Текст книги "The Desert Blooms "

Автор книги: Iris Johansen

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For the briefest instant he looked as if something had knocked the breath out of him. Then his expression was once more impassive. "Blackmail is an exceedingly ugly practice."

She sighed. "I was afraid you'd be suspicious. I can't really blame you. I have no intention of trying to force you to marry me. If you'll contact Abernathy in London, you'll find he's received a legal document absolving you of responsibility for any possible issue. If you like, I'll ask Neal if it's all right if I name him as the father. I don't think he'd mind."

"The hell you will." The words were so violent they shocked her. He was silent for a moment, fighting for control. "Your friend can father his own child. He's not claiming mine."

"No one's claiming your baby," she said soothingly. "There may not be a baby. I just wanted to make very sure there was the possibility of one. I know how possessive you are, and I know you'll keep me with you until you're sure one way or the other. That gives me a few weeks, maybe even more. I've never been regular."

"You're taking a big chance," he said quietly. "You could lose everything. There's every possibility you may end up with an illegitimate child. I have no intention of marrying you."

"I know you don't. I told you I didn't expect that. I just want to be with you. I want to be a part of your life. That will be enough for me." She smiled mistily. "Besides, even if you did decide to kick me out, I'd still have the baby. That would be wonderful. I've always been pretty much alone, you know."

Lord, how he knew that. He took an impulsive step forward. "Pandora . . ."He stopped. He stood there with disparate emotions fighting for supremacy within him: exasperation, amusement, and the poignant tenderness she had always been able to call forth so effortlessly. Then his expression clouded. "No. I won't be manipulated. If you want to play woman of the world, get some other man to pay for your favors."

"I do want to be your woman," she said softly. "And your friend. And the mother of your child. I want to be everything to you. And I don't want to sell, only to give, Philip."

He ran one hand distractedly through his hair.

"Dammit, I'll hurt you. You know I'll hurt you. You know me."

"Maybe." She shrugged. "But if I am hurt, it may be worth it."

"Go away, Pandora." There was a note of pleading in the command. "For some reason I find the idea of hurting you distasteful." .

"That's because you care about me. I find that very promising."

"Then on your head be it. I've warned you. As far as I'm concerned, you're no more than the Khadim I bought with that trinket in San Francisco. I'll use you when and where I please and ignore you at any other time. Don't expect anything else."

"I don't expect anything at all." Her eyes were enormous as she gazed wistfully at him. "I can only hope."

"God! What am I going to do with you?"

Love me. Only love me. "Knowing you, I imagine you'll do exactly what suits your fancy," she said lightly.

His lips tightened. "You're right. And we might as well start right now. After I've finished using a woman I prefer that she return to her own bed. I like to sleep alone."

"Of course," she said softly. "I'll leave at once." She swung her feet to the floor, flinching a little as she felt a tingle of soreness between her thighs.

Philip muttered a low, explicit curse beneath his breath. "Oh, for heaven's sake, lie down again. Tomorrow will do as well."

"You're sure?" she asked uncertainly. "I could ..."

"Pandora," he said through set teeth. "Shut up."

"All right." She curled up contentedly in the big bed again, happy with the reprieve. She hadn't wanted to leave him so soon. "If you change your mind, just tell me."

"Be sure of it," he said dryly. He untied the belt of the velour robe and took it off. It was almost dark in the room now, and he was only a sleek shadow as he moved to the other side of the bed and slipped beneath the sheet. "Go to sleep."

"I will." She was almost asleep already. The physical and emotional release she'd experienced were having an almost narcotic effect on her. "Thank you for letting me stay," she murmured like a polite little girl.

"It's only for tonight," he growled. "Don't make so much of it."

"Whatever you say," she said drowsily.

He lay there on his back, separated from her by the width of the large bed, yet imagining he could still feel her warm, yielding flesh. His own body was rigid as he brought up his arm to rest it beneath his head, his eyes staring straight ahead into the darkness. "Did I hurt you?" he asked jerkily.

"What?" She tried to struggle up out of the cocoon that was wrapping her in the silken fibers of sleep. "No, not very much."

"Well, I might have," he said harshly. "It would have been entirely your own fault, you realize. I'm not a gentle man, but I don't enjoy hurting women. If you'd had any sense, you would have told—" He broke off. His tirade was falling on deaf ears. He could tell by Pandora's deep, even breathing that she was asleep.

