The Desert Bride of Al Zayed / Best Man's Conquest: The Desert Bride of Al Zayed / Best Man's Conquest. Michelle Celmer
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Автор: Michelle Celmer
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
isbn: 9781408900666
isbn:
Before Matra could reply, Tariq was at her side. “Matra is offering you coffee.”
Jayne nodded enthusiastically. “Coffee would be lovely.”
Matra put the coffeepot down and disappeared.
“It’s Bedu coffee,” Tariq warned. “Strong and bitter. The coffee beans are roasted on a long shovel and then ground with a mortar before being brewed for several hours.”
The other woman returned with a tray of tiny handleless cups and filled them from the coffeepot and handed one to Jayne who eyed the greenish-brown liquid with suspicion. “It’s not as dark as normal coffee.”
“That’s the cardamom. You drink the whole cup down in one sip.”
“O-kay.” Jayne took a deep breath and gulped, then almost choked as the bitterness hit her throat. “At least these cups only hold a sip or two,” she murmured. “Otherwise I might have to develop a coffee allergy.”
Tariq threw his head back and laughed. Jayne stared. How long had it been since he had laughed like that? When she’d first known him, his infectious laughter, his joie de vivre, had been one of the first things to attract her. Tariq had loved life—and lived it joyously.
She hadn’t realised how much she had missed his good humour. Until now.
Matra was back offering the tray again. Tariq took another cup and smiled at the woman, who lowered her eyes. Sucking in a deep breath, Jayne reached for another cup.
“How am I going to drink this?”
“Slowly,” Tariq responded, but his eyes danced.
She took a tiny sip and pulled a surreptitious face.
“Here, give it to me.”
“It’s okay, I don’t want to be rude.”
His hand closed around hers. He brought the cup up to his mouth. Under the pressure of his hand, she tipped the cup. He sipped. This close the gold eyes gleamed like burnished bronze. Caught in the snare of his gaze, she stared at him, suddenly breathless.
His lips lifted off the rim of the minute cup. “There is one last sip. For you.”
His hands still cupping hers, she placed her lips against the opposite rim from where he had drunk. The cup tilted. She drank.
“How does it taste now?” His voice was husky. “Still bitter?”
She licked her lips clean of the last smears of coffee. As her tongue tip skimmed across her bottom lip, his eyes flared to the colour of midnight. The shock of the change from gold to dark sent a bolt of sensation through her.
She hurriedly retracted her tongue, swallowed and realised that the bitter taste had gone. All that remained was the distinctive flavour of cardamom. “No, not bitter.”
How had this happened?
How had she become so aware of him standing so close to her, to his hand still grasping hers?
Jayne pulled away…and found Matra at her elbow. Jayne looked at the cups of coffee, glanced at Tariq and knew he, too, was supremely conscious of the heat that sizzled between them.
“Accepting a third cup means that you consider yourself one of the family. If you deliberately refuse this cup…it will be considered rude,” he murmured softly.
Quickly she nodded to Marta. And so did Tariq. Following his lead, she tossed it back, trying very hard not to grimace and set the empty cup on the tray.
“Now you can refuse the next cup. Because after three cups it is considered rude to take another.”
“Thank goodness,” she murmured.
“You did fine. Come, it is time to say good-night.”
A fine quivering sensation started deep in her stomach as they walked across the shadowed camp to their tent, the indigo night sky arching overhead. Jayne was aware of the darkness that stretched into the desert beyond their tent. The vast emptiness that surrounded them, broken only by the soft conversation of the Bedouin still gathered around the fire.
Their tent glowed inside, the soft light of candles diffusing against the drapes in a warm pattern.
“In the sleeping area there is a bath ready for you,” Tariq said. “Matra arranged it.”
“Oh.” Jayne felt suddenly breathless. “I had thought there might be a washroom nearby.”
“There is—with communal baths. No doubt Matra thought you would prefer to bathe in private.”
Private?
With Tariq here?
Dragging her feet, Jayne made her way to where Tariq had pointed. A steaming bath waited, with a high back and a curved lip to rest her head on. After the drive and the long day, it looked too welcoming to refuse. Quickly she shucked off her clothes and stepped in, sinking down into the hot water. Shivers broke across her skin as ripples of heat enfolded her.
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