Текст книги "The Desert Blooms "

Автор книги: Iris Johansen

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"I'll manage," she said with a grin. "I'm not any more of a clotheshorse now than I was in the old days. If you remembered boots and jeans, I'll be happy."

"Oh yes, I remembered those." He smiled faintly. "You were always at the stable or on the back of one of the sheikh's horses. It would be difficult to forget." He opened the door for her and stepped

back, inclining his head in a small bow. "If there's anything I can do, please let me know. Again, welcome home, Miss Madchen."

"Thank you." Her throat felt a little tight. This was home. Far more than the large house on the other side of the village that she had occupied with her father. "It's wonderful to be home."

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment. She was here at last. She felt relief sweep through her. It was over. Her glance swept around the room, taking in the canopy bed with the ivory silk hangings, the white fretted windows, and the rich amber and wine oriental carpet on the floor. Her eyes were drawn to the door to the right of the bed. She knew it led to Philip's suite. She was very familiar with this room. It was the one allotted to all of Philip's Khadims. She remembered that once she had crept in here, filled with resentment and burning jealousy, to examine the place where the chosen ones were quartered. The beautiful ones who occupied his bed and received his passion. It had hurt so much, yet the temptation had been irresistible. It still hurt, she found. She mustn't think about the past. She was the one occupying this room now.

She walked quickly to the louvered closet and threw open the folding doors. Thank heaven for Raoul's good sense. There were not only sexy garments appropriate for one of Philip's mistresses, but sport clothes, and even a practical terry-cloth bathrobe. She took the robe from the hanger and strode swiftly toward the bathroom.

Thirty minutes later she had showered, shampooed, dried her hair, and was once more standing in front of the closet trying to decide what a worldly-wise woman would select to wear for an intimate dinner for two.

"The yellow silk." Philip's voice made her jump. She hadn't heard him enter. He was dressed in dark, fitted pants and a soft white shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and lean, hard waist. His dark hair was still damp from the shower and she was conscious of the familiar spicy scent of his cologne. "I told Raoul to get that particular dress for you. I like the texture of silk."

She could have guessed that. She had never known anyone for whom tactile sensations were as important. She had a fleeting memory of Philip's hand stroking Oedipus's mane, his long fingers strong, yet infinitely sensitive. "All right. It doesn't really matter."

"On the contrary, it matters very much." There was a glint of mischief in his eyes. "This one has a zipper. I heartily approve of zippers." The humor suddenly faded from his face. "I imagine Sabine did too."

"I have no idea." She reached for the yellow dress. "We never discussed it."

"You were too involved with experimentation to waste time on mere chitchat, no doubt," he said silkily.

Oh Lord, Philip was definitely on the attack. She had wanted to arouse his possessiveness, but not to this extent.

She shrugged. "I suppose so." She tried to smile teasingly at him. It was very difficult with him glowering at her like an incensed raja. "You appear to be fond of demonstrations yourself."

"That's different," he said with royal disregard for logic. "You don't belong to him."

"And in three months I won't belong to you either," she said quietly. "This is strictly a temporary arrangement." She made a mocking obeisance. "As decreed by the most honorable Sheikh El Kabbar."

"Well see when the three months are up," he said moodily. "I don't like giving up what belongs to me." He scowled. "And I didn't like you fastening his cufflinks. It was too . . . intimate."

She blinked. "Fastening cuff links is intimate? Heaven forbid if I straighten a man's tie."

"You're taking my displeasure very lightly. In the past you weren't so unaffected by it."

She wasn't unaffected, but he mustn't know that. Philip held too many weapons already. "You're taking a small service far too seriously."

"I just wanted to clarify that your services, both small and large, belong to me," he said harshly. "I don't share."

"How selfish of you." She lowered her eyes demurely. "I'll try to remember."

"I'll be there to remind you if it slips your mind," he said softly. "Be sure of it. Pandora." He turned away. "I'll leave you to get dressed. I have some phone calls to make." He paused at the door. "Don't bother to wear anything beneath the dress. I do hate to waste time." He left the door open, and a minute later she heard the sound of his voice as he spoke on the bedroom extension. So intimate. As intimate as the last remark, which had taken her breath and frozen her to the spot with sudden shyness.

