Lord of the Abyss & Desert Warrior (28 page)

His need to possess her clawed at him, but underlying it was a deeper need and an even deeper hurt, things he refused to acknowledge. He allowed only a sliver of hunger to escape his control. Mina had always belonged to him, but in a few more minutes, the ties between them would become unbreakable.

Then he would claim his woman.

H
E WAS VERY HUNGRY
.

Tariq’s words in the car refused to leave Jasmine’s
mind. How was she supposed to relax, knowing that a hungry panther was coming to lay claim to her? With a groan, she sat up in the huge bed in the room next to hers. Tariq’s masculine presence was everywhere.

The flimsy nightgown that she’d found on the bed was scandalous as far as she was concerned. The superfine white linen fell to her ankles like a sheet of mist. It was laced with blue ribbon down to her navel, and had long sleeves tied with the same ribbon at the wrist. Thigh-high slits on either side bared her legs with every movement she made. The sleeves were also slit from wrist to shoulder, exposing her skin. All that wasn’t as bad as the fact that the material was almost sheer, her nipples and the darker triangle between her legs far too visible.

“They might be reserved in public but they could give lessons in eroticism,” she muttered, standing beside the bed.

Uncomfortable in the sensual clothing, she crossed to the closet, with the intention of finding a robe to throw on over it. She found a large blue silk one that was clearly Tariq’s. It would have to do, she thought, and pulled it out.

“Stop.”

Startled, she swiveled around. She hadn’t heard him enter. Hadn’t heard him move across the room. Tariq was almost upon her, his eyes hot as they skated over her body. Her gaze fixated on his naked chest. He was magnificent. His shoulders were wider than she’d imagined, the muscles thick and liquid when he moved. The ridges on his abdomen appeared hard and inflexible, pure steel under skin. The only thing saving him from nakedness was a small white towel.

“I did not give you permission to cover yourself.”

Jasmine bristled at his autocratic tone. “I don’t need your permission.”

With a single flick of his wrist, he pushed the robe from her nerveless fingers and captured both her hands in one of his own. “You forget that I now own you. You do what I wish.”

“Rubbish.”

“If it comforts you, feel free to disagree,” he said, magnanimous in victory. “But know that I am going to win.”

Jasmine stared up at him. Not for the first time, she wondered if she’d taken on more than she could handle. Maybe Tariq really was the despot he was acting. Perhaps he did consider her a possession.

“I wish to see you, Mina.” He turned her with such speed that she would’ve lost her balance had he not clamped an arm around her waist. His other arm came to lie under her breasts.

When she looked up, she found, to her shock, that they were standing in front of the full-length mirror in the corner. Her hair was exotically red against the white of her nightgown, her pale skin a stark contrast to the darkness of his arms. His big body was curved over hers, his shoulders blocking out the night.

“Tariq, let go,” she begged, unable to take the erotic intimacy implied by the reflection. She turned her face to one side, so her cheek pressed against his chest. Her worries about him were buried under the river of need that flooded her body.

“No, Mina. I wish to see you.” He nuzzled her neck,
brushing aside the strands of her hair in his path. “I have fantasized about this for years.”

His rough confession made her tingle from head to toe. It no longer felt wrong to know that his eyes were on the mirror, seeing everything she attempted to hide. It felt completely right, as if she had been born for this moment. Born to be the woman of the Sheik of Zulheil.

“Watch me as I love you.” He nipped at the side of her neck, then suckled the spot.

She shook her head in mute refusal. Despite the feeling of rightness, she was too innocent, too untouched, to easily accept this level of sensual discovery. Tariq kissed his way up her jaw and over her cheek. Her earlobe was a delicate morsel to be sucked into his mouth and savored. He ran his teeth over her skin in a gentle caress. Jasmine shivered and stood on tiptoe in an unconscious attempt to get closer.

“Look in the mirror,” he whispered, spreading his fingers across her stomach and under her breasts. “Please, Mina.”

His husky “please” broke through her defenses. She turned her head and looked. And met his burning green-eyed gaze. Holding her eyes, he moved the hand under her breasts until he was cupping one full globe. She gasped and gripped the arm at her waist. In response, he squeezed her aching, swollen flesh. It wasn’t enough. She needed more.

“Tariq,” she moaned, shifting restlessly against him.

“Watch,” he ordered.

She watched.

He moved his hand up until his thumb lay near her nipple. Under her wide-eyed gaze, he rubbed his thumb
over the throbbing peak once, twice, and again. She was panting for breath. Behind her, she heard his own breathing alter, felt his body harden, muscles and tendons settling into unyielding lines. She cried out when he stopped caressing her, only to sigh and whimper when he repeated the teasing stroking on her other breast. His hands were big, sprinkled with dark hair, and Jasmine ached to feel them everywhere. When he moved, she dropped her hands to her sides.

