THE plane was banking gently to the left, giving her a good view of the scene below. Atop a craggy headland that thrust its way out into the sea in defiance of the crashing rollers were the ruins of an ancient fort. This crumbling reminder of a dark and violent past overlooked a busy harbour which was filled with colourful fishing-boats. Behind the ruins lay the town, a sprawling, disorganised jumble of square white buildings and narrow, twisting alleyways. Beyond the town, terraced riverbanks were green with fruit and palm-trees, while down at the river-edge women pounded their washing on stones.
The ‘airport’ was nothing more than a cleared strip of scrubland about two miles east of the town. In a cloud of dust the plane touched down and rolled to a halt in front of a huge, barn-Jike shed.
Kassim undid his seatbelt, then helped her to her feet. The stewardess opened the door, and as Janene looked out she saw the heatwaves shimmering in the air.
The driver of a stretched limousine already had the rear door opened and, as soon as she and Kassim were settled in the air-conditioned interior, he sped towards the town.
Acutely conscious of her helpless situation, she sat in prim, tight-lipped silence. Perhaps the way to deal with him was to treat him with total indifference, to retreat into a world in which he played no part. The ultimate snub. No one could put up with that for long. Least of all a man with an ego as big as his.
Then again, she wondered uneasily, was it really possible to ignore a man whose eyes could strip you at a glance and whose slightest touch sent flames of desire rampaging through your body? Well, she’d never been put to the test yet, but she knew she was going to find out before long.
The car approached the town in a swirl of red dust, and slowed down as its progress was hampered by the other traffic making its way into town: tall, robed men leading camels, or donkeys laden with baskets, or small herds of sheep and goats. Soon the streets became narrower and more crowded until, within the town centre proper, the pace was reduced to a mere crawl as the car inched and snaked its way through the crowded alleways.
Even with the car windows closed, she could hear the bedlam of noise. Above the tinny blare of hundreds of transistor radios, merchants cried their wares and customers haggled over prices. Women, laden with baskets, babies clinging to their backs, drew their robes tighter and pushed their way through the jostling mass of humanity.
Beyond the market-place the road widened and, directly ahead of her, overlooking the squat, whitewashed houses, Janene could see the ruined fort. Suddenly the driver made a sharp left-hand turn and drew up outside a massive, iron-studded door set in a stone archway. At a blast from the horn the door swung inwards and the car entered a large courtyard.
At Kassim’s prompting, she reluctantly got out and studied her surroundings in silence. The walls were high, and as she heard the servants close and bolt the heavy door she bit her lip. The feeling of being trapped and at this man’s mercy tightened a knot in her stomach.
Taking her firmly by the arm, Kassim led her past an ornamental fountain and colourful flowerbeds towards another door. With a display of gallantry, he opened it and ushered her through into an inner courtyard and, despite her resolution to maintain an air of indifference, her eyes widened and she stifled a gasp. The surrounding walls were covered in decorative tiles, while masses of flowers made a glorious blaze of colour: datura, dahlias, sunflowers, oleanders, and geraniums in tall, clay pots. Right at the centre there was a sunken swimming-pool in sea-green marble. At the far side of the courtyard an archway led to the interior of the house. She took a quick glance around, impressed by its elegance and décor—priceless carpets on the floor and solid mahogany, French-style furniture. In the air hung the sweet smell of cedarwood.
Kassim peeled off his jacket and tossed it carelessly aside. ‘This is the end of our journey, Janene. Do you think you’ll be comfortable here?’
She tried her best to ignore him, but was finally forced by his insistent stare to offer a nonchalant shrug.
His eyes glittered with amusement. ‘Too overcome with awe to find your tongue?’ he asked solicitously. ‘Ah, well, that’s understandable. C’est magnifique, n’est-cepas?’
It certainly was, she thought darkly, but he’d probably stolen it.
He took her by the arm again. ‘Come along and I’ll show you the rest of the place.’
