Daughter of Hassan & Heart of the Desert(29)
‘And you really love me?’ Danielle queried in a low voice.
‘Yes, damn you!’ Jourdan ground out, in a decidedly unlover-like voice. ‘Now get the hell out of here before I forget all my good resolutions and take you to bed with me!’
He had his back to her, but Danielle made no move to leave, nor to pick up the bottle of sleeping pills he had placed on the window, and she could almost feel the tension stiffening his body as he waited for her to go.
‘Danielle.’ It was more of a groan than a command, and it took all her courage to meet the look in his eyes. ‘This is your last warning,’ he said thickly. ‘Go now, or face the consequences.’
When she still didn’t move he gave a muttered curse and reached for her, his voice raw with a longing which was like a match to her own desire. ‘So be it,’ he groaned, his arms closing round her. ‘But why? As a punishment? Or is it just that that tender heart of yours wants to leave me at least one sweet memory?’
He was lifting her off her feet, carrying her to the divan, his fingers trembling over the fastening of her robe which was discarded with an impatient haste, baring her body to the hunger of his gaze.
‘Aren’t you going to kiss me?’ she asked innocently.
A hectic flush lay along his high cheekbones, his eyes glittering beneath the thick lashes. His body seemed to burn against hers as he flung off his own robe.
‘Danielle.’
It was the hoarse plea of a man who knows he has reached the limit of his endurance and prays that he will not be pushed past it, and Danielle felt his agony as though it were her own, her control breaking as she reached up towards him, her arms urging him impatiently downwards, her body yielding to the fierce heat of his touch.
‘Love me, Jourdan,’ she whispered against the lips he had clamped shut in a tight line, shivering against him. ‘Please love me the way I love you.’
His control broke like the giving of a dam, his mouth hotly possessive on hers, forcing from her a sweet surrender to the passion she could feel rising up inside him.
Not until every inch of her skin had been sensuously explored and worshipped by his hands and lips did Jourdan allow her the freedom to respond in kind, their mutual need to assuage their longing for one another obliterating everything else.
Jourdan’s fierce cry of triumph in the ultimate moment of possession reminded her of the first time they had made love, and her body responded paganly to the need to know complete abandonment and fulfilment.
Later when they were both at peace, Jourdan’s dark head resting against her breast, his tongue making lazy forays against her flesh, he said softly, ‘You little witch. You enjoyed tormenting me like that, didn’t you… getting me to unburden myself to you…’
‘Only because I couldn’t believe it was really true,’ Danielle responded indignantly, loving the feel of his crisp dark hair beneath her fingers. ‘I thought you loved Catherine. She told me you loved her. You said you knew how I felt, and I thought you meant you knew I loved you and felt sorry for me.’
‘When in reality what I meant was that I knew you loved Sancerre, or thought I did,’ Jourdan added wryly. ‘For two comparatively intelligent people we were very easily duped.’
‘Because we were in love,’ Danielle said softly, her eyes shining. ‘Oh, Jourdan…’
‘Oh, Jourdan what?’ he mimicked lazily.
‘Nothing. Just—Oh, Jourdan, I’m so glad we discovered the truth before it was too late. Just think if I hadn’t come up here tonight looking for my sleeping pills, we would have gone our separate ways and never known…’
‘Maybe, and then maybe not. I doubt if, when it actually came to it, I would have been able to let you go,’ Jourdan admitted wryly.
‘Daddy will be pleased,’ Danielle murmured idly. ‘He told me that Philippe was exaggerating your murky past and that I wasn’t to pay too much attention to what he was saying.’
‘Well, it isn’t entirely spotless,’ Jourdan admitted, suddenly serious. ‘Oh, I’ve never loved anyone else, but…’ he grimaced slightly, ‘there were times when I thought it might be a good idea if I erased your image from my mind, and that’s what I tried to do. But never successfully.’
Danielle was too wise to dig more deeply into the past. What was past was past. Jourdan had been a man when she was still a child.
‘Are we going to talk all night?’ she asked with exaggerated impatience, her eyes wide and mock innocent.
‘Why, what alternative did you have in mind?’
The words were tinged with lazy indulgence, but the gleam in the night-dark eyes was far from lazy, and Danielle’s pulses raced in answering acknowledgement as Jourdan lowered his head, his voice cool no longer but husky with emotion as he murmured, ‘Praise be to Allah, Danielle, for he has given me that which I most coveted, a jewel I shall forever treasure and keep from envious eyes.’
Her own reply was lost beneath the sweetly fierce passion of his kiss, as he drew her down with him into a whirlpool of emotion where nothing existed save their love.
* * * * *
ISBN: 978-1-408-99897-7
DAUGHTER OF HASSAN
© 1982 Penny Jordan
Published in Great Britain 2015
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited
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HEART OF THE DESERT
Carol Marinelli
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
CHAPTER ONE
‘LET’S try somewhere else.’
Georgie had known that there was no chance of getting into the exclusive London club.
She hadn’t even wanted to try.
If the truth be known, Georgie would far rather be home in bed, but it was Abby’s birthday. The rest of their friends had drifted off and Abby didn’t want her special day to end just yet. She seemed quite content to stand in the impossible queue, watching the rich and famous stroll in as the doorman kept them behind a thick red rope.
‘Let’s stay. It’s fun just watching,’ Abby said as a limousine pulled up and a young socialite stepped out. ‘Oh, look at her dress! I’m going to take a photo.’
The paparazzi’s cameras lit up the street as the young woman waited and a middle-aged actor joined her, both posing for the cameras. Georgie shivered in her strappy dress and high-heeled sandals, though she chatted away to her friend, determined not to be a party pooper, because Abby had been so looking forward to this night.
The doorman walked down the line, as he did occasionally, and Georgie rather hoped he was going to tell them to all just give up and go home. Yet there was more purpose in his step this time and Georgie suddenly realised he was walking directly towards them.. Her hands moved to smooth her blonde hair in a nervous gesture as he approached, worried they had done something wrong, that perhaps photos weren’t allowed.
‘Come through, ladies.’ He pulled open the rope and both women glanced at each other, unsure what was happening. ‘I’m so sorry, we didn’t realise you were in the queue.’
As she opened her mouth to speak, to ask just who he thought that they were, Georgie felt the nudge of Abby’s fingers in her ribs. ‘Just walk.’
The whole queue had turned and was now watching them, trying to guess who they were. A camera flashed and when one did, the rest followed, the photographers assuming that they must be somebodies as the heavy glass doors were opened and they entered the exclusive club.