This time she really did get up, and so Hasan was forced to rise from his chair as well. He took a step toward her, and she flinched, but then stood her ground, her chin firm, as if daring him to do his worst.
Oh, no. He would not do his worst.
He hoped he would do his best.
Before she could move, he’d taken another step. His hands closed on her arms, and he pulled her close, bent his head to kiss her. Those full lips, so very soft, tasting of the sweetness and the tartness of the rosé, more exquisite than he could have imagined.
For just a second, her entire body went rigid. He sensed the unwillingness in her, the fear. If it persisted, he knew he would have to let her go, because while she no doubt believed him guilty of innumerable crimes, forcing a woman was not among those transgressions.
But then her mouth opened, and her tongue touched his. Heat arced through his body, and he stiffened at once, consumed with need for her. He took her face in his hands, kissed her over and over, felt her arms go around him and her full breasts press up against his chest.
Good God, he could take her right now, on the dining room table. Somehow he held back, though, knowing that a kiss was all she could allow herself to give for now, that a consummation would have to wait until she was ready. After one of the longest moments of his very long life, he lifted his mouth from hers, let her go so she might regain control of herself.
Her face was flushed, her chest heaving. Hasan had to force himself not to look at the enticing curve of her breasts, pushed to prominence by the tight silk coat she wore. Instead, he gazed down at her lovely features, at the slightly swollen curve of her lower lip.
At last she said, “I…wasn’t expecting that.”
“Did it displease you?”
“No, I — ” She stopped herself there. After a long pause, she went on, her voice low, almost a whisper, “It should have displeased me, shouldn’t it? I mean, there’s got to be something wrong with me for wanting — ”
“For wanting what?” he asked softly.
“For wanting you,” she replied.
There could be no other response but to pull her close again, to kiss her once more, to experience her sweetness and her fire. He had thought that kissing a human must feel different from kissing a woman of the djinn, and yet he could sense no discernible difference, except that Jordan’s kisses aroused him as no others ever had, perhaps because of their purity. She did nothing to hide herself, or her reaction to him.
He could think of no greater gift.
This time she was the one who pulled away. “I — damn. Damn it.” She put a hand to her mouth, as though she somehow suspected it of being the source of her surrender. Then she looked up at him, confusion and fear and passion somehow all blending in her beautiful blue eyes. “What do we do now?”
“Nothing that you don’t want to do,” he replied. “For now, I would suggest sitting down and returning to our dinner.”
Her gaze became disbelieving. “Seriously?”
“Yes, I am quite serious. I can prevent the food from growing cold for a while, but eventually it will become inedible. And,” he continued, hoping he had not misjudged her, that his reticence would work for him rather than against him, “I was not sure you truly wished for matters to progress further than they have. At least not tonight.”
“I don’t,” she blurted. “I mean — I don’t know what I should do. But I think I need time to…to process all this.”
“Then you shall have it. But I know I think better on a full stomach.”
She offered him a watery smile at that remark, and seated herself once again. Hasan did the same, picking up his knife and fork and returning to his neglected meal. That seemed the best way to manage the situation — to go on as though nothing untoward had happened. As he’d said, he would allow her time to ponder this shift in their relationship, and how she intended to handle it.
In the meantime, they had a dinner to eat.
Chapter Nine
Somehow Jordan got back to her room, but she couldn’t exactly recall getting up from the table, or climbing the stairs. It wasn’t that she’d drunk so much that she’d wandered upstairs in an alcoholic haze. In fact, she’d barely had a glass and a half, not enough to make her even tipsy. It wasn’t the wine.
No, it was Hasan.
Granted, it had been a very long time since she’d kissed anyone, let alone done anything more. But Hasan’s kisses — strong, passionate, intense — were so beyond anything she’d experienced before, she didn’t know what to think. And that embrace had come out of nowhere. Nothing in what he’d said to her earlier that day, or how he’d acted around her, had given her any indication that he was consumed with desire and couldn’t hold back any longer.
Jordan closed the door behind her and stumbled over to the bed, then sat down. Almost mechanically, she began removing the earrings she wore, then drew off the bracelets and the ring. She set them all on the nightstand, figuring she would move them to their jewel box in the morning. It wasn’t as if she had to worry about anyone coming along and stealing them.
After she was done, she sat on the edge of the bed for a long moment. Dimly, she realized that her entire body was trembling. Shaking from the aftermath of those kisses — including the one he’d given her just before he said good night and went inside his own room — or from something else.
Guilt?
Maybe. No, probably.
How could she have let him kiss her like that? She was a traitor to her entire race. How could she have forgotten everything he was guilty of?
All right, to be perfectly honest, she didn’t have an exact read of his crimes. However, she knew he had to have killed more than one person. Many people, probably, for no other reason than they were human and, according to the djinn, didn’t deserve to live on this planet anymore.
The food she’d eaten at dinner flip-flopped in her gut, and she pressed her hands against her stomach, willing it to calm down. Throwing up right now was not an option — not because there wasn’t a toilet handy, but because the last thing she wanted was for Hasan to hear her vomiting.
