Lord of the Abyss & Desert Warrior (31 page)

“And the other guards took care of the rest after breaching the barrier of trucks?” she guessed.

Tariq drew back from her and pulled the covering close around her face. “You are too fair,” he grumbled.

“Maybe I’ll tan.” There was always hope.

His response was a disbelieving snort. “Enough of this. We will talk of other things.”

She might’ve argued with him, but he’d already relented a great deal after his initial refusal to speak about his life. Pushing her luck could backfire. “All right.”

“I don’t believe you.” He sounded so male, so put upon.

“Drat.” She fell back into the relationship as it had been before she’d learned the awful truth about how Tariq had been targeted for assassination because of his perceived weakness in loving her. She needed to feel his happiness, to find hope in his laughter.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

She thought he was referring to their fight. “This is a beautiful day. It’s a day to be happy.”

His chuckle startled her. “I was asking how your sweet bottom was feeling.”

She blushed and elbowed him. “Behave.” The last
traces of frost were long gone. Fire surrounded her. She swallowed tears of bittersweet happiness. There would be no more pain this gorgeous day. She’d pretend that the world was perfect and that the man holding her so carefully loved her, too.

H
OW EVER, THAT NIGHT
, Jasmine couldn’t keep pretending that everything was okay. Not when her heart was threatening to break under the strain. “Would it be okay if I retired early?” she asked Tariq. The firelight, which had seemed so romantic the night before, now made her eyes feel dry and achy.

From his protective position slightly in front of her, Tariq glanced over his shoulder. “You do not wish to remain?” His voice had a dark edge that she couldn’t decipher.

“I’m tired. This is new for me,” she confessed, hiding one truth behind another.

Her husband moved until he was sitting next to her. Then, to her surprise, he pulled her against his seated form. Tariq rarely touched her in public. She hadn’t yet found the courage to ask him whether it was because he didn’t want to, or because of the circumspection demanded of his position.

“I apologize, Mina. You don’t complain, so I forget that this journey must be hard for you.” Deep, sensuous, caressing, his words washed over her like soft, welcoming rain.

She nestled her head against his shoulder, finding that some of her inner ache had disappeared. He held her as if she mattered. “Am I expected to stay because I’m your wife?”

His muscled arm firmed around her as he shifted her a tiny bit nearer, eliminating any hint of space between their bodies. “Your intelligence is one of the reasons you are my wife,” he murmured. “My people judge those not of our land. It’s a flaw in us and yet it’s so much a part of Zulheil that it may be our saving grace. We do not trust easily.” Jasmine had known that the first moment she’d met him.

“Even though they’ve accepted you because you are my chosen wife,” he continued, gazing down at her upturned face, “and you’ll receive obedience, the amount of respect you receive will be determined by a thousand things, among them your ability to endure this harsh land.”

She understood what he would never articulate. His honor was now bound inextricably to hers. It was a fragile link that could shatter as it had once before, and rip even this shaky relationship from her grasp. “I’ll stay. Just hold me?” She winced at the neediness of her voice.

He answered by touching her cheek with his free hand, his dark eyes fierce with what she wanted to believe was pride. Another knot melted inside her. When he looked away, she watched the play of the firelight on his face. He was at once beautiful and dangerous. A panther momentarily at rest. A warrior at home among his people.

Jasmine smiled. Her earlier frustration and pain had faded to a dull ache. Strangely content now, she stared up at the jewel-studded night sky, wondering if within those pinpricks there was a candle to light her way into her husband’s heart.

B
Y THE TIME
T
ARIQ RETURNED
from a last-minute consultation with one of the guides, Mina was curled up and half-asleep. No light from the campfire reached their bed and neither did the voices of the men. He stripped down to the loose pants designed by his ancestors to offer respite from the unrelenting heat of the desert, glad for the small lagoon that had allowed the entire party a chance to bathe.

