Page 69 of Silver Angel

She grabbed his finger before it could go any farther. He startled her by yanking it away and sitting up. When he glanced back at her, she knew she had displeased him from the tight set of his features. She assumed it was because she had stopped him. It was a surprise to find out differently.

“You may call me anything but Jamil.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Call me Derek.”

“What?” she said incredulously.

“It means ‘beloved.’”

She blinked. What the devil had come over him?

“In what language?” she asked skeptically.

“Never mind what language!” His voice rose in his irritation. “Will you call me Derek?”

“No,” she replied simply, and saw his jaw stiffen.

“In another language, it also means ‘bastard.’Nowwill you call me Derek?”

It was too much. She grinned and the laughter followed, until she was bent over with it, clasping her sides. When she finally leaned back, she saw him watching her with his own lips curled.

“Oh, God.” She sighed, wiping tears from her eyes. “If I’m not permitted to call you Jamil, you only had to say so. Derek indeed. The name’s as English as I am.”

“So is my mother, Shahar,” he pointed out. “Perhaps she gave me the name.”

“Did she?”

“No,” he said truthfully, for it was his grandfather who had named him Derek.

He reclined again, bemused by his irrational reaction to hearing her call him by his brother’s name. What was a name, after all? Just because it belonged to someone else…

Chantelle was watching him curiously. “What was that all about, then, if you don’t mind my asking?”

He glanced up at her, suddenly aware that her humor had relaxed her guard. That would change, however, if he claimed his prerogative not to answer.

He shrugged offhandedly. “My frustration, rising to surprise us both.”

She could believe it, but was loath to pursuethatsubject. “Oh, well…”

He chuckled. “Where’s your courage, English?” Aren’t you curious why I’m frustrated?”

“No!”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I want you in my bed, yes, but I want other things as well.”

Before she realized what he meant to do, he had hooked his fingers in the top of her pantaloons and tugged, gently enough so that the buttons on each hip didn’t snap off, but enough to bring her sliding down the silken pillow until she lay flat on her back next to him. She brought up her hands immediately to ward him off, but he didn’t lean over her as she had expected.

“That’s better,” he said. “I was getting a stiff neck looking up at you.”

If that was meant to reassure her about this new position, it didn’t. “I don’t think—”

“Shh, don’t you want to know what I want to do to you?” She shook her head emphatically and he gave her back her own words. “Besides that.”