Virgin Seduction

Chapter 7

She was every man's dream. And Cade's worst nightmare.

He'd just about driven himself crazy, trying to think what he was going to do about this, his so-called wedding night. How did a man avoid consummating a marriage that never should have happened in the first place, without seeming to reject the woman he'd married and had already thoroughly humiliated once?

In the end, it had seemed to him that the best course of action was also the easiest one: Do nothing at all. If he stalled long enough, he reasoned, Leila was bound to fall asleep, as thoroughly jet-lagged as she must be. Then he could tiptoe in, snag his overnight bag and sneak off to the guest room, and his excuse would be that she needed her rest and he hadn't wanted to disturb her-what a considerate guy he was. Tomorrow morning early he'd be off to work, and after that-well, he had the pretty good excuse of a prior commitment, a weekend hunting trip to the ranch with a client he was trying to woo. No reason he couldn't arrange to fly out a day early, if the client was willing.

On Sunday when he got back, he'd sit Leila down and have a serious talk with her, and they could both try to figure out what they were going to do. By then, he told himself, they'd both be rested up and thinking clearly, and between them they ought to be able to come up with a way out of this farce with a minimum amount of embarrassment for all parties concerned.

It had seemed so reasonable to him, sitting there in his study sipping bourbon and enjoying a cheroot he knew he was going to catch hell for from Betsy tomorrow. He'd dozed a little bit in his chair and woken up stiff and groggy to find that it was well past midnight. Thank God, he'd thought, figuring there was no way in hell Leila would be awake at that hour. It ought to be safe to venture into his own bedroom.

Reeling with the effects of travel fatigue and whiskey, he'd mounted the stairs and made his way down the hallway, conscious of the silence all around him and his heartbeat ticktocking away like an old-fashioned grandfather clock. He was used to the silence of an empty house, but it was odd, he thought, how weighty silence seemed in a house that wasn't as empty as it should be. He was thinking about that, about the usual silence and emptiness of his house at night, when he turned the knob and pushed open his bedroom door.

Then his only thought was: Oh God, what now?

There she was, not only awake but looking like the overture to some erotic dream, a vision in sea-green silk that covered every inch but failed to disguise one centimeter of her curves, her hair cascading down around her shoulders like midnight rain. Every man's dream…his worst nightmare.

He didn't know how long he stood there in the doorway looking at her. Just looking at her, with all sorts of emotions shooting off in every direction inside him so that for a moment his brain function felt more than anything like an explosion in a fireworks factory. Now what? What was he supposed to say to her? He couldn't think of a thing.

It came to him gradually, as the shock subsided and his mind began functioning again, that he'd made a serious miscalculation. With all that had happened, he'd forgotten that, from almost the first moment he'd laid eyes on Leila Kamal, he'd wanted her.

He remembered it now. He remembered that the idea had amused him at the time, that he'd laughed at himself for his adolescent foolishness. He wasn't laughing now.

"You're still up," he finally said-as inane an observation as ever there was.

"I waited for you." She said it without a trace of seduction in her voice, facing him bravely with the light from a bedside lamp shimmering in her hair and making deep, dark mysteries of her eyes. She looked so incredibly beautiful…and nothing at all like the buoyant, flirtatious girl he remembered meeting in Tamir. Right now what she looked like more than anything was a virgin waiting to be sacrificed.

"You shouldn't have," he said, but in a gentle tone to temper the abruptness of it. He launched into his prepared justifications as he came into the room, keeping at a wary distance from her like a hiker circling a pit of quicksand. "Look…Leila. You've had a long day-you must be tired. I know I am." He stifled an ostentatious yawn. "I, uh…had a few things I needed to take care of-business things that couldn't wait." He brushed them aside with a diffident wave of his hand. "Things pile up when I'm away. I'm going to be doing a lot of catching up during the next several days

"Oh yes," she murmured, "I understand."

For some reason her acquiescence annoyed him, made him feel fraudulent and unworthy. He cleared his throat and ventured a look at her, squinting as if she were a light too bright for his eyes. He continued almost defiantly, "In fact, there's something-this weekend I have a thing I'm supposed to do-I promised a client I'd take him hunting out at the ranch."

