and unearthly. They rode for a while and when they stopped Fran looked around, listening, wondering if there had ever been a silence like this one.
‘Was it like this in your dreams?’ Ali asked.
‘Yes. The wizard always conjured his spells under the moon, and the desert was always blue-black. But I never dreamed the reality could be so wonderful.’
He said nothing and she turned her head. In the unearthly light she couldn’t see his face, only feel his presence, and his hand holding hers. She was conscious of a wonderful contentment. Whatever else happened to her in the future, she would always have this glorious moment with Ali, when he had brought her only beauty and peace.
‘Thank you,’ she said at last.
He understood her. He turned without a word, and they retraced their steps to the oasis.
Leena was waiting for her with a cool bath. Afterwards Fran walked dreamily towards the bed, lost in some inner dream.
‘Tonight I have new oils to make you beautiful for my lord,’ Leena said.
She lay down and let the maid draw the soft towel away from her, revealing her nakedness. A delicious aroma began to pervade the air, like nothing she had ever known before. It was full of secrets and spells and it whispered to her of love and desire, of the most delicate eroticism, and unfulfilled yearning.
She thought of Ali, and how she ached for him. It had always been hard to refuse what she wanted as much as he, and now, after their magic moment of communion in the desert, she felt close to him as never before. She lay on her front, her chin on her arms, longing for him.
She felt hands on her shoulders, rubbing the oil softly into her skin with smooth, practised movements. Gradually Fran relaxed and gave herself up to the enjoyment, refusing to spoil it by looking too far ahead. She gave a long, contented sigh.
‘I’m glad to know that I’m pleasing you,’ said a soft voice.
‘Ali!’ She half rose and tried to turn, but his hands on her shoulders pressed her gently down again. ‘How did you come to be here?’
‘I slipped in a moment ago and sent your maid away.’
He was naked to the waist, wearing only riding breeches. But she herself was completely naked, she realised. This was another of his tricks to take shameless advantage of her, and she knew she should be indignant. But it was hard to summon up the proper emotions when his skilled hands were driving away every feeling but pleasure.
‘You had no right to do that,’ she murmured.
‘I know. I’m a terrible fellow. Can you forgive me?’
‘Only if you go away at once,’ she said, smiling to herself.
‘If that is your wish.’
‘You mean-you will?’ she asked, unable to keep a hint of dismay out of her voice.
‘Of course. Just as soon as I have finished. Now lie still while I finish my work.’
She had no inclination to argue further. It was bliss to lie there while his fingers kneaded the back of her neck, her shoulder blades, then her spine. She drew a long, shuddering breath as he softly traced a line down the length of her back and over the curve of her behind.
‘You are beautiful, Diamond,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘As beautiful as I dreamed of you, with a skin of satin, and a shape that is perfection.’
‘You shouldn’t be looking at my shape,’ she chided him half-heartedly.
‘How can I not look, when you display it as shamelessly as a nymph?’
He brushed aside her hair and kissed the back of her neck. She hadn’t known she was so sensitive in that one particular spot, but her sudden gasp told him everything. He began to trail kisses down the length of her spine to the small of her back, then up again. The pleasure was light and delicate, and she felt herself melting into it, ready for anything that might happen next, but also ready to wait, as long as this delightful feeling continued.
His hands were gentle, turning her onto her back so that he could continue his work. There was witchcraft in his lips and tongue as they trailed lazily across her breasts, with a flickering movement now and then, heightening the sensation just enough to tantalise her.
‘I’ve longed to see you naked,’ he whispered against her fevered skin. ‘I’ve dreamed that you would throw away your weapons, wanting me as I want you.’
She didn’t dare to tell him just how much she wanted him. Whatever he thought, the battle wasn’t over, and soon she must take up her weapons again. But tonight she would yield to her desire. She could fight him, but not her own mounting passion.
She might regret it tomorrow, but at this moment tomorrow was a day that would never come. The gambler, the risk-taker, rose in her, and said that if she never made love with him she would regret it a thousand times more.
He threw off the last of his clothes, and she saw the magnificence of his body, bronze in the lamplight. He was broad of shoulder and long of back, with a straight spine, lean hips and a firm, muscular behind. There was power in his loins. She could sense it in his strong, graceful movements, and it heightened the desire growing in her.
Then his nakedness was pressed against hers. She revelled in his magnificence, the muscular breadth of his shoulders, the long, straight spine, lean, hard hips and powerful thighs.
She could see now how much he wanted her, but he reached for her gently, loving her to desire by slow degrees until he was certain that her passion matched his.
For this he had many skills at his command. He was a subtle lover who knew how the lightest touch could cause a volcano of sensation, and the softest breath send excitement scurrying across her sensitised skin. He knew how to kiss her slowly, lingeringly, giving her time. There was genius in the kisses he bestowed all over her body, so that she was soon in a fever of sensation.
This was love carried to a point of high art. She felt invaded and possessed by him, although he had not yet claimed her, and was still revelling in the enjoyment of her beauty, as though everything he discovered enchanted him.
She could hold off no longer. ‘Tell me that you want me,’ she implored.
He told her with lips that brushed against her skin. And then he told her with actions that almost made her heart stop with joy. He told her with his hands, caressing her soft, rounded breasts. He told her with his arms which enfolded her against his chest. Finally he told her with his loins, and then she knew it was true.
Like him she’d dreamed of this, but no dream could be as beautiful as the reality. As soon as their bodies were united she knew that it was right. She clasped him in her arms and held him close, sharing his rhythm as the pleasure mounted.
His face was close to hers, smiling, holding her eyes with his. She could hear him murmuring soft words. They were in Arabic, but she didn’t have to understand them to know their meaning. They were the words of a man absorbed in a woman, for whom nothing existed but her. They held passion, adoration, perhaps even true and lasting love.
She tried to answer, but no words would come, only a sigh. Why had she waited so long to be in his arms, when it was where she belonged? She felt her defences falling away. She didn’t want to fight him any more, only to be one with him.
Now it was happening, and her brain was telling her to beware the beauty of that oneness, while her heart was telling her that it was what she had been born for.
When she parted from him she wanted to weep, but the moment passed in the gentle pleasure of sleeping in his arms.
In the cool dawn Fran awoke to an unearthly silence. Ali lay naked beside her, on his front, one arm resting lightly across her, his face buried against her shoulder. He was breathing gently in a peaceful, contented sleep, like a man for whom everything in the world was good.
Fran lay staring into the distance, happy, but troubled. At last she knew the truth about herself that she had suspected, and feared. Cool, efficient Frances Callam, who’d always prided herself on her good sense, her rational approach to every situation, was actually a woman who became a slave to her sensations in her lover’s arms. His touch, his kiss, could make the real world vanish. In his embrace she had no will but to stay there for ever. And that scared her.
Now she was herself again, passionately loving the man who lay beside her, but still herself, separate from