A marble stairway led to the upper part of the house. Throwing open a door, he invited her inside. It was cool and dark until he opened the shutters on the window overlooking the pool in the courtyard below.
‘This will be our bedroom,’ he announced cheerfully.
‘What the hell do you mean, “our” bedroom?’ she demanded fiercely, her vow of silence shattered.
‘What’s wrong? Isn’t the bed large enough?’ he enquired, with a mocking lift of his dark eyebrows. He eyed the bed doubtfully. ‘You may be right. In the throes of passion we may end up on the floor. I’ll have it changed immediately.’
‘I’m not sleeping anywhere with you,’ she said hotly. ‘If I have to be incarcerated in this Hollywood film-set, I demand a room of my own.’
His blue eyes taunted her. ‘I’m sure I can persuade you to change your mind. Just think of all the fun you’ll be missing.’
She folded her arms, tapped her foot and glared at him.
‘Hmm…’ he drawled. ‘Your skin has gone that wonderful colour again. Is it only your face that’s affected, or does that flush spread over your entire body? I must satisfy my curiosity.’ He raised his hand and beckoned her closer with his finger. ‘Come here, my little English rose.’
‘Stop calling me that,’ she grated. ‘I’m not your little anything.’
He derided her with a sardonic smile. ‘There’s no sense in postponing the inevitable. You’re only making things awkward.’
‘Good!’ she snapped. ‘I intend to be as awkward as I can until you stop all this nonsense and let me go home.’
He spread his arms and looked surprised. ‘But this is your home from now on. What do you have in England to compare with luxury and comfort such as this?’
‘Control of my own life, for one thing,’ she retorted. ‘Freedom of choice and freedom to go where I like.’ She paused, then added bitterly, ‘And the right not to be dictated to by anyone.’
‘Control of one’s own life is an illusion,’ he replied smoothly. ‘We are all the victims of fate and circumstance. One can only make the best of what one is given.’
She gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘I’m not interested in entering into a philosophical debate with you.’
‘Good,’ he drawled. ‘Women shouldn’t concern themselves over such matters. As for freedom…you can leave the house any time you like. I shall provide a suitable escort for you. You can go into the town or down to the beach.’
‘And my escort will make sure I go no further?’ she asked drily.
‘You would get lost in the desert,’ he pointed out in a tone of dire warning. ‘If you were lucky, you would die of thirst. If you were unlucky, you would be caught by some tribe of wandering outcasts who’d make you wish that you had died of thirst.’ He appealed to her with a fiendish smile that made her think of a shark getting ready for lunch. ‘On the other hand, if you stay here you will be given anything your heart desires. Within reason, of course.’
The resentment in her green eyes turned to resigned acceptance. ‘All right…’ she said in a dull voice. ‘Is it within reason to ask for something to eat? I’ve had nothing since supper last night.’
He looked contrite, but it was probably just an act. The only thing he seemed to take seriously was his avowed intention of getting her into bed.
‘A thousand pardons,’ he intoned. ‘I am remiss in my duties as a host.’ He strode over to the wall and pressed a button to summon a servant, then grinned at her, ‘What would you like to order, Janene? A plate of figs? Some almonds? Goat-cheese?’
‘No, thanks,’ she said grimly. ‘I’d like orange juice, coffee, toast and marmalade and two soft-boiled eggs.’
He gave an ironic little smile. ‘A typical English breakfast. You’d rather cling to familiar customs than face the unknown?’
‘I’ve had goat-cheese and I don’t like it,’ she informed him coldly. ‘And I’ll also need fresh clothes. You didn’t give me the opportunity to pack before you drugged me.’
‘Clothes will be provided,’ he assured her smoothly.
‘I don’t mean those funny black robes I saw the women in town wearing,’ she warned. ‘Jeans will do fine.’
‘Determined not to go native?’ he asked mockingly. ‘A pity. I think a caftan or haik would suit you.’