Memories of watching over his wife while she swam sent familiar need racing through him, but it was clear that Mina was exhausted. Tenderness overwhelmed him. She looked so small and fragile, and yet she made him feel so much. Too much. Heart clenching with emotions he didn’t want to accept, he lay down beside her, wrapped her in his arms and let her rest. For a while.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get to wake her with slow, sensuous caresses as he’d wanted, because deep in the night she jerked upright beside him, and he could almost smell her fear. He reached up to pull her back into his arms.

“Tariq!” She turned blindly toward him.

“I’m here, Mina.” He succeeded in trapping her fluttering hands and held her tight against his body, disturbed by the too-fast thudding of her heart.

“Tariq.” This time her voice was a husky whisper, but
no less desperate than her first fearful cry. She clutched at his shoulders with small hands.

“Hush. You are safe, my Jasmine.” He stroked the curved line of her spine, trying to calm her. When she continued to shiver, he flipped her over onto her back and pressed his body along the length of hers. Some of her tension seemed to seep out of her at the full-body contact. “Mina?”

“They hurt you.”

“Who?”

“The men in the trucks. I thought they took you from me.”

He hadn’t thought that his revelation would have this effect. “I am safe. They did not succeed. You did not lose me.” When she looked as if she disagreed, he held her tightly. “You will not worry about these things.”

Wrapped in Tariq’s strong arms, Jasmine felt her fears start to dissipate. “I’ll try. It was probably because I was tired.”

“We will not talk of it anymore.”

“Wait—” she protested.

He squeezed the breath out of her. “I have decided. You may sulk if you wish, but we will not talk more of it.”

“You can’t just decide that on your own,” she snapped.

“Yes. I can.” His voice was neutral, but she heard the steely determination. When he closed his eyes, she knew that any further words would only strengthen his resolve. Sighing, she conceded defeat…for tonight.

Wide-awake, she thought back over her nightmare. Unlike the dream, the real assassins hadn’t succeeded in killing him, but they’d broken the connection between
her and Tariq, torn the emotional threads. Their taunts had destroyed whatever had been left after she’d walked away.

A man’s pride was a fragile thing.

A warrior’s pride was his greatest weapon.

A sheik’s pride upheld the honor of his people.

She had to learn to deal with the power of all three.

“W
E’RE GOING TO FINISH
what we started last night.”

“No. I will not have you disturbed.” Though Tariq wasn’t surprised by Mina’s stubbornness, his first duty was to protect her. The memory of how she’d trembled in fear made him hug her against his body as the camel picked its way across the golden sand.

“I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

“No.” He would
not
allow her to be hurt.

“Tariq! Don’t do that. Don’t protect me by keeping me in ignorance.” In his arms, her small body was stiff with anger and frustration. “I’m not eighteen anymore.”

Her perception about his motives startled him, proving the truth of her words. “Perhaps not,” he allowed.

“Then the assassins—”

“You know all there is to know, Mina.” This time he acknowledged the quiet pain of the memories. “You
know.
”

After a small silence, she leaned back in his embrace. “I’m sorry.”

Unable to bear her sorrow, he held her close and told her stories of the desert and his people, and after a long time, she smiled again. And as they rode, he considered her persistence. Four years ago, she would never have challenged him. Since she’d returned to him, she’d never
stopped fighting him. Some men would have been dismayed by the change. Tariq was intrigued.

O
N THE MORNING OF THE
fourth day, they rode into the small industrial city of Zeina. Despite their functional nature, the steel-and-concrete buildings of the city had been designed with curved edges and flowing lines. Overlaid with the omnipresent sand, the low-rise structures almost blended into the desert. The two-lane highway snaking out of Zeina in the opposite direction from their route showed how oil was moved out of such an isolated spot. To Jasmine’s surprise, they continued through the city and a good distance beyond, to where a number of huge, colorful tents sprawled across the desert sand.

“Welcome to Zeina,” Tariq whispered against her ear.

“I thought that was Zeina back there.” She jerked her head to indicate the city they’d passed.

