Desert Nights. Penny Jordan

to mean? Or can I guess? If you are referring to my companion of this afternoon—oh yes, I know you saw me, that hair of yours is instantly recognisable—she makes no pretence to being anything she is not.’

      Felicia’s lip curled in a fair imitation of his own sneer. ‘Unlike you! I must admit that you surprised me. You don’t look the type of man who needs to buy a woman’s favours, but I suppose when all you can offer is physical gratification, the pill has to be sweetened somehow.’

      His incredulous, ‘Why, you little…’ told her that she had managed to slip under his guard, but allied to trembling satisfaction was the certainty that she would be made to pay for that moment of victory.

      Retribution came sooner than she had imagined.

      ‘I sought you out because Zahra was concerned for you. She tells me that you grow pale and do not eat, and she attributes this to the fact that you are missing Faisal. I know otherwise, but I will not be deceived by your playacting. I shall not allow Faisal to return now to be ensnared by you all over again. However, we cannot have you pining for lack of his lovemaking,’ he told her silkily. ‘It is fortunate that Zahra’s window does not overlook this courtyard—she may not approve of the methods I employ to assuage your need of him.’

      Zahra wasn’t the only one who did not approve, Felicia thought numbly as her flaying hands were captured and pinned to her sides, as hard masculine lips plundered the trembling softness of her own, parted to voice her fury. She was forced backwards, imprisoned against Raschid’s arm, her throat and the swelling softness of her breasts exposed to his merciless scrutiny. His eyes glittered over the answering fury in her own, fastening on the erratic pulse beating frantically in her creamy throat before lingering on the pale blur of flesh revealed by the V neckline of her cotton dress.

      ‘Let me go!’ she muttered furiously, her mouth throbbing. ‘Save your kisses for the women who are obliged to endure them in return for some worthless trinket!’

      She heard the angry hiss of his escaping breath, hard fingers tightened on her wrists, and her flesh burned from the contact with his.

      ‘Never worthless, Miss Gordon. I can assure you of that.’

      But despite the lazy drawl she knew that his anger was no longer held in check. She had unleashed it with her hasty words. She closed her eyes, against a sudden weak rush of tears, as his hands moulded her hip bones, forcing her against him. She would not cry now! She bit her lip. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her face, and stiffened, willing him to release her.

      ‘Oh no, Miss Gordon, you will not escape so lightly this time!’

      She could feel the tensile strength of his chest muscles against her breasts; the faintly harsh rasp of the dark hairs exposed by the open neck of his robe, so compellingly masculine that reaction flooded through her on a shock wave, making her painfully aware of just how inexperienced she actually was. The contact—which obviously meant nothing to him—suffocated her with its implied intimacy of flesh against flesh, and she struggled to get away, panicking as his lips took their fill of the exposed column of her throat, lingering appreciatively against her skin. If she had once doubted his skill and experience she could do so no longer. The deliberately arousing caresses would have melted ice; but she struggled not to give in; not to admit the drugging sensation of rising desire as his assault of her senses was subtly increased.

      There was no affection or tenderness in his touch—she knew that; she knew that all he offered was the hollow sham of sexual need, and that even that was probably counterfeit, but she could do nothing when his free hand slid downward from her shoulder, cupping her breast, and stroking the soft curves.

      Fear and indignation shot through her. Not even Faisal had touched her so intimately—nor so insultingly as though her body held no secrets, no pleasures, but merely the familiarity of the oft-known. She shuddered as his fingers found her nipple, coaxing it into hardening desire without exhibiting either haste or urgency; the pain and shock of her body’s betrayal there for him to see in the widening of her eyes and tensed muscles.

      Satisfaction gleamed in the night-dark eyes, as they raked her pale, shocked face.

      ‘Well, now you can join the ranks of those who have known my objectionable touch, Miss Gordon. Although unlike them your reward was not well earned,’ he taunted.

      She reeled as he released her, hating the grim comprehension in his voice. There was a parcel in his hand, wrapped in tissue paper, and tied with green ribbon.

      ‘It seems that Zahra purchased a gift for you on my behalf this afternoon. I only trust you will think of me when you wear it.’

      The package was flung at her feet. Speech would have been a complete impossibility, as she stared up at him with hate-filled eyes.

      ‘Pick it up,’ he commanded inexorably. ‘Otherwise I shall be obliged to deliver it again—in person, and since the gift has been given twice, it will have to be paid for twice.’

      ‘You’re nothing but a barbarian!’ Felicia choked. ‘I was a fool to think you could ever understand what I feel for Faisal… or any other human emotion!’

      She bent down, picked up the parcel, and fled before he could retaliate, clutching the tissue paper in trembling fingers. In her room she flung it against the wardrobe door, and the fragile paper tore on the sharp edge of the handle, releasing a froth of sea-green chiffon.

      She paled, staring at the silky fabric. The nightgown! Zahra had bought it for her! With Raschid’s money! She was shivering with reaction and despair. In the mirror she could see the redness on her lips from his kisses. Her neck and shoulder burned from the searing heat of Raschid’s practised kisses and her breast was on fire from the arrogant sureness of his hard caress. Her body stiffened with rage.

      How dared he treat her like a woman he had bought for the night! She suppressed a wild sob. He had tainted her—stamped on her pride and destroyed the protective shield she had thrown around herself. Never again could she assert that desire was nothing without love and that she could never experience the former without the latter, because for one fleeting moment she had known desire; and it was that more than anything else that caused the hot tears to roll down her cheeks as her fingers curled furiously into her palms and she found some slight surcease in contemplating Raschid’s muscular body writhing in mortal agony.

      As for the nightdress… She stared disparagingly at the fragile silk she had coveted not so many hours ago. She would burn it before she allowed it to come anywhere near her body!