A frown appeared between her eyebrows. "The…ranch?"

"Yeah-I told you about it-west Texas?"

"Oh-yes, yes-I remember." She sounded eager, now. "And you will fly there in your airplane?"

His insides writhed with guilt. Furious with himself for it, furious with her for making him feel it, he fought the urge to fidget and cleared his throat instead. "I'll be leaving tomorrow, actually. Straight from work. So I won't be-"

"Tomorrow?" He could hear a different breathiness in her voice now… unmistakable touches of panic.

"Look-I'm sorry. It's been scheduled for a while. It's a client-I couldn't very well cancel at the last minute." Cade chose that moment to escape into his bathroom, too cowardly to risk another look at her. He didn't need to see the shock, dismay and disappointment he knew would be written all over her face…that incredibly expressive face that sometimes seemed to him like watching a video tape on fast forward.

Just inside the bathroom doorway, again he stopped dead.

In only a matter of hours his bathroom had become an alien place. A lush and steamy greenhouse garden, redolent of all sorts of flowery, exotic scents, where jewel-toned bottles sprouted like mushrooms from the marble countertops and a rainbow of fabrics intertwined with the more subtle hues of damp towels bloomed in tropical profusion over every available surface.

Closing his mind to both the chaos and the disturbingly evocative smells, Cade set about gathering up the toiletries Betsy had unpacked for him, putting them back in their travel case. And while he was doing that he went on glibly talking, telling Leila in a logical, reasonable way how he thought she should spend the time while he was gone, catching up on her rest, settling in, getting to know the place…

But not too well, he reminded himself. No sense in her getting too settled in and comfortable here. This "marriage" was only going to be temporary, after all.

Listening to himself talk like that, without Leila's disturbing presence to distract him and just the sound of his own voice and his reassuringly normal reflection glaring back at him from the mirrors, he could feel his self-assurance coming back. Everything he said sounded reasonable and sane-even logical and wise. And why shouldn't it? He was Cade Gallagher, successful Texas businessman, a self-made man who'd had his first few million under his belt before his thirty-fifth birthday. A man with a far-ranging and well-earned reputation as a deal-maker, a man who knew how to play the game-and win.

Play the game… and win.

It came to him then, a flash of self-awareness like a spotlight trained on a dark corner of his soul, just what had happened to him back there in Tamir. In the first place, he'd gone to Elena's wedding with a business deal in mind. Once there, he'd gotten so caught up in the game and so blinded by the idea of winning, he'd lost his perspective. In order to win the game he'd let himself be coerced into marrying a woman he didn't love, with whom he had nothing whatsoever in common.

But the truth was, he didn't need this "win." He didn't need the old sheik's oil deal. He'd made his millions right here in Texas, and there was plenty more where that came from.

He'd been an ambitious fool and had paid the price, but all was not lost. He could still get out of this. He could still get his life back.

Just as long as he did not consummate this marriage.

That was it-the key to his deliverance. Because, from what he'd learned of Leila's culture so far, it seemed to him that when it came to marriage, it was all about the consummation. Even the Walima, the marriage feast, was to celebrate, not the wedding, but the consummation. The way Cade saw it, so long as he didn't make love to his wife, he wasn't even really married.

No problem. So what if she was one of the most beautiful and seductive women he'd ever seen in his life? He was thirty-six years old-a grown man, not a randy teenager. The image that looked back at him in the mirror was confident and mature…eyes world-weary, smile wry, eyebrows set at a sardonic tilt. Yes, he told himself, he had more than enough willpower, he ought to be able to resist one little black-eyed virgin princess.

He picked up his toiletry kit and turned around. And there she was, the virgin princess herself, standing in the bathroom doorway, filling it up so his only escape was going to have to be either through her or over her. Unless she moved out of his way, which she was showing no inclination to do.

As a test of that theory, he took a step toward her. Sure enough, she didn't budge an inch. Instead she watched him with great luminous eyes, and he saw her lips slowly part.

Apprehension shivered through his insides. He took another step…and another. Only a foot or so separated them now. And then she did move, but not away from him. Instead, she lifted one soft, scented hand and laid it alongside his jaw, a touch as cool and light as a flower. His heart began to pound.

