Penny Jordan Tribute Collection. PENNY JORDAN
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you for my wife, Felicia—my only wife,’ he promised. ‘Many, many times my sister has pleaded for me to marry, but I could not. Perhaps it is a weakness in me, but I knew always that the woman I married must be the only woman, and when I saw you I knew you were she. Only let me, and I shall wipe away the bitterness of last night and teach you the true meaning of love.’
‘But you told me that a marriage between East and West would never work,’ Felicia reminded him, not daring to believe her ears.
‘Between you and Faisal,’ Raschid corrected. ‘Because no sooner had I set eyes upon you than I knew that I could never allow you to waste yourself on Faisal, not when I could love you so much better. But you rejected me, and drove me insane with jealousy, tormented by images of you in Faisal’s arms, when I longed to have you in mine.’
The ice that had invaded her heart melted, and Felicia looked up at him, giving herself trustingly into his care.
‘Tell me you love me, Felicia,’ he pleaded hoarsely. ‘Tell me I am not deluding myself, misreading what I see in your eyes.’
She knew that this time she was not being deceived and her arms reached out to enclose him, her only protest a small murmur when his breath lost its cool, even tenor, and instead became the charged, uneven rasp of a lover.
Last night had all been a bad dream. Only this was real. There was reverence as well as desire in the sure touch of his hands and lips, as he whispered how desperate he had been when Achmed told him she was leaving.
A small smile touched Felicia’s face. Achmed had told him. So Nadia had not really broken her promise after all. Clever Nadia!
He would never let her go, Raschid whispered fiercely. She would be his prisoner throughout their lives and beyond. They were two halves of an indivisible whole, and Felicia, lost in the wonder of his love, could only agree, her hands running lovingly over the satin smoothness of his back beneath the thin shirt.
‘No, not now….’ he muttered thickly, trapping her importuning hands. ‘I cannot dishonour you.’
‘But I want you,’ Felicia pleaded.
Strong hands cupped her face, dark eyes understanding and stormy. ‘Do you not think I want you?’ Raschid whispered unevenly, groaning suddenly as he pulled her against him, letting her feel his need. Her fingers spread against his chest, as she pressed shy kisses against his skin. ‘If I take you now, I shall be like a man consumed by thirst, who is given but one sip of water.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I have denied myself this long, I can deny myself a little longer, but to taste water now and then have it withdrawn before I have quenched my thirst will drive me to madness. Do you understand?’
If she had doubted the depth of his love, she did so no longer. Shyly she nodded, overwhelmed by the recognition of a need she had never suspected existed; a need only she had the power to arouse—and to assuage.
‘It will not be long,’ Raschid promised as he removed his shirt and gently fastened it over her. His eyes burned dark with desire as the damp fabric clung seductively to her swelling curves. ‘Indeed it must not be long,’ he added with a touch of self-mockery. ‘My sister already knows of my hopes. Our betrothal shall be announced tonight. I will not give you an emerald,’ he told her, betraying his knowledge of the stone Faisal had bought her. ‘Do you remember the glass paperweight you gave me?’ he asked suddenly. ‘Well, I have it still, even though I knew you intended it for another. After you had gone I found it where you had thrown it. I keep it in my room so that I can always be reminded of you—little though I need to be. I have slept little since you invaded my life, Felicia Gordon, but soon I shall know the delights of your love.’
THREE WEEKS LATER, when the last of the wedding guests had drifted away, Felicia remembered his words, and trembled a little as wordlessly he lifted her into his arms and carried her through the now empty house.
She had begged to spend her honeymoon at the house by the oasis, and now they were alone, the faint light of the oil lamps throwing flickering shadows across the mosaic floor. Outside the Eastern night had veiled the skies in a shimmer of midnight gauze, studded with sparkling diamonds, like the tiny buttons fastening her robe.
Without a word Raschid knelt at her feet, and she held her breath as one by one he unfastened the tiny fastenings, pausing only when he reached the last one, to lift the heavy weight of her hair off her shoulders and remove the gold necklaces that had been placed there only hours earlier as a symbol of their eternal love. They had had a civil ceremony too, at the British Embassy, but these were their real marriage vows that they were to exchange now, Felicia thought dreamily.
At last she was free, stepping out of the rich fabric of her robe and walking into the hard warmth of the arms that opened to enclose her.
‘Love me….’ Raschid whispered passionately against her skin as he lifted her against him. ‘Love me as I intend to love you, little dove. Trust me to make the night one of pleasure as well as initiation. Where there is pain, there is also pleasure, and there will be pleasure, Felicia. I love you, my little dove. So very, very much….’
She was gathered up against him and kissed tenderly and then passionately until every inch of her vibrated with a desire she made no attempt to hide from him as he carried her towards the divan and its silk cushions.
CHAPTER ONE
‘DID you check out the sexy windsurfer attendant like I told you?’
‘Yeah! He was everything you said and more—much, much more. He’s coming up to my room later. Mind you, he did say that he’d have to be careful. Apparently he’s already on a warning from this Sheikh Rashid—the guy who co-owns the hotel—for fraternising with guests.’
‘And you did more than just “fraternise”, right?’
‘Yeah, much, much more.’
From her seat under the protective sun umbrella of the rooftop bar of the Marina Restaurant where she had just finished lunch, the conversation of the two women standing next to her chair was plainly audible to Petra. Still discussing the sexual attributes of the Zuran resort complex’s windsurfing instructor, they started to move away. Realising that one of them had dropped her wrap, Petra picked it up, interrupting their discussion to return it and earning herself a brief thank you from its owner.
As they walked away, still engrossed in their conversation, Petra grinned appreciatively to herself, murmuring wholeheartedly beneath her breath, ‘Thank you!’
Although they didn’t realise it, thanks to them she had just been given access to the very thing she had been looking for for the last two days!
As soon as they were out of sight she got up, collecting her own wrap, although unlike them she had chosen to eat her lunch wearing a silky pair of wide-legged casual trousers over her tankini top, instead of merely her swimwear.
Shading her eyes from the glare of the sun, she summoned the waiter who had served her her meal.
‘Excuse me,’ she asked him, ‘can you tell me where the windsurfers are?’
Half an hour later Petra was lying on a sun lounger, carefully positioned by the attentive beach attendant who had asked her where she wanted to sit so that she had a direct and uninterrupted view of the stunning man-made bay which was home to the resort’s pleasure craft, and an equally direct and uninterrupted view of the windsurfing instructor she had overheard discussed so enthusiastically over lunch!
She could certainly appreciate just why her fellow guests had waxed so lyrical about him!
Petra was used to seeing good-looking muscular men; she had attended an American university and, since the death of her parents in an accident when she was seventeen, she had travelled extensively both in Europe and Australia with her godfather, the senior British diplomat who had been her parents’ closest friend. She’d become, therefore, quite familiar with the sexy beach bum super-stud macho type of man who thought he was heaven’s gift