“But that is just it. He is performing errands for her. But what errands, I wonder, would take him to Sven Neilsen’s?”
Jebal froze. “Do you have proof?”
Zoe licked her lips. “No. But he was there. My spies saw him leaving the Dane’s house.” She hesitated. “And he left the Dane with a package—actually it was a sack.”
“And I suppose that you know what is in that sack?”
“No, I have no idea,” Zoe said.
Jebal paced. His face was set, grim. He turned. “If you are lying, Zoe, dear, I shall have you bastinadoed.”
Zoe smiled. “I am not lying, Jebal. And as your wife, I thought it pertinent to inform you of the possibility that Zohara is a spy.” She stared coldly. “Have you never wondered just how she arrived in Tripoli?”
A muscle ticked in his cheek. He did not reply.
“But on which ship did she arrive? The slave trader did not know. No one knows. How did she arrive here, Jebal? And why? Why, Jebal?”
Slowly he said, “I have tried not to think about it. My own spies could not learn the name of the ship she disembarked from, so I dropped the issue.”
Zoe smiled.
Jebal’s jaw tightened. He strode for the door, and through it, Zoe rushing after him. “Where are you going?” She cried.
“Iam going to ask Zohara to explain what business her slave could possibly have with Neilsen.”
Alex lay motionless, her pulse beginning to subside. Xavier slipped off of her and lay beside her, also unmoving. One of his arms remained draped over her abdomen, beneath her breasts.
Slowly Alex turned her head, opening her eyes.
He was gazing at her, his expression impossible to read, but his eyes were not cold. Oh, no. His gaze was soft and warm it was tender. Their eyes held.
Alex could not smile. Her heart fluttered wildly.
His palm slid over her stomach, slowly.
Alex inhaled, filled with hope.
“Your skin is beautiful,” he said softly.
Alex stared, praying. There was a softness in his eyes that she had never seen before, and she was so afraid that it was her wild imagination again, playing tricks on her, deluding her, that she was seeing what she wanted to see, not reality—but it was not. She saw tenderness in his eyes. She was not mistaken. Alex thanked God.
His hand caressed her, brushing the bottom of her breasts. “You are a very beautiful woman, Alexandra,” he said in the same gentle tone of voice.
“Th-thank you,” she managed. “You’re the most gorgeous man I have ever met.”
He suddenly smiled. “How can you speak that way? To label a man gorgeous? Is this not an insult?”
“No, it’s a compliment!” Alex realized he was, just slightly, teasing her. “You are amazingly handsome,” she amended, flushing.
“I’m skinny.” His gaze narrowed. “Are you blushing?”
“Yes.” Alex rolled onto her side, facing him, and traced one of his muscular forearms with her fingertips. His smile faded. They both watched her hand. It was amazing how such an innocent gesture could be so provocative and so sensual. Alex’s loins throbbed. A quick glance told her that he was also becoming affected.
Boldly she moved her hand to the pectoral muscle of his chest. “I can feel your heart. It is racing.”
His look skewered her. “I wonder why.”
She smiled.
