The Governess and the Sheikh (17 page)

She wanted to touch him. She wanted to run her fingers down the long line from his neck down his spine to the slope of his buttocks. ‘I really ought to go,' she said breathlessly, but still made no move.

‘No,' Jamil said softly. ‘This was meant. You see that, don't you?'

She nodded, and with her nod cast farewell to the last of her reservations. It was meant. It was inevitable and they both knew it.

‘Come here, Cassandra,' he commanded.

She did. As if in a trance, she skirted the pool and stood beside him, looking down at him. Her eyes were wide, her pupils dark. Her lips were plump and ripe. Beneath her caftan, her nipples peaked against the silk.

He did not want to frighten her, but he could not lie here for ever. Jamil sat up swiftly, deftly wrapping the towel around his waist, covering up the all-too-obvious evidence of his arousal. It was enough, barely.

‘I was looking at the pictures on the walls,' Cassie
said, still gazing at the far more beguiling picture in front of her.

‘Touching is much more sensual than merely looking,' Jamil said, taking her hands and placing them on his shoulders.

She ran her fingers down his arms, to where the soft downy hair began, back up to his shoulders, following the contours of his muscles, down to the swell of his chest. There she stopped, unsure, shocked, aroused. ‘I can't,' she whispered, all the time thinking,
can I
?

He took her hand between his, pulling her closer so that she was standing between his legs. Slowly, he undid her caftan, making a play of each button, giving her time to move, to leave, holding his breath lest she did. The final button ceded to him. The tunic fell in a crumpled heap on to the floor. She stood before him, blushing wildly, but holding his gaze, her excitement mirroring his in the rapidity of her breathing, in the swelling of her nipples, clearly visible now through the thin layer of silk that covered them.

Jamil bent his head to envelop one hard bud with his mouth, breathing through the silk on to her skin. She moaned, and slumped forwards, supporting herself on his shoulders. He did the same to the other nipple and was rewarded with another soft little moan. ‘Touch me, Cassie,' he whispered huskily, taking her hand and placing it on his chest, untying the silk top at the same time to release her breasts to his ministrations. ‘Make me feel what you are feeling.'

Jamil stroked the creamy skin of her breasts, cupping their weight in his hands, suckling with his mouth, tugging and licking and caressing. Heat that had nothing
to do with the steam room flushed her skin as her body remembered and rejoiced and then began to clamour for more. More of his touch. More of hers. She ran her hands over his chest, smoothing them against the hard wall of muscle, dipping down, to the concave of his stomach under his rib cage. His skin felt so different. His touch made her shiver and heat and shiver. The yearning she'd felt since the last time he'd touched her, which she thought sometimes she'd been feeling since she'd first set eyes on him, made it impossible to do anything other than comply with his wishes. For they were her wishes, too.

He kissed her passionately, his tongue tangling with hers, his hands on her waist, pulling her closer, crushing her breasts against his chest. His hands skimmed her hips, loosening the sarwal pants. Eager to please, eager to learn, eager for his touch, she kicked off her slippers and stepped out of the pantaloons. She was completely naked. She was hardly ever naked, save in the privacy of her own bath. She should have been embarrassed, but the sharp intake of breath, the blaze of something primitive in Jamil's eyes, told her that she pleased him.

Shyly, she stood while he freed her hair from the clip that held it, smoothing it out over her shoulders, each touch, each look, telling her how much he liked what he saw, giving her confidence, feeding the fire in her belly, making her quiver with what she now realised was desire. Byron's
effusions that spring from the heart
, which truly did
throb with delight
.

‘Beautiful,' Jamil whispered into her ear, and then words in his own language she could not understand,
though she did not have to, for they curled round her like wisps of smoke. He stood and the cloth that covered him dropped to the floor between them. Automatically, Cassie looked down, flushed fiery red at what she saw and looked away.

‘Don't be frightened,' Jamil said.

‘I'm—I'm not.' She wanted to look again, she wanted to look at him as he looked at her, but it was shameful, surely? The statues she had seen had been either discreetly draped or—or—or not at all like Jamil.

He tipped her chin up with his finger, forcing her to meet his gaze, a smouldering blaze of gold. ‘We have five senses, Cassie. We can touch.' His thumb grazed the tip of her nipple. ‘We can smell.' He nuzzled her neck. ‘We can hear,' he whispered, licking the shell of her ear. ‘We can taste,' he said, licking into her mouth, ‘and we can see. Each adds to the pleasure of the others. Don't you want to look?'

He took a step back from her, and Cassie looked. From his handsome countenance, her eyes travelled down, his shoulders, his chest, his belly, faltered at the thin line of hair arrowing down, then followed it, to the scimitar arc of his erection. Such strength. She could not imagine how—but already, thanks to the mosaics, she was imagining.

