MasterofSilk (3 page)

Her body clamped around his, the muscles of her sex fisting
him so strong, she heard him growl low in his throat as he scraped her across
the bed, coming hard and fast to his own release.

“I am pleased,” he gritted out as he ground his hips against
hers a final time. “Very well pleased.” He lifted his head to smile down at
her.

“So am I.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

He chuckled and rolled away, sliding off the condom and
leaving her to fumble uncertainly with the clamps still securing her nipples, which
grew more uncomfortable by the second. To her relief he removed them gently,
bending his head to lick each tip, the attention enough to make her squirm as
the clamp upon her clit worked it back into arousal.

She thought he might order her to stop once more but this
time he took pity on her muffled cries, moving to kneel between her legs. His
mouth explored her more fully now, slipping like water across the beaded nub of
her flesh before tunneling inside her body, only to withdraw and repeat the
thrilling process.

He held her down as her body began to shake, his arms
anchoring her legs into place as she thrashed upon the bed. His tongue never
once wavered from its mission as it swirled round the knotted bundle of tissue.
Then he took the clamp between his teeth and tugged, the shock of sensation
sending her soaring as the second orgasm ripped up her stomach. Just when she
thought she couldn’t fly any higher he pushed his fingers inside her again,
spearing her with a single thrust as the wave of climax pulled her under.

All too soon he pushed away, running his fingers across her
mouth as he went to the bathroom. Isabella nearly jumped out of her skin when
someone knocked on the door. Scrambling to put on her discarded clothing, she
wondered what time it was and when Zayne had eaten last. To her relief a tray
of food had been left outside his room, which she brought in and sat on a
table.

He would be checking his blood sugar and administering his
insulin, she realized when he continued to remain in the bathroom.

Then she thought he might be waiting for her to take the
hint and leave—that he didn’t want her hanging around after they were finished
for the night. In a haze of indecision she paced across the floor, making
certain she left nothing of her personal belongings behind before she longingly
glanced once more at the bathroom door, willing him to return and ask her to
stay.

He didn’t. That was all she needed to know as she stepped
out of the realm of fantasy and back into her normal life.

But the scent of him lingered on her skin, and her body
still tingled with the power of his touch. It was all she had left of their
night together. It would have to be enough.

Zayne arrived at her office precisely on the hour first
thing Monday morning, but Isabella, in an irrational streak of
self-consciousness, took an extra fifteen minutes to gather her courage enough
to step into the examination room.

She’d toyed with the idea of changing her hairstyle—leaving
it out of its usual bun so it would partially cover her cheek—then cursed
herself to seven different hells for acting like an adolescent.

When she’d first agreed to meet him at the club she knew
this day would come and she owed it to him as a professional—and as a woman who
had been satisfied in every way possible—to take his appointment seriously and
give him the best in health care.

But the sight of him sitting on the edge of the table—shirt
off, his skin glowing bronze and sleek in the stark white of the office—was
enough to make her second-guess her decision.

She should never have met him at the club.

She should have referred him to another doctor.

She should not imagine him naked and erect, ready to take
her should she give the sign.

“Good morning, Mr. Saladar,” she said in her best office
demeanor. “I am very glad to meet you.”

“And you as well, Dr. Seda.” If he was taken aback by her
appearance he didn’t show it as she took the stethoscope from around her neck,
put in the earpieces and placed the chest piece against his skin, listening to
the steady beat of his heart.

Then she moved to listen at his back, noting the jagged scar
across one side. Her fingers traced the puckered line of tissue but she pulled
her hand away when she realized her touch was verging on a caress. “Does it
still give you any pain?”

He shrugged, turning to look at her over his shoulder. “Not
physically,” he answered enigmatically.

“Good.” Isabella nodded. She refused to ask him to tell her
exactly how it had happened, how he and his wife had ended up in such a deadly
situation and did he still long to have her back by his side. Such thoughts would
only make her crazy, jealousy and longing conspiring to drag her through a muck
of harsh emotion.

“That should be all I need from you today.” She turned to
add the information to his chart. “Your blood sugar levels are well within
normal range, your cholesterol is practically nonexistent and your heart is as
strong as that of a horse.”

“An Arabian stallion,” he corrected with a smile. “A breed
that is beyond compare.” He winked.

