God, her whole life had been spent proving him wrong. Proving she wasn’t his victim. But all this time, that’s exactly what she’d remained. Until Isma’il had taken her in his arms. Until he’d kissed her and she’d felt the strength of him as he’d gripped her hair, the passion that had burned through him and into her. His hunger for her. And felt her own hunger rise to meet it.
No, she hadn’t been a victim then. She’d been strong and powerful, and she’d loved every second of it.
Abruptly, she turned from the tent’s entrance and strode over to the chest of drawers near the bed. Pulling them open, she sifted through her clothes until she’d found what she wanted.
It wasn’t a belly dancer’s outfit, but the robes she’d worn the night of that banquet would remind her of the power those women had. The strength in their sensuality and sexuality. That strength, that certainty, had made her afraid at the banquet. But she wasn’t going to let fear stop her now.
Tonight, she was going to change Isma’il’s mind. Tonight she was going to go and reclaim her strength. Reclaim herself. If she wanted him to stop treating her like a victim, she had to stop treating herself as one first.
Lily dressed quickly, pulling on the robes, shaking out her hair so it lay loose across her shoulders. Then, she stepped out into the night.
The space between his tent and hers wasn’t so very far, even so, she shivered a little as she crossed the rocky ground and it wasn’t from cold. Because she wasn’t cold. The decision she’d made heated her up from the inside out. Made her burn.
She didn’t pause to announce herself, didn’t say a word, merely pulled back the tent flap and stepped inside.
Isma’il sat at his desk, a laptop open in front of him, a small desk lamp casting a pool of light around him. His attention was focused on the screen, but as she came in, his head jerked up, a frown on his face. Then, his blue eyes met hers and the frown disappeared, his whole expression wiped clean.
“Ms. Harkness,” he said, smooth. Formal. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
So he meant to distance her did he? Well, she wouldn’t let him. “You know why I’m here.”
Slowly, he leaned back in his chair, a pen held in his long fingers. “No, I am not sure that I do.”
Lily came towards him, the thickness of the carpets strewn on the floor soft beneath her bare feet. He watched her, outwardly calm, but she could see the glitter in his eyes. Knew that he wasn’t as calm and collected as he seemed.
Good.
“You want me to say it? Okay, I will.” She put her hands on his desk, leaned forward, holding his gaze. “I want you, Isma’il.”
He remained very still, but she saw his throat move. “I thought we had established that was not going to happen.”
“You had established that. I hadn’t.”
Abruptly, he tossed the pen down on the desk. “Did you think I said all of that for fun?”
“I think you said all of that because you’re afraid of something. Of hurting me.”
Anger glittered in his eyes, the smooth mask slipping. “You should be afraid.”
“But I’m not.” She stared straight into his turquoise gaze. “I know what I want, Sheikh. I know what I’m asking for. Don’t make me doubt myself.”
This time it was he who looked away, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet. “That was not my intention.”
“Whether it was your intention or not, telling me I don’t know what I want is wrong.” She stepped away from the desk, coming round the side of it to where he stood. “Dan did that. He told me I didn’t mean no. That I wanted it. And now here you are, doing the same thing. Telling me I don’t know my own mind. Making me doubt my own decision. Making me feel as if I’m sixteen again.”
The anger in his eyes flared hotter. “I only wanted you to know exactly what you are getting yourself into.”
“I know exactly what I’m getting myself into.” She came right up close to him, looking up into his eyes. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing the smooth, bronze skin of his throat, the strong column of his neck, and she wanted to touch him there. Kiss him there.
“I’ve made myself a victim for too long, Isma’il. I’ve lived small and scared, using my job as my armor. Protecting myself. But I’m sick of it. I don’t want to do that anymore. I want to feel strong for a change and when you kissed me in the dunes, that’s exactly what I felt.”
He remained motionless. “You should not be here.” His voice sounded hoarse. “You should not say these things to me.”