The Surrender of a Lady (13 page)

“Let me ease this, my lord,” she suggested with a firm caress over his cock. His ears weren’t mistaken, her voice was thready, aroused.

“No. Not yet. I just need to soak you up. God, Jinan, how easily you get under my skin.”

He thrust her head back tight between his hands, and placed a hard kiss against her veiled mouth. He felt her lips part under his, her hands clasp the material of his shirt on either side to pull it free of his trousers. There was no sense in delaying the inevitable. He let her remove his shirt, and loosen his trousers. She managed to push them and his smalls so far as his hips, before he hiked up her silk scarves and pressed her back to the carpeted floor.

He sank into her wet, tight warmth and held himself still, burying his face between her breasts as he pushed them together. Gently biting the side of one, then the next, before he thrust up deep inside her, eliciting sweet sounds of pleasure from her lips.

He moved one hand up to clasp her throat, not too tight, but enough to feel her swallow against his palm. She arched up into his body, taking him deeper. Then his control snapped, and he was pounding into her, the sound of wet flesh slapping together almost as loud as his groans and her mewls. He came to his crisis after a few quick strokes, his body jerking the last of his seed into her womb as he collapsed atop her. He stayed that way, long enough to catch his breath, long enough to be comforted by her soft, pliant body. She said nothing, only breathed in rapid unison with him, running her hands over the length of his back.

Pulling himself to his feet, he shucked his clothes off, helped her to stand and yanked on the material that held her scarves in place. With the sharp tug, the golden rope fell to her feet, then she helped him slide the material down her shoulders, over her hips until it, too, pooled on the rug.

She looked at him a long moment. “How long do you stay this time, my lord?”

“For the remainder of the contract.” He ran his finger along the veil’s edge. “I won’t leave for more than a day or two with our time coming to an end.”

He held his hand out to her, inviting her to join him on the divan. She placed her hand in his, and let him lead her to the bed. He lay down on his side and pulled her body in snug to his, till her back pressed flush to his chest. “What did you do while I was away?”

She turned her head enough that she could see him. What was she looking for in his gaze? She seemed reluctant to say something. Or perhaps she needed to edit her words. “I spent my days in the garden. It’s beautiful this time of year, with the fruit trees flowering.”

“Is that all there is to do in the harem quarters?” He trailed a path down her arm with one finger, watching the gooseflesh rise as he did so.

“We spend our mornings in the harem bath. Our afternoons are either spent teaching new girls to dance, or in language lessons.”

“Did you have to learn to speak the language when you came here? What’s your first language, Jinan?”

She stalled too long to make it a believable lie. “Turkish. Why do you ask?”

So they were back to this game. Griffin rolled over to his back and tucked his hands under his head. “You’ll have to do better than that to convince me you speak the truth.”

Jinan turned to face him, her head resting on her fist. “Why do you care to know so much about me? I should think you’ll find another beauty once you’ve finished with me.”

He gave her a long assessing look. “Do you really think that? I’m not a callow youth, my fine beauty. I should hope we can renew our contract until the time comes when you are bored with me.”

She gave a low, husky laugh. “I don’t think one would easily be bored with you. You are a generous lover.”

“Is that all I am, Jinan? I try to uncover even the smallest of your secrets and you shut yourself off from me. You’re like a damned impenetrable treasure chest.”

She placed her warm palm against his chest, her fingers drawing circles through the blond hair there. Placing his fingers under her chin, he tipped her face to the side. “Remove your veil for me, Jinan. I want to see the real woman.”

“This is the one thing I cannot do, my lord. This is who I am and who I will always be, with the veil in place.”

“Is it? After everything that has passed between us, you won’t remove a simple piece of cloth? How can it mean so much, when it does so little?”

She pulled away, sat up, and gave him her back as she swung her feet to the floor. There was no chance of him letting her escape so easily; she must have known it because she didn’t try to leave the divan.

Didn’t she know he would persist on this issue? Running his knuckles down her spine, he asked, “Tell me why this secrecy is so important. Who would I tell about you, Jinan?”