Although she chuckled she ducked her head and turned her
damaged cheek away as he regarded her with an intensity that made her heart
flutter. Most days she was immune to the stares and the whispers, especially
from those who did not know her. She had learned to live with the scars years
ago. But today, next to Zayne’s cultured elegance, remembering how he had
called her beautiful when her face was covered, she felt awkward and ugly.

Keeping her face averted, she wrote down the necessary
instructions before handing him several small slips of paper. “Here are your
prescriptions. They should last you several months but if you have any
questions or concerns in the meantime, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thank you, Dr. Seda.” His fingers brushed hers as he took
the prescriptions and a familiar awareness rippled along her arm. “It was most
accommodating of you to see me with such little notice.”

“No problem at all.” She was still unable to look him fully
in the face “I admit I was curious to meet you. The medical community here is
buzzing with word of your new women’s center. We can’t wait to see it when it
opens.”

She stared at his hand as he shoved the prescriptions into
his jacket pocket, admiring the grace with which he moved, aching to feel his
fingers once again upon her skin, parting her flesh, spearing into her—

“The work is coming along nicely,” he was saying as she
blinked the need away. “We should be finished by the fall.”

“I understand it will be dedicated to your late wife,” she
heard herself say as he turned to leave, frustrated she had brought up
something so personal when he gave her a sharp look over his shoulder. “I
cannot think of a better legacy,” she added lamely.

“Laylia was a tireless proponent of women’s rights around
the globe. While I am currently unable to build such a place in our home
country I am honored to be given the opportunity here.”

Now that intrigued her much more than it should. Was he a
spy? Or possibly a political refugee granted asylum in the US? He became more
mysterious and alluring by the second. “I understand Ryan Marquis had some
influence in your decision to come to Charleston. Have you known each other
long?”

“Many years.”

“And do you plan to stay here permanently?”

His eyes shuttered, giving him a feral look. “My people are
nomads, Doctor, but with the right motivation I could be persuaded to settle
down. Do you intend to offer your services?”

Did he think she was flirting? Embarrassment flooded her
cheeks as she became aware of how far she had overstepped her professional
boundaries. “At any rate, welcome and I hope you enjoy your stay in the city.”

She held out her hand for him to shake and was stunned into
silence when he closed his fingers around hers and brought her knuckles almost
to his lips, the gesture falling just short enough of intimate to leave her
mind whirling in several different directions.

“Thank you again, Doctor.” He kept her hand in his. “When do
you need to see me next?”

Tonight.

Tomorrow.

The day after that.

“Six months. You can make an appointment at the desk.”

“Excellent.” He still did not let go of her hand, his eyes as
sharp as those of a falcon as they studied her from top to bottom. “We are
having a benefit for the center at the Gaston Plantation in just a couple of
weeks. I do hope you plan to attend. I will send you another invitation.”

“Another?” Had she really heard the innuendo in his voice?

His face betrayed nothing, although his fingers brushed
along her palm. “I would make certain you come.” Something in his expression
sent warning bells pealing at the back of her mind but they were replaced by
the sound of the bells chiming on the canopy of his bed as he’d made her beg to
let her find release.

His fingers finally slid from hers. For another long moment
he hesitated until he finally asked, “Seda. That means silk in Spanish, does it
not?”

A quick jerk of her head was the only answer she could
manage as he opened the door and made his way down the hall, leaving her
wanting so much more. Even her office felt cold after he’d left, as if he’d
taken the heat of everything with him, this desert nomad who had roamed into
her life.

She had to refer him to a different physician. She could not
continue to treat him as a patient when she was so emotionally involved, even
if she never saw him again outside the office. With a groan she tried to put
thoughts of Zayne Saladar out of her mind and concentrate on the rest of her
obligations for the day.

Zayne was also plagued by thoughts of his new primary-care
physician. He had known her instantly, despite the web of scars splayed across
her cheek and the bulky lab coat that covered her like a
burqa
.

She could not hide the shape and color of her magnificent
eyes, or the softness of her skin, or the familiarity of her touch.

He felt his manhood rise to attention as he remembered the
feel of her hands upon his chest and stomach as she’d performed her
examination, remembering other places she had touched and the way her mouth had
felt when she knelt at his feet and sucked his member between her lips.

He cursed as he was forced to duck into the men’s room to
get his body back under control. Not put off by the scars along her cheek at
all he frowned, displeased by the way she’d felt the need to hide from his
view, and vowed to force her to bare her face entirely when next he had her in
his bed…before he remembered he didn’t have that right, which made his mood
take a second turn for the worse.

