Captive (33 page)

“You are hurting me,” Zoe whispered.

“You love it,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed.

He rolled off of her with a grunt of satisfaction, stretching out beside her, his legs starkly white in the dark of the room.

Zoe immediately bent over him and began to lick his flaccid sex. He sighed, eyes closing. For many minutes there was no sound in the room other than the suction made by Zoe’s lips and the beating of their hearts.

This time she moved on top of him. He fondled her while she rode him, pumping him hard and harder still. Zoe’s eyes
flew open. He smiled at her, a thin, cruel line, and reached down and touched her clitoris and watched her explode.

Then he laid her down on her back, straddling her, his knees near her breasts. Zoe’s eyes fluttered open when he began prodding her bruised lips with the bulbous tip of his manhood. He grinned when she opened obediently, instantly plunging deep. “Oh God,” he said, arching over her. “Christ.”

And a few moments later he gripped her head, a deep, raw sound escaping from his chest, his semen pouring down her throat.

He flopped down beside her, panting.

Zoe sat up, resplendently naked, licking her lips.

His eyes opened. “Would you enjoy that half as much if you weren’t scared to death to have a child that isn’t Jebal’s?”

She smiled wickedly. “What do you think?”

He pinched her ramp, grinning.

Then her smile faded. “Jebal is angry with me. He has heard rumors about Masa and me.”

He sat up, a big man, and crossed his arms. Even in his white shirt, his biceps bulged. “And are they rumors?”

She stared a bit coldly. “What do you think?”

“I think you like fucking and that you do it all the time.”

“You’re right.” She shrugged, then smiled at him, eyes glinting. “But it is you I want the most.”

“I know that. I happen to be the best.”

She glanced between his legs. “And the biggest, too.”

He laughed, pleased. And he was aware that she was playing him, just a bit. But he didn’t mind. He could control her easily enough.

Then Zoe spoke, startling him. “I told Jebal that Zohara is lying about Thornton.”

His gaze narrowed. “Was that wise?”

“I had to do it. She is so arrogant. But I have frightened her. She is definitely hiding something, but I have yet to learn what.”

“I have faith in you, Zoe.”

“I think she knows this Blackwell. I think they were friends, maybe even lovers, in America.”

He began to dress, pulling up his pants. “She has visited him in the bagnio.”

Zoe gasped. “She went to the bagnio!” She stared, shocked, then her brows drew upward. “How much gold did that cost her? And how did she manage—Murad! Of course! He would be able to manage such a task!”

Her lover did not reply.

Zoe pressed against him, her breasts crushed against his back. “Did they fuck?”

“What do you think?”

Zoe sat back on her heels, smiling widely. “I can destroy her in the blink of an eye,” she said happily.

“Wait,” he ordered, shifting to face her. “Wait until it is the right time.”

Zoe folded her arms, which caused her big breasts to jut out, scowling. “Why?”

He barely glanced at her provocative posture. He stood and reached for his tunic. “Because Blackwell is planning a mass escape for himself and his men.”

Zoe’s eyes widened. “Peter, are you certain?”

“Of course I am certain,” Jovar said. His blue eyes gleamed. “Now he will truly, finally, die.”

H
E COULD NOT
help himself.

Murad had retraced his steps, compelled. He stared through two palm fronds at the bathing pool. He knew what he was doing was wrong, terribly wrong. Alex was his mistress. He had no right to spy upon her.

Except that he wasn’t really spying, he was merely watching, unbeknownst by her.

He stared at her as she floated in the water. At her long, pale, lovely legs, at her denuded pubis, at her narrow hips and waist, at her full, glistening breasts. At her stunning face. Her red hair, catching the midday sun, was on fire. The glass rubies on the replica of the gold collar Jebal had given her also gleamed. They were almost the same color as her erect nipples.

He wasn’t sure when he had first fallen in love with her. But it was proper for him to adore his mistress, so he had ignored the intensity of his feelings, just as he had ignored the strange longing. Serving her, being with her, protecting her, had been enough. Until recently.

Until Blackwell had come, until he had seen Alex’s passion for the other man.

