not then.” He chuckled. “I feel nothing but you.”
“That’s good.” She relaxed against him again. “Should we go now?”
“Not until dawn. Are you not comfortable?”
Too comfortable. She was enveloped in a lazy haze of contentment. Strange to remember how nervous and fearful she had been when they opened that door those many hours ago. “Is it that hashish that makes me feel so happy?”
“Partly.” His arm tightened around her. “Only partly.”
He meant it was also because they were together. She shook her head. “It doesn’t change—”
“Hush.” Two fingers touched her lips. “Rest now. I wish to show you one more road to pleasure before we leave here.”
“Another? I didn’t dream there were so many.”
“Did I forget to tell you of the whore from India who claimed that there were over a hundred ways of pleasure?”
“I think she lied. It’s not possible.” She yawned. “And I’m too tired.”
“Then sleep.” His voice was a deep, soothing murmur in her ear. “I’ll wake you at dawn.”
She nodded, nestling her cheek against his shoulder.
“Or before.” He whispered, “For she did not lie, Selene.”
“YOU LOOK . . . ROBUST.” Haroun tilted his head, studying her.
“Do I?” Selene moved her bishop.
“You have fine color. I cannot see how this foul place can so agree with you.” The “fine” color deepened. “It does not agree with me. I hate it.”
“So do I.”
She glanced up from the chessboard. “Has it been very hard for you these last weeks?”
“Not hard. You are kind, and Lord Kadar lets me go riding with him every day.” He bit his lower lip. “But it’s an evil place. I wish we could go home to Montdhu.”
Poor Haroun. Why had she not noticed his distress and been more sympathetic?
Foolish question. She had been aware of little going on around her. It was as if during the day she existed in a silken cocoon, sewing, spending time with Haroun, and . . . waiting.
Waiting for the moment when Kadar would hold out his hand and they would walk up the curving stairs.
When she would shed her gown and go into his arms.
When he would show her another way to pleasure.
“Lady Selene,” Haroun prompted, gazing at her in puzzlement. Oh, God, she must look as weak-kneed and meltingly soft as she felt. She hurriedly lowered her gaze to the chessboard. “Your move.”
“I already moved.”
“Oh, I see you did.” What was wrong with her? She felt as if she were seeing, feeling everything through a veil.
Everything but Kadar.
Kadar was holding out his hand.
“We should talk,” she said.
“Later. It’s almost nightfall.”
Nightfall. The tower. Pleasure.
Instinctively she rose to her feet.
He took her hand. “Come.”
He was smiling, but she could feel the tension in his body. It was as strong as the tension that gripped her own. Her breasts were swelling and the tingling between her thighs was beginning, although he had done nothing but touch her hand. Sometimes no touch at all was needed. He would look at her and she would be swept away in a storm of sensuality and anticipation.
This was not good. She must force herself to think as well as feel. “I don’t see you anymore during the day. Where do you go?”
“Anywhere.” They began to climb the steps. “Away from you.”
“Why?”
“I find I cannot draw the line at the tower. I can think of little else except coupling. You have to have some rest.”
She lost her breath. “I do not think this . . . healthy. I’ve never—Is it Nasim or the hashish?”
He shook his head. “It is the two of us. I always knew it would be this way.”
“It’s madness,” she whispered. She added haltingly, “I can think of little else either. Body should not rule the mind. It must stop.”
“Tomorrow.” He opened the door of the tower room. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
Hashish.
Silk.
Mellow candlelight falling on the divan where they took
“That’s good.” She relaxed against him again. “Should we go now?”
“Not until dawn. Are you not comfortable?”
Too comfortable. She was enveloped in a lazy haze of contentment. Strange to remember how nervous and fearful she had been when they opened that door those many hours ago. “Is it that hashish that makes me feel so happy?”
“Partly.” His arm tightened around her. “Only partly.”
He meant it was also because they were together. She shook her head. “It doesn’t change—”
“Hush.” Two fingers touched her lips. “Rest now. I wish to show you one more road to pleasure before we leave here.”
“Another? I didn’t dream there were so many.”
“Did I forget to tell you of the whore from India who claimed that there were over a hundred ways of pleasure?”
“I think she lied. It’s not possible.” She yawned. “And I’m too tired.”
“Then sleep.” His voice was a deep, soothing murmur in her ear. “I’ll wake you at dawn.”
She nodded, nestling her cheek against his shoulder.
“Or before.” He whispered, “For she did not lie, Selene.”
“YOU LOOK . . . ROBUST.” Haroun tilted his head, studying her.
“Do I?” Selene moved her bishop.
“You have fine color. I cannot see how this foul place can so agree with you.” The “fine” color deepened. “It does not agree with me. I hate it.”
“So do I.”
She glanced up from the chessboard. “Has it been very hard for you these last weeks?”
“Not hard. You are kind, and Lord Kadar lets me go riding with him every day.” He bit his lower lip. “But it’s an evil place. I wish we could go home to Montdhu.”
Poor Haroun. Why had she not noticed his distress and been more sympathetic?
Foolish question. She had been aware of little going on around her. It was as if during the day she existed in a silken cocoon, sewing, spending time with Haroun, and . . . waiting.
Waiting for the moment when Kadar would hold out his hand and they would walk up the curving stairs.
When she would shed her gown and go into his arms.
When he would show her another way to pleasure.
“Lady Selene,” Haroun prompted, gazing at her in puzzlement. Oh, God, she must look as weak-kneed and meltingly soft as she felt. She hurriedly lowered her gaze to the chessboard. “Your move.”
“I already moved.”
“Oh, I see you did.” What was wrong with her? She felt as if she were seeing, feeling everything through a veil.
Everything but Kadar.
Kadar was holding out his hand.
“We should talk,” she said.
“Later. It’s almost nightfall.”
Nightfall. The tower. Pleasure.
Instinctively she rose to her feet.
He took her hand. “Come.”
He was smiling, but she could feel the tension in his body. It was as strong as the tension that gripped her own. Her breasts were swelling and the tingling between her thighs was beginning, although he had done nothing but touch her hand. Sometimes no touch at all was needed. He would look at her and she would be swept away in a storm of sensuality and anticipation.
This was not good. She must force herself to think as well as feel. “I don’t see you anymore during the day. Where do you go?”
“Anywhere.” They began to climb the steps. “Away from you.”
“Why?”
“I find I cannot draw the line at the tower. I can think of little else except coupling. You have to have some rest.”
She lost her breath. “I do not think this . . . healthy. I’ve never—Is it Nasim or the hashish?”
He shook his head. “It is the two of us. I always knew it would be this way.”
“It’s madness,” she whispered. She added haltingly, “I can think of little else either. Body should not rule the mind. It must stop.”
“Tomorrow.” He opened the door of the tower room. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
Hashish.
Silk.
Mellow candlelight falling on the divan where they took
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