“Really? And what would you do to me? What would you do that frightens you so damn much?”
His foot came down hard on the brake, the car jerking to an abrupt halt, gravel and sand spraying everywhere. He turned, met her dark eyes. She gripped her seatbelt tightly, but betrayed not even a hint of fear.
“You’ve already been forced and hurt by one man. Would you really want that from another?” he demanded. “Because that’s what I want to do to you, Lily. I want to take you roughly, take you hard. And if you fight me I will like that all the more, because then I can subdue you, dominate you.”
She blinked and he heard the catch in her breath. “Is this the kind of treatment you mete out to every woman you want?”
“No. Just you.”
“Why me?”
“Because other women do what I tell them.” He sat back in his seat, put the car into gear again. “And you do not.”
Lily didn’t say anything for a long moment, but he could feel the pressure of her gaze. As if she was trying to see past the guards he made sure were always in place. See into him. “Why would that matter to you? Why is control so important?”
Because it was the only thing that stood between himself and the darkness. The violence. The red haze across his vision. A riding crop covered in blood.
“Because passion is dangerous, Habibti. And you, of all people, should know that.”
But she just gave him that cool, level stare. The one she did so well. “You wouldn’t hurt me, Sheikh. I know wouldn’t.”
“You do not know me, Lily Harkness. And you have no idea what I would or wouldn’t do.”
Her mouth opened. Then, closed tight and finally she looked away.
Isma’il told himself he didn’t care that she didn’t argue.
But he did.
* * *
It was late, but Lily couldn’t sleep. She lay on the bed in her tent, staring into the dark. Outside the tent walls, the night seemed quiet for a place full of people with only material shielding them.
She sighed and turned over, feeling hot and restless, her skin too tight, too sensitive. Her mouth still burned from Isma’il’s kiss and the heat of his body still lingered on her fingertips.
She wanted. She ached. And she didn’t know what to do about it.
Eventually, cursing, she got up. Began to move restlessly around the tent. Pacing.
She’d never felt sexual desire before. Not for anyone. As if what Dan had done to her had killed her libido stone dead. She’d told herself she didn’t care, that sex had never been all that important to her, and because she’d never felt the urge, it wasn’t.
But now it was different. Meeting Isma’il had roused her sleeping sexuality and that kiss in the dunes had woken it up completely. And now it was awake, she felt every second of those empty, dead years like a stone pressing down on her.
She wanted to cross the darkness between her tent and Isma’il’s, and find out exactly what he’d meant by hot and rough and dirty. Make up for all those lost years of feeling nothing. But something held her back and she couldn’t work out if it was the words of warning he’d spoken to her in the car earlier, or whether it was fear of what he might do. Because, if she was honest with herself, she had no idea how she’d handle it.
She paused by the tent’s entrance, pushing back the flap and looking towards his tent. The heavy canvas shielded most things, but she could tell a light was burning there. He was up too.
Was it truly fear of him that kept her here? And if so, what kind of fear? She’d never been physically afraid of him. Regardless of what he thought about himself, she knew he would never hurt her. And although she’d never been sexual in her life with anyone, she wasn’t innocent. She knew what went on, so it wasn’t fear of the unknown either.
No. It wasn’t him she was afraid of. It was herself. Fear of the feelings he stirred in her. The intensity of her desire in response to his kiss. The electricity that raced across her skin when he touched her. The deep ache of need that had uncurled inside her out in the dunes.
She shivered. Fear had never held her back in the past, so why was she letting it do so now? Because there was nothing wrong with desire. Everyone felt it.
Lily went still, staring into the dark. Dan had made her doubt herself. Dan had told her she’d wanted it. And she, confused and shocked, thought that maybe she had.
Yet she’d never felt for Dan what she’d felt for Isma’il the moment he’d kissed her.
That was true sexual desire. That was actual want.
The breath escaped her as the realization hit. Because no, she hadn’t wanted what Dan had done to her. She’d never wanted it. And now that she’d felt actual desire, she knew the damn difference. Dan had lied to her.