Please, not now. She was so close. She had to be bold and sure or everything would fall apart. She drew a deep, quivering breath and swiftly untied the belt of her robe.

Bold and sure. She mentally repeated the words like a litany through the almost silent candlelight dinner. Philip seemed withdrawn, even remote, as the white-clad servants brought the delicious dishes to the table that overlooked the fretted balcony. Was he still angry? She couldn't tell by his expressionless face. It was still twilight, and the candles on the table weren't really necessary, as the entire room was bathed with a golden light. It lent the room the luminous sepia tones of old photographs, giving the scene a strangely timeless air.

She never remembered what she ate and she knew she'd never remember the names or faces of the servants who attended them. The entire interlude seemed dreamlike, a vignette seen through a veil of antique gold. Then the table was being whisked away and Philip was handing her a crystal glass of wine as clear and golden as the twilight haze that surrounded them. The taste was golden, too, smooth and tingling on her tongue. "It's very good," she said as she stood up and moved to stand outside on the balcony. "Does it come from the south vineyards?"

"No, the north. They've been producing for over five years now." He followed and stood at her side, looking out at the lavender-shaded hills in the distance. "We started reclaiming some of the slopes of the hills that border the Madrona Desert three years ago."

There was an element of excitement beneath the casual statement. Evidently the irrigation project was still as much an obsession of Philip's as when she'd left.

For as long as she could remember he had been endeavoring to turn this desert wasteland into fertile farmland. "I'd like to see it. I'll have to take a ride up into the hills and look at what's going on."

He frowned. "Not alone. There have been reports of bandit raids on the villages on the Said Ababa side of the hills. They probably have a camp somewhere in the highlands. That's one of the reasons I wanted to get back." His lips tightened grimly. "I think I'll just go on a little hunting party."

"I'll come with you." The words were impulsive, and she almost bit her tongue.

"The hell you will," he said curtly. "You have a more highly developed instinct for trouble than anyone I've ever run across. I doubt if that's changed over the years."

"Whatever you say." She lowered her lashes so he couldn't see the blaze of defiance she knew was there. "Perhaps I'll go to the vineyards instead."

His frown deepened. "As I remember, the last time you went there you persuaded the workers to have a moonlight grape-stomping party. My overseer was foaming at the mouth."

"He wasn't very reasonable." Her lips curved with remembered laughter. "I was only trying to help. Everyone had a perfectly wonderful time."

"Such a wonderful time that they were too exhausted to show up for work the next day," he said dryly. "And you were just as bad off. I had to carry you home looking like something that had fallen into one of the wine vats."

She had rested in his arms, she recalled, with her ear pressed to his heart. He had cursed her softly and emphatically with every breath, but his arms had been gentle. It had been a lovely memory to hold close when there was nothing in the world but barren loneliness. "Dancing on the grapes is a tradition."

"Not half-ripe grapes," he said flatly. "And not when there's a very efficient press to do the job. You don't go within hailing distance of the vineyards until I have time to go with you."

She frowned mutinously. "I can't go to the hills. I can't go to the vineyards. Where can I go?"

"To bed, like a proper Khadim." His hands cupped her shoulders. "Where else?"

The words shocked her back to the present and her role. "Where else, indeed?" She took his wineglass and set it, together with her own, on the balcony balustrade. Her arms went around him. Bold. She had to be bold and desirable so that he would become too aroused to stop when he ... "Do you know that you've never kissed me?"

"Haven't I?" His hands were lightly massaging her shoulders through the yellow silk. "It seems as if we were beyond kisses before we even started." His eyes were suddenly twinkling. "But if you insist ..."

His lips touched hers. Delicate, sipping, sugar sweet and warm. So wonderfully warm. His tongue rimmed her lower lip, and she melted against him, opening her lips with a yearning that was as

natural as that of the first woman. "I want you," she murmured. "Give me all of you."

She felt him grow rigid against her. Then his tongue was plunging into her mouth in a joust that was hotly passionate and hungry. So hungry. She was almost breathless when he raised his head.

"You're going to get all of me," he said thickly. "Over"—his tongue entered her mouth again, weaving an erotic spell—"and over." His lips were buried in her hair now, and she felt his tongue enter her ear. "And over." She was trembling, and her knees were so weak she sagged against him. Did his other women react so passionately? Probably not. Perhaps he wouldn't notice, she thought in confusion. Shouldn't she be doing something? She drew back a little, her hands quickly undoing the buttons of his shirt.