“It’s part of Zeina. This is the heart.”

“No houses, just tents,” she mused out loud.

“Arin and his people prefer it this way. As they are happy, I have no right to question.”

She pondered that for a moment before asking, “I assume many of them work in the industrial section—how do they get there?”

Tariq chuckled. “There are camels for those who prefer the old ways but also several well-hidden all-terrain vehicles.”

“Why didn’t we travel in those?” She scowled at the thought of the abuse her rear had suffered.

“Some of the areas we passed through are too treacherous to trust even those vehicles. They also cause much damage to the delicate ecosystems of the desert.
But, for commuting the distance to the metal city, they are useful,” he explained. “Arin’s people may be old-fashioned but they are also eminently practical. See the pale blue tents?” He pointed.

“There’s quite a few.”

“They appear the same as the others, but look closely.”

Squinting, she did. “They don’t move with the wind! What are they, plastic?”

“A durable type created by our engineers,” Tariq confirmed. “Each houses sanitation facilities for use by four closely related families.”

Given the dimensions of the tents and the typically small size of Zulheil’s families, the allocation appeared generous.

“How ingenious.” Jasmine was impressed by the way old and new had been merged so creatively.

“Arin is certainly that.”

She met the intriguing Arin minutes later. He was a huge bear of a man with a short, neatly trimmed beard, but his warm smile took the edge off his menacing appearance.

“Welcome.” He waved them both inside his large tent after exchanging greetings. “Please, sit.”

“Thank you.” Jasmine smiled and sat down on one of the luxuriant cushions arranged around a small table.

“I forbid you to smile at this man, Jasmine.”

Jasmine stared at her husband in shock. “Did you just forbid me to smile at the man in whose home we are guests?”

Her subtle reprimand made her husband’s lips curve in an inexplicable smile and Arin howl with laughter. She looked from one to the other, belatedly aware that she’d
missed something. When Tariq continued to smile with that hint of mischief in his eyes and Arin to howl, she threw up her hands. “You’re both mad.”

“No, no,” Arin answered, his shoulders shaking with mirth. “This one is just afraid of my power over women.”

Intrigued, Jasmine turned to Tariq for an explanation, but he just grinned. Shaking her head, she busied herself trying to follow their conversation, which could not be undertaken in English, as their host wasn’t fluent enough for the subtleties required.

“My apologies.” Arin seemed discomfited by that fact.

“Oh, please don’t say that,” she said earnestly. “This is your land. I should be the one to learn your language. While I’m learning, it would be better for me to be surrounded by it.”

The big man looked relieved. Tariq squeezed her fingers once in silent thanks. Warm, strong, male, his hand represented so much of who he was.

If she concentrated, she could follow the bare bones of their talk. They appeared to be catching up with each other’s news but there was an undercurrent of seriousness. The sheik was asking after the health of his people.

As she listened, the changes in Tariq struck her again. When they’d first met, he’d been every inch a royal, but more relaxed, having the support of his parents, a much-loved royal couple. Now the mantle of authority sat on his shoulders alone, and he wore it as if it had been made for him.

He’d always been touched with the promise of greatness. Before her eyes, that promise was being fulfilled.

“Enough,” Arin announced at last in English. “I am a poor host to keep you so long even before the dust is
gone from your clothes.” He uncurled his legs, incredibly graceful for such a big man, and began to stand.

“Terrible,” Tariq agreed, but his eyes were full of laughter as he followed their host’s example. Jasmine’s guess that the two were good friends was confirmed by the back-slapping embrace they exchanged, before Arin led them toward the much smaller tent that had been prepared for them. Members of Arin’s council had greeted Tariq’s advisors upon arrival, and it was likely that they’d all settled in by now.

“Your tent should be larger. I would give you mine but your husband, he is not wanting to be treated like royalty.” Arin scowled at Tariq over Jasmine’s head. The two men had bracketed her between them as soon as they’d exited. She felt like a shrimp between two very large carnivorous beasts, but one of the beasts was hers and the other appeared friendly.