She cast a wary glance at the door. Yes, Hasan had assured her that he would not pressure her for more than she was willing to give — what a gentleman — but if he was capable of the crimes she thought he was capable of, could she allow herself to trust his word?
In his mind, those murders weren’t crimes at all, no more than someone would think spraying for roaches was a crime.
Once again, her stomach roiled. How could he have such an opinion of other humans and still want to kiss her, want far more than that? Why was she different?
All right, she was pretty. Big deal. There had once been thousands — maybe millions — of women who were better-looking than she could ever hope to be. Even now there were probably survivors who could beat her in a beauty contest. And yet Hasan had zeroed in on her.
Only game in town, Jordan, she told herself. He’s probably just horny and figures you’re an easier lay than some djinn woman.
She hated to think such a thing, but what else was she supposed to believe?
With an abrupt movement, she pushed herself off the bed and went into the bathroom, got down the silky nightgown Hasan had provided for her from the hook where it hung. Had he been plotting this from the very beginning, making sure she had sexy lingerie, or had he simply provided these types of undergarments because that was a stereotype of what human women wore?
Again, she had no idea. The nightgown wasn’t as skimpy as it could have been, but it still had spaghetti straps and a long slit on one side. It probably wouldn’t do much to keep her warm, once the weather really got bad. Not that she was planning to stick around that long.
But….
As much as she hated her weakness in succumbing to Hasan’s kisses, she hated even more the thought of not being with him, of walking away. Which she knew was ridiculous. She’d never been the hopeless romantic type. She didn’t believe in love at
first sight — or at first kiss. Her parents’ example had told her that chemistry didn’t mean squat. Bridget Wells had been crazy in love with her handsome husband, and apparently he’d felt the same way, according to Jordan’s Aunt Liz. And yet her father had still walked out. So much for a love for the ages.
No, she didn’t love Hasan. How could she? She barely knew him. The most she’d allow herself to admit to was base physical attraction. Maybe if she’d allowed herself to unbend, to get closer to one of her fellow survivors in Pagosa Springs, she wouldn’t be feeling so needy right now. That part of her had lain dormant for far too long, and now that Hasan had kissed her, held her in his arms, she realized how difficult it would be to snuff out the fire he’d kindled within her.
Difficult, but not impossible. She got in bed, turned off the lamp on the nightstand. Deep darkness filled the room, since the moon was still only a slender fingernail, nothing that could provide any real illumination. Even so, Jordan stared up at the ceiling, knowing that she should try to get to sleep, but not sure how she could accomplish such a task when her entire body felt so awake, she might as well have had a double shot of espresso with dinner, rather than a glass of wine.
You will sleep, she told herself. You’ll sleep, and then in the morning you’ll figure out what to do next. Tell him you made a mistake, that you didn’t really know what you were doing.
She wasn’t sure whether Hasan would buy that excuse. Her response to him had been just a little too enthusiastic. But she’d have to try. There was no way she could continue down that path, pretend that he was innocent, that his hands were clean. She couldn’t live with herself if she allowed herself to be that weak. Not after everything she’d been through, all the people she’d lost.
And if Hasan didn’t like it, well…he’d have to figure out a way to live with his disappointment.
All was quiet behind the door to Jordan’s room. Hasan hadn’t really expected anything else, but still he had to quell a stab of disappointment. Some part of him had hoped that she would leave her room and come to him, would continue what they had started. His body ached for her. If her kisses had been that sweet, he could only imagine what it would be like to feel her naked flesh pressed against him, to bury himself deep within her.
Perhaps such a thing might still come to pass, but he knew it would not be this night. He sat at the chair by the window and stared out into the darkness. His djinn eyes could see well enough, even though the night was nearly without a moon, only a thin sliver hanging low in the east to break up the starry expanse. Eventually he would go to bed and try to lose himself in slumber, but for now he only wanted to sit here and gaze at the dark landscape, and remember what it had been like to have Jordan Wells in his arms. Torturing himself? Possibly. Or rather, because he couldn’t have the real thing, he might as well try to find what solace he could in memories of her touch, her taste.
He thought of her flare of anger at the realization that he’d found some things of value in her world, and yet still had no compunction about removing the very people who’d created the food and the art he’d admired. If he’d tried harder to explain himself to her, would he have succeeded? The djinn were a practical people — they had to be, to survive in the otherworld of their exile, barred for so many millennia from the world that should have been theirs. They saw no dissonance in enjoying a fine wine made by mortals, or a dinner prepared by a mortal chef. Some djinn collected works of art created by humans. At the same time, while admiring their creativity, the djinn also realized that humans could not be trusted. They could see beauty, and still think nothing of destroying it.
The same might be said for the djinn, he supposed. After all, the Heat did not spare the beautiful and the strong, but was egalitarian in its destruction. Being immune had everything to do with luck and a certain combination of factors in the blood, and nothing else. At least, that was what he had been told. Although he had assisted in cleansing the world after the djinn-created disease ran its course, he had not been involved in the mixture of alchemy and science that had given birth to the supernatural plague, for his skills did not lie in such things.
