Sheikh's Honor. ALEXANDRA SELLERS

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ one to you,” she bit out, feeling driven.

      “Only round one? I have counted three,” he observed mildly. “How many before we stop the match, Clio?”

      The match went on, under cover of surface friendliness, for several days. Brandon showed Jalal the ropes at the marina for a couple of days, and on the following day Jalal and Ben started creosoting the marina dock while Jeremiah went with Brandon to work on one of the cottages, taking their lunch with them. Teaching at the high school had stopped, and the next three weeks was exams, but the younger children were still at school full-time.

      It was a beautiful day, and when they broke at lunch the first coat was done.

      “That’s the fastest I’ve ever seen the first coat go on,” Ben said. “You really know how to swing a brush.”

      The youthful admiration in his tone made Clio grit her teeth.

      “I’ve had a lot of practice,” Jalal said.

      “Paint the palace a lot, do you?” Clio interjected.

      Jalal gazed at her for a long moment, as if he was bored with her childish taunts.

      “We’ve got another hour till the second coat can go on,” Ben said. “Want to take a boat out? I could show you around.”

      “Thank you, Ben, another day. Just now, I would like to talk alone with your sister Clio.”

      The hair stood up on the back of her neck, but there was nothing she could say. Within a couple of minutes, she found herself alone with him in the big friendly kitchen. Tense, and angry because she was, Clio determinedly started her usual tasks.

      “You dislike me very much, Clio,” Jalal said. “Tell me why.”

      Taken aback by his directness, she shook her head and bent to scoop some dishwashing powder into the dishwasher.

      He caught her arm, forcing her to straighten, and the touch shivered all through her. She did not want this. She was not at all prepared to start defending her attitude to him. And he had no right to demand it.

      “I thought you weren’t allowed to touch a woman not related to you,” she said coldly, staring down at where his hand clasped her bare arm, just above the elbow. She felt under threat. She did not want to have this conversation.

      He ignored her comment. “Tell me,” he said. “I want to know why you alone are unwilling to be my friend.”

      She wrenched her arm out of his grasp, using far more effort than was necessary for such a light hold, and staggered.

      “I told you at the wedding. We will never be friends.”

      “Why not?”

      She was silent.

      “Your sister has forgiven what I did. Your parents, too. Why cannot you?”

      She turned her back on him deliberately, closed the dishwasher and set it going. He was silent, too, behind her, and her nerves didn’t seem up to the strain. Her skin shivered with awareness of him.

      “Do you believe it impossible that your sister took no hurt while she was my hostage? Do you suspect me of hurting her, or allowing her to be hurt?” he asked, finally.

      She was silent. Was that what she feared? She hardly knew. All she knew was that Jalal was a threat, and she wished he had never come.

      “Look at me, Clio.”

      His voice was seductive, almost hypnotic, though he did not seem to be doing that deliberately. Feeling driven, she turned to face him. He was too close. She thought dimly, Middle Eastern people have a smaller body territory or something—they always stand too close for Westerners’ comfort. Her heart kicked uncomfortably.

      “Can you imagine that Princess Zara would have encouraged me to come here, into the home of her own family, if such a dreadful thing had happened?”

      “If she was pretending to herself it hadn’t happened, she might,” she felt driven to point out. It wasn’t that she believed it, necessarily, but it was possible. He had to see that.

      He stared at her, honestly startled. “Pretending to herself? How could a woman pretend such a thing? Why would she?”

      Clio felt anxiety creeping up in her. “It does happen, you know! Women take the blame on themselves, or they don’t want to face what happened to them! Denial does happen!”

      He was silent, watching her. Then he said softly, “Does it, Clio? Are you sure?”

      “If you understood anything about psychology you wouldn’t have to ask.”

      “Do you deny something? Has someone hurt you, so that it is easier to imagine I hurt your sister than to accept what happened to yourself?” he asked, proving that he understood more than somewhat about psychology.

      She gasped in indignant fury and clenched her fists. Never had she so wanted to hit someone. But she looked at Jalal and saw the warning in his eyes. Gentle as he was with the children, his look warned her that he would not be gentle with her if she attacked him.

      “Nothing has ever happened to me!” she exploded, her rage escaping in words. “Let’s get one thing straight, Jalal—whatever did or did not happen in your camp, we’re enemies, and it’s because of what you yourself did.”

      He shook his head in flat contradiction. “We are not enemies. That is not what is between us,” he said softly.

      Five

      Clio opened her mouth soundlessly as shivers like a flood ran over her body.

      “You make your sister an excuse to avoid what frightens you. That is all, is it not?”

      He stepped closer, and she backed up against the counter. In the pit of her stomach a hard ball of fire suddenly revealed itself.

      “I am not afraid!” she protested hotly.

      “Good,” he whispered, and when she lifted a hand in protest his hand wrapped her wrist. Every nerve leapt at the touch. Fury seemed to come from nowhere and whip against her like wild wind.

      Slowly he bent closer. He was going to kiss her.

      She couldn’t allow it. She wanted to hit him. Something like a scream was in her throat and she wanted desperately to beat him off. But she couldn’t seem to work her muscles.

      “Do you always just do what you want without asking?” she demanded.

      “I want to kiss you,” he murmured thoughtfully, his mouth only inches from her own. “In this country, do men ask permission for such a thing?”

      She tried to swallow. “Yes,” she said defiantly. Her mouth felt as dry as the desert he came from, where the rules between men and women were so different. She wanted to push him away, to get to a place where the air was clear. But the unfamiliar lassitude would not let her go.

      “Then they understand СКАЧАТЬ