When he didn’t reply, she looked up into the mirror. Before he met her eyes, she gleefully noted the flush along his cheekbones and the heavy-lidded gaze on her thigh. She thought he’d forgotten what they’d been talking about. Wonderful.
“I am sure you are correct in your view,” he said at last.
Nodding in vigorous agreement, she returned to her makeup, aware that he was watching her in the mirror. Keeping a straight face was difficult, but her need to make him feel the same sensual hunger as her gave her the strength. She took her time finishing her makeup and then stood up and crossed to the wardrobe. To her pleased surprise, Tariq lay down on the bed to wait, his arms crossed behind his head. He reminded her of a lazy panther, all liquid muscle and barely contained strength.
Her scowl only surfaced once she was inside the closet. How was she supposed to seduce him with artless ease if he couldn’t see her? The bed was placed parallel to the dresser and faced away from the closet behind it. That meant Tariq’s eyes were on the bedroom door and she was behind the headboard. Frowning, she pulled an almost-sheer blue skirt off its hanger. The two thin layers of chiffon were just opaque enough for decency, and she’d never before worn the skirt, but today, it was war.
The matching top had tiny cap sleeves trimmed with fine silver braid, and was cut to fit snugly under her breasts, leaving her abdomen bare. She didn’t bother to grab a bra because the top was tight enough, and every time she bent forward, the scoop neck would hint at that revealing fact. Walking out of the closet, she put her clothes down on a nearby chair. She almost shimmied into them in haste, before she suddenly understood exactly how sneaky Tariq was.
Far from not being able to see her, her husband had a perfect view of her in the mirror. Her hands went to the knot of her robe. She heard Tariq shift on her bed, and out of nowhere, a belated wave of nervousness hit her. Playing with him was one thing, but could she actually do a striptease?
Before she lost her courage, she undid the robe and shrugged it off. When she leaned forward to throw it across the top of the chair, she thought she heard Tariq’s breath hitch. Her own wasn’t too steady, but she kept going. She picked up her panties and forced herself to speak.
“Where are we having dinner?” Jasmine slid on the fragile creation of lace and satin, smoothing it over her bottom with fingers that trembled. She snatched them away before he could notice in the mirror, and grabbed the skirt.
Instead of dropping it over her head, she bent over to step into it. She could imagine the picture she presented, and it was making her blush. She hoped the dimness of the light near the closet concealed that betraying fact.
“I had thought the main dining room with Hiraz and Mumtaz, but I’ve changed my mind. We’ll eat in our private dining area.” Jasmine didn’t miss the possessive edge in his voice. She hadn’t heard it for two weeks. At one time, she’d believed it meant he thought of her as an object. She was beginning to understand that Tariq would always be possessive about his woman, even if he loved her. He was simply that kind of man. His possessiveness and protectiveness were traits that she could get used to, she decided. In fact, they made her feel almost cherished.
“Hmm.” She buttoned her skirt at the side, picked up the top and turned a little so that her breasts were displayed to him, though her face remained in shadow. She decided that she deserved a medal for bravery. Who would have believed that shy, quiet Jasmine would be trying to entice her virile, sexy husband with such an audacious exhibition? Certainly not her.
The top buttoned down the front, so she slipped it on and then did up the row of five tiny buttons made of white crystal. It was unexpectedly tight across her breasts, which surprised her. However, when she looked down, the line of buttons wasn’t distorted, so it appeared that the design required that final snug fit.
Finally, she stepped into a pair of Arabian sandals that she could easily shuck off. Their private dining area was in essence a room full of huge cushions.
“Almost finished.” She was thankful that the breathy quality in her voice wasn’t too evident.
“There’s no hurry.” He sounded at ease.
Jasmine wondered if she was mistaken and he hadn’t been watching. Walking over to stand beside the bed, she put her hands on her hips and twirled around.
“What do you think?”
He unobtrusively bent his leg at the knee, but wasn’t quick enough to hide the arousal straining against the material of his pants. She swallowed a sigh of relief.
“Perfect.” His mild tone didn’t fool her.
“Hmm, but I think I need some jewelry.”
The stroll to her dresser took every ounce of nonchalance she possessed. She didn’t even glance in the mirror to check her appearance, not wishing to meet Tariq’s eyes and give herself away by accident. From inside the built-in jewelry drawer, she pulled out the fine gold chains that she’d looped over her hips on her wedding day, and put them on. Then she clasped a necklace around her neck. It was pretty but unremarkable, except for the fact that the long spherical Zulheil Rose pendant fell between the globes of her breasts.
“Come on, lazybones, I’m starving.” She beckoned to him and pushed through the connecting door to his room. She could have reached the dining room through the corridor, but she couldn’t resist the temptation of leading him past the huge double bed. The one in her room had never been used, except for the week that he’d been in Paris.
She heard him mutter, “Me, too,” as he rose from the bed. His tone was distinctly bad tempered. She smiled. A starving panther was more to her liking than one attempting to play at being a pussycat.
Her hand was on the knob of the door that led into the dining area when Tariq gripped her waist. Burning heat sizzled through her nerve endings where his hands touched bare skin. His big body pressed her against the door.
“You will wait here while the servants finish.”
“It’s okay, I don’t mind helping them.”
His fingers tightened on her skin. “You will wait here.” Spinning her around, he sealed her next protest with a hard kiss. Giving her a warning glance, he opened the door. It shut with a click behind him.
Jasmine lifted her hands to her tingling lips. He hadn’t kissed her like that for weeks. She leaned against the wall because her knees felt as if they’d crumple at any moment. The imprint of his hands on her waist was a living touch that continued to burn her skin.
“I guess I can put up with the arrogance this once,” she said out loud, a smile wreathing her face. But she couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t let her enter the room. Then she happened to glance at the mirror. Her jaw dropped.
She almost ran into the other room to cover herself. The skirt wasn’t almost sheer. It was absolutely, utterly, scandalously sheer. The outline of her legs was visible with stark clarity, and when she moved, the cloth revealed more than it hid. To make matters worse, the lace front panel of her flimsy panties didn’t exactly hide anything, either. The gauzy blue of her skirt granted any watcher blatant hints of the dark red curls at the juncture of her thighs.
The top, which she’d thought sexy but not too revealing, was outrageous in its eroticism. The fabric hugged her breasts with loving care, outlining them with clear precision; her nipples were visible, shameless points of desire against the thin silk. The tightness of the top controlled her breasts, but it also lovingly plumped them up. Soft, white flesh overflowed the neckline.
“Oh my God.” She clutched at the wall behind her. No wonder Tariq had forbidden her from entering the other room. She looked like a houri. She felt like a woman dressed to please her master in any way he chose. A wave of apprehension hit her. In desperation, she took a deep breath. In and out. In and out. The added oxygen must have revived her brain cells, because a bright