Daughter of Hassan & Heart of the Desert(11)

‘I am not a vir…’ Danielle began, but he swept aside her words with a husky laugh.

‘You lie, Danielle. If it were otherwise you would know without my having to tell you that a man finds piquantly attractive the thought of a girl whose body is as the most perfectly concealed courtyard. Indeed, I am surprised that Sancerre has not already told you this.’

‘What makes you think he hasn’t?’ Danielle retorted, wishing she had the courage to press harder against the hard warm chest beneath her splayed fingers, and thus free herself, although, of course, whatever puny effort she might make to escape would be swiftly quelled by the iron-hard arm circling her waist.

‘Because had he done so, he would not merely have told you in words,’ was the calm reply. ‘And your fingers would not tremble so timidly against my flesh, nor your eyes widen with fear of the unknown when I touch you thus…’

Danielle gasped and stiffened as her robe was pushed carelessly aside and lean fingers cupped her breast. Beneath the caftan she was wearing only tiny lacy briefs, having been persuaded by Zanaide that her taut youthful breasts needed no extra support.

Her heart hammering like a drum, she felt her mouth go dry, her frantic thoughts protesting that this could not be happening, that this careless, arrogant stranger could not be sweeping aside all her defences and caressing her breast in this intimate fashion.

‘How young you are! And how foolish.’ Jourdan’s voice seemed to have deepened, his touch mockingly sure as the tiny loops fastening the front of the caftan were released, and Danielle’s panicky protest was lost beneath the pressure of his mouth as it descended to hover threateningly over hers before its cool mastery was forcing her stunned senses to assimilate emotions and sensations completely outside all her existing experience.

Beneath his tormenting fingers she felt her breast swell and harden, her mouth parting irresistibly for the demanding insistence of his tongue as it slid moistly over her lips, her whole body becoming pliant with a sensation that made her feel as though she were unable to do anything but give in to the strange power he seemed to have over her.

When his mouth left hers sanity returned and she tried to push away from him, but his lips were sliding from her throat downwards, his voice husky with mingled mockery and laughter as he murmured.

‘Be still, daughter of Hassan, lest I take your inexperienced squirming for a plea to know that complete possession of which you are at once so innocent and so scathing.’

‘Let me go!’ Danielle demanded breathlessly, conscious of hurried breathing and thumping heart, but Jourdan ignored her, his lips continuing their downward path until they came to rest for a heart-stopping moment against the smooth curve of her breast. Shocked, Danielle froze, only to gasp and tremble as his fingers curved warmly against her breast and his mouth closed over the tender pinkness of her nipple, savouring its burgeoning arousal and encouraging it until Danielle felt weak with the throbbing pressure of her own body, and horrified by the overwhelming sensation of pleasure radiating all over her body from the place where his mouth was caressing her flesh.

When he moved and straightened she all but collapsed, and would have fallen had his arms not come round her with lazy amusement.

‘What has shocked you the most?’ he asked her laconically, casually fastening her robe. ‘What I did or how you felt?’

‘I felt nothing,’ Danielle lied vigorously. ‘Unless you count my revulsion…’

‘Revulsion?’

For one hideous horror-filled moment Danielle thought he wasn’t going to release her, but then to her relief he stepped backwards, his hair gleaming under the light, his eyes brilliant with sardonic amusement.

‘Oh no, little one, I can’t be challenged in that fashion, and besides, I am too tired to begin the initiation of a virgin tonight, although I confess it would be intriguing to lie with you in my arms on a bed of satin cushions and remove the layers of prudery and pride with which you think you have so successfuly protected yourself.

‘Come, show me that you are not such a child as you appear, and admit that my touch was not… unpleasant…’

‘Unpleasant? Oh no, it was not unpleasant,’ Danielle gritted, fear and anger igniting to push her beyond the bounds of caution. ‘Rather it was degrading, insulting, revolting and totally and completely repulsive!’ she stormed at him, turning tail and running back down the stairs before he could reach out for her.

At the bottom of the first flight she paused to get her breath, listening for the sound of him behind her, but only silence had followed her.

She descended two more flights at a more decorous pace, and then discovered where she had originally gone wrong.

Zanaide was waiting for her in her room.

