Читать книгу Hidden In The Sheikh's Harem - Michelle Conder, Amanda Cinelli - Страница 9
ОглавлениеZACHIM SHIFTED HIS hands and feet and felt the ropes chafe his wrists and one of his ankles where it had slipped beneath his jeans. His stomach growled.
Ordinarily he wouldn’t say he was a man who angered easily. Three days in this hellhole at the hands of a bunch of mountain heathens had ensured that his temper not only festered, but also boiled and blistered as well. And it wasn’t just directed outwards. It had been stupid to drive so far from the city without alerting anyone as to where he was going.
He rubbed the ropes binding his wrists against the small sharp stone hidden in his lap. He’d picked it up when he’d ‘fallen’ during a toilet break the day before. Since refusing to eat, his ropes had not been checked, which was to his advantage, because it had taken that long to work through the thick layers, but he was just about there. Once his hands were free it would be a simple matter to untie his ankles and get the hell out of there.
He leant his head against the solid wooden post he was secured to by a length of rope circling his waist. It allowed him enough room to lie down on the dusty ground but that was it. What he wouldn’t give for the comforts of his soft bed back at the palace. Ironic when he considered that three days ago he’d been looking for a way to leave the stifling walls of the place.
Be careful what you wish for, he thought grimly.
He wondered what had happened in his absence and how his brother was dealing with the fallout from his disappearance. He also wondered why he hadn’t heard any search helicopters fly overhead.
Flexing stiff muscles that had been bound for too long, he tried to ignore the fact that his stomach was trying to eat itself. He’d been in worse situations during his stint in the army, though he wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Okay, maybe he’d wish it on Mohamed Hajjar and his pompous second-in-command who thought himself mightier than a prince.
The sound of footsteps pausing at the entrance of his tent brought his head up and he shoved the sharp rock beneath him. When the flap was raised he feigned sleep, hoping that whoever had arrived would leave quickly so he could get on with sawing at his bindings. If they were checked now there was no way the person wouldn’t notice what he’d been up to.
With his senses on high alert, he listened to the sound of the soldier’s footfalls. A lightweight, he decided. About one hundred and twenty pounds. Someone he could take easily if it came to that. Unable to smell food, he wondered what the soldier wanted. It was too soon for a toilet break so he kept his features impassive. Whoever it was had gone a few too many rounds with a camel, by the smell of them.
‘I know you’re not asleep,’ a low, sexy voice murmured, sending ripples of awareness across his skin. Hell, that was some voice the soldier had, and he slowly peeled his eyes open, curiosity getting the better of him. He took in black steel-capped boots and combat trousers and moved up the slender figure from the dusty midthigh-length tunic that covered a small pair of breasts plumped up by rigidly folded arms. His gaze lifted to an unsmiling but feminine face that was shadowed by the tribe’s traditional red-checked keffiyeh. Not a guy, then—a relief, given his body’s instant reaction to the voice.
‘And I know you’re not a man even though you’re dressed like one. I didn’t know Hajjar allowed women in his army of rebels.’
She stiffened slightly. ‘Who I am is not important.’
Zach leant his head back against the pole and watched her. She was quite petite overall and was probably less than one twenty, now that he got a good look at her. Maybe one ten, he assessed with the clinical precision left over from his army days.
The taut silence lengthened between them but he knew it wouldn’t take her long to break it. Her energy was twitchy despite her outwardly cool composure.
‘I want to make a deal with you,’ she finally said.
A deal?
The rage he’d been feeling earlier that had been eclipsed momentarily by curiosity returned with full force. He controlled it but barely. ‘Not interested.’ He knew Nadir would be looking for him—and if he didn’t get here soon he had his own escape plans—and then he’d bring hell down on Mohamed Hajjar for holding him like this.
The girl’s eyes flashed darkly before she subdued them. ‘You haven’t heard what I’m offering yet.’
‘If you wanted to gain my attention you should have worn less.’ He raked her body with his impassive gaze. ‘A lot less. Possibly nothing at all, although even then I’m not sure you have what it takes to hold my interest.’
A lie, because for some reason she already had it. But his taunt had hit its mark if her little gasp was anything to go by.
‘My father is right. You’re a lowly dog who doesn’t deserve to rule our country.’