He pulled them both onto the tiles so that they sat facing each other, legs entwined, close enough to touch, and to kiss. Smothering kisses. Flesh on flesh. Damp skin on damp skin. Hot steam, hotter passion. His hands were on her thighs now, on her flank, then on the soft skin on the inside, stroking into the source of heat nestled between them. She could feel the same
mounting, clutching tension as before, only this time it was not frightening. This time she embraced it, welcomed it, sought it. His fingers slipped inside her, and softly caressed the hardening source of it all.

When Jamil spoke his voice was ragged, as if, like she, he was having difficulty breathing. ‘Do you like this, Cassie?'

‘Yes.'

‘And this?'

‘Yes.' His touch, stroking and circling and thrusting, was taking her to the precipice over which she longed to jump, but this time she wanted more. She wanted to take him with her. She wanted him to fall into the dark abyss of pleasure, too. ‘Jamil, can I—will you let me…?'

‘Yes. Yes, touch me, Cassie.' He placed her hands on his manhood. Unexpectedly smooth, silky smooth and hard. ‘Like this,' Jamil said, showing her how to stroke him, his breath coming faster, showing her that she pleased him. A small groan escaped him. She stroked again, and he groaned again, and then he resumed his stroking, too, and almost immediately it started, the slow build, the faster climb, the pause, the excruciatingly exciting pause at the top as he held her there, touching but not enough, and her own inexpert touch on his shaft became more confident, and she felt him tighten and swell, echoing a swelling and tightening in her, and she stroked again and heard his low guttural cry of release mingle with her own soft, wild cries, his hot seed spilling onto her hand, and then she fell, fell, fell, and floated like before, only more because this time she was not alone. She had pleasured and was
pleasured in return. Here in the steam room surrounded by images of pleasure, she had opened another new door.

‘Byron was right,' she murmured rather incoherently into Jamil's shoulder, lying damp and sated, clasped tight.

J
amil did not want to move. Once his needs were slaked, he usually desired to be alone, for a melancholy stole over him that he never wished to share. This time, however, the familiar ennui failed to appear. The pulsing pleasure of his climax held him headily high, then floated him gently back to earth as if on a magic carpet. His body felt heavy, his limbs reluctant to move. Limp and damp and warm in his arms, Cassie felt every bit as delightful as he had imagined. His release had come with more force than he had ever experienced before, but, amazingly, his manhood was stirring again.

‘Hot,' Cassie murmured, opening her eyes, gazing up at him with the unmistakable look of a sated woman.

Jamil's erection hardened. Instead of sadness, he felt a sudden, unexpected surge of joy. ‘How hot?'

Cassie stirred, easing herself away with some difficulty, for their skin was slippery with sweat. ‘Too hot.'

Jamil got lithely to his feet, pulling her with her. ‘So you want to cool down?'

Confused by the laughter in his eyes, by the smile she could see trembling on his kiss-frayed lips, Cassie eyed him uncertainly. ‘What do you mean?' Catching the direction of his glance, she saw the plunge pool and remembered its icy feel. ‘No,' she squealed, but it was too late. Before she could stop him, he picked her up and jumped in, holding her close, laughing as she screamed when the water hit her, kissing her protesting mouth into submission as they emerged, standing shivering in the waist-high pool, Cassie still clasped tight to his chest, kissing until desire took them once more, and Jamil carried her up the shallow steps and through the next door into the warm room. The place the Romans called the
tepidarium
was designed for cleansing, and was amply supplied with scented oils and fragrant soaps. It was also equipped with an ingenious device that sprinkled warm water over the body. Designed like a fountain, the water shot out from the mouths of a shoal of little golden fishes built into a niche in the wall, controlled by a tap in the form of a conch shell.

Cassie jumped when the first jets of water sprinkled her body, and then, as the warm water drenched her, smiled with delight at its soothing touch. Picking up an enormous sponge and lathering it with jasmine-scented soap, Jamil stepped into the jets with her and began another long, slow onslaught of her body. He might not be able to take her in the way he most wanted, but he could ensure that she never forgot him. The sponge
swept over the delightful curves of her, down her spine, the slope of her bottom, up to her breasts, where the nipples peaked rosily, begging for his attention. The sponge fell to the floor as Jamil fell upon her hungrily.

She couldn't believe it could happen again so quickly. Kissing, touching, wanting, starting slowly before becoming more urgent. She could feel Jamil's erection pressing into her thigh. She could not help wondering how it would feel pressing inside her. He was kissing her mouth again now, his lips ravaging her, devouring her, as their bodies twined closer and closer, and all the time the warm soothing water cascaded over them. She was leaning against the tiled wall of the fountain, clutching on to one of the golden jets for support when Jamil knelt to kiss her thighs, her sex, and she came suddenly and violently, crying out his name. He held her until the storm of her orgasm passed, before standing up, his erection standing proud, nudging insistently into her thigh.