“It’s not that.”

“Are you afraid I’ll see something familiar in you? Recognize you from somewhere?”

Her back stiffened, her hands clenched the edge of the divan. “How could you know me?” she said so low he barely caught the words. “You from England, me from Turkey. We are worlds apart.”

I don’t think so. You give away too much with your actions
. But he did not say it aloud. Not yet. Why he held back was anyone’s guess. Maybe because he was still trying to come to terms with the power she had over his will, his control. Maybe while he was away from her his obsession had turned into something else. Something more freeing. More feeling.

Was there really a difference between obsession and love? Maybe for some people. Not for him. They were two extremes. In a person where one addiction led to another, it only seemed natural that he would form a deeper, more affectionate attachment to her. She’d long been in his thoughts and fantasies. She’d long been the root of his self-destructive path. Maybe not
the
root, but definitely the catalyst. And here he was, given the chance to clip her wings and keep her for himself after all their years apart. If only she’d let him.

He sat behind her, his naked thighs on either side of hers, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder.

Griffin resolved then that he would convince her they needed to stay together. To go on somehow. Grow together. Because he didn’t think he’d survive leaving her behind. Or having her leave him behind.

He sighed and pulled her in tighter against him. “I’m tired. Lie with me a while.”

No, he wouldn’t survive leaving her behind. She belonged with him. At his side. He’d do everything in his power to keep her there.

“I’ve upset you. I did not mean to.”

“All the traveling has worn me down. I barely slept through the last stretch of the journey. My thoughts were filled with you.”

“Then I’ve a confession, as well. There was not a day I didn’t think of you.”

“Three weeks isn’t nearly enough time with you. What will you do when the contract has finished?”

“I try not to think about it. If things were different—if our lives were different—I wonder if we would have ever come together.”

“Tell me something. What damage would be done in revealing your true self to me?”

“Is the contract, the time we spend with each other, the passion we share, not enough for you?”

“No. You are holding a larger part of yourself back from me. Your true self. I’m a greedy enough man to want all of you. Whatever the truth is, you can’t frighten me off.”

“We both know the truth. Yet we both choose not to speak of it. At least not outright.” She turned in his arms, wrapping her legs around him and locking her ankles at his back. One hand stretched up and she brushed her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp in the process. “Nothing more can come of this, Rothburn.”

“Because you refuse to share the full truth.” He closed his eyes, enjoying her soothing touch.

“No. Not at all. The truth will only hurt us more in the end.” Her fingers trailed down his arms till she found one of his hands at her back. Taking it, she placed it behind her head. “Remove my hairpins.”

His eyes drowsily looked into hers as though he could lock her in place. He didn’t give her a moment to change her mind and gripped both ends of the pins and pulled them free. The weight of the brass rings at the edge of the veil pulled it the rest of the way down.

His first thought was that she really hadn’t changed much over the last ten years. What was revealed was definitely his Elena. Her mouth was still full, her chin dainty and pointed. His second thought was that he now understood why she’d insisted on the veil. Anyone with a good eye for placing a face from the past would immediately recognize her. When she looked at him, he read sadness in her eyes.

“Is it so awful to reveal the truth to me, Ele—”

“Shh”—her hand covered his mouth before he could finish speaking—“that name is no longer mine. I told you the truth would do neither of us any good. I have given you more than I have given any man. Let that be enough between us.”

“Let me take you away from here.”

She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m afraid that is not possible. I’ve gone to great pains to make this my home. The women do not leave this place once we’ve set foot inside the palace walls. It is perhaps our fate to be star-crossed lovers. But I don’t regret your coming back into my life, even for this brief, fleeting amount of time.”

“Jinan. There is no amount of money I won’t pay to release you from this place.”

“And there is no amount of money Amir will take to let me soar free. We have three weeks left. I suggest we make the most of what we have left,” she countered.

“I’ll ask you every day until you change your mind. I can be a persuasive man when necessary.”

