Page 68 of Silver Angel

Those you fear may be rebellious,

admonish; banish them to their couches

and beat them. If they then obey you,

look not for any way against them; Allah is

All-high, All-great.

Your women are a tillage for you;

so come unto your tillage as you wish,

and forward for your souls; Allah is

All-mighty, All-wise.

Chantelle caught her breath and glanced back to see Jamil still watching her. He dismissed the Reader of the Koran with an abrupt motion, never taking his eyes from her.

Chantelle waited until the little man had bowed himself out; then one silver brow rose sharply. “For my benefit?”

“But of course.”

His sudden grin was so mischievous, she couldn’t help laughing. “You forget I’m a Christian infidel who doesn’t follow your prophet’s teaching.”

“I never forget for a moment what you are, Shahar.” He walked toward her while he said this, and brought her fingers up to his lips before he finished with, “What you are is mine.”

Her mind might shy away from her attraction to him, but her body did not. It responded immediately to his touch and possessive tone. But before she could even think of a reply, he was leading her to the couch of pillows. He dropped down there, pulling her next to him.

They had never sat this close so early in the evening before, not that they were actually sitting. The pillows were so large they were like a bed when formed together. Jamil reclined back on one elbow, with one knee bent so that he leaned partially toward her. She rested on both elbows for the moment. He had always managed to work his way closer to her gradually, in effect forewarning her when he was about to make an advance. That the rules were suddenly changing was unnerving.

Slowly, so as not to be obvious about it, Chantelle scooted back until her spine rested on the pillows that were set up against the wall. At least their thighs weren’t touching this way, and she had the advantage of being able to look down on him, which settled her nerves a little, until she saw him smile. She hadn’t been subtle at all.

He chose not to comment on her discomfort, saying instead, “What shall we do tonight?”

“A walk in the garden?”

Chantelle immediately started to get up. An arm across her thighs prevented her.

“What would you like to do—here?” he clarified, and to her relief removed his arm.

“I—I don’t know. What would you—” He cocked his head to look up at her, and his grin was so blatantly wicked, she didn’t have to finish the question. “Besides that,” she added a bit sharply.

He gave the barest of shrugs, his gaze traveling slowly down her body to end at eye level on her lap. “Have you learned to dance yet?”

She knew what kind of dancing he meant. She had watched one of theikbalspracticing in the courtyard, and it was like nothing she had ever seen or could even imagine. It was a dance designed solely to arouse male passions, with sinuous belly and pelvic movements that were not just seductive; as far as she was concerned, they were obscene.

“Your Eastern dances are too…foreign for my tastes,” Chantelle said.

“But I would very much like to see you dance, Shahar,” he replied, and ran a finger down the top of her thigh to her knee, where his hand then rested. “Will you learn for me?”

He looked up for her answer. The heat in his emerald gaze caused her throat to tighten. Her belly was already turning flip-flops from his touch.

“I—I couldn’t.”

“You could,” he murmured thickly, and his finger started a trail back up her thigh. “You choose not to. But it is not something that can be forced. You have to want to inflame my passions—”

“Jamil!”