What he made her feel, surely he should feel, too? What he had given, surely she could return? Without giving herself time to think, filled with a desire only to please as he had pleased, Cassie slid down on to her knees, just as Jamil had done. She kissed his thighs, just as he had done.

‘Cassie.'

The rough edge of his voice told her she was right. The solid, curving heft of his manhood confirmed her thoughts. She touched it, marvelling at the silken hardness of it. Jamil groaned. A surge of desire, a different kind of desire, heated her. She wanted to please him. She hoped this would provide pleasure for both of them.
Gently she cupped him before taking him in her mouth. The result was beyond her wildest hopes.

 

Later, they lay entwined on one of the wooden beds used for massages, allowing the gentle warmth of the air to dry them, too sated to speak. It was Cassie who moved first, aware that it must be nearly time for the palace household to be stirring. ‘I must go. If I am seen leaving…'

‘You are worried about what people will say of you?'

‘No, I'm worried about what they'll say of you,' Cassie retorted. ‘You're the one who has been at immense pains to tell me how important it is that I behave with discretion, remember? The Council…'

‘The Council are my subjects, just like everyone else. I won't tolerate gossip!'

Cassie could not but smile at this. ‘You may be a prince, but you can't actually stop people talking.' Her smile faded as reality began to creep in. ‘They will say I am your concubine.'

For some reason, the truth of this enraged him. Jamil's eyes darkened. ‘Any man who implies any such thing…'

‘But they will, and it is the truth and…' Then the truth, the real truth, hit Cassie with a shock that made the icy plunge into the pool earlier feel like a hot bath. She was in love with him.

‘Cassie?'

She was in love with Jamil, Prince of Daar-el-Abbah.

‘Cassandra?'

Of course she was in love with him. Why else would she have behaved like a strumpet?
Her foolish, foolish
heart had done it again, only this time she knew it was profoundly different!
True, undying, eternal love. The kind of love she had always dreamed of, just as she had described to Jamil that day in the secret garden. A love that made her feelings for Augustus seem absurdly trivial. She was in love with Jamil, Sheikh al-Nazarri. In love, in love, in love.

‘Cassie! What in the name of the gods is wrong with you? Why are you looking at me like that?'

‘Jamil.' She took a step towards him, holding out her hands as if in supplication.

‘I will ensure your reputation is protected, if that is what you are worried about.'

‘It's not that. I don't care about that.'

Despite the heat, the colour from her cheeks had faded. Despite what she said, she clearly did regret their lovemaking, Jamil realised. Her regret pained him, as did the need for secrecy, for it placed the last few hours in a sordid light that made him uneasy. What had happened was not sordid. It was nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, quite the opposite. He
wanted
the world to know. That she did not, that she was right not to wish such a thing, only served to make him rail all the more at the situation. Why did it all have to be so complicated? Why could she not have kept her feelings to herself? She had pierced the bubble of their interlude, forcing him to step back into reality, out of the oasis of wonder they had temporarily created. ‘You are ashamed,' he said harshly, ‘I should have known.'

‘
No!
Jamil, don't.' Cassie dashed a hand over her eyes. The euphoria that had enveloped her, clouding reality in a rosy pink hue, had vanished. ‘Please
don't think I wish we hadn't—please don't. You don't understand.'

‘Then explain to me!'

‘I can't.' She wrenched herself from his grasp and ran for the steam room. Grabbing her sodden clothes, she scrabbled into them and, wrapping one of the dry towels from the changing room around her like a cloak, made it somehow back to her own rooms undetected.

Stripping off her damp clothes, Cassie lay shivering under the thin silk sheet and finally gave way to tears. She was in love, and it should feel like the best feeling in the world, and it did. But it also felt like the worst. She buried her head beneath a heap of satin cushions and prayed in vain for sleep to take her.

 

Back in the hammam, Jamil jumped into the plunge pool, but the icy water did nothing to cool his ire. How did she do that so effortlessly, turn his emotions upside down? He, who had been taught at such an early age to exercise iron control? And why, despite having experienced the two most amazing climaxes of his life, was he still burning with desire for her?

Cassie was obviously not a woman easily tired of. In fact, right now, Jamil could not imagine tiring of her at all. Despite her English reserve, she was in spirit a true wild flower of the desert. He could teach her not to be ashamed. He could show her real passion, real fulfilment, in the joining of their bodies. He could teach her that there were some feelings he knew more about than she.

But he could not have her, honour forbade it. There were some boundaries he could not cross. Unless…

Unless honour was first satisfied.