She was about to tell him that the native clothes she’d seen so far were the drabbest she’d ever encountered, when she caught sight of the young girl gliding silently into the room. Slim, with large, dark, liquid eyes, she was dressed in a robe of shimmering turquoise with gold edging. A headscarf of the same material was drawn under her chin and tied on top.
She smiled shyly at Janene and bowed to Kassim.
For a while he stood talking to her in some strange, guttural tongue, then she bowed again and drifted out of the room, as silent as a falling leaf.
‘Well, Janene, breakfast will be served by the poolside in half an hour.’ he informed her briskly. He pointed to the door. ‘You can shower and freshen up there, meanwhile. Kebira will fetch you something suitable to wear.’
‘Kebira?’
‘The servant-girl you just saw. From now on she is your personal maid.’
She looked at him in surprise, then said firmly, ‘I don’t want a personal maid. I’m quite capable of looking after myself.’
‘Are you really?’ he asked with cynical amusement. ‘That isn’t the impression you’ve given me up till now. When you’re left to your own devices you seem to get yourself into all kinds of trouble.’ He saw the red spots of anger on her cheeks, and went on in a placating tone, ‘Come, now, Janene. It isn’t much to ask. As my consort, it’s only fitting that you should have a personal maid. Besides, Kebira will feel terribly insulted and depressed if you reject her. In her eyes, it is a great honour to be chosen for such an important position in the household.’
She rolled her eyes heavenwards, then said scathingly, ‘Kidnapping and emotional blackmail. There’s nothing you’ll stop at to get your way, is there?’
He shrugged. ‘A talent I inherited from my illustrious ancestors. Now, I suggest that we bathe together and enjoy the pleasure of—’
‘I’ll bathe by myself,’ she cut in icily. ‘You can go and cool off in the swimming-pool.’
He heaved a sigh of disappointment, then gave a philosophical shrug. ‘No matter. I can wait. The greater the hunger, the more satisfying the meal.’ His blue eyes taunted her mercilessly, then they hardened. ‘It would be inadvisable to try my patience too long, however. I’m a man who doesn’t take kindly to being thwarted in his ambitions. That is another trait I inherited from my ancestors.’
As he strode from the room his threat still rang in her ears, making her skin prickle, and she hurriedly locked herself in the bathroom.
Everything she’d seen about this house so far spoke of pampered luxury, and the bathroom was no exception. There was a sunken bath in coral-pink marble, large enough to keep a school of dolphins happy, and, unless she was mistaken, the taps were solid gold. The walls and ceiling were covered in dazzling ceramic tiles, as were the two shower-stalls. An adjoining room held a sauna and an exercise area with more equipment than would be found in the average gym. Behind a partition she found dozens of coloured bath-towels and robes. There was even a selection of shower-caps, and, grabbing what she needed, she made her way to one of the showers and began undressing.
As soon as the water ran hot she stepped under the shower and closed her eyes in relaxation. After a few moments she began lazily soaping herself, and her thoughts turned to Kassim. Disturbing yet exciting thoughts. In her imagination he was here beside her, his dark and lithe body naked and glistening. As they moved over her breasts, her hands became his hands. She threw her head back and her body became taut and receptive to the waves of sensual pleasure sweeping—
Suddenly her mind snapped into place, and, angry at her weakness and lack of self-control, she turned the shower off. Dammit! She was the one who should have been cooling off in the pool.
Kebira was waiting patiently in the bedroom with a selection of underwear and clothes spread out on the bed. She immediately smiled and began chattering away excitedly.
Janene returned the smile and raised a restraining hand. ‘Hold on, Kebira! Can’t you speak English?’
The large, liquid eyes blinked solemnly.
‘Français?’
Another blink. ‘Oui, madame. Un—un peu.’
