Читать книгу Hidden In The Sheikh's Harem - Michelle Conder, Amanda Cinelli - Страница 10

CHAPTER FOUR

FOR A MOMENT Zach thought he was going to have to knock her out cold and he didn’t want to do that. In order to get out of the camp, he needed her to lead him to the horses without drawing too much attention to them.

Fortunately she had no idea how important she was to his escape and she nodded curtly. Slowly Zach drew his hand back and she immediately pressed her lips together as if he’d hurt them. Probably he had. She’d fought like a little wild thing and he was surprised at how strong she was. He was surprised at how slender and soft she had felt beneath him as well, and at how beautiful her face was—oh, not classically, like the faces of many of the women he’d dated, but there was something about the slant of her cheekbones and those bottomless brown eyes that made him want to sink into them. Her smooth skin and sexy-as-sin mouth didn’t hurt, either.

With her keffiyeh having come off during their struggle, he ran his eyes over her heart-shaped face and down the long dark plait that rested just above small jutting breasts. She was dishevelled and in need of a bath, her proud little chin tilted upwards as if she wanted to tell him to go to hell, but still he wanted to hear her make that soft little hitch in her voice she’d made when he’d sucked on her fingers.

Hell of a time to get a hard-on, oh mighty pride of the desert.

He looked her over. ‘Do you have any other weapons, my little Zenobia?’ he asked dulcetly, unwinding the rope from her slender wrists.

She rubbed at them and, even though it was nearly completely dark inside the tent, he could still read her fury and the desire to best him in her eyes. ‘As if I’d tell you that.’

‘If you don’t, I’ll be forced to search you.’

‘No!’ The sharp little word sprang from her lips like an Olympian off the starter’s block. ‘I don’t.’

Zach nearly laughed at the desperation behind her words and wondered if she was afraid of him or afraid of the unexpected chemistry that had ignited between them.

Chemistry he needed to ignore.

‘Come.’

Her chin shot up again and she tossed her head like a mare that was being pulled too hard at the bit. ‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’

Zach smiled grimly. ‘You are. You’re about to walk me out of here and take me to the horses. If anyone stops us, you will tell them that you are taking me to your father. You’ll then lead me by this rope that will look like it is binding my hands until we get there.’

He could almost hear her thoughts running wild, trying to take an alternate route. He yanked her against him and ignored her shocked gasp and the way his palm fit snuggly around the curve of her bottom. He had a moment of questioning his decision, of second-guessing his plan, but he really had no other option. And he’d let her go as soon as they got to the horses. In the meantime, she needed to know that he wasn’t about to cop any attitude from her. ‘Sound the alarm and I’ll kill anyone who stops us.’

The desert was already freezing and he could hear the rising wind beating at the sides of the tent and making a hell of a racket. He had no idea how far Mohamed Hajjar’s camp lay from civilisation but he knew it was going to be a long night.

Bending down, he retrieved a length of rope and coiled it around his wrists. He knew an observant guard would notice that his ankles were no longer bound but he was hoping the closing darkness would prevent anyone from noticing that before they got to the horses. Of course, he’d much prefer a high-powered vehicle to climb into, but in the three days he’d been held hostage he hadn’t once heard the sound of an engine.

Zach positioned Farah just to the side so he could observe her expression. ‘Okay, my little warrior queen, let’s go.’

‘I’m not your anything.’ She kept her face averted but he saw the betraying tremble of her lower lip. For all her attitude, she was afraid of him. Not something he was going to allay even though he had never hurt a woman in his life. Of course, he’d never had cause to before now. Women loved him and he loved them—a much more desirable arrangement than this one.

‘Move.’ He positioned himself slightly in front of her but, rather than her grabbing his hands, he grabbed hers, laying the small dagger against her inner arm so that she knew who was in charge. ‘And don’t rush it.’

When she lifted the tent flap he blew out a relieved breath that her boyfriend didn’t appear to be in the vicinity.

The nearby guard was, though, and he immediately came to attention when he saw them. He asked Farah if everything was okay and when she hesitated Zach pressed the tip of her sharp dagger against her wrist.

‘Fine,’ she said through clenched teeth.

‘We’ll have to brush up on your acting skills but good enough for now,’ Zach whispered against her ear and got another whiff of camel. He grimaced and wondered whether she’d been rolling around with them.

‘You can’t get away. There’s a storm brewing.’

Zach had already clocked the incoming storm and his eyes scanned the camp. Many of the men were still filling their stomachs around the campfire and the remaining ones were busy securing the tents against the rising wind. ‘I know. Perfect cover.’

She stopped and he nearly ran into her. ‘I won’t do it,’ she hissed out of the side of her mouth.

‘Your father will mourn your death, no doubt.’

‘You won’t kill me.’

Zach crowded her from behind. ‘It would be a mistake to underestimate what I would or would not do right now. Have you forgotten who my father was?’