"Damn!" It was just like the maddening brat to drift peacefully off to sleep, leaving him in this aching void of frustration. He had just had her, but he was as hard and throbbing as when he'd held her on his lap in the chair and ... He drew a long, shuddering breath and closed his eyes. He couldn't think about it. He had to think about how she'd tricked him, about the way she'd manipulated him as if he were a blasted puppet. He had always had control over his emotions. He would just have to practice that control now.

* * *

He was infinitely careful as he slid into her warmth. First she was empty and then she was full of his hardness. From the deepest reaches of sleep she was conscious of his gentleness as he began to move. How beautiful it was, she thought dreamily. Not like before, when it had been hard and fast and breathlessly exciting. This was slow and lazy and sweetly fulfilling. She tried to open her eyes. "Philip ..."

"Shhh ... I didn't mean to do this. I lay there half the night fighting it. But I can't help myself."

"S'all right." Her words were slightly slurred. "I like it."

He chuckled. "I'm glad one of us approves." He bent down and lightly kissed one eyelid and then the other. The tempo of his thrusts escalated. She could hear the heaviness of his breathing above her and feel the tension building in him. She tried to help, but his hands were immediately at her hips, preventing her from moving. "No, I'm trying to hold on to what control I have left. Idon't want to hurt you. I shouldn't be doing this again tonight."

"You should be doing whatever you want to do," she whispered. "I'll always want you, Philip."

He went still. "Will you?" He bent forward to kiss the delicate blue tracery of veins at her temple. "I think the only thing you want right now is to go back to sleep." With a flurry of powerful thrusts, he gained a fiery release from the tension that had tormented him for the past hours. Then he was gone, shifting off, but not away from her this time. He pulled her close, cradling her against his shoulder so that her hair fell on his chest in a silken silver veil. Gradually his breathing grew steady and his heartbeat slowed.

"Did I help?" she asked sleepily.

"I didn't mean to do that to you." His words were stilted, his voice thick with disgust. "Pandora, I'm . . . sorry."

"Did it help?" she asked again.

"Yes. Oh, Lord, yes, it helped."

"Then that's all that's important." She gave his shoulder a drowsy kiss. "I like helping you. Good night, Philip."

He didn't answer for a moment, and when he did his voice was a little husky. "Good night, Pandora."

He wasn't sure she had heard him. She was asleep again.

He found it impossible to follow suit. He should have been pleasantly relaxed, but he found himself charged with a mysterious tension that had nothing to do with desire. Tenderness. Dear heaven, he had never felt such tenderness before.

It was like an immense tidal wave sweeping through him. He didn't want to feel like this. Not about anyone or anything. He wouldn't feel like this. He liked his life the way it was.

Pandora would belong to him, but it would be in the way he chose. What that way would be, he hadn't the wildest idea at the moment. But one thing was certain: Making love to her again any time soon would be a mistake. He wanted her too much. That desire would give her a power he wasn't willing to yield to anyone. He would just have to stay away from her until that fever cooled. It shouldn't take long. No woman had ever managed to hold his interest for more than a few weeks.

However, it wasn't desire that was putting his every nerve on edge. It was the tenderness. That emotion was far more dangerous than sexual arousal. He would have to take great care to guard himself against Pandora and that bewildering gentleness she inspired in him. He wasn't aware that even as the resolve was made, his arm tightened around her in protection.

* * *

He was still holding her in his arms when she opened her eyes the next morning. The gray light of predawn was filtering through the windows, showing her his face, so close to her own. She lay there in blissful contentment for a little while, just letting the wonderful intimacy of the moment seep into her. How many times in the last six years had she daydreamed about Philip holding her like this?

He looked so tired. Dark shadows were painted beneath his eyes, and his cheeks were hollow. At the moment he looked every day of his thirty-eight years. When he was awake he was so filled with energy and strength that she had never been aware he could be as vulnerable as this. She felt a rush of tenderness that flowed into every part of her. She had loved him for so long, yet she had never felt this maternal protectiveness before. She dropped a light kiss on his cheekbone and reluctantly slid out of his embrace.

She tucked the sheet carefully around his shoulders and moved swiftly to the door. She mustn't push too hard. She had given Philip enough to digest.