‘Never mind. I only speak it un peu myself. We’ll get along fine in sign-language.’ She looked at the display on the bed and wondered where all the brand-new underwear had come from. His harem’s wardrobemistress, probably. The underwear was mostly silk, and there were fabulously coloured robes and caftans, blouses and skirts. But not a pair of jeans in sight.
She eventually settled for black silk trousers and a white silk blouse. The trousers were loose and baggy and tied at the ankles, and the blouse was covered in exotic embroidery.
When she had completed her dressing, she examined herself critically in front of a large mirror until Kebira dragged her by the hand, made her sit at a dressingtable, then attacked the mass of red hair with a silverbacked hairbrush.
Kassim was at a table by the poolside when she went down. Rising gallantly to his feet, he eyed her with approval as she approached, and greeted her with a flash of white teeth and an elaborate bow. ‘Never has my pitiful abode been graced by such beauty. The flowers weep with envy.’
He was wearing a blue, white-lined belted tunic over his shirt and he seemed taller, darker, and more strikingly handsome than ever.
The table was already set, and as he poured her coffee he said affably, ‘My miserable wretch of a cook is at this very moment trembling in his shoes. I have ordered him to be flogged if everything is not to your satisfaction.’
She eyed him warily across the table. He was joking, of course. She sincerely hoped so, but he was such an enigmatic character that one could never tell. They both ate in silence. The coffee was perfect, but the eggs were hard-boiled. Not that she would even have contemplated the idea of complaining, however. His breakfast seemed to consist entirely of fruit—orange segments and dates—which he ate without once taking his eyes from her.
‘You’re very quiet, Janene,’ he observed at last. ‘Something on your mind?’ he asked innocently.
Looking directly into his clear blue eyes, she said bitterly, ‘I’ve got plenty on my mind. You, most of all. And Damien, for another.’
The smile on his face became a little bleak and he growled, ‘It’s time you forgot all about your precious Damien.’
‘Really?’ She sipped her coffee. ‘And how do I do that? Just pretend that he never existed?’
‘That’s as good a way as any.’ he agreed drily. ‘And you can start by removing that ring from your finger.’
She hastily put her left hand in her lap and scowled at him. ‘I don’t know how you did it, but you must have tricked Damien somehow.’
‘Did I?’ he taunted.
‘It’s the only thing that makes sense,’ she muttered. ‘Damien was the only person who knew I’d be at the cottage last night. So somehow you tricked him into telling you where to find me.’
She waited for some kind of denial, but all he offered her was a smile of bland indifference. Very well…that meant that her accusation was true. The only question remaining now was why. No man would go to all the trouble he’d taken, just to get a woman into bed. A fool with an obsession might, but Kassim was no fool.
‘You’ll find out all in good time,’ he drawled when she put it to him.
‘I want to know now,’ she demanded furiously.
He chewed reflectively on a date, then shook his head. ‘No, Janene. It would only upset you.’
Her green eyes widened in astonishment. ‘I can’t be any more upset than you’ve already made me,’ she fumed. She glared at him for a moment, then snapped, ‘Perhaps Damien beat you in some business deal and you decided to get your revenge by stealing his girl.’
He gave a sigh of impatience. ‘It’s much more complicated than that. Now, can we talk about something else? The subject of your ex-fiance bores me.’
‘Well, it doesn’t bore me,’ she persisted vehemently, banging her cup back into the saucer. ‘I want to know! Here and now! I demand to—’ Her voice skidded to an embarrassed halt as she saw with horror that the handle of the delicate, probably priceless cup had broken off and was still looped around her forefinger. Dry-mouthed, she tried to stammer an apology, then saw him rise to his feet and stalk round the table towards her.
She looked up at him helplessly. ‘I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…’
Gently he removed the remains of the handle from her finger and frowned. ‘Are you cut?’
He was bending down, his dark face uncomfortably close to hers, and she said weakly, ‘No. It—it seems all right.’