“If I am in that cavern you call a tent, people will not come to me as willingly as they do if I am in something approximating their own homes.” Without breaking his stride, Tariq reached over and tugged Jasmine’s headgear around her face, protecting her from the sun. “With you it is different. They have known you their whole lives.”

With a sigh, Arin abandoned trying to get Tariq to change his mind. “This—” he waved to a small dun-colored tent “—is to be your home for the next three or four days.”

Despite the dull exterior, the interior was beautifully appointed. Colors created bright splendor through the room, in cushions scattered about and gauzy silk hangings decorating the walls. Delighted, Jasmine peeked
around the partition dividing the space and discovered a sumptuous sleeping area.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful,” she exclaimed, bestowing a dazzling smile upon Arin. He looked taken aback.

Tariq scowled. “You will go now,” he ordered. “I wish to talk to my wife about the smiles she gives away so easily.”

Arin laughed good-naturedly and left, but not before he threw Jasmine a wink. She ran to her husband and tugged his head down for a kiss. He picked her up off her feet to facilitate the soft, urgent caress.

“That is permissible, Mina.” He set her down on her feet. “You are welcome to kiss me at any time.”

“Gee, thanks.” She stepped back to escape him but he was too quick. Tariq held her against him, his hands splayed over her bottom. When she wiggled, he took mercy on her and slid his hands to her waist. “Why did you forbid me to smile at your friend?”

“Because women like him too much. It is very provoking.” His complaint was without heat.

“I think he’s nice.” Her husband’s playful mood was a rare treat, one she fully intended to enjoy.

He lifted her up until they were eye to eye. “Really?”

“Mmm.” She wrapped her arms and legs around him. “But I think you’re the nicest of all.”

Tariq’s grin was pure male. Her reward for her honesty was a kiss that was so hot, she felt singed.

T
HEY ATE DINNER WITH
A
RIN
and other members of the camp in Arin’s huge tent. Jasmine liked being able to watch her sheik among his people. He was magnificent. Charisma flowed from him like a physical substance,
bright and clear and utterly seductive. People listened when he spoke, and answered his questions without hesitation, basking in his attention.

“Your accommodations are suitable?” Arin asked.

She had to force herself to look away from her husband, aware that the moment she did so, Tariq glanced at her. His obvious awareness of her, even in the midst of a busy dinner, warmed her to her toes.

“They’re lovely. Thank you.” She smiled. “I’ve been forbidden to smile at you because women like you too much.”

Arin stroked his neat beard. “It is a curse I must bear. It makes finding a wife difficult.”

Jasmine thought she’d misunderstood. “Difficult?”

“Yes.” He looked mournful. “How can a man pick one lovely fruit when every day he is confronted with an orchard?”

She clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her laugh at his outrageousness. No wonder he and Tariq were friends. Right then, her husband tugged at her hand. Though he was talking to someone else, it was an unmistakable sign that he wanted her attention on him. She knew that he wasn’t really worried about Arin’s affect on women, so his possessiveness puzzled her.

“He is like a child, unwilling to share you,” Arin whispered, leaning over. “He is correct in this.”

She ignored the last part of that statement and concentrated on the first. It was true. Tariq was unwilling to share her—sometimes. He liked having her interact with his people and make friends such as Mumtaz, so he was no controlling oppressor. However, he seemed to want to keep her close.

What she didn’t know was whether he wanted her near because he needed her, or because he didn’t trust her out of his sight. She swallowed her hurt at the possibility that it was the latter, and smiled brightly at the woman sitting across from him. Taking that as a sign of encouragement, the woman drew Jasmine into conversation.

“T
ODAY
, I
INTEND TO VIEW
several Zulheil Rose mines.” Tariq finished his breakfast the next morning and stretched. The power and beauty of his impressive musculature made Jasmine catch her breath. “It will require hard riding, so unfortunately you cannot accompany me.”