Page 56 of Silver Angel

“Yes, and will want to grow their own hair back to emulate the current favorite.”

Rahine sighed. “Do you really think Shahar will reach that status, to become his firstikbal?”

Haji pursed his lips before replying, “If Jamil doesn’t kill her in a fit of fury before he beds her.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chantelle had to be guided down the entire length of the wide corridor, a hand firmly supporting each elbow. Her feet were moving of their own accord, but she was barely aware of it, and she couldn’t seem to recall where she was being taken. Not that it mattered; her mind flitted from one undisturbing subject to another, between lapses of total blankness during which she actually slept on her feet.

The coffee that had been forced down her throat had revived her enough to leave a pleasant lassitude. Even when she was shaken to awareness and told that they had arrived at Jamil’s door, she couldn’t dredge up much interest, let alone fear. Jamil who? she wondered briefly before she was pushed to her knees; then her head dropped down and she promptly fell asleep.

Derek waited for Shahar to stir after Haji and Kadar bowed out of the room, but when several minutes had passed without even a little fidgeting on her part, he sighed. So he was going to have to start over again, to force each and every concession out of her. But had he really thought they could begin tonight where they had left off before? His body had certainly hoped so.

“Shahar, you may rise—and henceforth, I don’t want to see you on your knees again. I will so inform Haji.” If Derek thought this would please her, a privilege afforded only to Sheelah by Jamil, he got no immediate reaction. “Shahar?” he repeated, and when she still didn’t respond: “Shahar!”

“What?” she replied in an irritated tone as she rose to her knees. Unfortunately, she came up so quickly she toppled right over. Derek stared at her in bemusement as he heard her giggle and ask, “Now, how did that happen?”

Derek didn’t answer. He closed the distance between them and offered her a hand to help her rise. She took it immediately, surprising him further, and once again giggled.

“Thank you kindly, sir.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied hesitantly, peering down into her face. “Are you all right?”

“Couldn’t be better.” She gave him a smile that took his breath away.

His fingers were instantly drawn to trace the line of those curving lips. But the moment he touched her, she pulled back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded indignantly, shaking loose the hand that still held hers.

She took another step back, only to get tangled up in her own feet and sway dangerously before she righted herself. Her indignation was gone and she was once again giggling.

“My, that was clumsy of me, wasn’t it? I really think I ought to sit down.” She swept the room with a glance, swaying dangerously again and making him start to reach out to steady her, but he stopped when her eyes lit on him and she said in what amounted to a confiding whisper, “I hate to say so, sir, but you need a decorator. Not a single chair? Where’s a body to sit itself, I ask you?”

Derek’s brows were already narrowing as he suggested, “You might try the bed.”

“Absolutely not!” The indignation had returned. “Whatever would Aunt Ellen say?”

It was the last straw. He grabbed her hand and yanked her to the bed, which she fell back on with a small shriek. He stood there glowering down at her, only to watch her eyes slowly close and to hear a contented sigh as she settled more comfortably into the soft mattress.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” he growled, leaning over to shake her shoulders. “Look at me!” he commanded harshly, and when she did, he asked, “Do you know who I am?”

She stared at him with keen concentration for nearly a half minute, her eyes moving over every inch of his face, before she finally said, “Yes.”

That wasn’t good enough. “Who am I?”

“You’re that bloody cold fish who condemns innocent women to fates worse than—”

She said it without rancor, but still he put a hand over her mouth to silence her. Christ, Jamil probably would have slapped her unconscious before she got past the “bloody,” not that it would take much to render her unconscious at the moment. Her eyes were already closing again.

He let go of her, swearing under his breath, then grabbed her and shook her furiously again. “What the hell did you take to make this easier? Answer me, dammit!”

She blinked at him. “Take?”

“Don’t play games with me, woman! I want to know what you drank and who gave it to you!”

She discovered her indignation again. “Are you accusing me of being drunk, sir? I’ll have you know—”

“Arghhhh!” The snarl exploded from his lungs.