It was probably her fault that he looked as if he had slept very little the night before. Poor Philip. He wouldn't like the disruption that she was about to make in his life. Well, that was just too bad. It was all for his own good, and it was up to her to prove it to him. But, for now, she'd back off and give him breathing room.

* * *

The sun was beginning to streak across the sky in a burst of pink and lavender as she crossed the stableyard. She paused for a minute to breathe in the fresh scents of earth and grass. She could feel the coolness of the breeze against her cheeks and the joy rising up in her. Dear God, how good it was to be alive on a morning like this!

She was about to turn and go into the stables when she heard a soft neigh. She glanced casually toward the fenced pasture and then froze. Oedipus! The black stallion gleaming in the first light of dawn had to be Oedipus. She was over the high fence in seconds and running along the edge of the pasture. He was so beautiful, with his clean, powerful lines and a wild pride that was evident in every muscle and tendon. She slowed to a walk as she approached him. She mustn't startle him. Oedipus had always been only half tamed, and he was easily spooked.

"Hello, boy! Have you missed me?" Her voice was a soothing murmur as she approached him. "I've missed you. It's been a long time, hasn't it? I've been around a lot of horses since I've been gone, but there's never been one like you." He was looking straight at her, but she couldn't tell if he remembered her or not. With Oedipus, she might never know. He certainty wasn't sloppy about revealing his affections, she thought ruefully. Everything about his nature was difficult and challenging. In that way he reminded her of Philip. Perhaps that was why she had always been so crazy about Oedipus.

"What are you doing out here all by yourself, instead of lazing in your nice warm stall?" She was next to him now and reaching out a careful hand to stroke his nose. It was velvet beneath her palm. He looked at her as if he understood every word she was saying. "But then, you never did like to be inside, did you? Neither do I. It's always better to be out in the open, running with the wind in your hair." She moved slowly to his side, her hand shifting from his muzzle to his mane. "What do you say we do that now, boy?" Then, using the fence as a mounting block, she was on his back, gripping strongly with her knees. As she expected, he put up a fuss, but it was only a token protest. After she had ridden it out he settled down beautifully. "You want it, too. you devil." She laughed softly. "You just wanted to give me a hard time. Now let's go."

She started out at an easy canter, graduated into a gallop, and then they ran flat out, circling the large pasture as if it were a racetrack. She bent low over his mane, talking, urging him on. Oedipus was silk and fire beneath her, and the wind was tearing at her hair with cool, careless fingers. It was glorious!

"Pandora!"

She flinched. Oh dear, Philip. She cast him a glance. He looked just as grim as he sounded. He was dressed in riding clothes, and his hair was slightly rumpled. That was unusual in a man as meticulously groomed as Philip and boded no good. He must have guessed what she was up to as soon as he had awakened and dashed down here to catch her in the act. Drat it, Philip always seemed to know when she was doing something that wouldn't meet with his approval. She slowed Oedipus and headed him toward the fence. "Good morning, Philip. Didn't Oedipus look beautiful? He runs like he's still a two-year-old."

"He's not two years old, he's eight," Philip said distinctly. "And he's learned a good deal of devilry in those eight years. For your information, the fact that he's out here and not in the barn does not indicate that the poor old nag has been put out to pasture. He has the unpleasant habit these days of trying to kick his stall down. Last year he tried to trample a stableboy." His eyes were blazing. "And you're riding him bareback!"

"He likes me," she said defiantly. "He's always liked me. He may be mean, but I know how to handle him." She looked Philip in the eyes. "He reminds me of you."

For a moment indignation and outrage conflicted on his face. "Why, you little scamp," he said softly. "I ought to—" He was suddenly chuckling and reaching up to help her off Oedipus's back. "I've never had a woman compare me to a horse before. Most particularly a nasty one."

"It's only at times that he reminds me of you," she amended. "Sometimes he can be quite lovable."

His hands tightened on her waist. "Brat. You've grown impudent over the years. You never would have had the nerve to insult me before."

"If I had, maybe your arrogance would have been deflated a little."

"I was never arrogant. I was merely always and inevitably right." He slapped Oedipus on the rump and the stallion cantered off. "Exactly as I am now."

"If Oedipus has become so violent, why do you keep him around?"