‘Pig.’ The word was spat towards the sand.

Exactly. Zach urged her forward. ‘I’m glad we understand each other. Now, walk and none of your men will die. Hopefully.’

* * *

Farah brushed at the strands of her hair that had come loose from her struggles with the prince and which now blew uncontrollably around her face. She was so angry with herself for being duped, she could spit. No doubt this would reinforce for her father that women were best left to domestic chores and had no place getting involved in the business of men. Right now she had to agree because it was her own stupidity that had got her into this mess. As if reading her mind, the hateful prince leaned in close again, his warm breath stirring the loose strands of hair at her temple. ‘Don’t feel bad about aiding my escape. If it had been anyone else, I would have been forced to kill him.’

That thought gave her little comfort. She had made a mistake and didn’t know how to fix things. And she always knew how to fix things. It was her calling card. Everyone in the village came to her when there was trouble. And now she’d caused the trouble—or at least exacerbated it before a solution could be found.

Focusing on the biting cold wind against her face, she willed one of the men around her to notice that something was amiss. Other than a cursory glance, they didn’t question her. They trusted her. Trusted her, and she was about to let them down. A well of emotion rose up in her throat and self-pitying tears filled her eyes.

‘Stop here.’

The prince’s words were low and with a start Farah realised they had already reached the horses. As if sensing her presence, her big stallion trotted over.

‘By Allah, he’s a monster,’ the prince murmured appreciatively.

One of the men had put him in a halter and blanket to ward off the cold and as soon as he reached them he stretched his nose out to her, as if seeking a treat.

‘Yours?’

She knew from the tone of his voice that he was going to steal him and she shoved at Moonbeam’s muzzle to try and push him away.

At the same time a cry went up from across the camp. It was Amir calling her name; the prince tensed. Relief flooded Farah and she pushed harder at Moonbeam to get him to go. Typically male, he didn’t listen so she yelled at him.

More shouts rung out around them and Farah could hear the heavy sound of feet pounding the sand as her father’s men rallied. Giving up all pretence that he was still captured, the prince shoved her through the gate, her scream lost on the driving wind. Then suddenly hard hands spanned her waist and her eyes snapped back to the prince’s. She saw a moment of indecision cross his face, then she was being lifted, and she instinctively raised her leg to swing it over Moonbeam’s neck before she thought better of it.

Seconds later the prince vaulted on behind her and kicked her stallion into action. Being herd animals, the remaining horses fretted and the prince used this to his advantage, wheeling around behind them and forcing them out of the gate.

Before she knew it they were in full flight and all Farah could do was grab Moonbeam’s mane as the prince reached around her for the halter and raced them straight into the dark heart of the incoming storm.

Hours later, wet, filthy and exhausted, the prince stopped the now plodding horse. Farah would have slipped from Moonbeam’s back if the man behind her hadn’t tightened his arm around her waist, the steel-like muscles bunching beneath her breasts as they had so often done over the past few hours.

Some time ago, when the storm had hit hard, he had stopped and pulled off his shirt to tie around Moonbeam’s eyes and nose to shield him from the worst of the swirling dust. He’d then cut the bottom of her tunic to make two coverings to keep as much of the sand off their faces, as well.

Feeling wretched, with sand coating every part of her cold, wet body, Farah could have cried with relief when she glanced up to see a rocky incline in front of them.

Jumping down from the stallion’s back, the prince reached up and tugged her off, unceremoniously dragging her and her horse under the shelter. It wasn’t much, just a narrow crevice really, but it was facing away from the wind. When he released her arm, she swayed and he held her while her legs worked to keep her upright.

Carefully she unwrapped her makeshift headdress and shook it out. She tried to brush some of the sand from her body but she was so wet it only made her cold fingers sting. Instead, she used the torn fabric to brush over Moonbeam’s legs to offer him some relief. She could hear the prince shaking out fabric and presumed he had taken his shirt from around the stallion’s head. She knew his skin must be sore from where he’d been pelted by the storm.

‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly.

‘For what?’ His deep voice sounded beside her and she jumped because she hadn’t heard him move and couldn’t see a thing in the blackness.

‘For protecting my horse.’

‘If he had died, so would we,’ he bit out.

Okay, so that cleared up any notions she’d had about him being thoughtful. About to move as far away from him as possible she let out a shriek when he put his hands on her shoulders and worked them down to her waist.

Incensed at the invasion of her person, Farah slapped his hands away. ‘I told you I don’t have any more weapons.’

‘Where’s your mobile phone?’

Feeling small and helpless compared to his size and strength, she shoved at his wide chest, thankful that it was now covered in fabric. ‘Why would I have a mobile phone when our village doesn’t have coverage?’

He cursed and moved away from her. Farah let out a pent-up breath and gave a hollow laugh, her arms coming around her body to ward off the chill. ‘Swearing won’t help, and you only have yourself to blame, because your father refused to spend money on anyone but himself.’

