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There was a flatness to Tariq’s tone that had Jayne shooting him a questioning look. There must be pain about his mother’s desertion. Somewhere. Deep inside him. They’d been married, yet she’d never been aware of this suffering within him.
“There is no space in her life for me or my father,” he said, feeding Noor another sliver of meat. “Nor would my father want her back.”
“Perhaps it’s not a case of wanting her back. Perhaps it’s more about wanting to tie off the loose ends in his life before he dies.”
“You misheard. My father would never want my mother back in Zayed.” The finality in Tariq’s tone warned Jayne that the subject of his mother was better left alone.
Absently Jayne watched the bird preen, her beak stroking through her feathers, setting them right. “I’m sorry I mentioned it. I just thought you might know who your father confused me with.”
“It doesn’t surprise me that he confused you.” A hand touched her hair. Jayne’s gaze jerked upward. Emotion flared in his eyes. “You both have long, dark hair and pale ivory skin.”
“I’ve never seen a photo of your mother.” Jayne was sure his mother would be beautiful. Nothing like her. Ordinary. Plain Jayne.
“There are no pictures in the palace of my mother. As there are none of you. Both of you treacherous, two-timing—”
Jayne shifted abruptly. “I’m not listening to this. I was prepared to discuss this in the past. You wouldn’t listen then and I’m not getting caught up in it all over again.” He’d stonewalled her then, breaking her heart. “It’s water under the bridge.”
Water under the bridge.
The painful memories exploded inside her. She swung away from Tariq and made blindly for the exit to the mews, to where shafts of silver sunlight broke into the gloomy interior, lighting her escape. No footsteps followed. And she was glad.
She didn’t want to talk about the baby that she’d carried in her body. The baby she’d lost. It hurt too much. It was something she could never forget, something that stayed with her every day of her life.
But what choice had she had?
The day dragged past. Jayne had bought some magazines at the airport in Auckland to read on the plane and she flicked through them listlessly. She itched for a book to read, but Tariq’s library was a place she dared not go. It held too many unpleasant reminders of his distrust.
So she lay down on the bed and dozed, until every last wisp of jetlag had lifted. When the knock sounded on the door late in the afternoon, heralding Latifa’s entrance, Jayne was ready for a distraction.
“There are many people in the palace this evening. His Excellency has been kept busy all day.” Latifa’s young eyes were kind and wise beyond their years. “I am sure Sheikh Tariq is looking forward to seeing the sheikhah tonight. There has been much talking today.”
This was what had driven her mad the first time round. The long days with no sign of Tariq. The absence of anything to do, while the men closed themselves behind high carved wooden doors, wearing sombre expressions. And few of the women she’d met had spoken English, even though some had seemed nice enough. But apart from one or two invitations none had made any overtures of friendship to her.
In the past Tariq had told her to be patient. That she would make friends in time, that her loneliness would ease.
If only it had been so simple.
“Look, this came for you today.” Latifa produced the box with the air of a magician performing a wondrous trick that deserved squeals of delight. Jayne didn’t have the heart not to smile.
“What is it?”
“It is most beautiful.” Latifa opened the lid to reveal a caftan and sheer hijab in shades of emerald shot through with bronze thread. “There are shoes to match and pants.” She pulled out the high-heeled pumps like a rabbit from a hat. “And more clothes will arrive in the morning.”
“I don’t want clothes,” Jayne protested.
But once dressed, Jayne had to admit that the colour suited her. The green accentuated the raven highlights in her hair, and her skin was paler than ever. Mascara, and a hint of kajal around her eyes to emphasise the shape, and she was ready to go. Draping the hijab across her shoulders and leaving her hair uncovered, she made her way downstairs, through the labyrinth of palace corridors.
The long table in the stateroom was laid with cutlery that gleamed in the light of the heavy chandeliers overhead. Men from the large delegation that Latifa had alluded to were already arriving; some in dark suits with only the traditional headgear, while others wore traditional dress. A few women were scattered around. A quick glance revealed that Tariq was nowhere to be seen.
An aide appeared and directed Jayne to where two vacant seats remained down the length of the table. Jayne kept her head down, aware of the speculative glances she was attracting. She was grateful for the welcoming smile from the woman seated to the left of her and they started to chat.
The woman introduced herself as Farrah Jirah in fluent English. It turned out that she was a doctor who practised in the maternity unit of the local hospital. Jayne found her charming, and she stopped worrying about where Tariq was.
When Tariq finally strode in, flanked by Ali and Mahood, Jayne could tell from the taut way he held himself that the latest round of meetings had not gone well.
Tariq’s gaze flashed to the top of the table, took in the empty place at the head. His brow drew into a frown as he scanned the surrounding seats. The tension in his shoulders relaxed slightly when he saw her.
Jayne turned back to talk to her friendly neighbour. A moment later she sensed someone beside her.
“Are you okay?”