He left her breasts aroused and hot. His hands moved over her stomach, smoothing their way to her hips. There, he very carefully spread his hands so that his thumbs met in the middle across her navel. She dug her fingers into the rigid muscles of his thighs behind her when she saw the way the action framed the shadowy curls between her legs. He murmured in approval against her ear and rewarded her with another teasing nibble of her sensitive earlobe.

Then he smiled at her in the mirror, a very male, very satisfied smile. Still holding her gaze, he moved his thumbs. The curving arc rubbed the top of her curls. Jasmine tried to shift but his upper arms held her shoulders pinned to his chest. She watched in helpless fascination, her heart thudding in her throat, her knees losing their strength, as he slowly, deliberately pushed his thumbs down and inward.

The sudden pressure on the tiny bundle of nerve endings hidden under the fiery curls made Jasmine scream and bury her face against his chest. He let her recover before repeating the intimate caress again and again, until she was arching into every touch, urging him on. Dazed, she met his gaze. His eyes were hooded and dark,
but the flush high on his cheekbones assured her that he was as affected as she was.

“No!” she cried, when he removed his hands.

“Patience, Mina.” His breathing was irregular, but his control intact.

Jasmine squirmed in an effort to make him return. Instead, he gripped her gown at her hips and started to gather the soft material into his big hands. She was bare to her thighs before she registered his intent.

“No!” She tried to lift her arms but he squeezed with his biceps, trapping her. Unable to watch as he claimed her so blatantly, she pressed her eyes shut. And felt his lips on her neck, on her temple, on her cheek. He stopped raising the nightgown.

“Mina.” It was an invitation into sin. Jasmine couldn’t resist. She opened her eyes and watched him bare her to the waist, mesmerized by the rich sensuality of his voice.

“Oh, God.” She felt like a complete and utter wanton, standing there unveiled, her legs parted for balance, Tariq a dark masculine shadow behind her.

His thigh muscles moved fluidly under her hands as he changed position. To her shock, she felt one thickly muscled thigh slide between her legs. He began to rub it across her aroused flesh, a gentle abrasion that set her senses reeling. There were no barriers between his heat and her moist warmth. Her hands were free but she no longer wanted to stop him.

“Ride me, Mina.” He shored up the gown with one arm and slid his other one between her legs. Jasmine thought she would lose her mind when she saw his fingers part her curls. He shifted his leg again, inciting her to do what he wanted. Jasmine moaned and, almost with
out volition, began moving her hips. His fingers stroked her pulsing flesh even as his leg pushed harder and lifted her toes off the floor.

Lost in his touch, she closed her eyes and rode. Desperate for an anchor, she curled her hands around his biceps, but it was too late. She felt the explosion building, and then suddenly, she crashed. It was as if every part of her had broken apart and then reintegrated. Sobbing with her release, she lay against Tariq, trusting him to hold her up.

“Mina, you’re beautiful.” His voice was reverent.

Jasmine lifted her head and found herself looking at her image in the mirror, her legs spread apart, Tariq’s thigh holding her up. Too full of pleasure to blush, she raised her head and met his eyes. “Thank you.”

Tariq shuddered, almost undone by her surrender. “I haven’t finished yet.”

The gown whispered down her lovely legs as he released it. Her fever-bright eyes watched him untie the laces. He took his time, enjoying the culmination of years of erotic dreams. When she moved, he felt the faint shivers that rocked her. Pleased, he flexed his thigh against her sweet heat, knowing it would send shards of pleasure rocketing through her.

“Tariq, don’t tease.” She tilted her head toward him.

He dropped a kiss on her lips, enchanted by the feminine complaint. “But you are so teasable.” He finished with the ribbons and the gown gaped open, baring her breasts. His arousal became almost painful in its intensity, at the sight of a reality that outstripped his every fantasy. Closing one hand around the taut flesh, he squeezed gently.

Mina’s eyes drifted shut and she arched into his touch. He nudged her hips, needing her to feel him, to understand this claiming. This branding. He wanted to mark her so deeply that she’d never think of walking away from him again. The urge was primitive and uncivilized, but when it came to this woman, his emotions had never been polite or bland.

Opening her eyes, she smiled at him in the mirror, a smile full of newly realized feminine power, and then began to move her body up and down. The slow dance was an unmerciful tease, but the feel of her was indescribable.

