OASES

Chapter 1

                                                          (circa MMX)

"Love is the flower of life,

and must be plucked where it is found,

and enjoyed for the brief hour of its duration."

D. H. Lawrence

Trash. So wrong.

And she knew it. Even her subconscious knew it was wrong. So why was she rolling with it? And why in god's name did it feel so damned right?

The shadows of evil lurking in his eyes were enough to terrorize a demon. And that's all Dahab could see of her captor: his eyes, darker than sin. His face, his head... his entire body were draped in the black robes and Shemagh headdress of a Bedouin bandit.

She knew to call out would be useless. A sandstorm was raging outside his tent, howling like the hounds of Hell. And even so, his band of cutthroats was the only life within a hundred miles of the oasis. Escape was impossible.

Dahab knew the invisible red fiber connecting her to her ultimate destiny could be throttled in this barbarian's fist.

Her only hope was to succumb to his feral desires; offer him ecstasy beyond his fantasies. Perhaps then he would take her as his woman, spare her the unspeakable abuse waiting at the hands of his pack of jackals. Yes: passivity rather than defiance. Perhaps the upper hand this rogue enjoyed could be swayed.

Too late.

The hollow-eyed reaper swatted Dahab across the face, sending her sprawling into a pile of the cushions scattered about the floor of the tent.

She hauled herself onto all fours, flicked her head sideways, tossing back her mane of fiery hair. A trickle of red seeped from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes flashed an insolent dare... then, she allowed her lips to swell into a hint of pout. She touched the edge of her lower lip, licked blood from her finger. A charge of excitement thrummed in her lower body.

Dahab saw the corners of her tormentor's eyes crinkle and she knew he was grinning in anticipation. She detected a slight tremor in his hand as he unstrapped his scimitar. He groaned hungrily, spoke for the first time, "Allahu Akbar" –God is great.

The brigand knelt to one knee beside her and seized Dahab's face in his rough hands. She tilted up her chin, offering herself to be kissed. But he simply ogled her with heated, penetrating eyes. And he continued staring at her, examining every aspect of her face. Finally he let one hand drift down her neck, along her shoulder, down, and then under to joggle each breast. Then in one swift movement he flipped Dahab onto her back, at once ripping the tattered rags from her body.

She was naked. Her chest was rising and falling with breaths charged by fear and excitement.

Again he inspected her, intently, completely, touching her lightly with his fingertips here, there... everywhere. She closed her eyes and let her limbs fall loose, demonstrating she was in his thrall.

Three insistent raps on the door of the tent and one of his henchmen calling her name –in English– slammed a halt to the thrall and thrill; it would hafta wait.

Door of the tent? English? Huh?

Dahab opened her eyes. The tent transformed into a nicely appointed bathroom; the howling sandstorm was replaced by the growling jets of her Jacuzzi. And it was no henchman calling her name, it was Jiddah, her roomie.