"Shiek" - читать интересную книгу автора (Connie Mason)

"Why aren't you with your women?" Zara dared to ask.

Why, indeed? Jamal thought but did not say. Instead of easing the lust Zara had created inside him with one of his women, he was torturing himself by watching her bathe. He was already hard and growing harder.

"I sent them to the village with Hammet," Jamal said. "'Tis market day and they love to browse in the souk."

"'Tis the master's right to be here," Nafisa said with a hint of censure. "Lie on the bench, Zara, so that I may tend you properly. You have neglected your body most shamefully."

Jamal watched with growing excitement as Nafisa swiftly and efficiently rid Zara of all her body hair. When she had finished, Zara's skin was once again as smooth and soft as satin. His eyes feasted on her plump pink mound, recalling how moist and hot her tight sheath had been when he'd aroused her with his mouth and fingers. His loins grew heavy, his manroot rose, hard and engorged. This seduction was going much too slowly, he thought. Tonight he would escalate his efforts to bring Zara to his bed. But for now he had suffered enough torment. Rising abruptly, he called Nafisa to his side, spoke briefly to her, then left the hammam.

Zara noted Jamal's absence when she rose to enter the pool. Her relief was immediate and heartfelt. The knowledge that Jamal was watching her while she bathed had excited her. Her nipples had puckered into taut buds, and she wondered if Nafisa had noticed. Allah take Jamal, she thought grumpily. Why should this arrogant sheik, enemy of her people, be the only man to fully arouse her womanly passions?

She had loved Sayed, but her feelings for him were tepid compared to the exhilaration she felt when Jamal touched her. It shouldn't be like that, she thought, disgruntled. He was too sure of himself, too powerfully male, too arrogant. He wanted her in his bed, and she didn't know how long she could resist the compelling appeal of his seduction.

Nafisa washed Zara's body and hair with jasmine-scented soap, then rinsed her several times with warm water that had been heated on a brazier. When Zara had finished bathing, Nafisa wrapped her in a large square of linen cloth and rubbed her body dry. Then she bade Zara lie down on the bench so that she could massage oil of jasmine into her skin. It felt wonderfully relaxing, but had the hands upon her been Jamal's, Zara reflected, the massage would have been erotic and arousing. Praise Allah that it was Nafisa administering to her and not Jamal.

The clothing Nafisa brought for Zara to wear was not fit for a slave. Zara gazed with distaste at the short, sleeveless blouse fashioned of rich turquoise brocade, thinking that it would barely cover her breasts. The silken pantaloons were a pale ivory color and embarrassingly transparent. They belled out from the waist and hugged her slim ankles. But they were so sheer her skin tones were clearly visible. Then Nafisa handed her a veil to cover her face.

"I cannot wear these clothes," Zara protested. "They're not proper attire for a Berber princess."

"I am but following Sheik Jamal's orders," Nafisa said with a shrug. "Now be a good girl and get dressed. Your master left orders that you are to serve him tonight. After you finish dressing, I'll show you to your room. It is tiny, but more than adequate for a slave. There is even a small walled garden for your enjoyment." She gave Zara an assessing look. "'Tis unusual for Sheik Jamal to bring home a female slave. Male slaves and eunuchs perform the day-to-day tasks at Paradise. The only women in the palace are myself and his concubines."

"Do you expect me to be grateful for such an honor?" Zara asked bitterly. "I didn't ask to be a slave. I vow I will not remain one long. My father will come for me soon."

"We'll see," Nafisa said sagely. "Hurry, now. There will be time for a nap before your duties begin."

Since no other clothing was forthcoming, Zara quickly donned the revealing costume, but drew the line at the veil. "Berber women do not hide their faces," she declared haughtily.

"You are in an Arab harem," Nafisa said, not unkindly. "You will obey your master. Come along, I'll take you to your room."

Zara entered a small chamber scarcely bigger than a large closet. There were a sleeping couch, a chest for her clothing and a low table. A pile of cushions was stacked against one wall. A double door opened into a small walled garden. It was indeed adequate for her needs, Zara decided, for she wouldn't be remaining long. At the end of four weeks, if her father didn't come before then, she would be free. Jamal was a man of his word, and when he failed to seduce her, he would have no choice but to free her.

"Rest, Zara," Nafisa said as she left her charge. "Someone will come for you when it is time to serve your master."

"How am I to serve the sheik?" Zara asked warily.

"You will bring his food from the kitchen and serve him."

Relief shuddered through Zara. She knew Jamal could order her to his bed and she would have no say in the matter. She almost wished he would, for then he would lose his wager and she would be free. Lying with the enemy was repugnant to her, but it would almost be worth her freedom. Almost...

Since there was little to explore in her room, Zara lay down on the couch and promptly fell asleep. What seemed like scant minutes later, someone arrived to awaken her. She opened her eyes and met the gaze of a young man about her own age. He had a long, sad face, expressive brown eyes and skin as smooth and flawless as her own. She knew instinctively that he was a eunuch, for no other males were allowed in the harem.

"I am called Hakim. I bring your supper." He motioned to a tray of food he had placed on the table. "You must eat quickly. When you finish I'm to take you to the master."

"Thank you, Hakim. The food smells delicious," Zara said, walking to the table. She saw that Hakim had placed a cushion before the table and she sat down cross-legged upon it.

"I'll return for you shortly," Hakim said as he quietly let himself out of the room.

Zara ate ravenously, thoroughly enjoying the rice with tiny bits of capon breast in it, creamy yogurt with peeled grapes, a dish of figs, warm flat bread and fresh apples and oranges. She was just finishing her meal when Saha barged into her room, her eyes blazing furiously.