It was Tariq. He looked tired, the lines around his mouth more deeply scored than they had been this morning, and his eyes held concern.
“I’m fine. You look tired.”
A ghost of a smile flitted over his harsh features. “It’s been a hard day.”
“I won’t even ask how whatever meetings you had went.” Ali and Mahood were trouble. Vipers. She’d known that since the first time she’d met them. And Ali’s daughter, Leila, was pure poison. Tariq was welcome to her.
Tariq sighed and said softly, “Ali is a powerful force in Zayed.”
Jayne nodded. Ali controlled a lot of the northern territory, making him an important player.
“He can’t be ignored,” Tariq continued. “But he is disruptive. And this latest skirmish Ali and Mahood have gotten into over grazing rights with Sheikh Karim al Bashir is going to cause headaches.”
“Are they fighting?”
“It hasn’t turned violent yet. But Ali claims that Sheikh Karim is threatening war.” Impatience showed in Tariq’s eyes. “The sooner I intervene, the better.”
Jayne felt a flutter of pity for him, for the predicament that Ali and his brother had put Tariq in. “But what about your father? You can’t leave him now.”
“My father wouldn’t want this disagreement to flare out of control. We can’t afford to be at war with Bashir. He will understand.”
“Why can’t Ali and Mahood understand that you’re needed here?”
He looked at her. “No one understands that. Only you. To every one else my duty to Zayed must come before all else—even my father. And now you must excuse me, nuur il-en, I must claim my seat at the head of the table before Ali usurps it.”
Ali was sitting in the vacant chair at the top of the table, his head close to the man on his right, conspiring no doubt. Jayne shifted her attention to Tariq, watched him rise from beside her, his traditional robes swirling around him, the white ghutra over his head secured by the doubled black cord that made him look more formidable than ever. She pitied Ali and Mahood if they unleashed his full ire.
She picked at her food until she sensed someone seating themselves in the place Tariq had vacated, and turned her head. The welcoming smile she’d prepared shrivelled as she met the frigid gaze of Sheikh Ali.
The dinner dragged on and Tariq found it difficult to concentrate on the conversation swirling around him. His attention was riveted on his wife. He watched as she said something to Ali. But the response caused her to sag. What had Ali said to make her skin grow so pale?
As the meal progressed his attention kept straying back. Most of the time Jayne spent chatting to the woman on her left, Dr. Farrah Jirah was a nice enough woman and he’d hoped she might befriend Jayne. He relaxed as he saw Jayne smile. But then stiffened again when he noted that the few times she attempted to talk to Ali her attempts were rebuffed. Ali was flouting the social norms of Zayedi politeness at a meal table. As host, Tariq was within his rights to request Ali to leave. Tariq’s frown grew more and more thunderous, until his dinner partners started to regard him with increasing wariness.
Ali said something to Jayne. She glanced down, and Tariq saw the wash of colour high on her ivory cheeks. He started to rise. But Jayne beat him to it. Pushing back her chair, she was on her feet before he could move. By the time he reached the elaborate carved doors flanked by two palace guards, she was already gone.
He charged into the corridor, saw her disappearing into the study he’d had an aide show her to earlier in the day. With long raking strides he set off after her.
Jayne collapsed into the leather chair behind Tariq’s desk. Her first reaction was to hop onto the Internet, to see if Helen was still awake. She felt lonely and isolated and incredibly homesick. She wanted her family, she wanted to go home, to leave this inhospitable country that had never brought her anything but pain.
The soft sound of the door closing brought the first hint that she was no longer alone.
“What did Ali say to make you leave?” An implacable anger glowed in Tariq’s eyes.
“It doesn’t matter.” Ali had been his usual obnoxious self. He’d taunted her by saying that had his daughter married Tariq, she would have done her duty, borne him fine sons and done him proud as a hostess. She’d been stupid to let Ali get to her. Jayne shook her head, suddenly overwhelmingly aware of the heat of Tariq’s body behind her, the soft hiss of his breath beside her ear as he leaned forward. Instantly, nerves started to churn in her belly. She lifted her hand from the mouse and spun the leather office chair around. Only to find herself face-to-face with Tariq. This close his eyes had the appearance of molten gold. Ensnaring her. Trapping her in the rich heat.
“It matters. You are my wife.”
She held his knee-weakening gaze. “Not for long.”
“For at least a month. And for that month I expect my countrymen to treat you with the respect that you deserve.”
“The respect I deserve because I am your woman? Or the respect that I deserve in my own right?”
“Is there a difference?” He lifted his hand to touch her cheek. “I touch this skin. It belongs to my wife and it belongs to Jayne, too. They are one and the same.”
“Jayne Jones is not your possession.”
He didn’t answer. His finger trailed down, across her lips, sensitising the soft skin.
“I should go,” she whispered against his finger.
“I don’t think so.”
She stared at him, her breathing quickening, tingles of apprehension mingled with excitement shivered down her spine. Trouble.
