Touch the Horizon by Iris Johansen Page B

shouldn’t, Billie. I’m no saint. I need sex, like any other man, but that was all it was with Shareen and the others.” His voice was warm and deep. “I took pleasure and I tried to give it back, but what happens between us is going to be entirely different.”
    “Oh, Yasmin assured me she was nothing to you,” Billie said lightly, trying to keep the warmth he was exuding from flooding her being.
    David frowned. “That wasn’t true. Everyone has value and gifts to give. I’d be an unappreciative bastard to denigrate the giver of those gifts.” His hand tightened on hers. “It’s just that some gifts have more value than others. Physical satisfaction can mean a hell of a lot. But joy”—his deep blue eyes were glowing softly—“joy can last forever, Billie.”
    She forgot to breathe, and felt that dizzying warmth move languidly through her veins. Why was she letting him do this to her? She’d always moved so lightly on the surface of life, pausing to touch and enjoy relationships and adventures and then moving on. None of it had really affected her, but she knew with a little thrill of panic that if she let herself stay in this small circle of sunlight, she might never want to move on again.
    “No!” She jerked her hand away from his and nervously smoothed the sleek material of the dress over her hips. “All this has nothing to do with me. Why can’t you understand that?” She smiled with an effort. “And you say everyone is valuable and has gifts to give. What about this Ladram I’ve been hearing about? He doesn’t seem to have much to give to the human race.”
    For the first time since she had met him, his face hardened and the warmth entirely left his eyes. “I stand corrected,” he said curtly. “In every garden there are weeds that try to smother and destroy the useful and beautiful around them.” His smile had the cold glitter of a stiletto. “The only thing you can do to prevent their doing that is to pluck them out and destroy them first.”
    She shivered as if the sun had suddenly gone behind a cloud. She’d wanted to distract him and change the conversation, but this facet of David’s character frightened her a little. “Another flower allusion,” she said. “Your conversation certainly abounds with them. I suppose it’s natural, considering you’re something of a gardener. I saw that picture of you in the study. Was it painted here in Zalandan?”
    He shook his head, his expression softening. “Lance Rubinoff painted that in the garden of the palace at Marasef. I have a garden here, too, but I think I like the one in Marasef better. It’s outdoors, and I’ve always liked the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. The air is too dry and harsh, here in the middle of the desert, for plant life to flourish, so Karim built me a greenhouse to work in. It’s very special to me too.” His face was grave. “I want to share it with you, but not right now, Billie. I want to save it for a time that will be special to us both. Now we’re just beginning to push through the earth to see the sun. I want to save it for the blossoming. Okay?”
    The blossoming. What a beautiful and moving phrase. Almost as beautiful as the honey darkness of his voice when he said the words. “Okay,” she said dreamily, and was rewarded by that sudden blinding smile.
    “Good.” He’d stopped before a carved teak door much like the one that graced the library, and he threw it open with a little flourish. “Now, step into my chamber and we’ll talk of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings.” He winked. “And if you’re extremely lucky, I might just let you bolt down a morsel or two of food in between.”
    David’s suite was even more luxurious and lovely than her own, if a trifle more masculine. The white mosiac floor was covered with a cream-and-beige Aubusson carpet, and the coverlet on the wide ottoman bed was the flaming scarlet of autumn leaves. One wall was dominated by a