"That's different," he said with royal disregard for logic. "You don't belong to him."
"And in three months I won't belong to you either," she said quietly. "This is strictly a temporary arrangement." She made a mocking obeisance. "As decreed by the most honorable Sheikh El Kabbar."
"Well see when the three months are up," he said moodily. "I don't like giving up what belongs to me." He scowled. "And I didn't like you fastening his cufflinks. It was too . . . intimate."
She blinked. "Fastening cuff links is intimate? Heaven forbid if I straighten a man's tie."
"You're taking my displeasure very lightly. In the past you weren't so unaffected by it."
She wasn't unaffected, but he mustn't know that. Philip held too many weapons already. "You're taking a small service far too seriously."
"I just wanted to clarify that your services, both small and large, belong to me," he said harshly. "I don't share."
"How selfish of you." She lowered her eyes demurely. "I'll try to remember."
"I'll be there to remind you if it slips your mind," he said softly. "Be sure of it. Pandora." He turned away. "I'll leave you to get dressed. I have some phone calls to make." He paused at the door. "Don't bother to wear anything beneath the dress. I do hate to waste time." He left the door open, and a minute later she heard the sound of his voice as he spoke on the bedroom extension. So intimate. As intimate as the last remark, which had taken her breath and frozen her to the spot with sudden shyness.
Please, not now. She was so close. She had to be bold and sure or everything would fall apart. She drew a deep, quivering breath and swiftly untied the belt of her robe.
Bold and sure. She mentally repeated the words like a litany through the almost silent candlelight dinner. Philip seemed withdrawn, even remote, as the white-clad servants brought the delicious dishes to the table that overlooked the fretted balcony. Was he still angry? She couldn't tell by his expressionless face. It was still twilight, and the candles on the table weren't really necessary, as the entire room was bathed with a golden light. It lent the room the luminous sepia tones of old photographs, giving the scene a strangely timeless air.
She never remembered what she ate and she knew she'd never remember the names or faces of the servants who attended them. The entire interlude seemed dreamlike, a vignette seen through a veil of antique gold. Then the table was being whisked away and Philip was handing her a crystal glass of wine as clear and golden as the twilight haze that surrounded them. The taste was golden, too, smooth and tingling on her tongue. "It's very good," she said as she stood up and moved to stand outside on the balcony. "Does it come from the south vineyards?"
"No, the north. They've been producing for over five years now." He followed and stood at her side, looking out at the lavender-shaded hills in the distance. "We started reclaiming some of the slopes of the hills that border the Madrona Desert three years ago."
There was an element of excitement beneath the casual statement. Evidently the irrigation project was still as much an obsession of Philip's as when she'd left.
For as long as she could remember he had been endeavoring to turn this desert wasteland into fertile farmland. "I'd like to see it. I'll have to take a ride up into the hills and look at what's going on."
He frowned. "Not alone. There have been reports of bandit raids on the villages on the Said Ababa side of the hills. They probably have a camp somewhere in the highlands. That's one of the reasons I wanted to get back." His lips tightened grimly. "I think I'll just go on a little hunting party."
"I'll come with you." The words were impulsive, and she almost bit her tongue.
"The hell you will," he said curtly. "You have a more highly developed instinct for trouble than anyone I've ever run across. I doubt if that's changed over the years."
"Whatever you say." She lowered her lashes so he couldn't see the blaze of defiance she knew was there. "Perhaps I'll go to the vineyards instead."
His frown deepened. "As I remember, the last time you went there you persuaded the workers to have a moonlight grape-stomping party. My overseer was foaming at the mouth."
"He wasn't very reasonable." Her lips curved with remembered laughter. "I was only trying to help. Everyone had a perfectly wonderful time."
"Such a wonderful time that they were too exhausted to show up for work the next day," he said dryly. "And you were just as bad off. I had to carry you home looking like something that had fallen into one of the wine vats."
She had rested in his arms, she recalled, with her ear pressed to his heart. He had cursed her softly and emphatically with every breath, but his arms had been gentle. It had been a lovely memory to hold close when there was nothing in the world but barren loneliness. "Dancing on the grapes is a tradition."
"Not half-ripe grapes," he said flatly. "And not when there's a very efficient press to do the job. You don't go within hailing distance of the vineyards until I have time to go with you."
She frowned mutinously. "I can't go to the hills. I can't go to the vineyards. Where can I go?"
"To bed, like a proper Khadim." His hands cupped her shoulders. "Where else?"
The words shocked her back to the present and her role. "Where else, indeed?" She took his wineglass and set it, together with her own, on the balcony balustrade. Her arms went around him. Bold. She had to be bold and desirable so that he would become too aroused to stop when he ... "Do you know that you've never kissed me?"
"Haven't I?" His hands were lightly massaging her shoulders through the yellow silk. "It seems as if we were beyond kisses before we even started." His eyes were suddenly twinkling. "But if you insist ..."
His lips touched hers. Delicate, sipping, sugar sweet and warm. So wonderfully warm. His tongue rimmed her lower lip, and she melted against him, opening her lips with a yearning that was as
natural as that of the first woman. "I want you," she murmured. "Give me all of you."
She felt him grow rigid against her. Then his tongue was plunging into her mouth in a joust that was hotly passionate and hungry. So hungry. She was almost breathless when he raised his head.
"You're going to get all of me," he said thickly. "Over"—his tongue entered her mouth again, weaving an erotic spell—"and over." His lips were buried in her hair now, and she felt his tongue enter her ear. "And over." She was trembling, and her knees were so weak she sagged against him. Did his other women react so passionately? Probably not. Perhaps he wouldn't notice, she thought in confusion. Shouldn't she be doing something? She drew back a little, her hands quickly undoing the buttons of his shirt.
"Pandora."
She looked up.
There was a tiny glimmer of amusement beneath the hunger in his face. "Don't you think we should go inside? I'm flattered that you should be so eager, but I really dislike performing in public."
She laughed shakily. "Well, it's more private than the auditorium in San Francisco." She turned and walked quickly from the balcony into the room. "You didn't seem averse to performing there at the time."