“You’re aware of me. Your body recognizes me.”
“That doesn’t mean you own me.”
“My body responds to you, too. Even though I resist it. You own me every bit as much as I own you.” Taking her hands, he pulled her out of the chair, against the hard, muscled length of his body. Instantly, she felt the hardness of his arousal against her stomach.
“I am leaving.”
“Too late.” His head swooped down, his mouth slanting across hers.
Heat and light and emotion scorched Jayne as his mouth met hers. All rational thought left Jayne as she parted her lips and started to kiss her husband back.
Four
All thoughts of her family, her sister, her nieces, flew away as Tariq’s mouth plundered hers. His kiss was uncompromising and the flare of heat that started deep in her stomach took her by surprise.
It had been a long time.
Too long, since she’d last felt this intensity of emotion.
As his hand threaded through her hair at the back of her neck, his fingers brushed the sensitive skin of her nape and a frisson of delight ran through her. Tariq knew exactly where to touch…to arouse her, to turn her. The fingertips now moving in little circles sent shivers through her and his lips demanded a response.
Jayne gave a little gasp, taken aback by the pent up passion that Tariq had unleashed. Instantly he pressed closer, his tongue stroking into her mouth, tasting her, slower now, languidly, as if he could never get enough.
With a groan she reached up, locking her arms around his neck, conscious of her breasts growing taut and tender as her body melted against him. She felt like a flower blooming, unfurling, under the heat of the sun. Tariq’s hands shifted against the back of her head, cradling her, bringing her closer still. She was sharply, disconcertingly aware of the tips of her breasts hardening under the loose fabric of the caftan, of the brush of his chest against the taut mounds.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the kiss was over.
The chill that followed the wave of heat shocked her. Jayne shivered with regret. Until those drive-me-crazy hands moved again, tilting her head, and his lips landed on the soft, exposed skin of her neck. A guttural sound exploded from her. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, giving herself up to his touch, to the sheer indescribable delight. The fingers spearing through her hair released a fresh wave of shivers. And her body felt soft and pliable, boneless with want.
His teeth scraped her skin, his tongue followed, and Jayne gasped again. His mouth closed on the sensitive area beneath her ear…a trail of hot kisses, then a long stroke of his tongue set her on edge. Jayne waited…every nerve ending quivering… eager for what would come next.
In some distant space of her mind, she was half-aware of his hands leaving her hair, sliding over her shoulders, down her back, and she arched like a cat about to be stroked.
But when she felt his fingers stop, linger, and her bra strap give under the fabric of the caftan, she tensed, jolted by reality.
What was she doing?
She should not be allowing Tariq to kiss her like this. Ali’s words echoed hollowly in her head. Tariq needed a wife who would do her duty…and that woman was not her. So what on earth was she doing responding to her soon-to-be-ex like this? She couldn’t jeopardise her newly planned life simply because Tariq still turned her on.
She’d almost left it too late. Jenna heard the rasp of a zipper, felt the caftan give.
“No!”
Tariq’s hands stilled. “What do you mean ‘No’? You are my wife!”
“No!” She shuddered. She couldn’t survive the half world, the dry wasteland that had been her marriage. “I’ll never be your wife again, Tariq. Our marriage is over.” She wanted a divorce, to put Tariq and her marriage behind her and move on.
She tore out of his arms, ducked under his arm, and put half the length of the room between them. “I don’t want this.”
“Liar.” His voice was flat, his face expressionless. The light in the golden eyes had been extinguished. “You responded to me.”
He was right. She’d been far too…engaged. But she couldn’t afford to let him know that. So she looked away. “Maybe I’d have responded to any attractive man.”
“Any man?” It was a soft snarl, dangerous. “Not only me? So where does that leave the blond man who waits for you back home in Auckland, my faithless, lying wife?”
She stared at him blankly.
“Neil Woodruffe,” he said silkily. “Or had you forgotten all about the poor bastard you are holding on a string?”
“How do you know about Neil?” Neil had asked her out several times over the past months. Lately he’d taken to visiting her apartment on flimsy excuses. She’d humoured him, inviting him in. But how did Tariq know about Neil? A sick tightness gripped Jayne. One glance at Tariq’s face con firmed her suspicious. “You’re having me watched.”
He didn’t deny it.
“That’s disgusting.” The words burst from her. She hated the thought that he was spying on her. “Does it make you feel powerful to follow the details of my life? That’s sick!”
“I employed a detective when you initiated contact. You should remember that I have always believed information is key to any negotiation.” He gave her a tight smile.
Jayne’s heart thumped in her chest, so loudly that she feared he might hear. “Your lack of trust is the reason why I don’t want to be married to you anymore.”
“Do you blame me?” His mouth tightened. “No, don’t answer that, there’s no point in rehashing the past. Our marriage is over. In a month you will have your divorce, maybe sooner.”
