MasterofSilk (6 page)

Only to wish she hadn’t.

One envelope contained a check for two thousand dollars, the
pay-to line left blank, with a request that Silk dance for the fundraising
event. The other contained an invitation to meet him at the Red Mask again on
Saturday with the added sentence that he was a lonely man without the pleasure
of his beautiful dancer’s company.

Mierda.
Saladar was not going to make her decision
easier or help to soothe her emotions in any way at all.

Swallowing down a groan of self-pity, Isabella considered
her options. Two thousand dollars would go a long way to help the food bank,
especially for such a small amount of her time. She was probably going to have
to show up at the fundraiser anyway and it would be silly to let her
indiscretion stand in the way of such a generous donation.

She could manage to avoid Zayne until then, she decided. Since
the fundraiser was only another week away it wouldn’t do any harm to wait until
after it was over to talk to him about transferring his medical records. It
would make it so much easier on both of them, she rationalized.

The tryst at the Red Mask was most definitely out. No way
was she crazy enough to spend another night in his arms, not after falling so
ridiculously hard for the man. She dialed Madame Brisson’s number and left a
message on the machine, feeling her mood tank completely.

But she had a full day at the office in the morning and
another night on call so she tucked the letters away and turned off the light,
hoping she might actually fall asleep. Luckily she was tired enough that she
managed to snooze for a couple of hours before her cell rang and she headed
back to the hospital, certain this was justified punishment for her nights of
wicked pleasure.

By Saturday morning Isabella was dead on her feet. She
napped through lunch and was surly from lack of food by early afternoon so she
wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to who was calling when the phone
vibrated in her pocket. She nearly bit her tongue when she heard Zayne’s voice,
cold and bleak as ocean waves stirred up by a storm.

“Dr. Seda. You will meet me for dinner tonight, six o’clock
sharp. If I do not see you then, I will assume you are purposely avoiding me
and will take serious offense.”

Oh dear God, she did not need this now. But she didn’t want
him to think she was being deliberately rude and she needed to eat. Luckily it
looked as though there was enough lull in the action she could take a brief
break for dinner. “I’ll meet you at the King Street Grille. It’s just a couple
of blocks from Charleston Memorial. Six is fine.”

“Excellent.” He still didn’t sound the least bit happy, she
thought as she heard him click off. Well that made two of them. If he wanted a
fight he was liable to get one this evening.

She didn’t even bother to check her appearance as she left
the hospital and made her way down the street. Rain clouds scudded across the
sky, the day as gloomy as her mood. All she needed now was for the sky to open
and drench her in an icy rain. Or not, she amended as a cold drop inched down
her neck.

Zayne, on the other hand, was immaculately dressed, from his
pristine white shirt down to his tight black jeans, his expression closed as
she made her way to the table where he sat.

“Good evening,” he said stonily, standing as she sat, his
eyes raking over every line of stress on her face. “Are you well, Doctor?” His
tone softened somewhat.

“I’m fine.” She sniffed the heady aroma of coffee. “Smells
wonderful. May I?” He nodded as she helped herself to a cup. “I’ve been on
twenty-four-hour call at the hospital all week. Flu season and we’ve had some
doctors come down with the bug.”

“I see. So this is why you have turned down all my
invitations.”

“I’m sorry but I’ve barely had time to sleep, much less do
anything else. And I can’t be too far away for too long, which is why I asked
you to meet me here.”

“Then I shall not take offense.” The grim set to his mouth
smoothed itself away. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“A nice hot dinner will be quite enough.”

The food was excellent and as they ate they both relaxed,
with Zayne describing some of his early adventures. He’d traveled the world
extensively, seeing places Isabella had only dreamed of.

He seemed content to talk about his life, so she gathered up
her courage and broached the one subject he always seemed to avoid.

“Tell me about your wife.” Isabella folded her hands on the
table. “I would love to know more about the woman who is the inspiration behind
our magnificent new center. She must have been remarkable.” The stab of
jealousy that stuck in her chest was hurriedly thrust out.

Zayne took a long time to answer and she had almost
convinced herself she had dug too far into his personal space when he leaned
back in his chair and crossed one long leg over the other. But Isabella could
read the tension present in every line of his frame, despite his attempt to
remain collected.

“She was brilliant. Passionate.” His voice was so soft she
had to lean close to hear. “Ours was an arranged marriage but we were both
Western-educated and liberal and came to care deeply for each other over time.”

