Daughter of Hassan & Heart of the Desert(22)

‘Don’t worry,’ he mocked her, ‘I shall not force my unwanted presence upon you, although in different circumstances there can be nothing more enjoyable than the pleasure of the silken touch of water upon one’s skin without the restriction of clothes, followed by the pleasure of making love beneath the stars with only the desert to witness the brief communion   of flesh which is the nearest human beings can come to reaching Heaven here on earth.’

Shaken by his words, Danielle stared out over the oasis, brushing the fine grains of sand off her skin with a faint grimace. All at once she longed for the cleansing touch of water against her body. Jourdan had turned away from her and was busy coaxing flames from a small collection of brush-wood he must have gathered while waiting for Zara to bring her to the oasis.

As though he read her thoughts, he said curtly, ‘It is wiser to wait for you to come to me than to go looking for you. The desert is a vast place, Danielle, and I knew that sooner or later you would grow tired and Zara would bring you here.’ He glanced at the fire. ‘A little primitive perhaps, but comforting for all that. Even in the desert men need the comforting warmth of fire. When you have had your swim we shall eat the food Zanaide prepared for you and drink the coffee I have brought with me in a thermos flask. As a boy I spent many nights here at the oasis—and in other less comfortable parts of the desert. My uncle, your stepfather, has a wisdom not given to many, and during the holidays I spent away from my expensive English public school I wandered the desert with our tribesmen, learning from them what no amount of schooling could ever teach me. At first I enjoyed it as a boy does enjoy such things, but as I grew older I saw past the freedom of a nomad’s life, to the poverty and ever-present danger that underlies it, and as my uncle had planned gained an understanding of our people, for the desert tribesmen are as much a part of Qu‘Har as the men grown rich on oil and modern technology—more so, perhaps, for they ask nothing of life but the right to live it. Money, position, possessions—all these are paid for with freedom.’

It was the longest speech he had ever made to her, and Danielle wondered if he ever envied the tribesmen their wandering life free from the responsibilities which she now saw were his. Listening to Zanaide, she had learned much she had not known before. Without Jourdan to guide the country and spend its wealth wisely it would be torn apart on the rocks of greed and jealousy, and she no longer wondered that he had forced her into marriage; only that she herself had been so blind to the necessity for him to do so. Perhaps if she were to tell him how she felt he would set her free, for he was not a deliberately cruel man; she was sure of that now, and when she explained to her stepfather she was sure that he too would see the need for their marriage to be set aside, without any blame attaching to Jourdan. Maybe tomorrow she might find the courage from somewhere to approach him, but tonight she was too tired, too agonisingly aware of every masculine detail of him and her own yearning longing to be taken, possessed and held by him and never, ever set free.

With a faint sigh Danielle acknowledged the folly of her thoughts. She paused twice on her way to the oasis, but Jourdan was still busy with his fire and never turned round. Her clothes, when she removed them, were full of sand, and she shook it out as best she could before removing her briefs and running quickly into the water.

It was as warm as Jourdan had promised, and Danielle luxuriated in the soft caress of it against her skin, turning over to float blissfully on her back and watch the stars so far above her in the midnight sky.

Tomorrow she would be forced to face up to Jourdan’s lack of love for her, but for tonight surely there would be no harm in pretending a little… The first time she felt the faint brushing against her shoulder she thought it actually was Jourdan, who despite what he had said, had come to join her, but when she turned over languorously, there was no one there, but the soft brushing sensation continued, this time on her legs and thighs. Her skin crawled with icy fear, her scream splitting the silence of the night. By the time Jourdan reached her she was beginning to panic, because no matter in which direction she swam, the thing, whatever it was, continued to brush nauseatingly against her flesh.

Even when Jourdan reached her, grasping her flailing arms, she was so panic-stricken that it was several seconds before she could tell him what had happened.

‘Lie still and float,’ he commanded her, treading water, while he ran his hands dispassionately over her body. Danielle felt something move and bit back another scream,

‘Don’t worry. It is a piece of weed, that is all,’ Jourdan told her, showing her the trailing greenery. ‘It must have become entwined with you when you were swimming.’

