But Mina didn’t hold grudges. Once he spoke to her, she would return to normal. And the next time he picked up that phone, he would talk to her.
Jasmine felt as if she was getting ready for a knock-down, drag-out fight. She’d ignored Tariq for two days. At first, it had been blind instinct, an attempt to save herself from rejection. She’d had enough of that in her lifetime. Later, when she’d calmed down, she’d realized that she needed some time and distance to sort out her feelings. Tariq had given her a rude shock, waking her up forever to the fact that the man she loved was not the man she’d married.
Did she love this Tariq?
Her mind wasn’t completely made up, but her anger refused to be ignored any longer. This time, Tariq would get an answer to his call. A call that came as soon as dawn was breaking over Zulheil. She picked up the phone on the second ring.
“Prized possession speaking.” It slipped out without thought. She was horrified, but just a little proud of herself.
There was complete and utter silence on the other end of the phone. “I am not amused, Jasmine,” he said finally.
“Well, since I’m not a comedienne, my ego isn’t too badly wounded.” Sitting in bed, her legs hanging off the edge, she felt the simmering anger start to bubble. “Did you have anything to say or did you just ring to remind me of my place?” Where had that come from?
“You are being obstinate.”
“Yup.”
“What did you expect when you returned?” A thread of anger crept into his so far calm tone. “That nothing would have changed? That I would lay my trust in your lap?”
“No. I expected you to have forgotten me.” It was a cruel truth. “But you didn’t. You took me and you married me, giving me a place in your life. How dare you now treat me like…like an object? Like something to scrape off the bottom of your royal shoe? How dare you?” Tears threatened, riding the crest of her anger.
“Never have I treated you as such!” His response was a harsh reproof.
“Yes, you have. And you know what? I don’t want to talk to a man who treats me like that. I could almost hate you. Don’t call me anymore. Maybe by the time you get home I’ll have calmed down. Right now, I have nothing for you. Nothing!” It was the raw pain of her emotions speaking.
“We will talk when I return.” His voice held a note she’d never before heard, a note she couldn’t understand.
Jasmine hung up the phone with shaking hands, surprised by her own outburst. She’d planned belligerence, but had ended up ripping apart the shields protecting her heart. She hurt. And yet it felt cleansing. She was worth more than this treatment. She might not be loved but she was worthy of respect.
Something her husband might never give her.
I could almost hate you.
Tariq stared out at the cobbled streets of Paris, Jasmine’s words ringing in his head. He was used to being adored by her, being the center of her attention, as he’d been since their first meeting. He’d never considered being with a Jasmine who didn’t treat him that way.
He didn’t like the sensation. Not when his need for her ran so deep that he missed her every moment she wasn’t by his side. He’d only survived the four years without her by working night and day, striving for mindless exhaustion. Her laughter and affection since her return had been a balm to the hunger inside him. Now she was furious with him.
He’d underestimated the woman she’d become. A woman who apparently felt things more deeply and wildly than he’d given her credit for. She’d always had quiet feminine courage, but this was the first time she’d dared to rebuke him for his actions with such blunt honesty. He finally listened to the inner voices he’d been ignoring, accepting that she’d changed dramatically from the Jasmine he’d known.
That Jasmine would never have hated him.
That Jasmine had also walked away from him.
If he opened his heart just a little, what would this Jasmine do? Would she treat him with the same disregard she’d shown four years ago or…? The possibilities were as intriguing and as tempting as the evocative scents borne on the Paris winds.
But first, he’d have to win Mina back. She was his. She wasn’t allowed to hate him.
Eight
“What do you mean, he’s in the courtyard?” Jasmine cried, shoving her hands through her tumbled hair.
Mumtaz shrugged her delicate shoulders. “I persuaded Hiraz to delay him so I could warn you.”
“But it’s Friday night. He wasn’t supposed to be back until Monday!”
Heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway. Mumtaz’s eyes widened. “I must go. I wish you luck.” She slipped out the door. Jasmine heard her say something to Tariq.
With a muted cry of frustration, Jasmine secured the azure silk robe around her waist. It was too late to change. She didn’t want to greet Tariq wearing a robe that hit her midthigh, with her hair loose around her shoulders, but the doorknob was turning. Quickly, she settled onto the stool in front of her dressing table and picked up her brush. At least this way, if her legs collapsed, he wouldn’t know.
She heard Tariq enter the room and close the door. Her fingers tightened convulsively around the carved wooden handle of the brush, but she continued the smooth, full-length strokes, ignoring his presence. She felt him move until he was standing behind her. He leaned forward and put both hands on her dressing table, one on either side of her, effectively caging her with his body. She kept brushing her hair, though she couldn’t feel her fingers anymore because they were shaking so hard. She didn’t look in the mirror, avoiding the trap of green fire that awaited her.
“How’s your throat infection?” He reminded her of one of her earlier excuses, not referring to the last painful call.
“Much better.”
“I can hear that. And you’re feeling well?”
“Yes.” She tried to avoid touching her head to his chest. Every time she moved an inch away, he leaned closer, until she was on the edge of her stool with nowhere to go.
“Good. I was worried, as you seemed to be sleeping so much when I called.” Though his tone was calm, she knew he had to be furious. He wasn’t a man used to being reprimanded.
And she wasn’t ready to face his anger. Despite her bravado, she didn’t hate Tariq. Her feelings for him were raw and undefined, but they didn’t come close to hate, and their depth and promise scared her. What if she began to love him even more deeply than she had all these years?
The heat of his body seemed to surround her. She wondered if he’d subtly moved. It was becoming difficult to continue to brush her hair, because with every stroke, she touched him. She chanced a peek at his arms and saw that he’d lessened the gap between them. He was wearing a blue shirt, his jacket discarded.
He reached out, took the brush from her nerveless fingers and put it on the dresser. Then he tucked her hair behind her ears, baring her face. She froze as he stroked the knuckles of one hand down her cheek in a simple but powerful caress, reminding her of the times he’d done that after they’d made love. She curled her fingers into fists and gritted her teeth against the response he could call forth so easily. The memory of his parting gibe helped, but it wouldn’t hold up forever against this gentle persuasion.
“Will you also refuse to talk to me now that I am home?” He continued the lazy caress.
“I’m talking to you right now.” She was overjoyed when her voice didn’t break.
“No. You are answering my questions and hiding yourself from me.”
She didn’t say anything.