"Leila-" With no spit at all in his mouth, it was all the sound he could manage.

She didn't say a word, just touched one petal-like finger to his lips and shook her head. For a long and terrifying moment she looked deeply into his eyes, and he no longer felt the least bit logical or wise. Then she stretched way up on her tiptoes and kissed him.

His heart and stomach performed impossible acrobatic maneuvers and shimmers of panic danced behind his closed eyelids. His confidence had already evaporated. He snatched at a breath that seared the inside of his chest while every impulse and desire in him pleaded with him to give in…to kiss her back and then some. To carry her to his bed and make love to her for what was left of tonight and let tomorrow and the rest of his future-and hers-take care of themselves.

He might have done it. He wasn't sure what would have happened, in fact, if he'd had both hands free. As it was, while one hand, already tingling with anticipation of the feel of her, hovered indecisively inches from her shoulder, his other hand, filled with the small leather case that held his toiletries, made a lump, a slight but significant barrier between his chest and hers. One she couldn't ignore.

She drew back, one of her hands still resting on his shoulder, and looked down at it. After a long moment, her eyes came back to his. "I do not understand," she said in a husky voice. "These are your personal things. Why do you need them? Where are you taking them? Now…tonight?"

The air seemed to back up in Cade's chest. His tongue felt thick as he tried to explain. "I…uh, I thought I'd, you know, sleep in the guestroom-it's just across the hall…" Why did he feel like an inept thief trying to explain the goodies in his sack, an unprepared schoolboy without his homework?

"But, this is your bedcham-bedroom." She wasn't touching him at all, now, but somehow he knew she was trembling. "Betsy told me. If you do not wish me-" She broke off suddenly, as if she'd been choked, and swallowed hard several times. Then he saw her body stiffen and her chin lift, and his own heart sank. With her face now pale and frozen as a statue, she said in a proud and quiet voice he'd never heard before, "If you do not wish me to sleep here with you in your bedroom, then you must tell me. It is I who should move to the guestroom, not you."

"It's only for tonight," he heard himself say, as his free hand doublecrossed him by lifting to her cheek. He felt himself brushing it with the backs of his fingers, and it was hot and smooth, like the skin of a ripe peach. What the hell was he doing? And why had he ever imagined this would be easy?

"We are both so tired," he gently explained, "and I'm pretty sure if we share a bed tonight, neither of us will get any sleep. There'll be other nights…" Was it a lie? He didn't even know for sure. And if it was, why did it come so easily to him? He wasn't-or never had been-a dishonest man. "We'll have plenty of time. When I get back. Tonight…you just rest, okay?" He ducked his head and touched his lips to her forehead. He'd never felt so confused and ashamed of himself. "Get some sleep," he said huskily, and walked away and left her there.

Leila woke up in a very large bed and for a moment could not think where she was. She felt sweaty and her heart pounded the way it had sometimes done when she was a very little girl, waking from a nightmare she could not remember.

But she was not a little girl, and there was no Salma to stroke her hair and kiss her cheek and tell her everything was all right. And besides, she remembered it all, now. She was in Texas, in America, and the wife of a man named Cade Gallagher, whom she did not know. And did not understand at all!

In Tamir he had kissed her. She understood that well enough. He had desired her then-surely she had not been wrong about that. And now that she was his wife, he did not seem to want to kiss her at all.

And yet…he had been kind to her. Considerate, yes, and even tender. She stretched languorously, pushing her arms amongst the pillows, then lightly touched the place on her forehead where he had kissed her. The memory of his lips, how warm and smooth they had felt against her skin, made a startling little shiver go through her.

And-she realized it now, though she'd been too humiliated at the time to appreciate the fact-he'd actually proposed marriage to her to save her from public disgrace! A foolish thing to do, but in a way very sweet…

Sweet? She remembered now-that was what Elena's friend Kitty had said about Cade. That he was sweet, like a…what was it? A marshmellow? Leila actually giggled; it had seemed then, and still did seem a very unlikely way to describe a man.

Maybe-the thought came suddenly-it was not such a good thing for a man to be too sweet. At least, not all the time.