“Ah, but you must promise not to share the truth of my identity with anyone. You cannot let Amir know of our past. He would certainly have you removed from the palace. I told you my most frightening secret before you left. That I had feelings for a patron. It is forbidden. In truth, it is the only thing aside from leaving the island that is forbidden to us. Let us have this time together.”

“I will not give up hope on us.” When she gave a nod in understanding, he lowered his lips to hers. “You’ve given me more reason to pursue this.”

PART TWO

CHAPTER TEN

Confinement

“Does this please you, my lord?” Jinan asked in a docile, exotic voice, fingers seductively skimming her bared thigh.

His gaze followed the view she presented—one pointed toe in front, revealing the long line of her leg. The jewels and copper coins that adorned her ankles twinkled in the amber sunset that settled around the room. Rothburn’s face was shadowed so she couldn’t read his emotions. He inclined his head, his jaw squared as he concentrated on her forward progression.

The
dumbek
beat its alluring thrum. The sound vibrated through the whole of her body, triggering a lustful throb in her veins as her senses were intoxicated with anticipation. She danced and swayed to the music. Everything in the background fell away as the drums, tambourine, and vocalist enveloped her and Rothburn.

Every thrust of her hip landed on the timed beat of the drum’s
doum
. Two thrusts to her right and the drummer caressed the skin, one thrust to the left—another stroke ended the sound, then the process repeated.

She knew this tune well. It allowed her to display her body to all its advantages—her generous hips begged for a man’s strong hold, her breasts jiggled, demanding a man to latch on and suck them deep into his warm mouth. The naked glimpses of flesh beneath her scarves titillated his lordship into finding the treasure beneath the silk . . . taunting him to search out the glistening pearl.

This was her art form, her body painting a picture only to entrance and excite the observer. Though she loved to tease and play with him, she performed this seductive dance as a parting gift to him.

The
kuchi
bells chimed with every step as if to praise her coordination in this dance of seduction.

“You’re very pleasing tonight, Jinan.” His reply was hoarse, his pupils dilated in arousal.

He seemed relaxed, but she was no fool. Both were aware of the drummers in the main room and the other patrons in the Pleasure Gardens. Eunuchs stood guarding the exterior entrance, and her personal attendant stood outside the alcove, waiting to take her to her private quarters once the session concluded.

Other patrons would see her silhouette moving through the wind-caressed silks hanging around them.

There was no privacy here.

And on this night—
her last night
—with Rothburn, she wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. She opened her eyes and focused only on him and none of the distractions around them.

He was aroused. His hand cupped the bulge pressed firmly against his trousers. He worked one big hand over his straining rod in long, slow strokes—how she wanted to place her hand there, though she was equally aroused watching him thus. His head rested against the high-backed chair—the only piece of furniture besides the divan in the room—and his eyes were lowered to watch the thrust and grind of her hips.

Jinan bit her lip to muffle a sound of pleasure. She loved pleasing this man. Time spent with him was a chance to live the life she’d wanted and imagined all those years ago when she’d first laid eyes upon the Marquess of Rothburn. But that life was no more.

For their last time in each other’s arms, she would give him everything. She’d indulge in every pleasure of the senses he offered, simply for a memory. One that would have to last the rest of her life.

Fingers trailing up her inner thigh, she pulled aside the sheer fabric of the blue scarves. Rothburn, obviously pleased, grunted. Shrugging off his jacket, he made short work of his waistcoat. When it fell to the floor, the sound was reminiscent of the bells worn on her ankles. Perhaps a new bauble jangled in the pocket—a parting gift to bestow upon her.

“Take your veil down.”

She shook her head no.

“I want to see you tonight, Jinan.” His tone was oddly pleading. This man rarely pleaded. He ordered and took . . . all part of his disposition that she loved most.

Ignoring his request, Jinan reached for his lordship’s neckcloth and pulled the simple knot loose. “Do you wish to tie me, my lord?” she whispered against his lips, a scant inch from touching them.

Oh, how she wanted to take possession of his tempting mouth. The need to press her lips to his burned in the pit of her belly, branding her insides as hot as the desert air that swept through the palace during high summer.

Did he understand the power he held over her love-hungry heart?