“Was she beautiful?” She’d asked the question without
thought and now it hung like a blade between them, sharp enough to make
Isabella wish she could vanish from his sight. One of his hands reached out to
smooth her hair across her cheek, embarrassment causing her to her to duck her
head as she saw the frown that marred his expression.

“Yes…very beautiful.” Another stab of jealousy bit into her
heart, this one not so easily turned aside.

To her utter shock he reached out and took her chin in his fingers.
She shuddered as she remembered those same long fingers fastening the delicate
clamps around her nipples before reaching so deep between her legs she thought
she’d never survive the pleasure. “In many ways you remind me of Laylia.” His
thumb brushed across her marred cheek. “You have the same drive, the same
concern for others.”

With a sigh he let her go and reached to pour another cup of
coffee. “Shall I tell you a story?”

Isabella nodded, resisting the impulse to cradle her cheek
as if she could somehow capture his touch and keep it with her forever. But she
had always been enthralled by the sound of his voice. It soothed across her
senses like silk, the purr of his accent enough to make her body burn with
need. And she needed the distraction.

“I would love to hear a story.” She smiled when she saw the
glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes and the way his lips twisted up at the
corners.

“Once, in the beginning, the desert was ruled by djinn and
other minor gods who believed men were nothing more than playthings created for
their amusement. And they coveted perfection above all else.” He ran his tongue
across his lips, making her heart flutter.

“In those days, there was a carpet maker,” he continued
after taking a drink of coffee, “who created works of such perfect beauty, they
were sold to princes and kings for exorbitant sums of gold. One king—having not
enough money in his coffers—even gave the carpet maker his daughter’s hand in
marriage in exchange for one of the excellently crafted rugs. Seeing this, the
immortals came to covet the works of this craftsman with an obsession, stealing
every new one he finished. One djinn even went so far as to steal the man’s wife,
the princess, for hers was a beauty unmatched by other mortal women.” He
stopped and popped a strawberry into his mouth, his lips twisting up sensuously
at the corners.

Despite herself Isabella giggled at his obvious relish in
telling the story. The same relish with which he’d seduced her before, his sexual
appetite as exotic as his stories. “So did the carpet maker give up his trade
and turn to camel herding instead?” She took a strawberry herself and nibbled
on the sweet, fresh fruit.

Zayne chuckled, a sound that tingled along her skin. Damn,
if a man could pleasure a woman by the sound of his voice alone she felt
certain Zayne could with his tales of magical creatures and the history of his
desert home.

“Oh, no, no, no.” His eyes flashed with a dark fire as he
shook his head and gazed at her under the cover of his thick, black lashes. “The
carpet maker was a very clever man. He realized that if he wove the smallest of
flaws into his rugs the djinn and other immortals would have no use for his
carpets and would never again grow jealous of his skill or plague his
household.” Now he leaned forward and touched the back of her hand so lightly
she barely felt the contact. But her heart pounded in her ears and her chest
tightened so she could barely take a breath.

“Since then many other artists weave such a flaw into their
works so that they do not reawaken the gods of old and tempt them with
perfection. And indeed these imperfections do not detract from the beauty of a
thing but add a uniqueness that is prized even more highly.” Before she guessed
his intent he had moved his hand to tuck back the curtain of her hair, baring
her scars again to his intense and mesmerizing stare. “Do not hide your
imperfections, Isabella. They add to your beauty in ways you do not fully
understand.”

“So was your Laylia perfect? Is that why the immortals
snatched her away from you?” Had she really asked such a rude question? She
wished she hadn’t as she saw his expression shutter.

“Laylia was far from perfect.” He shut his eyes and
hesitated, as if uncertain he wanted to continue the conversation. “She was
angry at her country, angry at her God. She was angry at so many things beyond
her control that I grew concerned for her safety. I wanted to protect her, keep
her from being harmed. In my eagerness to save her I became the thing she hated
most—a husband who took away her power.”

Now he uncrossed his legs and moved back toward her, his
eyes as dark as a moonless night. “It took me many months to realize I had lost
her affection. Where once she admired and respected the freedom I gave her, she
grew resentful of my demands that she cease her protests and focus on our
marriage. She refused. She became involved with a man who promised to let her
do anything she desired and she planned to leave me after we returned from a
last humanitarian trip to Iraq.”

“Where she was killed.”

“Yes.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” When she saw the guilt he tried to
hide she reached out to close her hand around his. “You know that, right?”

He shrugged but did not take his hand from hers. “I have
spent many years trying to dissect my feelings and yet I still cannot help but
feel I played some part in her death. If I had given her more freedom…if I had
tried to better understand her thoughts perhaps she would have been more
content with what I had to offer.”