His face inched nearer. ‘Good. That’s all that matters.’ Now their lips were almost touching and her heart began to pound. ‘Cups can be replaced,’ he murmured softly. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll send out for a few hundred more. That should keep you going until you learn to control that fiery temper.’
‘I—I haven’t…got a—a temper,’ she protested, in a strangled whisper that died in a whimper as his lips closed over hers. The touch was gentle at first, nothing more than a warm tingle, and she caught the scent of him—very male, fresh and spice-laden. Gradually he increased the pressure, his lips teasing and nibbling over hers with a sensual friction that sent delicious little tremors to the soles of her feet. Then her heart thudded and sang in her ears as she felt his tongue probing, testing her defences and demanding entry. Her mouth opened like a flower in the heat of his onslaught. This was wrong! This was dangerous! But the faint, warning voice of her conscience went unheeded in the waves of feverish passion engulfing her very soul. One of his hands was on the back of her chair, the other on the table, while her own lay helplessly in her lap. The only contact between them was their mouths, and that lent a feeling of deliberate, erotic dalliance that served to heighten her sensual pleasure. His tongue continued to explore the warm sweetness of her mouth and she responded with hungry enthusiasm. Something in the depths of her mind was wringing its hands in despair at her shocking behaviour, but something else, a little more wicked, told it to mind its own damn business and banged the door shut.
Suddenly his mouth withdrew from hers, leaving her shaken and breathless, and he purred like a satisfied tiger. ‘The sweetest hors-d’oeuvre I’ve ever had. Tonight we will enjoy the main course, Janene. A feast of love and sensuous pleasure such as you have never experienced.’
She raised her hands in a half-hearted attempt to push him away, but he caught her wrist in a grip of steel and smiled thinly. ‘Already the blood is singing in your veins and your eyes are hot with desire. That one kiss has given you a tiny glimpse through the very gates of paradise and you hunger for more. Admit it, my sweet rose.’
Not on your life, she thought nervously. If she did give voice to her feelings, he was likely to throw her to the ground and prove how good he was, regardless of how many servants were peeping through the shutters. On the other hand, if she lied about it he might start kissing her again with increased fervour. If he started doing that again she’d be in danger of losing her selfrespect.
How could any woman remain unyielding against such devastating sexual aggression? He was the prince of darkness and Genghis Khan rolled into one. Even now she could feel herself drowning in those blue eyes…being hypnotised…drawn under his spell.
‘Look,’ she said in desperation. ‘Don’t you have something else to do? Feed the camels or something? I—I’d like to be alone for a while.’
He released her wrist and straightened up with a grin. ‘You’ve gone that delicate shade of pink again. But I’ll bow to your wishes for the moment. I must give you time to gather your scattered wits. Just sit and relax for a while, and gloat over your good fortune at being here, while I attend to the mundane affairs of business. Meanwhile, if there is anything you should require, you merely have to signal to one of the servants and—’ He paused and stiffened at the sudden commotion and noise from the outer courtyard. Suddenly the entrance to the inner courtyard swung open and a woman dashed through.
She was dressed in a shabby black robe and headscarf and couldn’t have been much more than eighteen. At the sight of Kassim she rushed towards him and threw herself at his feet. Her hands scrabbled for the bottom of his cloak and she raised it and pressed it to her lips before turning a tear-stained face up to him imploringly, then beseeching him in a torrent of Arabic.
Janene was shocked and touched by the girl’s obvious distress, and she stared at Kassim in reproach. He’d probably used this poor creature, then discarded her. Now she was back, begging him for a job in the kitchen. It was either that or something equally horrendous.
Kassim spoke sharply to the girl and she got to her feet. Speaking quietly now, he began questioning her, listening attentively to her answers and occasionally nodding his head in understanding. Finally he signalled to one of the servants, who came over and escorted the girl into the house.
Janene looked at him questioningly but, before she could open her mouth, he smiled over her shoulder as a second visitor appeared in the courtyard.