Page 47 of Silver Angel

When she sat back on her heels, she saw not only Jamil but also his two bodyguards, standing with their backs to the wall on each side of a large four-poster bed. Jamil was at the foot of the high bed, resting his hips against it, his arms crossed over his chest, his legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles, the pose so bloody English in its casual nonchalance that Chantelle nearly gasped in surprise. Thank God for the Eastern dress that made the effect incongruous, reminding her that there was nothing English about Jamil. Since he’d been raised a barbaric infidel, blood didn’t count.

“You are allowed to speak, you know.”

Her gaze dropped back to the floor. Her fingers worried at one of the four ropes of pearls Rahine had draped over her head just before she’d been led out of the baths.

“I have nothing to say.”

“Do not retreat, Shahar. Return your eyes to me, or better yet, come closer.”

“May I walk?”

“Don’t be impertinent. If I wanted you to crawl, I would say so.”

Color singed her cheeks. He would, too, the swine. But she was warned by the abruptness of his tone that she had better keep her flippancy to herself for now.

With acute dread which was accelerating her pulse, she rose slowly to her feet and closed the distance between them. Still, her eyes wouldn’t meet his again, and whether he was getting annoyed with this continued defiance on her part she couldn’t tell.

She watched him push away from the bed so that he was standing when she stopped an arm’s distance away. Legs straight and spread, an arrogant stance if she’d ever seen one, his arms unfolded, and then she felt fingers gliding across her cheek.

Fire was her impression, his fingertips were so hot. Amazingly, she kept from flinching, but her gaze remained locked on the deep V of his white tunic and the large tiger’s eye medallion that rested against his skin there. It was bronzed skin and sparingly dotted with crisp black hair near the point of the V, which made her realize with a flare of irritation thathedidn’t have to suffer his hair being plucked and scraped away. On top of that thought was the further realization thatshewasn’t completely denuded of hair either, though she was supposed to be. What would his reaction be to that? she wondered, and in the wondering knew that she had already accepted the fact that he would soon be in a position to discover her apparently sinful state.

“Will you take dinner with me?”

The incongruity of that question, when she had expected at any moment to be tossed onto his bed, brought Chantelle’s eyes flying up to his face. “Dinner?”

“If you like,” he said softly.

He was staring at her mouth. His thumb moved to trace the line of her lower lip. And then his eyes locked with hers. Emerald fire. There was nothing indifferent aboutthisgaze.

“Dinner would be nice…I mean wonderful…I’m famished, actually,” she ended on what she hoped was a note of sincerity.

He laughed, amazing her. The sound was deep and pleasant, and she imagined that she could feel its reverberation inside her own chest.

“You are so transparent, Shahar. Did you think I would ravish you the moment you walked through the door?”

Exactly, but she didn’t say so. She didn’t have to. The blush soared clear to her hairline this time, visible even with her head bowed.

“This shyness is allowed, but your eyes are exquisite, little moon. I want to see them.”

And everything you want you get? she thought with annoyance, then tossed caution to the wind and said it in English.

His emerald gaze narrowed the tiniest bit. “English is unacceptable here, Shahar. Your French is superb, but it is not a language everyone is familiar with. You may use it while you are with me, but otherwise you will practice the mixture of Turkish and Arabic that is the common language of the palace. Eventually, that will be the only language you will speak.”

She said nothing. What could she say? That was tantamount to an order. And she learned one thing. His mother might be English, but she obviously hadn’t taught him to speak it. He proved it by his next words.

“Now, what was it that you said to me?”

For a split second she considered lying. But his hand had come beneath her chin, forcing her head back up,forcingher to meet his gaze. She decided on the truth, hoping it would annoy him enough to take his hand off her.

“I asked if you get everything you want.”

He didn’t take his hand away. The other hand came up, and he cupped her face in his palms. He obviously wasn’t offended, but then the instinct for self-preservation had kept the derision out of her words this time.

“Of course,” was his husky reply. “Everything, Shahar. Why should it be otherwise, when everything you see belongs to me, including yourself?”

She tried to pull away. He countered by holding her firmly and stepping closer until his hips just touched her. Her nostrils flared with the scent of him, musk and sandalwood, nice, so nice.

She blinked. Good God, he was hypnotic, with those dark green eyes so close, his breath warm against her lips. She groaned, and instantly she was released.