But her outlook was brighter as she threw back the covers. She felt much more like her usual buoyant self. It was as Cade had said, that they both had been very tired yesterday, from all the traveling and the emotional stress of what had come before. Her husband had been right, and wise, to postpone consummating their marriage until they had both had a chance to rest and-how had he put it?-yes, settle in.

Little shivers rippled through her as she dressed for the day in cool gray slacks and a simple white blouse. It is true-it has really happened. I am in America-in Texas! A married woman! Over and over she said those words to herself, adding to those another, perhaps incongruous thought, I am free!

She realized that for most women marriage might mean the opposite of freedom, but for her it seemed to promise endless possibilities. Yes, she was a wife, and she would work hard to be a good one. But she was in America. Here she could do anything-go to college, become a doctor, or a teacher-perhaps even a lawyer, or the head of her own company, like Elena. No longer would people laugh indulgently at her and treat her like a child. She was Mrs. Cade Gallagher, and she was in America. She was free.

She told herself these things, but in a state of fearful wonderment, not quite able to believe they were true -like a caged bird who hasn't yet realized that the door has been left open, or a child too young to grasp the fact that the wonderful new toys in the gaily wrapped packages are hers to keep. This is my house, she thought as she walked slowly down the curving staircase, trailing her fingers on the polished wood banister. This is our home…mine and Cade's. The thought produced more of those happy shivers, and she was biting her lip and smiling as she went into the kitchen, like a child with a secret.

Betsy was standing at the sink, stemming strawberries and singing along with the music from a radio turned down low. When Leila said "Good morning!" she turned with a little cry and a smile of welcome that made her cheeks look round as pomegranates. "You're awake! I bet you're hungry. Sit down, sit down-I'll make you some lunch."

"Lunch!" Leila looked for a clock. "What time is it?"

Betsy leaned sideways to peer at a digital clock on the back of a gleaming white stove. "Almost two."

"Two! In the afternoon? But-I have never slept so late!"

"Jet lag," said Betsy, waving a hand. "Take you a couple days to adjust. Here-have some strawberries. They're pretty good right now-don't even need sugar. I thought I'd leave a bowl in the fridge for you- they'll be good for your breakfast tomorrow, too." She pushed a blue bowl heaped high with the berries over in front of Leila and put a fork beside it.

Leila picked up a berry with her fingers and closed her eyes as she bit into it, wondering how Betsy could have guessed that strawberries were one of her favorite foods.

"I guess Cade told you he's not going to be home to-night-got a business trip this weekend." Betsy sounded wary.

"Yes, I know." Leila picked up another berry. "This afternoon I think I would like to see the outside-the horses."

"You sure?" Betsy seemed relieved as she cocked an eyebrow. "It gets hot out there, middle of the afternoon."

"That is good, I like the heat," said Leila, showing her dimples. "It will make me feel as if I am at home."

Betsy gave her a doubtful, sideways look as she opened the refrigerator. "If you say so, hon."

Leila ate a delicious meal of strawberries and a chicken salad made with strips of roasted sweet red peppers and pecans, sitting in a breakfast room with a wall of windows that looked out on a swimming pool surrounded by lawns and flower gardens. Beyond that she could not see, because of course there were more trees, making walls of green all around the garden. She also drank a very delicious iced beverage made with tea and lemon and a great deal of sugar. If I am not careful I will get fat, here in America, she thought.

When she had finished her lunch, Leila opened a door in the breakfast room and stepped out onto a flagstone patio. Once again she gasped involuntarily when she felt the slap of hot, wet air, and heard Betsy call out from the kitchen, "I told you."

I keep forgetting about the humidity, Leila thought as she forced herself to breathe the thick, soupy air. But it was only a small thing, and she would get used to it.

She lingered at the pool, pausing to trail her fingers in the clear, tepid water and sniff some roses that had no scent. Then she set off briskly, following a flagstone pathway that led along the side of the house and through a wrought-iron gate. Just past the gate she came to the corner of the house, and there the walls of greenery ended. Interrupted by only a few very large trees and bisected by a curving gravel lane, the grassy ground swept away to the stables, which were made of wood, painted white with green trim. Beyond the stables were fields and paddocks of emerald green, ringed by white-painted fences, and in the paddocks she could see horses-mares with foals!-and Rueben, leaning on the fence, watching them.

