Chapter 14

Janna

After agreeing on the time and place to rendezvous with him tomorrow, Jasim turns and goes to the large golden doors through which he’d entered, seeming to follow his usual practice of wanting to get away in a hurry.

Hmm. Something had told me he’d been lying, grasping at any excuse to put us off. Does he really dislike me so much that he wants to stay away from me? In the few times I’ve met him recently, he seems a totally different person to the one I’d met all those weeks ago. Then he was friendly, light-hearted, a far cry from the persona he presented first on the flight, and yet again today. He’s gone so cold toward me. The man I’ve just spoken to would never have tended my wound, nor slept beside me in bed.

I might not have experience with a lover, but male companionship is almost all I’ve known over the last seven years of my life. And spending so much time around men, seeing them at their best and their worst, I can often read them like one of my books. If any of the band members were acting this way, I’d have it out with them and get to the bottom of what’s going on, examining actions rather than words. Of course, his indifference hurts me. But that doesn’t stop my body traitorously betraying my feelings whenever I’m around him. My pulse starts racing as soon as he appears, my legs feel weak, and my nipples push at my bra. Is he really so immune to me? I could be overthinking it, but I do wonder whether he’s fighting an attraction that he doesn’t want to feel. Do his original objections still hold sway? Well, of course they do. He’s given me no chance to eradicate them. I’m driving myself crazy not understanding his behavior. I want to rediscover the Jasim I first met.

As the doors clang shut behind, him I decide that I’d rather end up making a complete fool of myself than miss the chance to be with the only man who I’ve ever felt the least bit of interest in. Next time I won’t let him run away. I’ll try a direct approach. If he’s battling with himself because of what I believe is a stupid hang up about the age difference between us, I’ll make him understand that doesn’t matter a damn to me. If confronting him doesn’t work, then I’ll just have to accept this dark brooding sheikh is out of my reach. But if I don’t make a last ditch attempt to make him understand this is not an infatuation of a girl, but the very real sexual desire of a woman, I’ll regret it forever. I doubt there are many men like him in the world, and by that, I mean someone who I’d find so appealing on every level.

Why, oh why, did I have to get hung up on such a complicated man? Or is that just par for the course when you’re a woman?

Sunny’s looking at me strangely, “You’re fixated on him, aren’t you?”

Looking around quickly, I make sure no one else has heard, and pull her over to a quieter part of the harem, “Is it so obvious?”

“That your tongue’s hanging out whenever you see him?” She laughs. “I’d say so.” Then, as she sees the concerned look I throw toward the band members still congregated around the screen, she adds, “Don’t worry. Men are the last to be able to fathom a woman’s emotions.”

“Have you sorted out your own situation?” I try to switch attention from my predicament.

She looks down at her feet, “Yeah, well, I’m thinking about it.” She glances over to the twins.

At least she’s giving it some thought.

Placing my hand on her arm, I give her a squeeze. “You know I’m here if you want to talk about it?”

A nod, then she changes the subject, bringing it around to me again. “What are you going to do about your sheikh?”

“Confront him.” I sound determined.

Nodding with approval, she gives me the confirmation I didn’t know I was looking for, but am glad she offers. “I think you’re right. He’s holding himself back. How does the saying go? He who doth protest too much?”

I snigger. “Something like that. And if that’s the case, somehow in the desert I’ll get him to admit it.”

She gives me a hug. “I wish I was going with you. I’d kick him in the butt for you. You’re a gorgeous woman, Janna. It’s time you got yourself a man. If it goes well, I’ll be on your side getting them to come around.” She nods over at the band, and then turns back, “Tell you what, if it doesn’t work out, we’ll go out on the town when we get home and I’ll help you bag a decent one.”

She makes it sound as though we can just pick a man up at a supermarket. I grin, and hug her in return. It feels good to have someone who’s got my back.

“What you two gossiping about?” Sally wanders over to join us.

“Men.”

“Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.” She sounds so serious, both Sunny and I burst out laughing.

“You got anyone, Sal?” I probe.

“No. Never found the right one. Oh, I’ve put a few through their paces, but there was always something missing.” She lowers her voice and adds conspiratorially. “One of these sheikhs would do for me.”

She’s not having mine.

We spend the next hour hilariously discussing the ups and downs of the opposite sex who drive us to distraction, but who we can’t do without. Sally’s a laugh and cracks me up with some of her observations. While the distraction helps keep Jasim to the of my mind, I remain convinced that I’m going to give it one last try, and this time be upfront about my feelings toward him.

At the appointed time the next day, Sally and I are ready and waiting, equipment and rucksacks by our side, standing in the shadow of the palace a short way from the helipad, keeping out of the direct heat of the sun.

Having spoken to Cara I’d found that, in the desert, the people are not so cosmopolitan as they are in Al Qur’ah, which calls for more conservative clothing. The sheikha couldn’t have done more to help us, so now, together with a selection of modest western clothes, we’ve also got traditional Arab dress, some of which I’m wearing. A pretty pair of loose silk trousers known as shalwar kameez, and a thaub, or long tunic, in a lovely matching pale green with intricate embroidery. Cara also suggested a hijab, to keep the sun off my hair. The clothing is loose and comfortable, excellent for the temperatures here. Sally has decided to stay loyal to her western heritage, wearing light cotton trousers and a long-sleeved tee complete with a wide brimmed hat.

Punctual, as I expect, Jasim doesn’t keep us waiting, and my mouth drops open when he appears. Gone is the civilized man in a well-tailored suit, in his place is an imposing native of Amahad, wearing gleaming white robes and a headdress secured by a black agal. The snow coloured thobe and keffiyeh enriching his olive skin. He looks different; wild and untamed, mysterious, charismatic, and alluring.

If I was tempted by the man before, I’m completely enthralled by him now. Divested of his cultured trappings, he has the appearance of a man who would take any woman he desired and make her his own. Whatever her initial protest, he’d soon overcome her objections and have her begging for more. A shiver runs down my spine, my nipples predictably start to harden, and my clit begins to throb. Licking my lips, I find I’ve been staring at him.

So intent on drinking him in, I almost missed the flare in his eyes when he sees me in the dress of his country. But I don’t fail to spot the speed with which he turns away and with just a gruff lift of his chin indicates the helicopter. He strides toward it, not having made any attempt at verbal greeting.

“Christ, Janna. He really doesn’t want us along for the ride, does he?” His impoliteness hasn’t skipped Sally’s attention.

“Well, we’re getting what we want.” I mean the opportunity to film in the desert, as any chance I could have of getting what I really desire starts to fade into the distance. I’m starting to think any approach I could make will just be a waste of time. “Let’s just go along with it, shall we? I’m excited to see the desert city. There’s another palace there, you know?” His boorish behavior has done nothing to dampen my arousal. Trying to have a normal conversation with my nether parts pulsing is not particularly easy, but I try nonetheless. “Perhaps you can get another backdrop there?”

“Good point.” Sally starts talking about using natural daylight, filming at dusk to get the setting sun and all the technicalities that go along with that. In other words, not a lot to hold my interest, or capture it from the man who’s taken the pilot’s seat.

A guard opens the rear door for us, and we get into seats. Jasim at last gives us some attention, passing over two sets of headphones, and telling us how to use them.

His brother appears, and stands by the pilot’s door. He nods at Jasim’s clothing.

“Don’t say one word, brother,” Jasim warns him.

“Wouldn’t fucking dare,” Nijad replies, as Jasim flicks some switches, his concentration turning to the craft he’s about to get into the air. “You remember what you’re doing? It’s been a long time since you’ve flown.”

Oh, shit. I’d been so caught up in the man, I’d forgotten I’ve never been in a helicopter before. I certainly hope he knows how to fly. As Sally and I cast nervous glances at each other, Jasim barks a laugh, “Of course, I do, Ni. Now fuck off and let me get out of here.”

