Innocent in the Sheikh's Harem by Marguerite Kaye

Author:Marguerite Kaye [Unknown]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-06-02T09:12:11+00:00

Back in the harem, Celia was unaware of the presence of her country’s emissary. She lay on her stomach while Fatima rubbed scented oil into her skin. The girl’s touch was gentle, but firm, easing the tension from her back and shoulders. Celia allowed her mind to drift, wholly accustomed now to the intimacy of her own nakedness, and to Fatima’s capable fingers kneading her muscles. Strange how this could feel so pleasant, yet so impersonal. Strange how her body could react so differently to touch. Not just because of how it was done, but because of who was doing it. If Ramiz and not Fatima was delivering the massage, she would not be feeling so relaxed as to be upon the verge of falling asleep.

And of course as soon as his name popped into her mind, so too did his face, and his scent, and the feel of him, and she was wide awake. What was it about him that so obsessed her? Why Ramiz? Why now, at the age of four-and-twenty, was she being assaulted by these feelings? Such acute awareness of everything? Not just of Ramiz, but of colours and textures and taste. It was such a sensuous world, A’Qadiz, and Ramiz was at its epicentre, the very epitome of sensuality.

She was attracted to him—of that there was no doubt. She liked the way he looked. And the way he walked. And the way he talked. And the way he could be so arrogant one minute and so understanding the next. And the way he looked at her as if he saw something no one else saw. He made her feel beautiful. He said she was beautiful, and she believed him.

She was attracted to him, and he was attracted to her—a little. Probably because she was different. Infatuation, that was what it was. She was in thrall to him simply because he had been the first to kiss her. The first to touch her. The first to make her feel—that! The thing she couldn’t put into words. Ecstasy. Carnal pleasure. That! She was beguiled.

But it felt like more than that. Ramiz made her laugh. They liked the same things. He knew things about her that she hadn’t even known herself. And she knew him too, in a way others didn’t. He’d let her see, even if briefly, how lonely, how isolated he felt.

Unreal. It was all unreal and meant nothing. Could never mean anything. She knew that. She did.

She was not an Arabian princess. In the eyes of his people her breeding meant nothing, for the blood which ran in her veins was English. No matter how many things she and Ramiz shared, no matter how similar their outlook on life might be, no matter even that they wanted the same things, she was not of his world and never could be.

Celia allowed herself to be helped from the divan into a warm bath. Sinking down into the fragrant water, she closed her eyes. Enchanted, beguiled, in thrall, under his spell.

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