“Or not.” Isabella finally pulled away. She did not want to
feel his pain from the loss of another woman. “There are many of us who are not
satisfied with just being a wife or a mother.”

“I understand that now.” He leaned forward and placed his
elbows on the table, steepling his fingers together. “So you will tell me
something in exchange for all I’ve shared with you.” He pointed one finger at
her cheek. “How did this happen? Did someone hurt you?” His voice promised that
if they had he would hunt them down and make them pay. Isabella shuddered. She
had not seen this cruel side of his nature. And yet it aroused her, made her
feel as if he truly cared.

“No. Nothing like that. It was an accident, mostly my fault.
I was fifteen and out with a friend. We were bored and in our stupidity decided
to borrow a friend’s car. Neither of us had our driver’s license but we weren’t
going far, just around the corner.”

He raised one pitch-black eyebrow. “A night of mischief that
did not go as expected.”

“Janelle was driving but I grabbed the wheel and tried to
spin us into a doughnut. We lost control. Rammed into a wall. I hit my head on
the window as it smashed. The glass sliced all the way to the bone and shredded
the skin. This was the best surgery could manage.”

“It managed well enough, Isabella,” he told her gently, “compared
to some of the terrible things I have seen.”

Her cell rang, breaking into the silence that fell between
them. With an apologetic glance at Zayne she answered before slipping it back
into her pocket with a sigh. “Work. I’m sorry, I have to go.”

“But you will be my guest next week? I will not take no for
an answer.” He stood with her, putting his own cell to his ear. “My driver will
drop you off at the hospital. Thank you for your company this evening.” He
bowed over her hand, always formal and polite…except in the bedroom.

It gave her a thrill of satisfaction to know she was the
only one in the city to have ever seen his dangerous side. But it also brought a
deepening depression she would never see that side of him again.

“I will be there next week, I promise.” She stuffed her
hands into her pockets to keep from doing something stupid, like kissing him
until they both forgot to breathe. Instead she turned and walked away, feeling
his eyes linger on her until she’d been safely secured in the backseat of his
car, missing his company with a desperation that made her want to cry.

By the time the night of the fundraiser arrived Isabella
hoped she had everything planned, although the thought of all that could go
wrong was enough to keep her tossing and turning well into morning.

She had decided to wear her hair in a simple knot at her
neck that could be taken down for her dance and easily put back up again. A
plain black dress and heels completed her ordinary attire and she had opted to
wear a
galabeya
dress for her costume, a one-piece gown and hip scarf in
traditional Egyptian style, which could be put on and taken off within a couple
of minutes.

Her veil was a single swath of silk she attached to her hair
with a comb on top and then draped around her face. But the
galabeya
was
slit on either side most of the way up her thighs and her hip scarf jingled
with tons of coins and beads and bells.

Stashing her costume in the trunk of her car—she had sternly
declined Zayne’s offer of his limo—Isabella sat behind the wheel and gave
herself a last look in the visor mirror. She had mostly recovered from the
nightmare of the week before—at least the dark circles beneath her eyes were
less noticeable beneath a layer of concealer and powder. Her makeup was simple,
as befitted Dr. Seda, but she had several pieces of stick-on rhinestones she
could use to add pop to her appearance during the performance.

All in all, she was satisfied she could play both her
required parts that night with no one leaving any the wiser. Especially Zayne
Saladar.

And after tonight they would be finished.

Disappointment threatened to drown her completely as she
started the car and made her way across town. She had tried to find another
solution to the situation. When they’d had their last dinner together she’d
wanted to confess innumerable times but humiliation had made her mute in his
company. How do you admit to a comparative stranger that you dream of being his
slave forever and you will never find another man who knows just exactly what
you need in bed? Or that you deceived him and broke several ethical and
professional policies in the process and that you wanted so much more if only
he would give you a chance at a normal relationship?

And he hadn’t made a single effort to contact her in days.
No calls, no texts, no risqué invitations. Well what had she expected—him to
fall to his knees and beg for Silk’s affection or woo the scarred Dr. Seda in
her place?

Not in the real world.

With her head held high she walked into the Gaston
Plantation restaurant, awed by the amount of local celebrities present. She saw
Ryan Marquis and his fiancée Alaina Winter drinking champagne with Manette
Brisson, who had a magnificent Asian American man on her arm. On the other side
of the room was a veritable throng of people she recognized as being born into
old Charleston money, who were listening to Zayne as if he’d cast a desert
spell upon them. Which he had. His voice was magic. She’d heard it often enough
to know.