"Pandora."

She looked up.

There was a tiny glimmer of amusement beneath the hunger in his face. "Don't you think we should go inside? I'm flattered that you should be so eager, but I really dislike performing in public."

She laughed shakily. "Well, it's more private than the auditorium in San Francisco." She turned and walked quickly from the balcony into the room. "You didn't seem averse to performing there at the time."

He followed her into the room and closed the French doors. "I'm on my own home ground now." He took a step nearer so that he was directly behind her. With one sweeping motion, he sliddown the zipper of her dress. "And I told you I won't share you."

His hands slipped inside the loosened dress. "Naked," he said hoarsely. "There was nothing in the world more erotic than knowing that you were naked beneath that flimsy layer of silk." His hands were squeezing her waist, his fingertips running over the supple muscles with a pleasure that was echoed in his voice. "While we were sitting there at the table I was thinking how beautiful you'd look when I took it off you." His hands moved slowly up her back, and with painstaking care he pushed the silk off her shoulders. "I don't know what we ate this evening." He pushed the bodice down another inch until it hovered over the tips of her breasts. "All I could taste were warm, sweet breasts." He drew the silk farther down until it fell about her hips. She felt dizzy. "And I wondered if the rest of you would taste as sweet." He suddenly jerked the material over her hips and let it fall into a pool at her feet, leaving her in only her high-heeled sandals. "Look as sweet."

Then the sandals also slipped from her feet as his hands encircled her waist and lifted her out of the dress. He held her for a moment, rubbing her against him with a raw sensuality that made her heart pound wildly. "And you do look sweet." He kissed her deeply. "And you taste ..." He lifted his head, his eyes glazed with need. He drew a deep, shaky breath and slowly released her. "Not yet. I want to look at you for a few minutes. This golden half light was created for you." He took a few steps back, his eyes flicking over her with an intimacy that caused a tingling to start between her thighs. His hands finished unbuttoning his shirt and he stripped it off, his eyes never leaving her. "I don't want to make love to you in the dark. I want to do it now with you awash in this golden mist. I want to watch your silver hair flying around your face as I move in you."

She laughed shakily. "Then you'd better hurry. I don't know how long this light will last." She bit her lower lip. "I don't know how long I will, either. Do you want me to undress you?"

"I'll do it. It's faster." She watched him as he stripped with efficient swiftness. He had a beautiful body, she thought dreamily. Lean and tough, with tight, hard buttocks and a horseman's strong, muscular thighs. The cloud of dark hair on his chest looked soft and inviting to touch. "And that's the last hurried action we're taking tonight. Slow. Every move slow and easy." He was drawing her over to the wing chair by the French doors. "I want to play with you, get to know your body. I don't know how long I can stand it, but I want to try. Would you mind?"

"Not at all." She didn't know if he heard. Her assent had been a mere breath of sound. She was surprised the words came out at all.

"Good." He dropped into the chair and pulled her down on his lap, facing him. She gasped. The masculine hardness of his bones and sinews was a sensual shock against her softness. She had never felt so womanly before in her life. She was conscious of the pliant softness of each curve, the ripe fullness of her breasts, the slight swell of her buttocks against the hardness of his thighs. Good heavens, the differences between their bodies! He rubbed his chest lightly, teasingly, against her breasts, the soft mat of hair tickling the sensitive tips. She made a low sound deep in her throat and arched against him. "Philip."

"I know." He was undulating like a cat against her, his eyes closed with an expression of pleasure so sensual that it was an arousal in itself. "It's too much, isn't it? It's killing me too. I feel as if I'm going to explode any moment. Just a little more. Lord, you feel good against me." His eyes opened and they were clouded with a smoky intensity. His entire body was hardening against her, muscles taking on a tension that was unbearably exciting for her to feel. He kissed her temple. "Be very still. I want to pet you a little. It won't be long."

Then his hand was running over her with a skilled sensitivity that caused tremors to rack her with every deft stroke. His long, tanned fingers were lifting her breasts, rubbing the undersides with smooth gentle rhythm. She could feel the muscles of her stomach clench. The tension was rising within her until it was painful.