He ignored the jab and once again she heard the rustle of fabric.

‘What are you doing?’ she demanded as he pulled Moonbeam’s blanket off.

‘We need this more than he does.’

‘You can’t just take it off. He’ll freeze.’

‘He will not freeze. He has a thick coat of hair and he’s mostly dry. We are not.’

As if on cue, another huge shiver wracked her body and she rubbed her arms. The wind howled outside their rocky respite but at least it didn’t cut right through her any more. Too tired to argue, she dropped to her knees on the hard ground.

‘You’re too close to the opening there. Come here.’

How he knew her location was beyond her. ‘I’m fine.’

‘That wasn’t a request,’ he growled so close to her she jumped again.

‘I’m too tired to argue with you’ she snapped. ‘Just let me be.’

‘The way your father let me be?’

Farah closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about why they were in this predicament because she knew her father had been wrong to do what he’d done, even if he did think his reasoning was solid. ‘Did I not just say I was too tired to—hey! Put me down!’

‘I too am tired, I’m also hungry and angry, so I would advise you not to test the limits of my patience because that ran out three days ago when your father refused to release me. He hasn’t had the courage to face me since.’

‘My father is not a coward!’

‘No?’ He placed her on the ground more gently than she expected, given the roughness of his hold. ‘So you condone his actions? Or perhaps you assisted him.’ When he sat beside her Farah automatically scooted sideways to get away from him but he grabbed her arm and yanked her back. Then he anchored her with his forearm and pulled her backwards until she was lying on her side with him plastered along her back, his knees pressing into the backs of hers.

‘I’m not sleeping with you!’

He tugged the horse blanket over the top of them. ‘No, you’re not. You’re sleeping next to me. There’s a big difference, habiba, and believe me you would not be invited to do the former.’

Farah felt her blood boil at his arrogance.

‘But there is only one blanket,’ he continued, shifting her even closer. ‘And, given that you can’t stop shaking, we need to share body heat to warm up. Relax and this will go a lot easier.’

Relax? Farah couldn’t have been more tense if he’d pointed a loaded gun at her head. It had been a long time since she had been physically close to anyone and all this bodily contact was messing with her head. ‘This isn’t right.’

‘But kidnapping your prince is fine.’

‘Must you always have the last word?’ she grumbled.

‘Must you?’

Not wanting to find anything remotely amusing about him, Farah curled herself into a tight ball to try to put distance between them. Self-sufficiency was a prized trait in the harsh desert climate and Farah was proud that, although she was female, she could survive on her own if she had to. She wanted to point this out to the prince but that would involve speaking to him and she’d much rather pretend he wasn’t there. She’d much rather pretend she was in her own bed than on the cold, hard ground wrapped in the strong arms of her father’s number one enemy.

* * *

Finally she fell asleep. Thank Allah. Once her trembling had subsided, she’d squirmed around trying to get comfortable to the point that Zach had needed to place a staying hand on her hip to stop her from rubbing her bottom against his burning erection one more time. It was bad enough he even had one let alone her knowing about it.

Realising that his hand was still gripping her hip, he eased it away. He knew his reaction to her was based on his recent bout of celibacy and little else. Maybe the way danger heightened the senses, as well. Whatever it was, he had no intention of acting on it. He wasn’t the type to lose his head over anything and one slender spitfire wouldn’t change that.

Sighing, he shifted to get comfortable. The little spitfire whimpered in her sleep like a small kitten having a bad dream. He didn’t doubt she was and he wondered if it featured a jail cell and the span of twenty years. That brought a small smile to his lips, one that was quickly supplanted by a scowl when she burrowed closer to his warmth. He briefly thought about putting his arm beneath her head to offer his biceps as a pillow but then dismissed the idea. What did he care about her comfort? She might have offered him food earlier and... Damn. Just the thought of her crouching over him and bringing the food to his lips was enough to have his mind spiralling back to what she would look like naked. He’d noticed the telltale flush of arousal on her face when he’d drawn her fingers into his mouth and laved them with his tongue, the way her eyes had glazed with desire. She’d been turned on and, damn it, so was he. Again.

Absently he wondered if she was intimate with the arrogant soldier who had argued with her. He clearly wanted her. Not that Zach cared, but there was definite tension between the two of them. The man was clearly a moron, though, to have left her alone with him. If she had been his woman there was no way he’d have let her have her own way in a dangerous situation. She would be his to take care of. His to protect. And thank Allah she wasn’t.

He felt her shiver and curl into a tighter ball. She must still be cold; he damned well was. Cold, hungry, angry and his arms and torso felt like they were covered in a thousand tiny pinpricks from where the sand and rain had pelted him in the storm.

He let out an aggrieved sigh. Farah Hajjar better not give him any trouble in the morning because he was very far from his cool, controlled self.