He didn't look at her as he took her elbow and began to propel her across the pasture. "A whim, perhaps." His lips twisted in a sardonic smile. "No doubt I feel a subliminal kinship for the devil." He frowned. "Regardless of the reason, you're to stay off him."

She didn't answer, but her face took on a mutinous look.

"Pandora," he said warningly.

"I can handle him," she burst out. "I understand him."

"The way you think you understand me?" He shook his head. "Don't count on it. All understanding is colored by one's point of view. Both Oedipus and I are capable of acts that you can't imagine."

"No, I don't believe—"

"Pandora, if I catch you on Oedipus again, I'll get rid of him."

"You can't mean that. Not after all these years. He belongs here."

"I mean it," he said flatly. "You've made sure that I can't send you away, but there's nothing stopping me from getting rid of Oedipus."

She gazed at him uncertainly. "You'd really do it?"

"Try me."

She looked away. "You know I won't do that," she said huskily. "I couldn't take the chance."

"Wise woman. I wish you'd be as reasonable about your own welfare."

"That's another matter entirely."

"And one you don't want to talk about," he finished dryly. "All right, my little ostrich, well drop it for the moment." He was silent until they had left the pasture and were crossing the stableyard. "That was a difficult stunt to pull off bareback," he said abruptly. "You obviously haven't lost any of your skill while you've been belting out rock songs to the panting populace."

"I rode every day," she said quietly. "The shows were only at night. That left all the daylight hours to do what I wanted to do. I'd ride for four hours in the morning and spend the afternoon working on college correspondence courses." She grimaced.

"It nearly killed me to stay inside all that time when I wanted to be at the stables."

"Yet you did it anyway." He was gazing at her thoughtfully. "Why?"

She shrugged. "I figured it was better to be miserable than stupid. I told myself the mornings at the stable were my reward for that blasted studying. A fair exchange. Something I needed for something I wanted. When I finally got used to the schedule it wasn't so bad."

"And horses were what you wanted?"

"Always," she said simply. "I never wanted to do anything else. You know that."

"No glamour of the footlights for you?" His eyes searched her face.

She shook her head. "I never liked performing. It was all right once I learned to cope with it. It was better than being hungry."

His lips tightened. "You were hungry?"

"Of course." She looked at him in surprise. "I was fifteen years old with no job experience and just four pounds and a few pence in my purse when I ran away from Abernathy in London." She made a face. "The money lasted two weeks. I was lucky to stretch it that far."

"And then?"

"I managed," she said evasively. "You don't want to hear all that dreary business."

"Don't I?" he asked grimly. He was silent for a few minutes before he exclaimed violently, "What a fool you were! Anything could have happened to you."

"I was lucky," she said. "It wasn't all bad. I made friends. That was important. It's easier to live with an empty stomach than with loneliness."

His throat felt tight. "I'm glad you found friends," he said. "Are you going to go back to your rock group?"

She felt a swift pang at the impersonal way he asked the question. She tossed her head and smiled. "I hope not. I hope I'm going to stay with you here in Sedikhan for the rest of my life." She tilted her head. "Do you suppose I could talk you into forming an Olympic equestrian team? I promise I'd bring home the gold."

"The United States has an excellent team. I know some people. I'll make a few phone calls." He paused. "I haven't changed my mind since last night."

"Neither have I," she said lightly. "I guess it's an impasse."

"Not for long." His smile was touched with grimness. "I'm going to make your stay here very unhappy, Pandora. You'll be glad to leave when the time comes."

"Well see," she said blithely. "Are you going to the irrigation project this morning?"

He nodded. "As soon as I go back and shower and change. I didn't take time to do anything but throw on some clothes when I found you were gone. I knew you'd be looking for mischief somewhere, and the stable was the most likely place."

"I was just trying—" she started indignantly. She broke off. She didn't want to argue now. "May I go with you?"

"No," he said definitely. "You may not. You may go back to your quarters and paint your toenails or loll by the pool like any good Khadim."

She felt a quick, burning resentment. Philip evidently meant everything he had said about treating her like his mistress. "Oh well, I'll find something to do."

"That's what I'm afraid of. But whatever you do, be sure you're through doing it by dinner tonight. I plan on having a few guests and I want you to act as hostess." There was a touch of malice in the silky tone of his voice. "They'll be delighted to have such an illustrious personality at the foot of the table. Perhaps you should wear your orange wig."