“Got this for you.” Nijad chucks a package onto the passenger seat of the helicopter.

Distracted by working the controls, Jasim simply nods in acknowledgement.

“Let me know if you need anything. I can fly down. Feel free to use the royal suite and make use of all the accommodations.”

Now Jasim turns sharply and glares at his brother. “I’ll be fine, Ni. Now get lost.”

I suppress a smile at the easy relationship the brothers have, and then have no time to do anything as the rotors start to turn and we lift into the air. Now I have to concentrate on trying to keep my stomach in place, and prevent bile from rising. It’s a peculiar lurching sensation I’ve never experienced before.

A quick glance toward Sally and I see her face beaming, “I love helicopters.” She speaks into the mic, allowing me to hear her through the headphones.

I reach for her hand, feeling uncertain, “Complete virgin here,” I confide, to explain my nerves.

When I hear a loud strangled snort, I realise Jasim’s overhearing everything we’re saying and as blood rushes to my cheeks, I know it perhaps wasn’t the tactful way to describe that this is my first flight. Sally’s oblivious to my unintentional double entendre, and starts chatting excitedly, pointing out the landscape below. Luckily, she’s an easy companion, happy to talk and content with mumbled exclamations, which I seem to be putting in the right places, leaving me free to contemplate the man behind the controls. Yesterday’s conversation with Sunny and Sally in the harem had allowed me to get to know her better, and today I’m quite happy to class her as someone who could become a good friend.

Conversely, Jasim is a poor companion, he doesn’t join in the conversation at all. When he speaks, it’s in Arabic and he’s obviously in contact with ground control or whatever the equivalent is here. Being all but ignored isn’t something I’m used to, and it starts to annoy me. As the two-hour journey continues, annoyance turns to anger. By the time the helicopter starts losing altitude, I’m seething. This rude, obnoxious, and closed-off man is not the person who’d taken such care of me back in London. What the hell has got into him?

It makes me only more determined to find out.

When the helicopter lands, Jasim steps down. He starts to walk away, then at last remembering his manners, turns back and offers his hand to help us both out. For me it’s just a casual touch, dropping his hold as soon as my feet touch the ground. Then he beckons a woman forward.

“This is Lamis. Please, go with her and she will show you where you’ll be staying. I will leave you now. I will attempt to make the arrangements you’ve asked for, and will contact you when I have done so.” His formal clipped tones make me glare at his retreating back.

Lamis greets us with a wide smile and dip of her head, “Ladies, welcome. I am personal maid to Sheikha Cara. The sheikha wishes you to have comfort. Please to come with me.”

Sally thanks her, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she views the admittedly romantic looking palace we’ve arrived at. Picking up her rucksack she hoists it over one shoulder, and her camera bag over the other, and sets off to follow the woman.

I start to do likewise, but then falter. “Sally,” I start in a whisper, “Go ahead and get settled, I’ll come and find you soon.”

She looks around, “What? You’re not coming?”

“Go.” I give her a little push. “There’s something I want to do.”

After giving me a strange look, with a shrug, she offers to carry my bag as well, and starts following Lamis, while I pick up a run and chase after the robed man.

Jasim’s just entering the palace when I catch up with him. His long strides are taking him further away, so to get his attention I put my hand out and touch his arm. Swinging around as though ready to defend himself, he pulls back when he sees it’s just me.

“Miss Stevens,” his eyes narrow, “What are you doing?” He sounds haughty.

Why the hell isn’t he using my first name? His formality rekindles my anger. My fingers tighten against his sleeve, “I want to talk to you.” I’m hoping my tone conveys I’m giving him no choice.

He looks down at me, in my flats he’s over a head taller, “I don’t believe there’s anything we need to discuss. I informed you I’d help by facilitating what you have asked for. I believe I’m quite clear on your requirements.”

And I don’t think you’ve got any idea what I need.

