Jennifer Lewis - The Sheikh Who Desired Her

She felt sick. ‘How can you even bear to go to Al-Omar after that?’

Salman shook his head. ‘Sultan Sadiq is not his father. He and Nadim made a peace agreement years ago. And he personally oversaw the arrest and imprisonment of all the rebel elements of his father’s army.’

Without even thinking about what she was doing Jamilah kicked off her shoes and padded barefoot over to where Salman sat. She knelt at his feet, took one of his hands in hers, and looked up at him, an unbelievable ache in her chest. ‘I had no idea that such terror was visited upon you. Why does no one know this?’ She felt the tension in his frame.

‘Because I blamed myself for a long time. I believed that I’d been responsible on some level—that I’d invited their attention. How could I tell my father what I’d done? He’d never forgive me … or at least that was what I thought. I had nightmares for years of being pursued by a herd of wild avenging horses until I was so exhausted that I would fall and they would trample me to death.’

Jamilah shook her head, gripping his hand. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

Salman quirked a weary smile. ‘It’s one thing to know that on an intellectual level, and another entirely to believe it with all your being.’

Abruptly he stood up, forcing her to stand, too. He took his hand from hers and tipped his head back, his features suddenly stern. ‘So now you know. I hope the lurid tale was worth the wait …’

Jamilah shook her head. ‘Salman, don’t …’

Salman was reacting to how exposed and naked he felt in that moment—alternately drawn to and wanting to escape from Jamilah’s huge eyes, which swirled with emotions he couldn’t bear to acknowledge. ‘Salman, don’t what? I told you I was twisted and dark inside, and now you know why. Nothing else has changed, Jamilah. I still want you.’ His mouth thinned. ‘But I won’t be surprised if you find your desire suddenly diminished. Not many people relish a battle-scarred lover. Perhaps I should take your advice and go and slake my lust elsewhere.’

The stoic pride on his face, mixed with a vulnerability she’d never seen before, made her want to weep. Jamilah fought not to contradict him vociferously. How could he think that? She remained silent, stunned by his awful revelations. She was reeling, in shock and numb all over, but she finally managed to get out, ‘What you’ve told me hasn’t disgusted me at all … you were a victim, and shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.’

Jamilah sensed Salman’s volatility, sensed his anger that he’d revealed what he had. She knew it must have cost him, and he wouldn’t welcome the fact that she’d all but bludgeoned him into it. She had to walk away now or he might see how badly she wanted to step up to him, pull his head down and comfort him. She tore her gaze from his and turned and walked away.

At the door she stopped, but didn’t turn back. All she said was, ‘I’m glad you told me, Salman.’ And she left.

For long moments after Jamilah had left the room Salman just stood there, in shock at how easily he’d let his darkness spill out, and at Jamilah’s sweetly accepting response. He’d seen pity, yes, but it hadn’t made him feel as constricted as he might have imagined. He’d always dreaded the reaction he might get. That was why he found it so easy to listen to others tell their tales.

There was an intense battle raging within him: to take Jamilah and slake his lust, drown himself in the sanctuary that he suspected with grim certainty only she could give him, or to push her away so far and so fast that she would be protected from him. Again .

And yet just now she hadn’t run from him in horrified terror at the images that had haunted him all his life. He’d seen the compassion in her eyes and had recoiled from it, even as he’d wanted to bury his head in her breast and beg her to never let him go. He who’d never sought comfort from anyone! Even in the darkest moments, when he’d felt he was going mad with all the nightmares and memories.

The parameters of their relationship had just shifted, and Salman wasn’t sure where they stopped and started any more. All he knew was that he wanted her—now more than ever. Even while he felt that need he acknowledged that after tonight she would have to come to him, but the question was, would she?

Jamilah lay in bed, wide awake, her stomach roiling at the thought of what Salman had gone through. Her head was whirling with all the information. So much made sense now: that terrible darkness that was like a cloak around him, his frosty relationship with Nadim and Merkazad, his fear of horses … And yet he also seemed to be even more of an enigma. She now knew his inner demons, but she’d never felt further from knowing him .

Jamilah turned over onto her side and looked out onto the empty square that housed the iconic hotel. Moonlight lit up the monument in the middle, throwing it into stark relief. Despite everything Salman had told her, what was at the forefront of her mind was the fact that he’d lied about their bond being non-existent. That he’d said it purely to drive her away. And it had worked—admirably.

She had to concede now that if he had been nicer about rejecting her perhaps a doubt always would have lingered, torturing her even more? Perhaps she wouldn’t have left and got on with her life and career?

Eventually she fell into an uneasy sleep, full of dark dreams and scary faces with no features, and when she woke in the morning, nearly late for her first meeting, she was relieved to see that Salman had already left the suite.

In the cold light of day what he’d endured seemed to be so much starker and worse. She sensed that he was waiting for her to make the next move, and in all honesty she didn’t know if she had the strength to resist him any more … not with this new knowledge in her head and, worse, this desire to comfort him, heal him in some way. She was very much afraid that his cataclysmic confession had torn what remained of her defences to pieces, and now she’d have nothing to hide behind. Not even anger.

That night, after another elaborate dinner, which had been held in their own hotel this time, Jamilah accepted an invitation from the Sultan of Al-Omar’s aide to go for a drink to the bar. She’d always felt guilty about how she’d run out on him at the Sultan’s party the previous year, after that tense meeting with Salman.

At least that was the justification for her agreeing to the drink. In truth she’d been avoiding Salman all day, still too raw to be able to deal with him and that penetrating dark gaze now that she knew the reason for the shadows behind it. But she’d known where he was at every moment, and she’d seen how his eyes had flashed when he’d noticed her leaving with Ahmed just minutes before.

Earlier that evening she’d been ready before Salman, and had gone down to dinner without him. She’d congratulated herself, having managed to successfully avoid him yet again. But when he’d arrived at dinner he’d raked her whole body across the room with a look so hot she’d been surprised little fires hadn’t broken out over her skin. She’d thought her dress was modest enough—vee-necked silk, with a tight waist and full skirt to the knee—but one look from Salman and she’d feared he’d melted it right off her.

‘Jamilah.’

Jamilah flinched and looked at Ahmed, and smiled apologetically.

‘I’m sorry, my mind is miles away …’ She put a hand on his arm. It wasn’t fair of her to be here with him when she couldn’t concentrate on their conversation. ‘Look, I think we should take a raincheck. I’m not great company this evening.’

Ahmed smiled ruefully, and Jamilah wished that she found the perfectly nice-looking man half as attractive as she found Salman.