‘The Sitt is late,’ she began anxiously, but Danielle silenced her, explaining that she had got lost.

‘I thought Jourdan was in France,’ she added.

‘The Sheikh has returned this very evening,’ Zanaide told her, paling a little as she eyed Danielle’s flushed face. ‘The Sitt did not take the staircase to the Sheikh’s private quarters in error?’

‘Unfortunately, yes,’ Danielle admitted dryly.

What had happened to her on the stairs refused to be banished to the far recesses of her mind; her heart was still thundering and her breast still throbbed betrayingly, but she wasn’t going to discuss with anyone else what had occurred, even someone as sympathetic as Zanaide.

‘The Sheikh Jourdan is very handsome,’ Zanaide confounded her by saying, ‘and very much a man. To lie with him would surely bring great pleasure. He is not of our faith and for this reason must only take one wife. Many of the Sheikha’s family wish that he would choose from amongst their daughters, for he is powerful and wealthy…’

‘He is arrogant and domineering,’ Danielle said through gritted teeth, ‘and I don’t want to hear one more word about him.’

‘The Sitt does not find him attractive?’ Zanaide asked, plainly puzzled.

‘About as attractive as a snake,’ Danielle muttered as Zanaide helped her off with her caftan. ‘And twice as dangerous!’

When Zanaide had gone and she was alone in her room, compelled by some strange inner prompting Danielle slid out of bed and moved like a sleepwalker to the mirror-lined dressing room, where she slowly stepped out of her nightdress and studied the pale, glimmering shape of her naked body, one hand going instinctively to cup the swelling breast which was somehow no longer completely part of her, but seemed to have developed an alien life of its own, a life summoned into being by Jourdan’s knowing touch. A sound suspiciously like a sob broke the silence of the room. Danielle reached frenziedly for her nightgown, unable to bear the sight of her naked flesh and know how it had betrayed her, willing herself not to remember with such vivid clarity exactly how it had felt to have Jourdan’s lips tease her nipple into erect obedience and the pleasure which had followed.





CHAPTER FIVE


THE following day was so busy that Danielle wasn’t given the opportunity to brood. As soon as she had breakfasted on fresh rolls, honey and hot sweet coffee she was hurried downstairs by Zanaide and out into a large courtyard where a large black Rolls purred softly in tune to the gentle fall of water from a fountain into a basin.

A white chauffeur wearing a dishdash opened the door for her and Danielle slid obediently inside, to sit next to the Sheikha, who greeted her with a kind smile.

‘You slept well, daughter of Hassan?’ she asked.

Danielle nodded wishing she could pluck up the courage to ask the Sheikha to call her by her own name; ‘daughter of Hassan’ roused too many memories she would rather leave sleeping, and she could feel her body tensing as they surfaced.

‘It is the normal practice for the silk merchants to visit the palace when we choose new clothes,’ the Sheikha explained. ‘They normally come once a month—an occasion of great excitement for my household, when everyone gathers in the audience room. My daughters-in-law join us also with their households, and we spend the day choosing fabric and drinking coffee.’

‘It sounds fun,’ Danielle murmured politely, but it was obvious that she had not deceived the Sheikha, because the older woman gave her a shrewd glance, and signalled to the driver to close the panel which separated the driver and escort seated in the front of the Rolls from the Sheikha and Danielle in the back.

‘When women live as we do, we must make our own pleasures,’ the Sheikha said firmly. ‘And you must not despise us for those pleasures, Danielle. My daughters-in-law all have university degrees; all are fluent in English and French, and all run large households, but it is the rule of our religion that the sexes may not mingle freely, and a rule to which we adhere.’ Her face relaxed a fraction and the smile she gave Danielle was comprehensive and understanding. ‘It sounds harsh to you, I know, but it is less so than it seems. My husband, although not as forward-thinking as Hassan, does permit us to have lectures and slides on topical subjects, to that we are all well versed on international matters. We have stimulating debates for those of us who wish to sharpen the mind, and if all these pleasures are restricted purely to our own sex, is it not really a little hypocritical of Europeans to take less pleasure in them for that, for surely if stimulating company and discussion is the sole object of debate and discussion, it is an insult to one’s own sex to presume that their company is less pleasurable than that of a man.’