars. Had his mouth not been covering hers, she would have screamed.
Then his own climax burst, flooding her womb as he collapsed upon her sated body. He was unable to move, to think, to breathe. Ecstasy coiled deep in his gut, rendering him nearly insensate. He regained his wits slowly, then shifted himself off her, gathering her against him.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered after a few moments as he held her close. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? It has been so long, I may have been too rough.”
Willow shook her head. “You could never hurt me. It’s just that I am afraid for you. After I left, I assumed you would accept my gift of life and in time forget I existed.”
Their bodies were meshed so closely, he could feel her heart beating in concert with his.
“How could I possibly forget you? You said you loved me. Did you mean it?”
Her voice quivered with surprise. “You heard? I wasn’t sure. Aye, I meant what I said. Only a woman in love would willingly sacrifice her freedom. I wanted you to live, Dariq.” She paused, staring into his eyes. “Why did you come to Istanbul? Why would you risk your life to come for me?”
“Only a man in love would willingly surrender his life,” he replied, giving her words back to her.
Willow went utterly still. “You love me?”
“Did I not just say so? You are imbedded in my heart. I need you as I need food to eat and air to breathe. I have never felt like this before. You are my heart, my soul, my life.”
“You love me?” Willow repeated.
“Shall I repeat it in Turkish? Or French?”
“Nay, I understand English very well.”
She glanced out the window at the approaching dawn; her arms clung desperately to him. “Our time together grows short. Perhaps you should tell me how you plan to spirit me away.”
“I shall take you from this very room and carry you over the rooftops. Horses will be waiting outside the seraglio walls to carry us to my ship. Once everything is arranged to my satisfaction, I will send word to Kamel.”
Dismay colored Willow’s words. “Over the rooftops?”
“Fear not, my love. Both Mustafa and I are fleet of foot. We will manage just fine.”
“What if something goes wrong? What if Ibrahim summons me before …” she gulped, unable to continue.
“Then you and Kamel must find a way to foil Ibrahim. A day or two is all I need to set my plan into motion.”
“I will pray for your success,” Willow murmured. “Is there time to make love again?
“Ah, sweet siren, naught would please me more.”
He made love to her more slowly this time, drawing out her pleasure, stroking and caressing her with his hands, mouth and tongue. When she begged him to end it, he lifted her atop him, but when he would have entered her weeping center in one long thrust, she scooted down and grasped his staff in her hands. Then she lowered her head and ran her tongue up and down his engorged length before taking the head into her mouth and lapping his essence with her tongue.
Dariq felt paradise beckon; heaven hovered just beyond his grasp. Raw sensation pulsed through him as Willow teased and sucked him. But he wasn’t made of stone, and all too soon he felt the end approaching. With a hoarse curse he raised her up, spread her legs and slowly lowered her onto his pulsating cock.
He stifled her cries with his mouth as he drove them both to a glorious, earth-shattering climax.
Chapter Seventeen
Willow slept in Dariq’s arms while he watched the night sky turn to dull gray, depressingly aware of the passing time.
A step sounded on the stairs. “Prince Dariq, ’tis time,” Kamel called softly through the panel. “Lady Willow must leave now.”
“Just a moment more,” Dariq replied.
Dariq stared down at Willow, aware that they must part for a short time, yet reluctant to wake her. Common sense prevailed, however, and he gently called her name.
Willow stirred but did not awaken. Dariq bent and kissed her lips. She smiled
and opened her eyes. “Am I dreaming?”
“Nay, my love, I am here and you are in my arms. But ’tis time for you to return to the harem. Kamel awaits you.”
“When will I see you again?”
“Soon, I promise. Let me help you with your shift and caftan.”
He slipped both garments over her head and placed her slippers where she could slide her feet into them. Then he quickly dressed himself and led her to the passage. Willow turned to him, her expression stricken.
“What if—?”
He stopped her words with a kiss. “Nay, do not think it. Naught will go wrong. Go now. Wait for Kamel to inform you when you are to leave.”
The panel slid open; he watched her descend the stairs, his mind already whirling ahead to the day when Willow would be free to decide her future. If she wanted to return to England, he would see her safely home and pine for her the rest of his life. But if she wished to remain with him on Lipsi, he vowed to wed her and give up piracy and his vendetta against Ibrahim.