"So pretty." His hand moved down to her stomach. He laughed softly as he felt the tautness beneath his palm. "You're wanting me, aren't you? Do you know how wonderful that makes me feel? How much do you want me?" His fingers moved exploringly down between her thighs, and she gasped as they entered with one smooth stroke and began to move. She buried her head against his chest, her breathing coming in little pants. Unbelievable. It was unbelievable. "I think you want me quite a lot," he said thickly. His other palm was stroking the soft nest of curls, pulling, probing, tugging gently. "But not as much as I want you. It's a physical impossibility. I'm going to go up in smoke in another second. I've never wanted a woman like this before. It's tearing the guts out of me."

Even through the haze that was enveloping her she was conscious of the thread of anger beneath the hoarseness of his voice. Poor Philip, she thought vaguely. He always liked to be in control, but he was caught in the same sensual web that she was. Her lips moved lovingly on his shoulder. "It's all right, Philip. Everything will be fine."

He glanced down at her in surprise. Then, for a moment, there was an expression of exquisite gentleness that transformed the taut hardness of his face. "Yes, everything will be all right," he said huskily.

His arms shifted and tightened, and suddenly he was standing, carrying her toward the bed. He placed her on the cool, silk counterpane, and followed her down. His thighs were on either side of her. She could feel the thin dusting of hair against her own smoothness. Different. So beautifully different.

"Do you know what I'm seeing when I look at you?" He whispered. "Gold. Satin gold skin, silver gold hair." His fingers combed slowly through the thick length of her tresses before bringing two silky locks forward and winding them around her breasts so that only her nipples were revealed. "Just these lovely things are pink." He bent forward, his teeth pulling gently on one taut peak.

He was golden too. The light streaming through the French doors gave his bronzed skin a shining patina and played over the supple muscles of his shoulders. Her hands grasped those shoulders, and she arched up against him as she felt his tongue touching, his teeth nipping, pulling hot wires of sensation that led to every part of her body. "I want to memorize the taste of every sweet part of you. You should be savored." He closed his eyes. "But I'm too hungry. I'm starving to death, Pandora." His hands released her breasts and he was moving between her thighs. "And you are, too, aren't you?"

Hunger. Aching. Yearning to be filled. "Yes, I'm starving too."

He laughed huskily. "God, I love to hear you say that." He leaned forward to kiss her with such loving sweetness that joy welled and flowed, not easing the hunger, but blurring the edges with beauty.

He plunged forward. Pain! It lasted only for a moment, piercing, shocking her. But it was Philip who cried out and froze in her arms. No! He mustn't do that. "It's all right." Her hands released their hold on his shoulders and moved up to caress his cheeks. "Please. It's all right." It was better now, and she began to move, enticing him, reveling in him.

"The hell it is." His face above her was twisted with hunger as well as shock. "It's not all right." She moved again, and a shudder ran through him. "God, don't do that. I can't think."

"Don't think." She tried to tighten, to hold him closer. He made a guttural sound of need. "Just make love to me. I want you so much, Philip. Thisis right. Can't you feel how right it is?" Her voice was shaking with intensity. "Don't think, dammit!"

"Oh, God." His whisper was almost a prayer. "I can't. Not anymore." He flexed slowly, tentatively. Then he thrust forward and was lost. They were both lost in a rhythm so fiery it shimmered like flames. Golden flames in a golden room. Oh, love, Philip. Giving, taking. Flames rising, whirling in a vortex of tension and beauty. Exploding in an ecstasy that lasted forever.

Forever. Yet the room was still bathed in the golden halo of twilight and Philip's hard cheek was resting against her shoulder. His chest was heaving with the harshness of his breathing, and his body was still shuddering with tremors. Her hand went up to stroke the crisp hair at his nape with loving fingers. He felt so much hers at this moment. So close. After all the years he had stood apart from her, just out of reach. Her own at last.

Four

"Why?" His voice was low and intense. He lifted his head, and the harshness of his expression jarred her out of the dreamy euphoria she'd been experiencing. "Dammit, tell me why, Pandora."

"I love you," she said simply. "I always have. I always will."

