The Healer's Warrior (26 page)

Tareq breathed deeply, his heart racing and swelling with the joy of a desire being fulfilled, the desire to make her his. He looked at her so lovingly that it made Jem’ya’s heart ache. Tareq’s large hands went to her sides. He rubbed circles against her hip bones with his thumbs. Jem’ya stiffened, fighting her yearnings for control. Then Tareq brushed the fingertips of one hand across the rise of her breasts. She arched her back in response to the pleasurable burn his touch left on her skin. Her tenacity was fading to nothing.

Tareq leaned forward and planted soft kisses on her throat with his warm, firm lips. Her eyelids grew heavy. Her head tilted back and her hand cupped his head. She was melting. His lips warmed her jawbone, right below her ear. “Whatever you want,
Mahsalom
,” he whispered against her skin. Then he kissed her mouth. His lips took possession of hers as he hugged her body closer to his. She kissed him back for too long, enjoyed the slow caress of his tongue against hers too much, and forgot her resentment too quickly. Tareq pulled his mouth away. His hazel eyes were sparkling. “Don’t leave tomorrow. I love you.”

Jem’ya froze. “No you don’t,” she said instantly. She didn’t believe him. She couldn’t believe him. He probably said that to all the women he bedded. It was only sweet words, words that had made her foolish and compliant to a selfish man in the past.

Tareq slid his hand into his left pocket and took out the pearl and gold earrings. Jem’ya’s eyes brightened. He put them into her pierced lobes as he looked into her eyes and convinced her of his sincerity. “I love you, Jem’ya. You are my weakness. It was not the immense beauty of the sea that brought me time and again across the harsh desert. It was your beauty, your power and your depth. Your grace and kindness refreshes me like an oasis of cool water. I want to dive below your surface.” He kissed her lips. “I welcome the peace of drowning in you. I need you to be mine.” Jem’ya’s mouth was trembling. He kissed her again, longing to comfort her and to help her see the truth of his heart.

He thought about the ring in his other pocket. It was his mother’s. Not the gaudy emerald wedding band his father gave her, but the other ring, the gold one with the pearl surrounded by a ring of rubies and diamonds. It was perfect for Jem’ya. Pearls were from the sea, their favorite place. In his mind, it was farfetched that Jem’ya would accept his proposal, but his heart needed to try, before he let her go and regret it the rest of his life. The prophet had said that his love would be reciprocated. 
Let it be Jem’ya.

Jem’ya mentally struggled to pull away from Tareq’s kiss.
Remember what he is. Remember what you are.
She separated her lips from his and caught her breath. “Tareq, you may have me. But first what you must do is leave my people alone. Set them free. Stop expanding your kingdom into our homeland. Relinquish the Black African states that you have annexed and let all of the slaves go.  In exchange, I will give myself to you. I offer you seven nights of passion with me. This arrangement would benefit both of us. We can each have what we want.” She searched his darkening eyes.

Tareq’s face grew serious. His hands felt cold on her hips. His gaze fell to her stomach. “Do you love me?”

She was silent, unable to think of what to say. She didn’t want to admit to him or to herself that she still loved him. It would only complicate the deal. “I want you,” she finally uttered.

He met her eyes. His were red with hurt. “You don’t love me?”

Jem’ya’s eyes filled with tears. She looked away.

Tareq removed his hands from her hips and rested them on the arms of his chair. “Get off of me.”

Trembling with shame, Jem’ya slid off of his lap and stood against the balcony railing, avoiding his angry eyes.  

Tareq got up from his chair and stared at the woman he
loved,
trying to calm down, but his heart was afire with outrage. “Are you a whore, Jem’ya?” The question got her to look him in the eye, but she remained quiet. “You’d lay down with someone you don’t love? I confess that I am in love with you and you decide to barter with my feelings? Answer me.” Still, she said nothing. Tareq took her silence as an admission of guilt. “You are a whore and a commoner! The prophet warned me that you would
ruin
me and my kingdom!”

“The only thing ruining Samhia is your greed!” Jem’ya yelled.
“How can I be a whore if I am a virgin?!
I would only be one of many women ‘the fated one’ keeps in his royal harem and soils with his debauchery.
You
are the whore,” she growled.  

He laughed coldly and gripped the back of the chair. “If I had a harem, and all I wanted was for you to spread your legs to me, don’t you think you’d already be in it?
Hmm?”
Jem’ya remained quiet. He slammed his fist against the top of the chair. “I am
king
now. With the snap of my fingers I can have whatever I damn well want, but I
never
have and
never
will
have a harem. Why? Because a whore is not what I want!” Tareq kicked the chair so hard it flew against the railing.

Jem’ya flinched as it crashed loudly near where she was standing. She grew frightened that he might hit her.

“I’ve not lain down with
any
woman! What I want is
one
woman,
one
wife!” he roared. He dug the engagement ring out of his pocket. He plucked it out by his pointer finger. He held up the ring. It slid down to the second joint of his finger. “I was as foolish as my father was to think that my wife could be a commoner like you. Your horse and carriage will be ready in the morning.” He started to walk away, but stopped before he reached the drapes. He turned and glared at her. “By the way, Jem’ya, I freed every slave in Samhia the very same day they crowned me king.” He pushed through the drapes and left his bedroom.