Her warm breath mingled hot with his as she waited for his answer. The silk separating them shifted back and forth with each of their exhalations, tickling her jaw and chin. So tempting.

One of his hands brushed over her hip, her breast, down her arm, causing a delightful shiver in its wake. He relieved her of the neckcloth and remained silent for some moments. “Turn around.” The firmness returned to his voice.

Her eyes met his in what felt like an eternity of longing, of lost time between them. A flicker of regret reflected in his gaze. Oh, how she craved something fresh. To keep her remembering what it was to be touched by this particular man.

She needed something more to remember him till her dying day.

Though in reality, he was impossible to forget.

This man made her
feel
. Feel as though her heart hadn’t shriveled and died long ago. Feel as though she could afford tender emotions for someone aside from her son and harem sisters. What a fool she was to have fallen in love with him.

Thank God above, this was the last time she would see him. She’d become too attached these past months. Too excited from a mere glance of Rothburn. The sight of him gave her hope for a different life, one which included him, and
that
was impossible after all her years in the harem.

She turned her back to him, her hips again moving erotically to the music as his hands grasped her tapered waist and squeezed. His fingers pinched just under her ribs. That one sweet touch made her breath catch and her dancing stilled in expectation. She wasn’t sure what she wanted and swallowed back the emotion that threatened to crack her carefully erected façade.

He dropped his hands with a sigh, and she immediately missed the strong, supporting feel of them. But he wasn’t done touching her. Hands skimmed the bare flesh of her calves, her thighs, her buttocks as he gave each cheek a light squeeze. Then he pushed the blue silk of her scarves forward and over her hips to expose her rear. He didn’t rise from the chair as he sat motionless behind her. She moved in time to the music again. At least her body knew what to do. Her mind seemed lost in the high seas of hopefulness.

Dancers’ bells could be heard from the other pleasure alcoves. The beat of the drum was savage, primal, and echoed around their niche, rousing the animalistic urge to sit astride this man until they both writhed in mutual ecstasy. Rothburn restrained her hips between his hands, his breath searing her already overheated skin.

Her slit was slippery and aching to be caressed by his clever hand.

She wanted him to kiss her. Bite her. Mark her as his as a parting gift.

She waited, breath held tight in her lungs as the stubble of his jaw scratched over the smooth flesh of her bare buttocks. She pressed back in invitation.

He took his time, his tongue laving where his beard abraded her skin. The sharp sting of his bite made her tighten one cheek.

“A shame this is to end so soon.” His hand dropped from her hip to knead into her backside. Was it to gauge her reaction to his firm touch or for her to react to his regret-filled words?

“Yes, my lord.” She arched forward. She was helpless to stifle the mewling sound that escaped her throat.

She needed him so badly.

His fingers slid higher between her thighs until he cupped the smooth, hairless flesh of her mound. The air whooshed from her lungs as longing was replaced with desperate desire. Teeth marked her hip in a feral, primal gesture; he slipped one finger into her wet core as far as it would go and left it there unmoving, teasing her. Inner muscles clenched around him.

He must know she wanted so much more than this. She rocked forward a minute amount, breaking his phantom hold on her mind as her body moved in need of deeper penetration. He pulled his hand free.

“You will receive pleasure at my command only, Jinan.” Then more quietly, “Unless you remove the veil for our last night together.”

“You know I cannot.”

Lord Rothburn stood and spun her around, putting his body flush to hers and aligning their pelvises. The jut of his cock was a firm demand against her belly. His bigger body engulfed hers, sending a driving, aching buzz to her clitoris, urging her to savor his potency, his virility, for the last time.

Instead, she placed her cheek to his pectoral muscle for a moment and inhaled his comforting, familiar scent. He never wore the cloying perfumes of the upper class. The scent of his musky, manly sweat acted stronger than any aphrodisiac she’d been exposed to. She pulled away and stood tall, held herself motionless and awaited his bidding.