"Perhaps I should. I threw it into my overnight case along with the other clothes I had in my dressing room. Are we expecting someone important whom I should try to impress?"

"It depends who you think is important." He paused. "I'm inviting the good Dr. Madchen."

Her stride faltered. "My father?"

"I thought it fitting that the two of you get together after such a long separation." He smiled faintly. "Don't you agree?"

She moistened her lips. "Yes. Yes, of course." It had to come sometime. She mustn't feel this wrenching pain. She should have known Philip would exploit any weakness he found in her defenses. "You were quite right to invite him."

They were crossing the courtyard, and Philip stopped her for a moment with a hand on her arm. "I can hurt you, Pandora," he said softly. "I don't want to do that. Give in, tell me you'll leave Sedikhan, and I'll cancel the dinner party."

She shook her head. "That would only be running away." Her smile was bittersweet, "I haven't done that since I was fifteen. You didn't approve of it then, why should you now?"

"Pandora, dammit, I don't—" He broke off and drew a deep breath. "Oh, hell!" His hand dropped away from her arm, and he strode away from her and on up the stairs of the entrance. "Dinner is at eight." The heavy, studded front door slammed behind him.

Five

"I thought you were joking." Philip, dressed in impeccable black evening clothes, leaned indolently on the jamb of the door between his room and Pandora's. His eyes moved over her impassively. The thigh-length tunic she was wearing was of black velvet that clung to her body and left one shoulder bare in the Grecian fashion. Her lovely legs were encased in sheer black hose that flowed into high-heeled black sandals. The effect was blatantly sexual.

"I was joking." She smiled and touched the orange fuzz of the wig on her head. "But I thought it over and decided it would be appropriate for the occasion." Her dark eyes were burning in her pale face. "I've learned to give the audience what it wants."

"And you think your rather bizarre costume will do that?" he asked quietly.

"Well, it will give them what they expect, anyway." She lifted her head. "Will you be ashamed to sit opposite me at the dinner table?"

He straightened in the doorway. "No, I won't be ashamed." He walked toward her, his eyes searching her face. "But are you sure you don't want to change your mind?"

She shook her head so hard the orange curls danced like curling flames. "No," she said fiercely. "This is part of me, too, and I'm not ashamed either."

He offered his arm. "Then shall we go to the salon and greet our guests?"

She drew a deep, quivering breath and took his arm. "By all means."

Karl Madchen wasn't in the salon when they arrived, but the other guests were all present, and Raoul was quietly moving about the room, serving drinks. A small dinner party, Philip had said. She supposed it was small by his standards, but there were at least fifteen people in the room. The low murmur of conversation dwindled as they walked in the door, and Pandora was immediately conscious of the raised eyebrows and amusement her appearance was causing. She unconsciously stiffened and immediately felt Philip's hand tightening on her elbow. "Steady," he said in an undertone. "Orange wig or not, you're still the loveliest woman in the room. Remember that." —

She experienced a little surge of warmth. "I'll do that."

"Then come meet your guests." His blue-green eyes were twinkling. "I can hardly wait to introduce you to the ambassador's wife. She always was a stuffy bitch."

If this dinner party was supposed to be a punishment, Philip was certainly going about it in a strange way. He introduced her to each person in the room. His hand was constantly beneath her elbow, and his manner was both regally possessive and fiercely protective. Only when he had made sure that she would have no problems did he allow himself to be drawn away by one of his business cohorts. Even then she was still conscious of his glance on her from time to time, and again it gave her that warm feeling of being treasured.

She was casually chatting with an eager young oil executive when she heard a familiar voice behind her. "Good evening, Pandora."

She went still. Karl Madchen had been born and raised in Munich and had never lost the trace of a German accent. She turned to face him. "Good evening, Father." She held out her hand politely. "How nice to see you again." He looked almost exactly the same. His short, powerful body was perhaps a little more rotund, his blond hair a little more silver than gold, but his eyes were still crystal gray, cold and remote as a high mountain peak. "You look very well."

His expression remained impassive as his gaze went over her. "You haven't changed."

She tried to smile. "I thought you'd say that. I have, you know." She raised her eyes to meet his in challenge. "Were you surprised when Philip told you I was here?"