Murad clenched his fists. He did not want to feel this way. He did not want to be jealous of her love for another man—especially a man he respected and admired. He did not want
to look at her with love and lust. He was, after all, half of a man—a eunuch and a slave.

But he did not walk away. He continued to stare at her as she slowly sat up. Her hair, partially wet, curled in tendrils around her face and neck. One strand caught on one of her breasts. Never in his entire life had he seen a woman as beautiful, nor had he ever met a woman so intelligent, forthright, and determined. She was unique. So unique that if it were not so completely impossible, he might believe her a time traveler from the future.

Murad closed his eyes. He was torturing himself, thinking thoughts he had no right to—allowing himself the beginnings of fantasies as illicit, in which Alexandra was not his mistress, but his lover.

“Murad,” she whispered.

Murad jerked, his eyes flying open. Paulina stood behind him. He felt himself flushing hotly.

Paulina looked past Murad, through the two fronds. Then, slowly, she lifted her gaze to Murad’s face. She smiled ever so slightly. Her dark eyes glittered.

Alex’s image remained engraved on Murad’s mind. But he was faced with Paulina, who was staring far too knowingly at him. He coughed to clear his throat, wondering if she knew what he was doing, what he was thinking. “Are you looking for me?” he asked, wetting his lips.

She smiled. “Actually, I was. But what were you doing just now, Murad?” Her dark eyes slitted. “Were you watching your mistress bathe?”

“Of course not,” he snapped tersely.

Paulina laughed softly and stepped closer to him. So close that the embroidered vest she wore—and she wore nothing under it—brushed Murad’s own chest. He, too, was wearing only a vest on the upper half of his body. Her bare arm brushed his naked waist; her palm, his thigh. His gaze shot to her face.

He had noticed her before, of course. She was spectacularly beautiful, somewhat stupid—a perfect plaything for Jebal. But that was as far as his thoughts had gone.

“I think you were lusting after Lilli Zohara,” Paulina said softly.

Murad stiffened, a denial forming on his lips. But he did
not succeed in getting the words out. For Paulina reached between his legs, her fingertips instantly finding his penis. And instead of moving away, Murad froze.

She slid her fingers up his length, then back down. “You are the handsomest man I have ever seen,” she murmured, rubbing the tip now. He was stunned, unable to breathe, sweating. “I have been thinking about you.”

Many thoughts flashed through Murad’s mind. He had never made love to a woman before, not out of choice, but because, as a eunuch and a slave, he did not have either the normal inclinations of other men or the opportunities. But now he understood that he could have Paulina. Yet he did not want Paulina, he wanted Alex. He ached with the wanting he felt for his mistress, not just in his loins, but in his soul.

But his blood had never raced as fast or as heatedly. He had never felt such excitement before. Paulina’s fingertips were magical and dexterous on his flesh.

Paulina smiled, slipping to her knees. Murad was almost, but not quite, in a state of disbelief. She pulled him through the slit in his trousers, bent, and flicked her tongue over the bulbous head. Murad gasped.
Praise Allah, this was paradise.

Paulina sucked him into her mouth.

Then she sucked him down her throat.

Murad gripped her head, his last coherent thought being that she belonged to Jebal, and if he was caught, he would be put to death. But then he could think no more. Paulina’s mouth was hot and hard, sucking voraciously. Murad gripped her head, pretending that the hair slipping like silk through his fingertips was Alex’s mane.

A moment later he was on the ground with her, rolling her over, pushing apart her vest. He reached for her big breasts. Tonguing her large nipples. She cried out, wrapping her slim legs around his waist, undulating against him.

Murad hesitated. This was as close as he would ever come to loving Alex, through pretense with another woman. He bent over her, palming her sex. He cried out. She was wet and warm and wonderful.

“Oh, yes, please Jesus, God, yes,” Paulina wept, clinging to him.

Murad slid his fingers into her. So this was what a woman was like. Hot, sweet, tight, so incredibly tight … Murad
wished that he could be inside of her himself. Paulina began convulsing as he stroked her with utter dedication, his body taut and strained.

Then he felt that he was being watched. He looked up— and met Zoe’s sly, laughing eyes.

“She is with her slave, in the garden bath,” Zoe said.