His fingers brushed through the long tresses of brown hair that hung in a loose wave over her back. His breathing was deep and even, an indication he was in complete control of his desires, while she was not. Cupping her shoulders, he pulled down the vest that cinched under her breasts. The ties were already slack in the front, so it came off with a sharp tug. He stepped away, allowing the delicate silk cloth to fall between their bodies, and then crushed her breasts against his chest. All the air left her lungs with the motion. Fresh craving blazed through her veins hotter than cinders.

Gripping her hair tightly, he tilted her head back far enough that her neck arched and exposed the vulnerable skin beneath her chin. The stubble of his jaw continued its sweet assault against her, his tongue lashing out to taste her overheated flesh. Arms loose at her sides, she submitted to his touch. He would bring her pleasure despite any of his firm reproofs or actions stating otherwise.

His kindness was another of those blessings and curses all tumbled and knotted together, further confusing her feelings. She wished he had been cruel or demeaning at least once in their time together. It would have made parting from him that much easier.

“Kneel on the divan,” he commanded as he stepped away to strip his shirt off and toss it to the floor. She loved the play of muscle under the blond tangle of hair on his chest. That hair trailed downward, inviting a woman to explore. Her fingers stretched in perfect memory of what it was like to take him in hand.

“Jinan,” he reprimanded when she continued to stare.

She sauntered to the divan, complying with an exaggerated sway of her hips. Pulling the silk scarves behind her, she faced him and kneeled, spreading her knees wide, buttocks resting on her heels. Wrists held out, she waited for him to bind her. He tied his neckcloth tight around both her wrists, lifting her arms above her head where a pole with hooks was installed into the wall.

He pulled down on the material to make sure she was secure and caressed the length of her arm reverently, her body bowed toward his. To her disappointment, he stood at the edge of the divan, his gaze following the stroke of his hand. Despite the warm breeze that came through the low window, her nipples puckered with his gentle touch.

Hunger for her body flashed briefly in his eyes before he raised them to hers. The smoldering in his amber-colored gaze matched the heavy pulse of awareness ravaging her body.

“I like that you remove all your hair, Jinan. Have I ever told you that?” he said hoarsely. “A woman with skin as smooth as yours makes a man mad with passion.”

She let the hunger show in her eyes, telling him she was more than happy to please him.

His touch lingered under her arms and then moved lower to lift the weight of each breast. He leaned in and pulled the taut peak with his teeth, his tongue flicking out to wet the tip. Moisture gathered at her center, the engorgement and pulsing of her hidden pearl building by the moment.

Only his touch inflamed her senses this way.

Only Rothburn made her yearn for the love a man gave a woman.

How did he have so much power over her? Why had she surrendered her every sense to this man? How easily he had passed all her carefully erected defenses.

This was her last night with Rothburn—she needed to keep reminding herself of that.

But parting was so much easier said than done.

She could play this game one last time. There were no attachments to the patrons, no
tendre
allowed to mature. It made her want to weep that she would lose
this
man who long ago stole her heart. How she, a trained whore, had let this unnatural attachment go on so long, she wasn’t sure.

But Rothburn was an addiction more dangerous than cantharides.

It did not help that she became more intoxicated, more obsessed by him, with every moment spent in his arms.

She was foolish to refuse his attentions at a later date. But with her son growing up so fast, any connections with the English could have her discovered. It was too risky. He’d already torn down many of her defenses. If anyone found out the truth of her whereabouts . . . the shame it would bring to her name—Jonathan’s name—was unacceptable.

She was Jinan. Could only ever be Jinan.

Elena had died years ago. There was no possibility of resurrecting her from the ashes that bore her shame. She’d never be able to live with herself and what she’d become if forced to face her past. The path she’d readily accepted for her child’s future.

There were no more yesterdays. There was only the present. The now.

She wrapped her fingers around the cloth that tied her to the pole and hauled down hard with all her weight, tightening it. A small pain shot through her wrists, down her arm, and brought her back to the game. She couldn’t afford to think of anything but the man in front of her. He was always quick to note her inattentiveness and to question her until he knew the train of her thoughts. He already knew too much.

He gave her a long assessing look and an awakening pinch to her nipple. “Spread your knees farther apart.”