There was a fleeting expression of shock on his face. "So you yielded your fair young body as some sort of sentimental offering?" He rolled away and got off the bed. He looked down at her. Her body was warm and glowing with loving, her lips soft and swollen. Something hot and wanting leaped into his eyes. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Cover up!" he said jerkily. "The party's over."

Yes, the party was over. She had known what his reaction would be, but foreknowledge didn't make his sudden rejection more bearable. She obediently pulled the satin sheet over herself.

He strode toward the bathroom, glancing over his shoulder with a menacing frown. "You didn't answer me."

"No, it wasn't a sentimental offering." Her eyes met his with clear honesty. "I tricked you."

His soft exclamation was followed by a violent curse as he disappeared into the bathroom and slammed the door. He was back in two minutes, wearing a pearl gray velour robe. He sat down beside her and gripped her shoulders firmly, anchoring her in place. "Talk," he grated through his teeth. "It just may stop me from strangling you."

"What do you want me to say?"

"You might start with Luis Estavas, my chaste little Pandora."

"He was with the Brazilian polo team," she said quietly. "Your detective should have looked into those weekend jaunts a little more closely."

"Horses," he said disgustedly. "I should have known it was horses. Danford?"

"A ranch in Texas." A tiny smile curved her lips.

"Horses, again." His lips tightened. "Sabine? Don't tell me, let me guess. When he's not a rock star he moonlights as a jockey?"

She shook her head. "He's a good friend and agreed to be part of the setup."

"Oh yes, the setup." The words were bit out. "Let's talk about the setup. How long has this plot been brewing in your tiny brain?"

"Since the day I ran away from your agent in London," she said. "I knew what I was going to do. I just didn't know how I was going to do it."

"But I'm sure it came to you soon. You're nothing if not innovative."

"It wasn't that easy." She smiled a little sadly. "I think the most difficult part was the waiting. There were so many years to get through before I could even think of beginning."

"Well, when you got around to it you made up for lost time." He glared down at her. "I don't like being lied to."

"I know that." She moistened her lips nervously. "But I couldn't think of any other way."

"Any other way than pretending to be one step above a whore? Well, let me congratulate you, Pandora. You played your role exceedingly well. You obviously have a flair for the vocation."

She flinched. "I did what I had to do. The only way I could be sure you'd take me to bed was if I was . . . experienced because that's the only type of women you let into your life." She shrugged. "I thought if I sounded like a gold digger it would make you feel safer."

"Safer?" His tone was incredulous.

She lifted her chin. "Safer," she repeated distinctly. "You're afraid of me, Philip. You always have been. You were so afraid of me that you had to send me away to England." Her lips twisted bitterly. "You would have sent me to Timbuktu if you could have resolved it with your conscience."

"I sent you to England because you were fifteen years old and becoming a hoyden."

She shook her head. "You sent me there because you cared about me." She made a helpless little motion with her hand. "Oh, I don't mean romantically. I know what a scrawny mess I was then. But you did care for me." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Maybe you even loved me. I think there's a good chance that you did. It was too strong, wasn't it? You wouldn't let yourself love any woman. You use them, but you won't let yourself love them."

His face was expressionless. "If you know that, then aren't you a bit of a fool to let yourself be used by such a ruthless womanizer?"

"Perhaps." Her eyes glistened with tears. "But I didn't have any choice. I love you."

"Stop saying that!" he said with soft violence. "You don't love me. You developed some sort of fixation on me when you were a child and never got over it. You always were the most obstinately single-minded person I've ever had the misfortune to know." He gestured to the bed. "And this was nothing but a pleasurable sexual episode."

"The hell it was!" She was up on her knees on the bed. "That wasn't 'pleasurable,' that was beautiful. Don't you dare call it anything else!"

"Ah! The real Pandora is finally emerging. How did you manage to suppress that wild streak beneath your Khadim disguise?"

"It wasn't easy," she said tersely. Her face was still stormy. "I knew I'd have to time it just right or give myself away. But that's not what we're talking about. What happened here was beautiful. Say it, Philip."

"It was beautiful," he said gently. "But that doesn't mean it was made in heaven. Sex isn't love. Pandora."

"I know the difference," she said. "I've always known it. It's you who's wearing the blinders." She drew a deep breath. "It's time you took them off. We've wasted too many years already. We're not getting any younger, Philip."