He growled in warning. “Witch.”

“Tease,” she accused.

He started to fondle her breast again, rubbing her nipple between his fingertips. She was so exquisitely sensitive, it was a temptation he couldn’t resist. “Perhaps,” he agreed, “but I’m also bigger than you.”

Before Jasmine could take another breath, Tariq lifted the gown and tugged it over her head. Her arms came up of their own volition, her mind unable to defy the compulsion. She heard him throw the garment aside at the same time he withdrew his thigh from between hers. Only his arm around her waist kept her upright.

Jasmine pushed aside the hair in her face and gasped at the sight of her naked body displayed so openly for him.

“You are mine, Jasmine.”

This time, the blatant possessiveness of his words didn’t scare her. No man could touch a woman as tenderly as Tariq was touching her if he only saw her as a
possession. Somehow, she had to reach the man she knew existed behind the mask.

She’d hurt Tariq more than she could’ve imagined when she’d ended their relationship. Now she had to love him so much that he would never doubt her again. Her panther had to trust in her loyalty before he’d allow himself to trust in her heart. And he would, because she had no intention of giving up. She couldn’t allow herself to think that there was no hope of winning him back. That was a nightmare she couldn’t face.

His eyes met hers in the mirror, daring her to deny him. Instead of answering the silent challenge, she took a deep breath and said, “I want another ride.”

T
ARIQ’S ARM TIGHTENED
convulsively around her waist and the fire in his eyes blazed out of control. “No, this time
I
will ride.” He turned her in his arms and picked her up without effort. “A long, slow ride. You can have another turn later.” A hard kiss on her lips sealed the rough promise.

He laid her on the sheets after pushing aside the blanket. For the first time, Jasmine saw him completely naked. He was big. She hadn’t thought about just how much bigger than her he was, until that moment.

His eyes met hers and she knew he understood her apprehension. “I won’t hurt you, Mina.” He moved onto the bed and covered her body with his own. The heavy weight of him was like a full-body caress, a feast for her senses.

“You always call me Mina when you want to get your own way.” She spread her thighs for him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Tariq rewarded her trust by slipping his hands under her waist and cupping her buttocks. “I’ll always get my way from now on.” His statement was uncompromising, as was the blunt tip of his erection against her.

Then he kissed her, his tongue mimicking the ultimate sensual act. Jasmine knew she was ready; she’d felt herself slick and moist against his thigh. She knew it, but it
took his kiss on her breast, his huskily uttered, “I’ll take care of you, Mina,” to make her believe.

“Now,” she whispered.

He gripped her hips and pushed. At the same time, he captured one strawberry-pink nipple into his mouth and suckled. Hard. Jasmine screamed and bucked under the onslaught of feeling, inadvertently easing his way. He surged inside her, tearing through the thin membrane that had protected her innocence. She gasped, her body taut.

“Mina?” He was frozen above her.

She dug her fingernails into his shoulders. “A long, slow ride,” she reminded him in a breathless murmur, still adjusting to the feel of his heat inside her.

Three torturously slow strokes later, she was begging him to go faster.

“You are too impatient,” he reprimanded her, but his body glistened with sweat and she could feel him trembling with the effort to hold back.

She tightened her legs around him and drew her nails down his back. His eyes flashed as his control fractured and then he slammed into her. Jasmine bit his shoulder when her desire reached a crescendo, and then she felt herself explode for the second time that night. Above her, Tariq went rigid as his own climax roared through him.

His body was heavy when he collapsed on top of her, but she was so exhausted she couldn’t move. Instead, she nestled her face in the crook of his neck and fell asleep.

J
ASMINE AWOKE SOMETIME
in the twilight hours when her stomach growled. Only then did she realize that, as a consequence of her nervousness, she hadn’t eaten since
she’d left New Zealand. She attempted to shift, and found she couldn’t. One heavy male leg pinned her lower body to the bed and the arm curved possessively under her breasts immobilized her torso. Her stomach growled again.

“Tariq.” She turned her head and kissed his neck. Under her lips, his skin was warm and tasted faintly of the desert and the salt and spice of their loving. “Wake up.”

He groaned in his sleep and tightened his embrace. Sighing, Jasmine put her hands on his shoulders and shook him.

“You wish for your ride already, Mina?” His sleepy question made her turn bright red. Now that she wasn’t in the grip of passion, she couldn’t believe her boldness.

She frowned. “I wish for food. I’m starving.”

He chuckled and rolled over, taking her with him. She ended up sprawled on his chest. His eyes glinted at her from behind half-closed lids. “What will you give me if I feed you?”