Bahja was walking down the hall when she saw Tareq storm out of his room. He turned left, not seeing her. Bahja hurried to his room to look for Jem’ya. She followed the sound of the girl’s crying. Bahja parted the curtains in front of the balcony and saw Jem’ya sitting on the ground sobbing, a broken overturned chair beside her. Bahja knelt next to her and embraced her. “What happened, Lady Jem’ya?”

“He wanted to marry me,” she whimpered, still in shock. “He wanted to marry me.” Jem’ya was in deep emotional pain. Her heart and soul were torn and bleeding. What was more important?
Her family’s love or Tareq’s love?
She couldn’t have both. She couldn’t.

Later, Bahja rushed into Tareq’s study, furious.
“Tareq, why are you sending Jem’ya away?!”

He looked up from his papers, irritated. “Were you not the one that told me from the beginning to let her go?”

“That was before I saw you cry for her.
And her for you.”

Tareq shook his head.

“Tareq, I saw you hold her and kiss her forehead when she was weak with hunger. I’ve seen your eyes covet her as though she is the most beautiful woman in the world. You trusted her enough to talk about your mother’s death. I saw you laugh with her in the garden. Your heart dances and sings for her, and now you are tossing her away?”

Tareq grew angry.
Yes, yes, Auntie! All of that is painfully true, but she does not love me!
He stood up from his desk. “I want her belongings wrapped up, ready for transport, by morning. Am I clear?”

Teary eyed, Bahja wagged her finger at him. “I will not forgive you of this.” She dashed out of the room.

Bahja was like a mother to him. It hurt Tareq greatly that she was so disgusted with his behavior. She didn’t seem to understand how much he was hurting. He rubbed at his burning eyes a moment. Then Tareq took command of his emotions, lowered himself into his chair and continued reading the scrolls.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The morning sun was not yet sweltering. The chill of a desert night lingered in the air. Tareq was standing before the open glass doors to his balcony, observing the horse keepers in the courtyard who were saddling Empress and attaching a carriage to her harnesses. Between Tareq’s thumb and pointer finger was the pearl ring. He absentmindedly polished the golden ring with his fingertips, waiting to see Jem’ya walk out of his palace.

The blood stain that was once on the balcony was now gone. There was no trace that Kaliq had ever been laying in a bloody heap at that spot. Soon there would be no sign that Jem’ya had ever been in Tareq’s life except for an added barricade to his emotional defenses and some memories that would eventually fade. There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” he answered, distracted.

“Tareq.”

At the sound of her voice, his breathing paused and his skin was flushed with heat. The atmosphere in the room became heavy and humid with longing and anger. He dropped the ring into the breast pocket of his black tunic shirt. He turned his head toward his shoulder but was unable to look at her. “Jem’ya.” He listened to her footsteps as she neared. She stood behind him, close enough that her fragrant scent filled his nose. He turned his face to the courtyard again.

Nervous, Jem’ya clutched at the skirt of her white dress. “I want to ask you a question.”

“Ask it,” he responded.

“Tareq, if I go, who will be your healer?”

He huffed. “What do you care? You have what you want. I’ve freed the slaves and you’re free of me.”

“I never really wanted to be free of you. And I never really wanted to use you, but I saw an opportunity to protect my people and I could not let it pass.”

“The fact that you believed I did not have even the
capacity
to respect your people and respect you…I am insulted beyond words. I don’t understand how a friend would rather scam me than speak to me. You say you are my friend yet you do not know my heart at all. Don’t worry about who will be my healer. I’ll find another. I’m sure there are other healers just like you.” Tareq was caught by surprise at the feel of Jem’ya’s hand in his hair.

“But she will not know you as I do.” She combed her fingers through his hair, massaging and stroking the nape of his neck. “Her manner is not like mine. Her hands are not mine.” Jem’ya saw his shoulders relax and then tense again.

Tareq’s stomach clenched with pangs of yearning. He moved his head away from her touch. “You don’t have to pretend anymore that touching me isn’t revolting to you.” He turned to her. Soft brown eyes instantly demolished his defenses.
I overreacted last night. She made a mistake and her intentions were unselfish. My mistakes and bad decisions have been so insensitive and rash that I cannot bear to list them.

“I don’t have to pretend anything. My willingness is real.” Jem’ya massaged his shoulders. She stepped closer to him. “I was resentful then, but I have since forgiven you.”

Tareq was floored. He had her forgiveness. One of his biggest wishes had come true. He was struck right in the heart by piercing remorse.

Jem’ya’s hands began to tingle. She sensed she should move her hands lower, to the middle of his chest. Her hands slid from his shoulders, down to the spot. Her mouth parted in wonder as she felt something she’d never experienced before. Rather than a sensation of increasing heat, it was undulating like an ocean’s waves and consistent. “I can feel it.
The pain in your heart.”
She grew sad. Her healing powers could not alleviate his pain. Only a heart can heal another heart. Jem’ya gazed up into his moist eyes. “If you could feel how much my heart is aching, torn between the family I love…and the man that I love,” her voice trembled as she searched his eyes, “if you could feel the pain that is in mine, would you still send me away?”

He grasped her hand that was on his chest. “If I knew that you loved me as I love you, I would keep you by my side always, and I would do everything and anything to be a healer to you.”

She sighed at his words and took his hand. She pressed it over her heart. “Then, please, try to feel it.” Tears dripped down her face, down her chin and fell onto Tareq’s arm.

The tears trickling down his forearm reminded him of being a boy and feeling the drops of water from his mother’s wet hair on his skin. He was sure his mother’s spirit was blessing their union.