What tragedy had she faced in the past? Had it come from the
hands of a man? Anger rose to replace his desire, a dark and dangerous emotion
he had not felt since leaving Iraq. And with the anger came the desire to
protect, to hold this woman so close to his side no one could ever get close
enough to harm her again.

Which was a thoroughly sexist impulse, Laylia would have
reminded him. Women in the modern age were perfectly capable of taking care of
themselves if they were given the education and support they needed. Support
that did not include hiding them away from the world, smothering them in layers
of veils and keeping them so illiterate they had to depend on a man to survive.

Zayne swallowed and pushed the memory away as he splashed
water on his face and dried his hands. There was too much he needed to forget,
too much he needed to forgive—and his lovely new doctor might just provide the
distraction he needed to let go of the past and move forward.

So she had secrets? Excellent. He had always enjoyed a well-posed
riddle, like those told by the myths of his people, meant to trap the unwary
and drag them to their doom. His lips twisted up as he redefined his game,
rearranging his pieces over the board until he was certain he would always win.

Then he called his driver and gave her instructions to take
him to the shops along King Street. It was best to trap one’s opponent with
silk. Burlap did little to stimulate the senses.

It took Isabella until Thursday evening to work up the
courage to call Zayne and tell him she was referring him to another doctor. Her
hands were actually sweating as she called his number, hoping against hope she
would get transferred to voice mail.

To her horror the man himself answered after a single
ringtone. “Yes?”

“Za—Mr. Saladar, this is Dr. Seda. I hope I haven’t caught
you at an inconvenient time.”
Because if I have I can hang up now and leave
a message later.

“Not at all. I was just finishing work and heading out for
dinner.”

“Ah, um—” She tried to clear the sand that seemed to have
settled in her throat. “I was calling to let you know I have transferred your
records to—”

“Wait, please,” he interrupted. She heard him giving
instructions to someone on his side of the line, listening even more carefully
when she heard him say her office address. “Excuse me, Dr. Seda, but I have
given my driver instructions to pick you up at your office. You are done for
the day, yes?”

“I, um…don’t think that is a good idea—”

“As you know I am on a strict schedule. I must eat at the
proper time every day to keep my blood sugar stable. I am on my way to dinner.
You will join me.”

“N-no, I really can’t.” Isabella was in a true panic now.
She’d had an overly busy day, her hair had long since frizzed out of its
carefully swirled bun, she didn’t have a stitch of makeup left on her face—and
she was
not
going out to dinner in her sensible doctor shoes!

“Fifteen minutes.” Zayne clicked off before she had a chance
to make her refusal stick.

She could back out, she knew, call him and make up some
emergency that prevented her from dinner—but she’d already deceived him so many
times before, she could not add another lie to the list.

A glance in the bathroom mirror confirmed her worst
suspicions. She looked like a hag. Fumbling in her pocketbook, she managed to
find a single tube of mascara and a pot of lip gloss she couldn’t even remember
buying. She applied them with shaking hands, managing to smear the mascara
beneath one eye.

“
Mierda
,” she gritted out as she grabbed a paper
towel and fixed the damage.

Then she undid her hair and smoothed it out with her
fingers, not having a brush on hand. She really would have to rethink her
necessities in case Zayne decided to pull something like this on her
again—which, to her continued shame, she really wished he would.

Her hair was far from decent, but it looked better than it
had, and at least she would have the ability to let it fall over her cheek as
they dined. And she would have to make damned sure she sat with her good side
turned toward him.

Throwing her lab coat in the hamper, she unbuttoned the top
button of her shirt, buttoned it back again when she thought it showed too much
skin and then undid it once more as her collar closed like a noose around her
throat.

Shoes.
She had to find another pair of shoes. Was
there anyone in the office who walked to work? Practically running down the
hall, she checked in the employee lounge, opening cabinets and pulling out
drawers without hesitation until she finally found a pair of black heels.

Which were too damned big.

But a wad of toilet paper in each of the toes was enough to
make them wearable if she didn’t walk too far or too fast. With barely a minute
to spare she grabbed her bag and forced herself to take her time locking up and
making her way down the stairs, winding her favorite red silk scarf around her
neck.

A sleek, black limo was just pulling up to the curb as
Isabella stepped out the door. When it came to a stop Zayne’s driver got out
and moved to open the door to the back. A woman, she noticed with a flash of
jealousy—a really pretty redhead as polished and streamlined as the car.