A feeling of chagrin overwhelmed Danielle. All that fuss simply because of a piece of weed!

‘I’m sorry—’ she began in a constricted voice, trying to struggle away from Jourdan’s supporting arm, but to her surprise he didn’t let her go, instead turning her over so that she was lying above him in the water, his body virtually motionless as he supported them both.

‘Are you?’ he demanded huskily. ‘Perhaps after all this marriage is the Will of Allah, and not merely a result of my own manipulating, for it cannot be denied that He loses no opportunity to make me aware of the perfection of your body, and never more so, mignonne, than now when it is enticingly wrapped in moonlit water, and I can feel it trembling against mine, just as you must be aware of my response to you.’

Danielle was, and it was that that made her tremble, her body suddenly wantonly pliant, moulding itself against the hard contours of Jourdan’s, her soft sigh lost as his arms closed round her and his lips parted hers in a kiss of lazy exploration. Time seemed to stand still. Danielle wasn’t aware of them moving, only of Jourdan. The sensation of sand beneath her feet came as a brief shock, but Jourdan was already lifting her in his arms and carrying her over to the fire which still burned warmly. Droplets of water clung to his skin, and as he lowered her to the ground Danielle unashamedly let her eyes linger on the sculptured lines of his body, her breath catching in mingled awe and emotion. The mingling of East and West had produced a man who surely must come as closely as any human being could to the perfection of Ancient Greek sculpture. Broad shoulders tapered to a lean waist and flat stomach, moisture clung in droplets to the dark body hair which arrowed downwards. Tautly male thighs brushed powerfully against her own skin as Jourdan set her down, not totally releasing her. Her own fingers clung to him, and as though the spell which enveloped her also extended to him, Danielle felt the tension emanating from Jourdan, and heard the harshly indrawn breath he gave before sliding her sensually down the length of his body until her toes touched the sand, his arms tightening as his head bent and his lips began a slow exploration of her face, starting where tendrils of damp hair clung to her temples and tracing the lines of her bones, until her eyes were pleading mutely for him to possess the softly parted sweetness of her mouth and obliterate the last shreds of common sense which urged her to turn her back on him and what could only at best be a few bitter-sweet hours of happiness.

As though the touch of Jourdan’s lips swept away the last remnants of her reserve, Danielle felt herself responding to him with a passionate abandon that seemed to find an echo deep within him. He muttered something urgently to her in French as he lowered her to the ground, the heat of his body scorching her as he closed the thick quilted sleeping bag around them both before transferring his hands to her body, and Danielle melted into mindless pleasure beneath his skilled touch.

Her feverish moans of pleasure invoked by his touch were echoed in the ragged harshness of Jourdan’s breathing. His fingers cupped her breasts, savouring their passionate burgeoning beneath them, and Danielle needed no urging to encourage him to bend his dark head to the shadowed cleft between them, her own fingers curling feverishly into the solid muscle of his back as he teased first one and the other erect nipple.

His hoarsely muttered words had little meaning for her, their urgency communicated by his shuddering possession of her breast.

Her own lips made shy forays against his flesh, her fingertips delicately tracing the breadth of his shoulders. Her body, acutely sensitised to everything about him, felt the silky crispness of his body hair as his hands slid down to her waist, moulding her to him, her slender thighs crushed against the undeniable arousal of his own.

Her hands were removed from his chest and turned palm upwards to receive his kiss before he replaced them against his body, his own sensual stroking of hers encouraging her to follow suit and discover with heady enjoyment that even the strongest male could be made weak by the touch of a woman.

His hoarse groan excited her senses; her flesh seemed to yield and melt beneath his foraging lips, and when he parted her thighs and slid between them Danielle welcomed his possession with an urgency that seemed only to incite him deeper passion. Her gasped cry was crushed as his arms tightened, the dampness of Jourdan’s skin tasting salt against her tongue, and then his mouth was on hers, and she no longer cared that it wasn’t gentle and didn’t want it to be as her own need rose to meet his. They reached the pinnacle together in an explosion of pleasure which left her trembling weakly in Jourdan’s arms while he soothed her with soft kisses and her body melted against him.