He raised a glass of white wine to his lips. "Not at all. I always expected it. You've had your eye on him ever since we came to Sedikhan."

Not her eye, her heart. Her father had never understood that. "You don't object to your daughter becoming the sheikh's Khadim?"

"Why should I?" He shrugged. "You will do as you wish. It is your nature. As long as you do not interfere with my life, I'll have no quarrel with you."

She felt the freezing cold touch her. Why could he still hurt her like this? She tried to laugh. "I assure you that if Philip kicks me out I'll try not to do anything that might influence him against you." She took a sip of her champagne cocktail. "And I promise you that I won't come crying to you. I know how you value your comfortable lifestyle here in Sedikhan."

"I would appreciate that." He permitted himself a small smile. "It would be foolish to pretend an attachment that never existed. Neither one of us ever needed anyone else. We were both very self-sufficient."

She lifted her chin. "No, I never needed you. I found that out a long time ago."

"You were always a bright child," he said objectively. "It was a shame you were so lacking in discipline."

Her hand tightened on her glass. "Yes, wasn't it?" Her lips felt numb as she smiled brightly. "I made your life quite uncomfortable. I'm sorry about that." She put her glass down on the rosewood table beside her with careful precision. "And now.if youll excuse me, I think I see Philip signaling me."

"By all means don't keep him waiting." Madchen moved aside politely. "Perhaps well talk again."

She hoped not. How she hoped not! She was moving hurriedly across the room to Philip, conscious only of the need to escape. Philip's back was turned to her, and he didn't realize she was by his side until she slipped her arm into his. He broke off in the middle of a sentence to look down at her. His swift gaze took in her pale face and overbright eyes.

"All right?" he asked quietly.

Her smile was brilliant. "Of course I'm all right. I was just lonely."

His hand reached over to cover the hand that rested on his sleeve. "You're cold."

The whole world was cold. "My cocktail glass was frosted." She moistened her lips. "I'm fine. Really."

His lips tightened. "Perhaps we'd better go in to dinner."

"That would be a good idea," she said, smiling at Philip's bearded business associate with dazzling sweetness. "I'm starved, aren't you?"

During the meal she was conscious of Philip's eyes on her from the far end of the long table. She tried to make her earlier claim of hunger appear valid, but she was barely able to choke down a few bites. She gave up finally and concentrated on keeping up the appearance of gaiety instead. Smiling, chatting with the guests at her end of the table, she burned with a charm and vivaciousenergy that lit up the dining room. As long as she talked, she wouldn't be able to think.

It was the same in the library after dinner, as mint tea, coffee, and conversation ended the evening. She even managed to give a bright, meaningless smile to her father as she stood at the door with Philip, saying polite good nights to the guests.

Then it was over and everyone was gone. She turned away from the door, the smile still painted on her lips. "I think it went very well, don't you?"

"Oh, brilliantly," he said caustically. "Everyone was impressed. You were lighting up the dining room like neon. I should have had the lights turned off and saved on electricity."

"That wouldn't have been appropriate for a multimillionaire like you. You don't have to worry about coins for the electric meter." She smoothed the velvet dress over her hips. "Remind me to tell you how I jimmied the meter one freezing night in my flat in London. It might amuse you."

"I doubt it." He took her elbow and began propelling her down the long hall. "You haven't amused me so far tonight."

"I'm sorry. I'll try to do better next time. It's just as well your guests aren't as difficult to please. I think they found me sufficiently entertaining."

"You practically mesmerized them. I think they even forgot about that atrocious orange wig."

"On the contrary. The ambassador's wife asked me where I bought it. She said it was sure to start a new fashion." Her laugh tinkled like little silver bells. "Isn't that funny?"

"Hilarious," he said grimly. He opened the door to her suite, pushed her inside, and shut the door behind them. "The next social event in Sedikhan will probably see every woman sporting one of those monstrosities." His hands were swiftly removing the hairpins that held the wig in place. "Except you." He pulled the wig and cap off her head. Her hair tumbled down her back in a luminous silver stream. "I never want to see you in it again. Do you hear me?"

She lifted her brows in mock dismay. "You didn't like it? I'm truly crushed, Philip."

"You reminded me of Pagliacci," he muttered. He combed his fingers through her hair, loosening the confined strands. "A damned clown laughing to keep from crying."