“Ma’am.” She tipped the brim of her hat as Isabella stepped
forward. The other woman made her feel even frumpier—and older—than she’d felt
before.

This was
so
not a good idea.

But she couldn’t back out now as Zayne leaned forward and
motioned her to sit beside him. “Come. I know a restaurant I think you will
enjoy.”

No way would she enjoy anything about this evening, she
decided as she caught sight of her hair in the rearview mirror. It was winding
itself into a tighter mass of frizz as it responded to the humid Charleston
air.

“So nice of you to join me,” Zayne said smoothly, as if he’d
actually given her a choice in the matter. “I find I dine alone too often.”

“Thank you for the invitation.” Isabella clasped her hands
in her lap so he wouldn’t see they were shaking. “But you are my patient and this
is a decided breach of protocol.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t tell.” One corner of his mouth
twitched up deliciously, his eyes glittering with a wicked light. “I have just
thanked Ryan Marquis for suggesting you as a physician. His recommendation was
excellent. So why did you need to call me earlier? No bad news I hope?”

He blinked the gleam from his eyes so fast she thought she
must have imagined it as he turned toward her, one arm splayed along the back
of the seat, his fingers brushing over her shoulder.

He was near enough she could smell his soap, the scent
bringing all manner of naughty desires to mind. Isabella plucked restlessly at
her silk scarf to keep from smoothing out a wrinkle in his shirt.

He had already taken off his tie and crumpled it in the
seat, the wad of blue cloth just begging to be folded. His jacket was nowhere
to be seen and his shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, giving him a look of
rumpled elegance that only added to his allure.

“Dr. Seda?” he prompted after several seconds had passed,
making her excruciatingly aware she had been staring and he had caught her at
it.

“A routine follow-up call,” she said, hating that she’d lied
again when she’d just sworn not to. Yes, she was going to hell—just like her
grandmother had said after catching her at thirteen, wrapped in the arms of a
much older altar boy one Sunday after Mass.

But that was before the accident—when the boys in their
neighborhood fought for her attention.

What Abuela Sofia would have to say about her latest sexual
exploits made Isabella shudder.

“Excellent.” As they hit a bump Zayne’s hand slipped down
around her shoulder—whether accidental or deliberate she could not guess. She
only knew her nipples had already peaked beneath her bra, aching with the need
for him to slide his hand down even farther and pluck them until she begged for
mercy. “Then I do have a personal favor to ask, Doctor, if you don’t think me
too intrusive.”

He didn’t have a clue how intrusive she wanted him to be,
Isabella thought, slightly shrugging in a subtle hint she hoped he would
notice. Which he didn’t. Those fingers she was all too familiar with were now
toying with her scarf.

“The pleasure of silk,” he muttered as he tugged at a lock
of her hair. She gave him a sharp look but his expression remained perfectly
earnest, as if he had nothing on his mind but the favor he was about to ask as
their eyes locked and held.

“Mr. Saladar—”

“Call me Zayne, please, if that is not a problem?”

“I am your doctor,” she reminded him.

“Does that mean we cannot be friends? Surely you have other
patients you know outside the office.”

“Of course, but—”

“Then that is settled. We have arrived.” The car pulled to a
stop. “My favorite restaurant in the city.”

The Oasis Moroccan Grill.

Oh good grief, had he really brought her here? Isabella
stared in shock at the familiar restaurant sign as the chauffeur opened the
door and helped her stand. Zayne followed, rising gracefully from the car to
place his hand on her back as he steered her to the entrance.

“Eight o’clock,” he said to his driver as Isabella tried to
gather her wits.

No one here knew her outside of dancing hours, she was
certain. She came fully costumed and veiled and never showed her face backstage
or to any of the patrons if she stayed for a quick drink after she had
finished. Not even the other dancers knew her real name, nor had they ever
asked, respecting her need for anonymity.

Shamal, the owner, greeted Zayne warmly and fussed over her
as if she were royalty as he led them to his usual table. Isabella searched
Shamal’s face desperately but he showed not a single sign of recognition.

“Welcome, welcome.” He beamed, pulling out Isabella’s seat.

“You got my message in time?” Zayne leaned back in his
chair, crossing one leg over the other. “It did not cause you any difficulty?”