I’m staring into his face and see that flicker in his eyes which always gives him away, and the darkening of his olive-skinned cheeks. He’s not disinterested in me. I know that look. I’ve seen it before, many times. But previously only on the faces of men whom I had no reciprocal feelings for. This time it’s different. It makes me more determined to fight and make him listen to me. He’s drawn to me, but he’s running away.

“I believe we do have something to talk about,” I state firmly, my hand still gripping his arm, unwilling to let him escape. “Give me five minutes, please, Jasim.”

His palm covers my fingers, gently applying pressure until I open them. Once he’s set himself free, his feet shift, and at first my heart drops, as I think he’s going to continue to walk away. Then, abruptly, he seems to come to a decision, and lets out his breath on an exasperated sigh. “Come then. Five minutes. Follow me.” His robes billow around him as he leads the way into the palace, leaving me to trail behind him.

I spend no time admiring my surroundings, just blindly try and stick with him so I don’t get lost in this large palace, struggling to keep up with his longer strides, thinking I’ll need a map or a guide to find my way back. As last he walks down a smaller hallway, and opens the door to what appears to be a private sitting room that’s not furnished formally, but for comfort. He waves me to a chair, I remain standing.

He cocks a brow toward me, “Well?” As I take a second to summon my thoughts, he prompts me again, “You’ve got my attention. What is it you want to talk about? I’m a busy man, Miss Stevens. I can’t spare you much time.”

He looks intimidating, and again there’s that use of my surname. Once more it makes me see red, and possibly more direct that I’d otherwise be. Taking in a breath, I almost spit the words, “You’re avoiding me, Jasim.”

An imperious look, “Am I? I thought I’d arranged for Anarchy Rules to film in the harem as I agreed. And brought you here to the desert, to complete your project, just as you requested. I don’t see there’s any more I can do.”

Waving my hands dismissively, I agree, knowing he’s purposefully misunderstanding me. “You did. But I’m talking about me, not the rest of the band.”

“I’m afraid I’m a busy man, Miss Stevens. I really don’t have time to make small talk.”

My hands bunch at my sides, and while I’ve never believed I’m a violent person, in truth I feel like hitting him. He’s being so arrogant, but there’s something else going on, I’m certain of it. “What is it with the formality? I thought we were friends.”

He opens his mouth, then shuts it. Then gives a shake of his head, “Then you thought wrong. I was happy to help you when you were hurt. And there’s mutual benefit to be gained by allowing Anarchy Rules to film in Amahad. My part is now played. There’s nothing more between you and I.”

But his eyes flick sideward. He’s lying.

I take a step closer, he takes a step back. His face is flushed, his breathing appears laboured, and he doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. At last he folds his arms over his chest, as though cutting himself off from me.

I decide to go for broke. “You want me, Jasim. And,” I swallow, admitting something I’ve never had to confess before, “And I want you. I’m here for the taking. I’m offering myself to you. Why don’t you take the opportunity?”

I’ve stunned him. My outright confession, without any sugar coating, comes as a complete surprise. He unfolds his arms, stretching them out straight as though to ward me off. I move closer, catching a waft of the soap he must use, and underneath that, the smell of a man. It’s a heady mix, affecting me so deeply it boosts my confidence.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing.” He’s recovering quickly.

“I’m not playing a game.”

And now it’s his turn to move forward, his hands reaching out to grip my arms. “Oh yes, you are, little girl. You’re playing with fire.” He pushes me, forcing me backward until my back is up against a wall.

“I’m not a girl, I’m a woman,” I spit at him. There’s that age thing again.

One side of his mouth turns up, “Oh no you’re not, not yet.”

Oh, he’s talking about his other objection. There’s a simple answer, “So make me one,” I challenge.

Flecks of gold flare in his dark eyes, and for a moment I think I have him, but then he releases me and turns his back, “I can’t do that.”

“Why the fuck not?” My rage is returning. “What’s stopping you, Jasim?”