Jebal, who rarely entered the women’s quarters, nodded and continued down the galleria. Zoe smiled, staring after him.

Jebal stepped off of the galleria and started down one garden path. He was turning a corner when he thought he heard a noise, perhaps a human moan, perhaps an animal, somewhere to his right. He started toward a group of shrubs, behind which were two large palms, but then instinct made him face forward again. He froze.

Zohara lay naked in the bathing pool.

Jebal felt that he had been socked in the abdomen. He could not breathe. His loins stiffened immediately.

He finally managed to think through the encroaching lust. Zohara had lied to him, and he had come to the harem to learn the truth, not to lust after her or even bed her.

Jebal had spent most of the night and that following morning deciding what he would do. And if she was a complete fraud, she would be severely punished. He might even divorce her and sell her at auction to the highest bidder. Of course, he would have her first.

Resolutely now, he strode down the path. His sandals crunched on the shells.

Her eyes flew open. She saw him, her gaze widening, sitting up. Her face turned red. “Jebal!”

He did not smile, staring at her openly. Her color increased. He could not help thinking of entering the pool with her, taking her first, and then demanding the truth. Instead, he folded his own arms and stood above her, gazing down at her. He had to know the reasons for her lies.

“Jebal,” she said again. She forced a smile, her gaze darting to the pile of clothing just to his right. “You are looking for me?”

“Yes, I am.” He did not move.

She licked her lips. “I would like to dress.”

He felt perverse. “I prefer you to remain just the way you are.”

Her eyes widened.

Jebal smiled tightly. “Is it true? There is no dead first husband? My understanding is that there has never been a British diplomat named Thornton stationed at Gibraltar.”

Her hot red flush disappeared. She was unnaturally white. “That is correct,” she said hoarsely after a pause. “Thornton was never stationed at Gibraltar.”

“What was your real name, Zohara?” he demanded as coolly as possible. But his temper surged. Anger mingled with lust.

“My real name is Alexandra Thornton.”

“Is there a dead first husband?”

“No.” She stared up at him.

He wanted to strike her. He actually saw red. He would beat her—fuck her—destroy her. “You have lied.”

“There was a man. I loved him. I thought we would wed. He promised. I gave myself to him. And …” Tears fell. “He left me, Jebal. He left me.”

“Who?”

“His name was Todd. Todd Whitman.”

“An American?”

“Yes.”

Jebal regarded her. Her story made sense. His anger had faded. “Are you telling me the truth?”

She nodded, her green eyes huge and luminous. “I knew Todd since we were very small children. I loved him from the time I was four or five years old. We were inseparable in grammar school. We were sweethearts by the time we were fourteen and fifteen. Even our families knew we would one day wed.”

Jebal believed her. He saw the emotions there in her eyes—not so much the love, but the sadness, the regret, and the last remnants of rejection and an old hurt. “And he took your virginity and abandoned you.”

“He met another woman,” she said softly, staring down at her knees.

“I am sorry,” he said, abashed.

Not looking up, she whispered, “May I put on my clothing now?”

He felt terrible, uncomfortable with his own lapse into cruelty. Jebal picked up her tunic and held it out to her. She stood swiftly, flushing again. She almost tore the long garment from his hands, pulling it swiftly over her head.

But he had seen all that there was to see. She was the most magnificent women he had ever beheld. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

She met his gaze, quickly looked away. “Because I gave myself out of marriage to a man, and in my country, that is an unforgivable sin.”

“Here, too, but I understand,” Jebal said, laying his hand on her shoulder. He felt her trembling. He also noticed how her silk tunic had become damp, clinging to her generous breasts, her flat belly, and even the mound of her femininity. “I have one more question.”

She nodded, her gaze remaining downcast.

“Why were you on your way to Gibraltar?”

“I was running away. Todd made a fool of me. I didn’t care where I went, didn’t care if I lived or died. I took the first ship I came across. Had I wandered to a different part of the city, I would have gotten on the first train.” Her gaze crept upward. “Fate brought me here.”

It crossed Jebal’s mind that Zoe would be the one punished for trying to destroy his relationship with Zohara. Zoe was pushing too hard, too often. He was growing very tired of her demanding, deceitful ways.