Page 29 of At the Sheikh's Bidding
* * *
Amare watchedher leave and then slowly turned to survey the room in which he’d had sex with Janey. He could hardly call it making love. But that would come later. He knew it like he knew that at some point he’d have to tell her the truth about the harem. That she wasn’t the first westerner to study it. That honor had gone to a group of academics who’d visited from the Sorbonne. They’d been shown the harem as an afterthought and had produced no work on it.
Of course he’d tell her. Just not yet.
CHAPTER13
Along soak in her bath hadn’t done it. And nor had a hard-out session in the palace gym. It seemed nothing would drive down the whirl of conflicting feelings which pounded through her veins, confusing her mind and confounding her purpose.
She returned to her room, downcast. She sat on the edge of her bed, looking out to the distant horizon, feeling numb. What the hell had she been thinking? Had she lost her mind? She dropped onto the bed like a stone, exhausted from the gym session and the afternoon heat which permeated everywhere, exacerbated by the fact she’d turned off the air-conditioning and opened her windows instead.
She lay, looking at the white ceiling and the fan which lazily moved the air around, and wondered what the hell she was going to do. She knew what sheshoulddo. But she couldn’t bring herself to return to the harem. Tohim. To do so would be to risk getting close—having sex—with him again. It would bring her one step nearer to that place of no return, which she’d promised herself years ago, she’d never again let herself be.
She jumped up and paced the room. She had to get out of there—away from the palace, and away from Amare. What she needed was a place she could breathe—somewhere outside locked doors, sealed rooms and guards. She stopped by the dressing room, now full of traditional clothing sent by Amare. She ran her finger over one beautiful robe after another until she came to what she was looking for. A plain robe. Nothing fancy. No rich colors, or gold thread, just a dark abaya and scarf of the kind she’d seen most women wearing. She held them up to herself in the mirror. Without them, she stood out like a sore thumb with her blonde hair and fair complexion. But, with them, and kohled eyes and some heavy foundation on her already tanned skin, she could be mistaken for an Arab woman. No question. For the first time in hours, she smiled.
* * *
It had been easierthan she’d expected, she thought as she walked through the halls with purpose, keeping her head down and her steps quick. She glanced up as she approached the front gates, where a group of guards blocked her way. Her heart sank, and for a moment she considered turning back. But then she remembered the abaya and scarf she was wearing, and her confidence returned.
She approached the guards at a brisk pace, her eyes lowered in a show of respect. They eyed her suspiciously, but said nothing as she walked past them and out into the street.
Once outside, Jane took a deep breath of fresh air. The sun was beginning to lower in the sky, casting a warm orange glow across the city. She knew she had to keep moving, so she quickened her pace and walked towards the market.
As she walked past bustling shops and ancient squares full of people—mainly men, she noted—playing board games while they smoked and drank, she marveled at the vibrant colors, smells, and sounds that surrounded her. The narrow alleyways were filled with merchants selling everything from silks and spices to handmade trinkets.
She was still some way off from the souk when she noticed a small shop tucked away in a corner, its brass wares decorated with gold sparking in the late sunshine. Intrigued, she stopped and looked in the window. Within moments, her view was impeded by a throng of men, talking too rapidly in Arabic for her to understand. Yet others, obviously having picked her nationality, despite her supposed disguise, spoke in equally unintelligible pidgin English. Most were clearly trying to sell the products they thrust in her face. But a few held nothing but pressed towards her anyway with a look in their eyes, which sent a chill into her bones.
She shook her head, holding up her hands in the universal language of rejection. Confusion and fear washed over her as she turned away from the shops. Her heart raced as the small crowd continued to surround her. She looked around. The old buildings cast ominous, late-afternoon shadows over the winding streets. And the bustling souk, where she might find help, lay some distance away.
Suddenly, someone shoved her in the back, and she staggered to one side, nearly falling. She heard some shouts and held up her hands to protect herself. But the shouting continued, growing to a deafening roar as the crowd of men parted like the Red Sea around her. Hesitantly, she looked up. Standing before her, eyes flaming and bodyguards moving around him, pushing back the men, was Amare. For all that she’d wanted to escape him, Janey had never been so pleased to see anyone in all her life.
“Janey!” he called out above the noise. “Are you all right?”
All she could do was nod. Her heart was racing, and she still felt in a state of panic, created by the men who’d brought back vivid memories of the way her father had treated her.
Amare took her arm, looked around and escorted her along the path the palace guards had made for them.
They walked in silence the short distance to the palace gates. She could have cut the tension between them with a knife. Waves of anger and frustration rolled off him. He didn’t look at her, or talk to her. And, from the brief glances she shot his way, it was probably for the best. From the set of his jaw and long stride, she could see he was seething. In the short time she’d known him, she’d never seen him anything other than affable and charming. Strong yes. Commanding yes. But not angry. Not like he was now.
It wasn’t until the gates clanked shut behind them, leaving the confusion and dangers of that foreign world behind, and he’d led her into a private room inside the palace, that he turned to her.
“What the hell do you think you were doing?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he didn’t give her a chance.
He stood, his hands on his hips, his eyes blazing. “Don’t you know what could have happened to you out there? Hey?” he demanded.
“I thought I was safe.”
“You’re a foreigner there. A woman alone. You don’t know our customs. You don’t know what being a woman alone in public signals to my people. They do things differently here, Janey. You, of all people, should know that.”
“Okay! I made a mistake. I should have thought more carefully before I left the palace.”
“That’s an understatement. What you should have done is not gone out at all. Thinking will not help you with men like that! Thank God the guards recognized you as you left the palace.”
“I had to go,” she ground out from between clamped teeth.
“Had to? Why?” He swept his hands out wide. “Things too squalid here for your liking? The harem, the library, not enough to keep your mind occupied?” He took a step closer. “Or was it me? Hey?” He lowered his tone. “Was it me you needed to escape from?”