He had to smother a smile. She looked little more than a child draped to the shoulders in the satin sheet, with her enormous dark eyes so earnest. Where had his anger gone? A moment ago he had been furious. Why couldn't he ever hold on to that anger where Pandora was concerned? "Have you considered the possibility that it's you who's wearing the blinders?"

"No." She bit her lower lip. "I can't begin to have doubts now. I won't let myself. Everything would be empty if I did." She shook her head. "I know you too well to believe that."

"You don't know anything about me," he said roughly. He stood up and jammed his hands into the pockets of his velour robe. "Nothing. You've blown me up into some kind of fantasy figure."

"I know everything about you," she said clearly. "Everything. I've made a study of you since I was twelve years old, when you saved me from getting my throat slit in the bazaar. Would you like me to tell you what I know about you, Philip?"

"I'd be fascinated."

"You're self-indulgent, sensual, arrogant, and much too accustomed to getting your own way," she said calmly. "You're also highly intelligent, have a wonderful sense of humor, and are practically a workaholic when it comes to bettering the lot of the people here in Sedikhan."

His eyes narrowed. "Go on."

She moistened her lips. "You're a magnificent horseman and kind to animals. You won't permit yourself many friends, but you're intensely loyal to those you do have." Her lips twisted with pain. "However, you don't permit women to share your friendship. I think I was as close as you've gotten there." She paused. Oh dear, here goes. "Not that I can blame you. With a mother like Helena Lavade, it's amazing that you're as tolerant of women as you are."

He stiffened. "I don't believe I like being probed to that extent."

"You have a perfect right to resent it. Just as I had a right to resent that detective report you had drawn up on me. Only my excuse for prying was more valid. I knew I was going to have a battle on my hands, and I needed all the ammunition I could get."

"And what do you think you've found out about my twisted psyche? Perhaps you should have turned your talents toward being a psychologist instead of a rock singer."

She ignored his sarcasm. She had known he would become defensive when she brought Helena Lavade into the conversation. "I found out you'd been hurt," she said quietly. "Your mother was an exceptionally beautiful woman as well as an extremely ambitious one. Helena was half-Sedikhan and half-English, and she was a Khadim. She wanted power and became your father's mistress. That was only the first step in her plan. Helena made sure that she became pregnant by your father. Then she demanded marriage as well as a great deal of money. She knew he wanted a son and she threatened abortion If he didn't give in to her demands." Pandora shook her head. "She should have known better. From what I've heard, your father was a great deal like you. He married her all right, but he refused to pay the blackmail, imprisoned her in her quarters, and had her watched like a hawk until you were born. She was furious and full of hate. She managed to escape a few weeks after you were born and took you with her. She was very clever, and the sheikh didn't find the two of you for almost eight years. Then he divorced Helena and brought you back to Sedikhan." She met his gaze. "I don't know what she did to you in those years, but the stories I heard in the bazaar weren't pretty. She couldn't punish your father so she punished you." Her hands suddenly clenched on the satin sheet. "I would have killed her," she said fiercely.

"Would you?" There was a curious tenderness in his face. "You always were a protective little thing." His expression hardened. "That was a long time ago. I have no need of either vengeance or sympathy now." He paused before adding deliberately, "And I have no need of you, Pandora."

She felt a swift jab of pain. "You do need me. You just haven't realized it yet. That's what this is all about." She lifted her chin. "I have to make you realize it."

"Well, you're not going to get the opportunity," he said curtly. "I'm sending you back to the United States tomorrow."

No," she said with great certainty. "I'm not going. I knew that would be your reaction, so I took

precautions." She made a face. "Or rather, lack of precautions."

"I'd be interested to know how you think you can prevent me from sending you away. If you recall, I'm the reigning head of this province. I can do anything I damn well please with you."

"But you won't," she said. "Because I've borrowed a page from your mother's book. Not that I like the idea of being associated with that bitch in anyway."

"Which page?" he asked, his expression suddenly wary.

"I told you the timing was very delicate," she said quietly. "Not only because I knew I couldn't keep up the pretense for long, but for physical reasons. I went to the doctor and had him chart my fertile period." She smiled shakily. "This is it. I could very well be pregnant with your child, Philip."