Just as well. The stains on his soul were bad enough without being one of the Heat’s creators as well. No doubt Jordan would hate him if she knew everything he had done, all those he had killed. In the beginning, he had kept count, but the practice had begun to seem like vanity to him, notches on a belt rather than a necessary duty that must be performed. Although he had vowed not to rest until this territory was cleansed of every human soul, some part of him had been glad to be given land in such a remote corner of the world. He could come here and breathe in the clean air and watch the clouds passing overhead in a pristine sky, and try to forget the work that had consumed him for such a long time.
And then Jordan had come to him. Cruel fate, or the work of a whimsical God, one Who thought it was time that Hasan surrendered at least a small part of his heart? He couldn’t say for sure. At any rate, he was not quite willing to admit that he cared for Jordan. Her company amused him, and her person excited him, and for the moment, that was as far as he was willing to go. It was enough.
Whether matters would stay that way, he couldn’t begin to guess.
Awkward, Jordan thought as she came downstairs the next morning, drawn by the scent of coffee that emanated from the kitchen. She’d purposely put on jeans and a blouse and flats, ignoring the beautiful djinn clothing Hasan had provided for her. By wearing human clothes, she hoped she would send a clear message that she wanted to move on from the night before, that her allegiance was with her own people, no matter how passionate the kisses she and the djinn had shared the night before.
When she came into the kitchen, she found him standing in front of the window there, staring out into the yard. That he faced away from her was something of a relief, because at least that way she had a little bit longer to gather herself, to tell her stupid heart to stop beating so quickly just at the mere sight of him.
“Good morning,” she said, since she knew she needed to get that first dreadful moment over with.
He turned. His expression was somewhat somber, and he didn’t smile when he saw her. Was that a good sign? Maybe it indicated that he wasn’t going to push things.
“Good morning,” he responded. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
Instead of using magic to fill a mug for her, he actually got one down from the cupboard and poured some coffee from a carafe into it. As he handed it to Jordan, she wondered why he sometimes used his djinn powers to accomplish ordinary tasks, while at others he acted just as human as she was. Pure whim? Maybe.
She took a sip of the coffee. It was strong and hot, and a good antidote to her muddled thoughts. Also, if she was drinking coffee, that meant she didn’t have to talk.
Unfortunately, Hasan didn’t appear ready to let things go. “Are we going to speak of what happened last night?”
Jordan made herself look up at him. Those dark blue eyes — a shade she’d never seen in a regular human being — were fixed on her. A small shiver went through her body. “What’s there to talk about?”
His eyebrows lifted. “I would think we have a great deal to talk about.”
“I — ” She drank some more coffee. The hot liquid burned its way down to her stomach, bringing with it a spurious sense of courage. “I think I made a mistake.”
“A mistake?” His mouth twisted. “You did not appear to think you were mistaken last night.”
“I know. I — ” Again she had to break off her words, hunt for what to say. This had seemed so much easier when she rehearsed the exchange in her mind. Now, though, with Hasan in front of her, the mouth that had kissed her set and angry, the open robes he wore showing off way too much of his muscular torso — she found her resolve faltering. His presence was so very overwhelming. Desperately, she said, “It’s just an attraction. That’s all. Why would you want to have anything to do with me, anyway? I’m just a human. I’m beneath
you, right?”
Hasan’s hands tightened into fists, and the muscles along his jaw line went hard. “Did I say that to you?”
“You didn’t have to.” Since he didn’t respond, only stood there and watched her with narrowed eyes, she made herself go on. “Humans and djinn — how would that even work? It’s impossible.”
For the briefest moment, his gaze slipped away from hers. What was that about? She didn’t know him very well, but it almost seemed as though he knew something she didn’t.
Well, that wasn’t so very unexpected. However, she didn’t have the energy or the will to ask him what he was hiding. Better to walk away from this minefield.
“Anyway,” she said, “I need to go check on the goats. I’m sure they want to be let out so they can have some fresh grass and sunshine.”
“‘Goats’?” he repeated, his tone disbelieving. “We have resolved nothing, and you’re worried about goats?”
“I don’t know what there is to resolve,” she replied. “I just told you this whole thing is impossible. And yes, I am worried about the goats. They need us to help take care of them.”
Having delivered that remark, she set her half-empty mug down on the counter and headed out the back door. His expression stormy, Hasan followed her. Clearly, he thought the matter was far from resolved, no matter what she might have to say on the subject.
The grass was wet with dew. Belatedly, Jordan realized she should have put on her hiking boots, rather than the flats she currently wore. Since there wasn’t anything she could do about it now, she slogged grimly up the hill toward the barn, all too aware of the angry djinn who followed in her wake.
However, he didn’t try to stop her as she went inside and greeted all the goats, who happily trotted out the door and into the field, kicking up their heels and bleating at one another before they settled down to filling their bellies. It was only after she’d shut the door that Hasan faced her, preventing her from heading out into the field to be with her charges.
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