Her stomach growled again. Loudly. “Peace.”

This time he laughed, his chest rumbling under her hands. “Ah, Mina, you are never what is expected.” He gave a long-suffering sigh. “I’ll see if I can find you food.”

He put her aside with careful hands and slipped out of bed. Jasmine couldn’t help watching him. The well-defined muscles of his back bunched as he stood up and bent over to pick up the robe he’d pushed out of her hands.

“Like what you see?” he asked, without turning around.

Jasmine felt herself blush again. “Yes.”

He was pleased by her answer. She saw his smile when he turned to walk out, shrugging into the robe.

“Where are you going?”

“There is food in the dining area. I’ll bring it to you.”

After he left, Jasmine quickly found her rumpled gown and slithered into it. She was sitting cross-legged on top of the blankets, hoping the shadows hid the sheer quality of the gown, when he came back. Not saying anything, Tariq put the tray of food in the center of the bed and lounged on the other side like a lazy panther, watching her eat.

“So, what’s my name now?” she asked, once the sharp edge of her appetite had been dulled to something bearable.

“Jasmine al-Huzzein Coleridge-Donovan Zamanat.”

Jasmine’s eyes widened and her hand stopped midway to her lips. She stopped chewing. “Good grief. What a mouthful! I didn’t know that I got to keep my maiden name.”

“Zulheil’s women have always been cherished.” He stretched lazily. “It’s why we do not ask them to convert their religion upon marriage. The choice is yours.”

The words sent a warm glow through her. Yes, she thought again, there was hope. “So Donovan was your mother’s name?”

A flicker of darkness seemed to shadow his eyes, but his response was easy. “You know she was Irish.” He plucked a fig off Jasmine’s plate and put it into his mouth. For a minute, she just stared at the sensuous shape of his lips, reminded of the things he’d done to her with that clever, clever mouth.

“When we have a child, he or she will have al-Huzzein Coleridge Zamanat as their name. Al-Huzzein Zamanat is the name of the ruling family, but their mother’s name is also always carried by the children.”

He glanced curiously at her when she didn’t reply. She blushed and transferred her attention back to her food. The thought of carrying Tariq’s child caused bittersweet pain. She knew she had to tell him her secret…but not now.

“You have her eyes.”

“Yes. And…” He paused. When Jasmine looked up, he smiled his dangerous smile. “Some would say I have her temper.”

“They’re obviously bright people.” She picked up a dried apricot and fed it to him. He caught her wrist in a lightning-fast move and licked her fingers clean, like a great big cat lapping at his meal. His eyes never left hers.

“You must miss them.” Swallowing, she fought the sensual promise in the air to address something far more important.

He looked away from her, into the shadows. “They are gone. I must lead my people now. I have no time to mourn.”

Jasmine hurt for him. Everyone should be given the chance to grieve. Even a sheik. She’d opened her mouth to offer her support when he took the tray of food and put it on the floor. “Enough talking.” He tumbled her to the bed.

Tariq did not wish to talk of his parents. The pain of their deaths had been intense. What he’d discovered afterward had almost driven him mad with grief. His beautiful, loving mother had been dying of cancer. His
parents had been on the way back from a clinic when the car crashed.

The woman he’d trusted most in the world had kept a secret that had stolen her from him before her death. He’d had so many things to tell her, but because she hadn’t had enough faith in him to share her secret, he would never get the chance. And he’d never know if there was something he could’ve done that would have averted tragedy.

Shaking off the memories, he pressed Jasmine into the mattress, pleased by her instant acceptance. Here, there would be no lies between them. There would be no secrets in the pleasure their bodies found in one another. He shoved aside the errant thought that there couldn’t be such passion without emotional consequences, unwilling to concede that this tiny woman, with her gentle smiles and lush sensuality, might have already found a foothold in the lost places of his soul.

“You are sore?”

He could tell that she blushed by the hotness of her skin under his palm. Her heart’s ragged beat became even faster.

“No.” She hid her face against his neck.

“I won’t force you, Mina. Never will I take what is not freely given.” He stroked her back and pressed a line of kisses down her throat, luxuriating in her softness. Mina’s delicious curves made him want to conquer her feminine secrets with slow, languorous enjoyment.

“Can I force you?”

He was startled for an instant by the suggestive whisper, and then he smiled. “Do you want me so much then, my wife?”

“You know I want you.” Those eyes of hers flashed
fire at him, unexpected and delightful. Again he had to acknowledge that this Mina wasn’t the same girl who’d almost destroyed him four years ago.

