The Sheik Retold(24)

I was astounded. For the first time in my life, I was of no account. It seemed I was to be acknowledged at his whim, to speak only when spoken to. The equal footing I had enjoyed with Aubrey and his friends all these years was suddenly obliterated. The training of years meant nothing. He had taken me only to please himself and he kept me only to please himself. He would force me to yield to whatever he might put upon me, to bear his pleasure and his displeasure—as a chattel, a slave who existed only to do his bidding. My purpose was solely to amuse him.

My body stiffened, my hands clenched.

Several more minutes passed before he finally addressed me, "I hope that Gaston took care of you properly and gave you everything that you wanted?" He spoke easily, in a tone that conveyed the perfunctory regret of a host for an unavoidable absence.

"Everything I want?" My voice gave vent to my rage. "I want to leave this godforsaken place! Damn you!"

"Such a passionate display, my dove?" He cocked a brow and then one corner of his mouth turned up. "One might even think you missed me." He mocked me. He mocked my resentment, my rage, my helpless despair.

"Missed you?" I recoiled with a glare. "You are a brute, a beast, a devil!"

Tears of shame and anger welled in my eyes, but I would not let them fall. I would not give my captor the satisfaction of knowing he could make me weep. I shut my eyes, willing away the burning sensation behind them, fighting back the tears that would only subject me further to his ruthless scorn.

I sensed him drawing closer and then his arms closed around me. I struggled against him, but my protest had no real teeth. I knew it was futile. He laughed again softly as he kissed my lips, my eyes, my temples. His mouth moved to my ear where he murmured something low and passionate. I didn't understand the words, but the tone alone made me quiver inside.

And then his mouth was on mine with a fierce and devouring kiss. It was a lover's kiss, the first I'd ever experienced. He was masterful, his tongue taunting. The sensation of his hot mouth searing mine was as potent as a narcotic, drugging me almost into insensibility. I found myself responding to him, and a wave of wildly conflicting emotions washed over me. "No. I don't want this! I don't want you!" I shuddered and then shoved at his chest.

"Do you hate them so much, my kisses?"

I swallowed, knowing I could not lie convincingly. In truth, I hated myself for not despising his kisses.

He smiled, reading my inner struggle, but then the passion faded from his eyes, giving place to another flash of mockery. "Of course we can always forgo such unpleasant preliminaries if you prefer. For my part, it is quite unessential."

I forced my eyes to his. Dark and passionate, they burned like a hot flame. He even held my gaze against my will because I could not tear it away. I felt like a trapped wild thing, panting, trembling, my eyes still fixed on him. The image of his harshly handsome face was forever etched into my brain.

"Look at me tell me the truth. Tell me you want me, Diana."

I recognized the command in his voice, but I fought against my fascination with him, resisting dumbly with tight-locked lips. My heart raced, but then all the humiliation and degradation I had suffered the night before flooded my mind. Yes, he had shown me pleasure, but my very enjoyment of it filled me with shame and self-disgust.

"Tell me you want me," he repeated.

"I hate you!" I choked out furiously.

An ugly look passed over his face, and then he laughed. "Hate me by all means, ma belle, but let your hatred be thorough. I detest mediocrity." He released me abruptly.

I stormed toward the inner room with my face aflame. I swore I would not let him touch me again, that I would never again allow him control over me. I would kill him—or kill myself first.

I reached the curtains, and his voice arrested me. "You will dress appropriately for dinner. You understand?" He reached for his cigarette case and then glanced back at me with black brows raised.

"Yes," I replied softly, recognizing it for the command it was. "I understand."

***

Zilah was there once more to tend me, a shy and silent shadow. I realized I had seen no other females in the camp. "Where are all the women?" I asked Zilah.

"There are many, madam, but they are not permitted amongst the men."

"Then where are they? What do they do here?"

"The women cook, do the washing, tend the children and the animals."

"A life of complete and utter drudgery," I remarked with scorn. "Do you not desire something more?"

She regarded me with incomprehension. "There is nothing more. Such is the lot of women," she replied with a fateful shrug.

Her total acceptance of this life brought back to me the stark reality of my captivity. At present I was a novelty to him, but how long before I would suffer the same fate? The thought horrified me, but I refused to think any more on it.

My bath was already waiting, filled almost to the brim with steaming water. On a nearby table were several small glass bottles of fragrant oils. I selected one. "What is this?"

Zilah's eyes grew wide as I removed the stopper and sniffed.

"It is Oud, madam, from the Agarwood," she explained. "A rare and costly fragrance."

I closed my eyes, and my senses were instantly overwhelmed with the tauntingly familiar scent—a blend of ambergris and sweet incense with nuances of tobacco and wood—attar of Ahmed Ben Hassan, Sheik of the Sahara.