Something Linah had said the day Cassie had gone missing in the desert popped into his mind. He smiled. Out of the mouths of babes and innocents. It was ridiculous, of course. The barriers he would have to demolish. The diplomatic hoops that would have to be jumped through. And there was the not insignificant obstacle of the already signed agreement. Jamil frowned heavily as he towelled himself dry and donned his tunic.

But as Cassie had pointed out, he was a prince. If he could not do as he wished, who could? Had he not, for some time, been fretting at the ties that bound him to duty, the burdens of state that were becoming so onerous? Could not this really rather enticing solution provide him with renewed enthusiasm for serving his kingdom? In fact, were the advantages of such an alliance, bringing as it did such excellent connections, not actually something for which his people should be thankful?

It would take some thought, and a great deal of negotiation, but he had Halim, that master of tact, and he had precedent, too, in the shape of Lady Celia. And, most of all, it was what he wanted. For the first time in his life, he would be taking what was right for him. Jamil nodded emphatically to himself as he strode across the gardens from the hammam to the palace. He would think it over tonight. And then, in the clear light of day, he would act.

 

Time after time, when some minor catastrophe struck, Celia's best advice to her sisters was to sleep
on it. ‘Things always look better in the morning,' she would say, ‘then we will know what to do.'

Usually she was right. Solutions to problems that had seemed insurmountable would be resolved with a clear head and a fresh day. But as she made her
toilette
the morning after running away from Jamil in the hammam, back in her corsets and one of her muslin dresses, Cassie frowned. This particular problem would not be so easily resolved. Pinning up her hair into a tight chignon on top of her head, bereft of any of her usual defiant curls, she bit her lip hard to stop the tears from falling.

This time, the advice had failed her. She had woken with no idea of what to do. No, she did not for a moment regret coming here, how could she, for otherwise she would never have met Jamil. She loved him. She would have realised it sooner or later, even had she not surrendered to the passion he roused in her. She loved him, would always love him, would never have truly loved had she not met him. Fate, something in which Cassandra had always been inclined to believe, a tendency for which she was indeed most aptly named, had brought them together. She would not have had it any other way. She was made to love him.

Despite the dilemma that hung, like the desert storm clouds, lowering and ominous, over her, Cassie smiled. She loved him so much. She loved the proud hauteur that kept him apart from other mortals, but what she loved most about him was the man beneath the princely cloak. The man only she knew. The man no one else would ever know—for despite the advances he had made with his daughter, Jamil had not changed at all,
when it came to the most important thing in the world. Love. He did not believe in it, and who could blame him, given his upbringing? Even if he did allow himself to come out from behind that armour of invincibility long enough to allow it to happen, would he even know how?

The idea of Jamil in love with anyone else was too awful to contemplate. The idea of him finding another confidante to replace her was awful, too. Except if he didn't, he'd be lonely again, and she didn't want that either. What she wanted was for him to be happy.

She could make him happy. ‘I could, I really could,' she told her reflection. But she couldn't.

Could she?

Celia had done it. Celia was happy. Very happy. The happiest person Cassie knew, in fact. But the difference was, Ramiz loved Celia. Jamil only desired Cassie, and that was not enough. ‘Because desire can fade without love to sustain it,' Cassie said sadly to the mirror, ‘and I could not bear that.'

It seemed the night had, after all, brought wise council. All her instincts told her that she should leave. To stay would be to destroy something, for she would not be able to resist Jamil, and he would surely tire of her eventually. Unless…

At this point, the vicious circle of Cassie's rather illogical reasoning was interrupted by an unusual summons. Prince Jamil wished to have an audience with her. The formality of the request set her heart beating wildly in her breast. This was the end. The decision had been made for her. Perhaps his Council had spoken.

Telling herself it was for the best—was it not exactly
the conclusion she had reached herself?—Cassie finished her
toilette
. The white muslin dress with its close-fitted sleeves and lace-covered neckline was plain and sombre, eminently suitable for the occasion. She picked out a white Brussels lace scarf, a birthday present from her sisters, and fixed it on her hair with more pearl-headed pins, pulling it down to veil her face. It would serve the dual purpose of disguising her reactions and covering the distress that would inevitably result from her dismissal. She did not wish Jamil to see how upset she was. She would not cry. She would not!

The walk to the state rooms felt like it would never end. Balling her hands into fists in an effort to stop them trembling, Cassie followed the male servant along long marble corridors to a small ante-room tiled in the royal emerald. The double doors were flung open. A seemingly endless narrow green carpet led towards a dais. The chamber—it must be the throne room—was sparkling with light, the sun bouncing off the immense crystal chandeliers which put even those at the Brighton Pavilion to shade. The doors swung shut behind her. Her escort, along with the two guards, remained on the other side. The room was empty, save for one person seated on a strange and rather hideous golden throne set upon the dais. Jamil.