Once Willow reached the bottom of the staircase, she turned and waved. Dariq waved back, and then the panel closed. Purple streaks tinted the eastern sky as Dariq climbed onto the balcony rail and reached for the nearest rooftop. Surefooted and agile, he leapt from building to building, carefully making his way to the wall surrounding the seraglio and scrambling over. Vendors were opening their stalls in the souk as he wended his way to his room at the Inn of the Seven Veils. Unbeknownst to him, Mustafa was not far behind him.
Suddenly sensing that he was being trailed, Dariq ducked into an alley. When Mustafa walked past, Dariq stepped out to confront him.
“What are you doing?”
“Protecting your back.”
Dariq gave an exasperated snort. “I did not ask for your protection.”
Mustafa shrugged. “I go where you go.”
Dariq glanced at the sky. “Patrols will be out soon. Find Yusuf and meet me at the coffeehouse at noon. You know which one. We must act quickly, before Ibrahim remembers Willow and summons her to his bed.”
Mustafa nodded and melted into the misty dawn. Dariq continued on to the inn. Once inside his room, he fell into bed for a few hours of much-needed sleep.
Willow’s return to the harem had not gone unnoticed. Umma, who had always been a light sleeper, heard voices and decided to investigate. What she saw when she cracked her door open and peeked out turned her green with jealousy. She saw Willow standing in the doorway of her chamber, looking disheveled and well loved. She was bidding Kamel goodbye. There was only one reason one of Ibrahim’s concubines would be out and about at this hour of the morning. Obviously, the sultan had summoned the English houri to his bed.
Clenching her hands into fists, Umma wanted to scream her frustration. If Lady Willow bore Ibrahim a child, he would make her his wife, a position Umma had striven for from the moment she’d entered Ibrahim’s harem. Unfortunately, Willow’s two watchdogs had made it impossible to feed her a drug that would render her unable to conceive. Umma, the daughter of a pasha, considered herself, of all Ibrahim’s concubines, the only one worthy of the title sultana.
The Englishwoman’s beauty paled in comparison to her own sultry radiance, Umma thought. Aside from Willow’s golden hair, there was nothing remarkable about her. A sly smile curved Umma’s pouting lips. What if the lady was shorn of her crowning beauty? If she lost her hair, there would be naught about her Ibrahim would admire.
* * *
Unaware of Umma’s dark thoughts, Willow bathed in the hammam with the other women that morning. She tried to ignore Umma’s dark glances despite a strange foreboding grinding inside her. What was Umma up to? After her night of love with Dariq, Willow was too happy to let Umma ruin her mood. Soon she would be gone, no longer the object of Umma’s jealousy.
What would happen then? Willow wondered. If Dariq loved her as he alleged, would he give up pirating for her? Would he be content to become a husband and father? Did he even want children? Would his vendetta against Ibrahim continue to be the driving force in his life?
Those questions and others whirled around in her head, until she despaired of ever attaining her dream of a loving relationship with Dariq. Her culture did not allow concubines and multiple wives, while his encouraged them. Willow demanded commitment and fidelity from the man she loved, but she had no idea if Dariq felt the same. The subject had never been discussed.
With love, anything was possible. Willow had to believe that.
Ali Hara approached Willow after she emerged from the hammam and asked for a private word. Willow invited him into her chamber.
“Is something wrong?” she asked anxiously.
“Beware,” Ali Hara warned. “Umma is up to no good. Jealousy eats at her. She believes you went to Ibrahim’s bed last night.”
Willow stiffened. “What? How could she think that?”
“I believe, but do not know for sure, that she heard something last night and assumed you had been summoned by Ibrahim.”
Willow blanched. “She may have heard Kamel and me speaking in the doorway of my chamber early this morning. I was merely bidding him goodbye and thanking him for making my night with Dariq possible. Umma could hamper Dariq’s plans. What shall I do?”
“I’ve already alerted Kamel. We agreed to step up our vigilance until you leave with Prince Dariq. Pray Allah it is soon.”
“Will you flee the city with us?” Willow asked.
“Aye—did you doubt it? Kamel also expressed a desire to leave. Once Ibrahim learns he aided Prince Dariq, his life will be forfeit despite his current position of power.”