Her heart quickened with excitement and she no longer noticed the heat and humidity. As she hurried along the gravel lane she was thinking, These are Cade's horses-my husband's horses. And, with a sense of awe, Mine, too.

As she came nearer to the paddock where the man stood vigil, she could see that it held only a mare with a mottled gray body, darker face and legs, and jet-black mane and tail.

"She is very beautiful," she said as she joined Rueben at the fence, keeping a respectful distance between them. She did not ask what was obvious, even to her, but after a moment said, "She will have her foal very soon, I think."

Rueben glanced briefly at her, as if she had surprised him, then looked back at the mare and nodded. "Maybe today…maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow."

Leila didn't say anything, but her insides had those joyful shivers again. The birth of a foal-she had never seen such a thing. It must be the most wonderful thing that could happen, she thought. She wondered… she hoped…if she was very careful not to get in the way, if Rueben might let her watch.

But that would be later. Right now there was something else she wanted to ask him, and after a long and oddly comfortable silence, she did. "The horses that are here-are there any that may be ridden?"

He gave her that look of surprise. "You like to ride?"

"Oh, yes," Leila breathed, "very much."

Rueben lifted up a shoulder. "Okay, sure-we got a couple that're real gentle…" Leila didn't tell him that "gentle" was the last thing she wanted. "Not right now, though," said Rueben. "Too hot. Maybe this evening. Tomorrow morning."

"Thank you," said Leila. "I would like that very much. And…where can I ride? Only here, in the pastures…?"

"The pastures, sure." Rueben gave his shoulder another hitch. "There's a trail, too. Goes down along the creek."

Leila nodded, but didn't say anything. She was looking at the neat green paddocks with their white rail fences, and remembering her dream about riding across endless plains with the wind in her face and her hair blowing free. So, here I am in America, in Texas, she thought. But…where are the vistas?

"You want to ride, tell me," said Rueben. "I fix you up."

"Thank you," said Leila softly. She turned away from the paddocks and walked slowly back to the house.

She woke in the darkness and was strangely wide awake and rested. Jet lag, she thought, stretching her body in the great wide bed she had yet to share with her husband. My days and nights are turned around.

Knowing it would be useless to try to sleep any longer, she threw back the covers and got out of bed. Without turning on the light she made her way to the window and stood with her arms around herself, looking out on the shadowy, dark landscape.

" This is Texas…America."

She said the words deliberately as she had been saying them over and over to herself all day, but they failed to give her those joyous and optimistic shivers. Around her the house was empty and still, and there was a hollow feeling of loneliness inside her. She missed Tamir, and the palace that was always so full of people -her family, the servants. She remembered that she had sometimes had to steal away to secret corners of the gardens to find moments to herself. Now, as the silence of the house pressed in around her, she would have given almost anything for the sounds of laughter…people's voices.

But… there-surely that was a light! She peered into the thick gray darkness, trying to see through the deeper blackness of trees, remembering that earlier she had seen glimpses of the stables through the leaves and branches. Excitement gave a kick beneath her ribs. Rueben had told her the mare, Suki, would have her foal soon. Maybe today…maybe tonight…

Without stopping to think whether or not she should, Leila turned from the window and was already pulling her nightgown over her head. She dressed quickly in the same slacks and blouse she'd worn that day, slipped bare feet into her shoes and ran down the stairs. At the back entrance she remembered just in time to turn off the security alarm before opening the door.

This time she was ready for the warm, wet slap of humidity. What she hadn't expected was the noise. Inside the well-insulated and air-conditioned house she hadn't realized how loud the night was, in this place of so many trees and lush vegetation, so many ponds and fields and streams. All around her the night was filled with sounds-busy sounds, ratcheting, chirping, hooting, clicking, screeching sounds.

After the first surprise, Leila decided she liked the racket. And here I thought that I was alone. She almost felt like singing along with the night creatures herself as she found her way along the flagstone path. To be out alone in the night gave her shivery feelings of excitement, anticipation and a delicious sense of adventure.