“No, no. All is well. I have taken care of everything.”
Shamal continued to fuss as a server brought over a plate of fresh olives and
feta cheese along with coffee for Zayne and a margarita for her.

“I hope you approve of the drink,” he said casually, picking
up his cup of coffee. “I am told these are very popular.”

“Uh…they are.” If her hand shook at the too-coincidental
circumstances of it all she hid it very well, she thought—until she saw the
fire banked in his eyes.

“Taste. It pleases you?” he added as she took her first sip,
his voice so seductive it licked between her thighs.

Isabella choked on a stray piece of ice as she saw the way
he watched her, tense as a sand viper ready to strike. Surely he wasn’t
deliberately seducing her…not after the night he and Silk had had together.
Surely she had pleased him enough he wasn’t already looking to replace her.

“You said you had a favor to ask,” she managed, setting down
the glass with a decided thud. She could not afford to let even the smallest
bit of alcohol hinder her control. Not with his body so close to hers, his lips
so firm and full of promise.

He bent forward and plucked an olive from the plate, tossing
it into his mouth before grabbing another. “You must try one of these. Open.”
He held the bite close to her lips.

Instinctively Isabella obeyed, just like she had obeyed his
other demands, letting him feed her the olive, trying to keep from trembling at
the satisfied glimmer in his eyes.

“The favor?” she prodded. She didn’t like the way he kept
her off balance and was near-desperate to change the subject back to their
original discussion.

“I would like for you to come and take a tour of the center.
It isn’t finished of course, but I was hoping to get your opinion.”

“I would be happy to give you whatever insight I can.” Now
they were back on neutral territory she took another sip of the margarita,
enjoying the way it chilled her throat. “Which hospital are you working with?
Have you met any of the other doctors in town?”

The rest of dinner passed smoothly as they talked about
Zayne’s project. He was surprisingly knowledgeable about all the regulations
and legalities required and she was enthralled by his enthusiasm and true
desire to make a difference.

The meal itself was amazing and her physician side noted it
was served in the proper proportions for his condition and that Zayne ate
everything on his plate. She refused a second margarita, opting for a cup of
decaf coffee as the lights went down and the band began to play.

“You will stay and watch the dancing.” Zayne moved his chair
around the table so they both could see the stage.

A glance at her watch told Isabella it was seven thirty.
They had thirty minutes before his car was due to arrive so she might as well
make the most of the show. It had been a long time since she had watched from
this side of the curtain and it would be great fun to study the other dancers’
costuming and technique.

Her enjoyment was short lived, however, when Zayne bent his
head close to hers. “My favorite dancer is performing tonight. Her name is
Suhala.”

Suhala?
Isabella fought back the tart retort that
sprang to her lips. Yes, Suhala was a very good dancer, but she was young and
lacked any true emotion in her performance. Her ultra-enhanced breasts were
what garnered the most attention.

She gave Zayne a nasty look out of the corner of her eye.
She would show him what good dancing was when he came to see her tomorrow
night. “Really? And what do you like so much about her?”

“Everything.” He settled back in his chair as Suhala took
the stage, looking for all the world as if he were in heaven.

In a rush of jealousy Isabella wondered if he had ever taken
Suhala to the Red Mask, but then she remembered he’d told her she had been the
only one. Mollified somewhat, she turned her attention back to the show,
letting the beat of the music calm her frazzled nerves.

The other girls were good, she acknowledged, as one by one
they shimmied over to where Zayne held up massive amounts of money to tuck into
their belts. And she knew they appreciated his patronage. One was a single
mother who danced to earn enough money to support her son. Another was working
her way through college after a brutal divorce.

But they did not need to look at the man as if he were a
prime piece of steak ready to be swallowed whole. That was
her
job. And
she wanted to be doing it now, she admitted as the sensual throb of the drums
reverberated in her chest and deep between her legs.

Their evening was over too quickly. At precisely eight Zayne’s
cell phone rang, signaling his driver was waiting outside. He made no move to
touch her on the ride to her apartment, dropping her off at her door with a
formal thank-you-for-your-company, leaving her restless and lonely as she
watched the limo disappear around a corner.

* * * * *

Zayne was completely satisfied with how the night had
progressed. He very much enjoyed Dr. Seda’s company, finding her intelligent
and stimulating with a grace that was exquisite. Every move of her hands or
tilt of her head was poised and elegant and he rarely found himself noticing
her damaged cheek, only glancing at it in passing or when the light was
particularly cruel.