He glanced at the closed door. “I will continue to fetch your food myself so that you need not fear poison. I suggest that you remain in your chamber until we receive word from the prince.”
Ali Hara bowed and departed. Willow walked to the window and stared out into the garden; several concubines strolled about, while others lounged around a small fish pond. She spied Umma and realized the woman was staring at her through the window. She immediately stepped away from Umma’s hard glare.
Later, after she finished her lunch, Willow braided her hair to keep it from tangling while she slept and lay down on the bed. She had had precious little sleep the night before, and within minutes succumbed to sheer exhaustion. She neither saw nor heard Umma enter her chamber wielding a pair of sharp scissors. Nor did she feel the scissors cutting through her long braid.
Umma’s triumph was short-lived. As she held up Willow’s severed locks for closer inspection, Ali Hara burst into the chamber.
“By Allah’s beard, lady, what have you done to my mistress?”
Willow woke with a start, suddenly aware of a commotion whirling around her. Shivers of panic skipped down her spine when she realized what had happened. Ali Hara’s large hand was clasped around Umma’s wrist, the one holding a sharp pair of scissors. Then Willow realized what Umma held in her other hand, and her own hand flew to her head. A scream tore from her throat.
Her hair was gone! Umma had shorn her while she slept. Naught was left but the stubby end of her braid. Coming up on her knees, she lunged at Umma. The concubine wrested free of Ali Hara, raising her hands to protect herself from Willow’s fury. Ali Hara stepped in between the two women.
“Witch!” Willow screamed. “Look what you have done.”
Umma smirked. “Without your hair, my master will have naught to admire about you.” She held up the long tail of Willow’s braid and flung it at her. “Here, take it! Perhaps Ali Hara can work a miracle.”
Pivoting on her heel, she fled out the door, laughter following in her wake.
Willow held up her severed braid, tears welling in her eyes. She dared not look in the beaten-silver mirror for fear of what she would see. She must look hideous.
“You are still lovely, my lady,” Ali Hara soothed. “With or without hair, your beauty is matchless.”
Suddenly Kamel burst into the chamber. “What has happened? Lady Umma came ru
nning out of here as if dogs were nipping at her heels.”
Willow held up her severed braid, too choked up to speak.
“Lady Umma did that?” Kamel asked.
“Aye,” Ali Hara answered. “She entered the chamber while Lady Willow lay sleeping.”
“Where were you when it happened? Is this how you protect your lady?”
Ali Hara hung his head. “I was gone but a moment to relieve myself.” He wrung his hands. “This should not have happened.”
Suddenly Willow came to her senses. This wasn’t the end of the world. Her hair would grow. It could have been much worse. Umma could have plunged the scissors into her heart.
Drying her eyes, she took a deep breath. “I am fine. ’Tis only my hair, and it will grow back. Ali Hara has been wonderful, and so have you, Kamel. Do not blame yourselves for this.”
“Nevertheless, Lady Umma shall be punished,” Kamel declared. “She will repent of her sins when she feels the bastinado on the soles of her feet. She will not be able to walk for days.”
Willow winced. “Nay, Kamel, do not punish her. Few here like me. Punishing Umma can only make my enemies more determined. Hetice hates me, too, and sides with Umma. Pray God I will be gone soon.”
“If Allah wills it, we will hear from Prince Dariq this very day,” Kamel said.
“Here, take this,” Willow said, thrusting her severed braid at Kamel. “I cannot bear to look at it.”
Kamel cocked his head and studied her with the intensity of a connoisseur. Willow’s remaining hair, deprived of its former weight, curled around her head in a riotous cap of curls. A wide smile split his dark face, revealing a perfect set of white teeth.
“You look adorable, my lady.”
Willow’s hands flew to her head, encountering naught but a crop of unruly curls. “You jest, Kamel, but thank you anyway.”
Kamel reached for a silver mirror and held it before her. “Look for yourself, lady. Hair alone does not make a woman beautiful.”
Willow glanced at her image in the mirror. At first, the shock of seeing herself without her lovely long hair brought fresh tears to her eyes. But then something happened. The longer she looked at the cap of curls, the more she realized it wasn’t as bad as she had thought.