Music was already playing on the temporary stage as she
accepted a glass of wine from a passing server. She had worked with the band
before and they already knew Silk was dancing later in the evening. Satisfied,
she made her way to the elaborate buffet.
Plenty of protein and vegetables
,
she noted in approval, grabbing a huge cocktail shrimp and dipping it in the
spicy sauce. Then she checked her watch, noting it was nearing eight and
wondering if Zayne had eaten yet.

It took most of her willpower not to corner him and ask what
he’d had to eat and when, as though she had a personal right to the
information. So she made herself a plate instead, sitting in a corner where she
could continue to watch Zayne and his retinue.

But as eight thirty rolled around with Zayne having no
interruption from his bevy of admirers Isabella began to worry in earnest—especially
when she saw him reach for a second glass of champagne. Alcohol lowered blood
sugar and, especially if he hadn’t eaten, could pose a potentially dangerous
situation. With a frown she put her own dinner aside, stood and made him a
plate of food before carrying it over to where he was regaling the crowd with
another of his marvelous stories.

“And then the djinn led the maiden by the hand—oh, good
evening, Isabella!” he said with a smile that took her breath away. “I did not
see you come in. You all know Dr. Isabella Seda.” He placed his hand at the
small of her back. “My most excellent physician.”

She smiled and shook hands with several people, sticking
close to Zayne’s side, even as someone else moved in to capture his attention.
He was obviously having a marvelous time and by the checks she saw handed to
him on numerous occasions was doing an excellent job in garnering donations for
his cause.

And while she didn’t want to be the pooper to his party
Isabella shook her head at the server who came to offer him another glass of
champagne, shoving the plate of food into his hands instead.

“When did you eat?” she demanded, turning her head to
whisper in his ear.

“Not too long ago,” he replied, snaking his arm around her
waist to pull her closer. “A late lunch. Do not worry.” He finally paid
attention to the plate in his hands. “This smells excellent. I will just go
stick my finger first.”

Before she could utter a word in protest he handed her back
the food and made his way toward the bathroom but was stopped several times by
those eager to offer their congratulations or press another check into his
hand.

Damn the man.

Still, he finally managed to get to his destination and she
took a deep breath of relief when she saw him crossing the room toward her a
few moments later.

“Eat.” She handed him the plate again. “Now.”

“Of course, of course.” He took a few bites of roast beef
and steamed broccoli then followed them up with a couple of the cocktail shrimp
before he was waylaid again by another of his admirers.

And while Isabella wanted to remain and make certain he
finished the entire plate of food a quick look at the clock told her it was
time to get ready for her performance. She slipped away while Zayne was
explaining to a potential donor his plans for the Saladar Center and why he had
decided to build in Charleston.

It took very little time to grab her costume and enter via a
back exit, where she had been given a private room to change in. In less than
fifteen minutes Isabella had transformed herself into Silk, ready to give the
performance of her life.

The bandleader saw her when she came up behind the stage.
With a nod he finished the song they were playing and stepped up to the
microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, please turn your attention to the stage and
give a great big round of applause for Silk!”

As the beat picked up tempo she whirled into the spotlight,
hips bumping in perfect time to the rhythm, shoulders shimmying in invitation.

The crowd clapped and roared their approval as she made her
way across the stage, letting the song settle into her soul. She loved to
dance, had loved it since she was a child. Isabella was swept away by the music
as it seeped into her muscles, forging a bond that took away all her self-doubt
and insecurities as she melded with the beat.

She was beautiful. She was mysterious. She was the most
desirable woman in the world…and Zayne Saladar had better understand what he
would soon be missing.

She looked for him as she swirled to the other side of the
stage, catching his eye as he smiled and made his way toward her, his hand
still holding the mostly full plate. The bastard hadn’t eaten anything at all,
she realized as she saw him stumble, try to take another step then fall to his
knees on the floor.

Isabella sprinted, reaching him as he passed out, the crowd
gasping as she caught him, lowering him slowly enough he would not smash his
head on the hard wood. “Call an ambulance!” she yelled as Zayne started to have
a seizure, his jaw snapping shut hard. Frantically she searched in his pockets
for the glucagon injection he should have on hand for such emergencies and said
a quick prayer of gratitude when her fingers closed around the syringe.

“I hope this hurts,” she whispered as she plunged the needle
into his thigh, fighting down a wave of panic. “Then maybe next time you’ll
know enough to eat.” She closed her fingers around his wrist to check the
strength of his pulse. Although it had started to steady he was still drenched
in sweat so she took off his tie and undid the buttons of his shirt, snatching
her veil off in frustration when it slid over her eyes. She didn’t give a damn
who saw her now. Her only thought was to get Zayne stabilized and rushed to the
hospital.