He leaned down and tasted her lower lip. Her teeth scraped gently over his in return. Yes, he thought, this Mina was no tame kitten to be ordered to heel. This Mina had claws. Would she use them to fight him or fight for him?

New excitement flickered through his bones.

T
WO DAYS LATER, HE WALKED
into a turret room at one end of their suite, just in time to see Mina raise her arms above her head and say, “Perfect!”

Surrounded on three sides by clear glass, the room was bathed in sunshine. As Mina danced across the floor, dust motes whirled with her, as if excited by her laughter. His whole body clenched. Buried feelings shook off their bindings. So easily, she could once again hold his heart in her hands.

Shocked by the knowledge of his susceptibility to a woman whose loyalty had never belonged to him, he fought off the tenderness she’d aroused.

“What’s perfect?” he asked at last.

Startled, Jasmine froze and met Tariq’s dark gaze. His power and charisma seemed to have increased in the hours that they’d been apart. “This room,” she managed to answer. “I thought I’d use it for a workroom. Is that okay?”

Tariq moved farther inside. “This is your home, Mina. Do as you wish.”

His generosity gave lie to his harsh words in the car. Jasmine smiled and hugged him. He didn’t react, and
she drew away before he could think to push her away. Affection was something completely different from touching in bed, and Tariq had given no sign that he wanted anything from her outside of that sensual arena. The knowledge hurt, but she was determined to break through the barriers between them.

“Thank you.” Walking over to one of the windows, she found that it looked out into their private garden. “This room would be perfect for your painting. Where’s your studio?”

The vibration of the floor beneath her bare feet warned her of his approach. Seconds later, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. “I am a sheik, Mina. I don’t have time for such things.”

Jasmine frowned. “But you loved painting.” She treasured the painting he’d done for her in New Zealand. It had become a talisman of sorts, keeping her focused on her dream.

“We do not always get to do what we love.”

“No,” she agreed, shaken by the implacability of his statement. Her Tariq, who’d been gentle enough in his heart to truly love, was now buried under the stoney facade of this sheik. Doubts about her ability to reach him surfaced once again, though she tried to fight them. For a woman who’d never been loved by those who were supposed to treasure her despite her faults, it was a task that required a mix of defiant courage and desperate hope.

Tariq closed his hands around her neck and caressed the sensitive skin with his thumbs, his eyes hooded and mysterious. “We do not have the time for a wedding jour
ney, but I am scheduled to visit one of the desert tribes tomorrow. You will come.”

He was giving her no choice, but Jasmine didn’t want one. She’d spent four years apart from him. It was enough. “Where are we going?” Her skin felt as if it was on fire.

Tariq rubbed his thumb over one particular spot. “I marked you this morning.”

Her hand flew to her throat and touched his hand. “I didn’t realize when I chose this blouse.”

He looked at her, the green of his eyes altered by emotion to something close to black. “You are mine in every way, Mina.”

She didn’t know what to say to the possessiveness in his tone. It was a little frightening to be the wife of this dangerous man. Sometimes her Tariq appeared, but mostly, all she saw was this cold, glittering mask.

“Such soft, white skin, my Jasmine.” His throaty words made her relax. Tariq’s desire she could cope with, but when he retreated behind his shields, she wanted to scream with frustration. “You mark so easily.”

“Tariq, what—” she began, surprised when he started to undo the buttons on her scoop-neck blouse.

He ignored her fluttering hands. Eyes wide, Jasmine watched his dark head dip and then felt his mouth on her breast.
Sizzling.
It was the only word to describe the sensation of his lips against her skin. She clutched at his silken hair as he began to suck at the soft flesh. Her body felt like one big flame, his touch the fuel. A minute later, he moved away.

Picking up her hand, he touched one finger to the
small red mark on her breast. “See this and know that you are mine.”

She stared at him, stunned by the possessive act. Yet she was also aroused beyond comprehension, her body reacting to the primitive maleness of his actions.

“Keep thinking those thoughts.” He kissed her once, a kiss calculated to keep her aching. “I will satisfy us both tonight.” Then he turned on his heel and strode out.

Jasmine felt her knees begin to buckle. She grabbed the window ledge behind her for support. Unbidden, one hand rose to her breast. He’d deliberately marked her as a gesture of possession, of ownership. She remembered the glittering satisfaction on his face, the harsh lines of his cheekbones, the lush sensuality of his lips, and shivered. Part of it was desire, but the other part was a painful uncertainty. She didn’t want to believe that Tariq felt only lust for her, not when he treated her so tenderly at times, but this act of branding had been driven by something darker than love or affection. Something that she instinctively knew could destroy their relationship if she didn’t find and confront it.