She unlatched the gate and slipped silently through. And her nice little shivers exploded all through her muscles like slivers of steel. Her scalp bloomed with prickles and her heart rocketed into her throat. All of a sudden the night was full of large warm bodies, wiggling, snuffling shifting bodies, pressing in on her from all sides. As her back slammed against the gate she sucked in air and whispered, "Oh-good dogs…nice… dogs…"

Something warm and wet slapped the back of her hand-then the other hand as well. She moved her fingers and felt them burrow through silky-soft fur. She could hear coming from the squirming, waggling shapes little whines and whimpers and panting sounds that sounded like laughter. Friendly sounds.

Taking a deep breath and summoning her courage, she pushed away from the gate and took several tentative steps. The dogs moved with her, arranging themselves in front and in back and on both sides of her, keeping just out of range of her feet as she walked. Just like my father's bodyguards, she thought, as the last vestiges of her fear slipped away.

The dogs followed her to the stable door, but made no move to go inside with her. Clearly, they knew this was not allowed.

Although the lights were on in the stable, no one was inside. Finding her way through a stall filled with sweet, clean straw, Leila found herself in the paddock where she had seen the mare, Suki, that afternoon. There, in a corner of the paddock just to the left outside the doorway in which she stood, by the light leaking through the stall's half doors, she could see the mare's pale shape lying on the darker grass. Rueben was there, too, crouched on one knee with his fingers braced on the ground, like a runner at the start of a race.

Leila ventured toward them as silently as she knew how. Rueben glanced at her as she crouched down beside him, but without much surprise-almost, it seemed to her, as if he had expected her to come.

"She's not doin' so good," he said in a low voice.

"What is the matter?" Leila breathlessly whispered back.

"Got halfway and quit. Happens sometimes. I think she'll be okay, though-just have to give her a little help."

"Help?"

"Yeah…gonna pull a little bit. She should start pushing on her own then."

"Should she not be inside, in the stable?" Leila's heart was beating very hard.

Rueben lifted one shoulder in his familiar shrug. "She's where she wants to be. Horses are meant to have their babies in the open. It's their nature. If the weather's bad, I bring her inside. When it's nice like this, I let her choose." He pushed himself up from his crouch. Leila did the same.

"What can I do to help?" she whispered.

He nodded toward the mare, who had her head up and was quietly watching them. "You can keep her calm, if you want. Just pet her… talk to her. Rub her under her jaw, like this…"

Leila nodded and began to move cautiously toward the mare's head, crooning to her softly in Arabic, the language her nanny had used to soothe her when she was a baby. Her heart hammered and her lungs ached as she felt the slick, warm horsehide beneath her fingers, and smelled the familiar salty horse-smell. The mare gave a little whicker of uncertainty as Leila began to stroke her sweat-damp neck, but didn't try to rise. "Beautiful, noble lady…" Leila murmured. "You must be strong…you must have the courage of a lioness."

The mare grunted. Leila felt the surge of powerful muscles, and then a groan that seemed to come from deep inside the mare's belly.

"That's it-she's pushin' good now," said Rueben after a moment, panting a little. "Okay…okay-that's good. Let her go-she'll do it herself now, I think."

Leila pushed herself away from the mare's surging body and scrambled around to join Rueben just in time to see the foal's body slither onto the grass like a puddle of spilled ink.

"Nice filly," said Rueben. "Nice big girl."

"Is she all right?" Leila asked fearfully. The foal had not moved. Leila's heart was knocking painfully; she felt as if she could not breathe. "Is she…dead? She is not breathing."

"She'll be okay." Rueben pulled his white T-shirt off over his head. "Here-wipe her head a little bit," he said as he tossed it to her.

Then she was on her knees in the wet grass, trying not to shake as she wiped frantically at the film of mucus that covered the foal's mouth and nose. Sweat trickled down her sides, dripped from her nose and ran stinging into her eyes. She kept making desperate little whimpering noises, but didn't realize then that she was crying. Not until the foal suddenly jerked her head up and shook it hard, her long ears making a slapping sound against her neck.

"She'll be fine now," said Rueben, as Leila collapsed backward onto the seat of her pants with a loud, quivering sob.

But she was laughing, too. Laughing and sobbing as she gathered the newborn foal's head into her arms and pressed her cheek to its soaking wet hide.