She stayed with him in the ambulance—everyone knew who she
was as soon as they saw her face—and held his hand as they wheeled him into the
emergency room, reassured when he opened his eyes and squeezed her hand in
return.

“You bottomed out.” She held the oxygen in place beneath his
nose when he shook his head and tried to take it off. “And if you don’t quit
fighting me and do exactly as I say I swear I will kill you myself to keep from
trying to save your idiotic ass another time. Got that? What the hell were you
thinking?” Worry made her curt.

He had the decency to look chagrined. “I was thinking I was
happy with my life for the first time in since Laylia died and that she would
have been proud of the Saladar Center.” The familiar jealousy shot Isabella
through the heart as he spoke. “Then I was thinking how beautiful you looked
onstage and how much I had grown to enjoy your company—both in and out of my
bed.” Now the jealousy was replaced with affection for the man who rattled her
control as he reached out to touch her cheek.

“You look good enough to eat, my lovely Isabella.” He winked.

“If you’d eaten we wouldn’t be in this mess,” she retorted, fighting
the urge to stretch out on the bed beside him.

“That is not what I meant.” He ran his thumb among the
inside of her arm. “But I will allow you to defy me just this once.”

“Really? How generous.”

“That is twice.” His voice had regained a measure of its
strength and the threat curled along her spine, bringing with it a welcome and
familiar need.

Along with the knowledge he had seen through her ruse. “How
long have you known?”

“Since that first day in your office. I had watched you
dance so many times before, I knew the exact color of your eyes and line of
your body—even beneath the baggy clothes you wear to work. Which you will
continue to do.”

“And why is that?” She could not help but bait him after all
the worry he’d put her through.

“Because I refuse to have my woman leered at by every man in
this entire city.”

“Your woman?” She couldn’t resist running her hand down his
chest. “I thought you’d grown tired of me.”

He turned his head to run his teeth across her palm, his
eyes smoldering with a fire she had grown to crave. “Never. I knew you needed
time to realize how much you cared for me and I
am
a generous man.” His
mouth twisted into an arrogant smile.

“Yes, you are,” she admitted, her heart filled with pride.
He gave tirelessly of his time and money and she admired his kindness of
spirit. “Now shut up and sleep.”

After all, he had to learn he was not the master in every
situation.

He nodded and tried to smile, but closed his eyes again as
Isabella barked orders to the resident on call. Only then did she realize she
still wore her costume and had given her entire charade away to everyone in
town.

By 3:00 a.m. Zayne was sleeping soundly so Isabella decided
to sneak out and change, finding a pair of scrubs that would work nicely. But
the head nurse caught her before she’d taken off her costume, giving her a
conspiring look.

“We are all so glad you have finally come out of the closet,
Dr. Seda.” She did nothing to hide the grin on her face.

“You know?”

“We all know and most of us have watched you at the Oasis,
but we didn’t want to blow your cover.”

“I guess I am not as clever as I think.” Isabella sighed,
heading for the lounge.

“But you
are
fabulous,” the nurse added sincerely as
the door closed between them.

* * * * *

She refused to leave Zayne’s side all night and when he was
released in the morning she insisted on accompanying him home, not caring that
her makeup was in shambles and her hair a tumbled mess. Although Zayne assured
her he would be perfectly fine, when she saw he was still living in a hotel at
the edge of town she insisted he come home with her. He accepted her offer with
a grin that made her heart flutter.

“We will sleep in your bed together with no masks between
us, yes, my lovely?”

“Yes, my sultan,” she whispered in his ear, delighted when
he leaned over and brushed her mouth with his.

Zayne seemed to take up every inch of space in her apartment
when they arrived. His presence was a force she could not ignore despite the
fact she was consumed with nerves knowing what he would demand of her later.

He looked around, nodding in approval before he took his bag
into her bedroom and sat it on the floor. “I look forward to tonight.” He
quirked a brow in her direction, watching while she fidgeted with her hair, now
smoothing it over her cheek, now brushing it back when she saw his disapproval.

Making love to him without the mask was going to be a study
in courage, Isabella acknowledged as she forced herself to raise her face to
his.

“Much better,” he approved, moving to trace a finger down her
cheek. “And I would take you now but I feel certain you require me to check my
blood sugar and eat before doing anything physical.”

“No strenuous activity for you at all,” she shot back,
jerking her head toward the bathroom.