‘Your father?’
Farah Hajjar? Mohamed’s daughter? Well, well, wasn’t that interesting? His gaze raked her again and he nearly smiled when he caught the self-disgusted look that crossed her face at her mistake. He hadn’t expected the old guy to send his daughter to do his bidding. Was he hoping Zach would somehow be seduced into making a deal? If he was, he was going to be disappointed because, despite his reaction to her voice, Zach had never been attracted to Bakaani women. A shrink would no doubt tell him that it was because of the amount of arranged marriages his father had tried to foist on him. But Zach just preferred blondes. ‘I didn’t think your father considered himself a part of Bakaan but it’s nice to know that he still does.’
‘He...’ She stopped and Zach could see she was trying to rein her temper in. She took a deep breath and slammed her hands on her hips, drawing his attention to their feminine curve. Not going to help, sweetheart.
‘If you agree to let our region formally separate from Bakaan,’ she said, ‘I’ll let you go.’
‘You’ll let me go?’
He laughed and she paced away from him, her stride long, and he realised she wasn’t as small as he’d first assumed: maybe five-seven, five-eight. She stopped abruptly, facing him. ‘Your family has suppressed our people for long enough.’
Now that was something he couldn’t argue with. He didn’t condone how his father had ruled Bakaan, and he’d even considered launching a coup against him himself, but his mother would have been devastated. ‘I haven’t done anything to the people of Bakaan.’ But he couldn’t allow her tribe to secede from the kingdom because others might follow and the country would get picked over by their neighbours, seeking to secure Bakaan’s oil reserves for themselves.
‘You haven’t done anything for them either,’ she countered, ‘even though you’ve been back and have controlled the army for the last five years.’
‘And when was the last time that army attacked any of your people, or any other country, for that matter?’ Zach bit out, surprised that her attitude had got to him.
‘You’re saying you’re responsible for peace?’ She scoffed.
‘I’m saying that, for all your big talk, your father has potentially instigated a war by his current actions. Not me.’ Her face paled at that and his eyes narrowed. ‘Something to think about, sweetheart, before you run off at the mouth with your uneducated accusations!’
‘You only think they’re uneducated because I’m a woman. I know more than you think, Your Highness.’
She loaded his title with as much derision as she could muster, which was a pretty impressive amount. But her spunk only irritated him more. ‘A woman?’ he taunted. ‘I’ve known skunks that smell better than you. I would advise against marketing the scent. It’s not all that appealing.’
Her eyes flashed darkly in the dying light. ‘As if I would want to appeal to you,’ she returned scathingly.
Zach nearly laughed at her haughty tone. He’d yet to come across a woman who didn’t want to appeal to him. Good genes, a good bank account and what sounded like a good title went a long way to impressing the female population. He raised his hands in the air and cocked an eyebrow. ‘Untie my hands, little heathen, and I’ll soon change your mind.’
He almost heard her teeth grind together from across the room at his suggestive tone and, just as she was about to launch into what he could only imagine was another cutting admonition of his character, the tent flap was once again pushed aside and Hajjar’s second-in-command sauntered in, bearing a dish of food. The smell hit Zach instantly and made his stomach curl in on itself.
Obviously surprised to see Mohamed’s daughter, he pulled up short. ‘What are you doing here?’ he bit out.
Zach saw her chin snap up and her eyes shoot daggers. ‘I can handle this, Amir,’ she murmured icily.
‘No, you can’t.’
She responded in hushed tones and Zach avidly followed their furiously whispered interaction. She clearly had a personal relationship with the soldier and for some inexplicable reason he was disappointed.
Not wanting to dwell on why that was, he focused on the soldier’s face. He wasn’t at all happy with whatever it was she was saying but he clearly lacked the baydot to do anything about it. Idiot. All she needed was a sound kissing and she’d see reason.
A sound kissing?
He nearly chocked at the absurdity of the thought. His ancestors might have behaved that way, but since when did he think kissing a woman into submission was an acceptable mode of conduct for a man? And who would want to kiss this smelly little spitfire anyway?
Disgusted with his interest in their argument, he drew up his knees and used their distraction to work at his bindings.
Too soon the woman won and took the bowl of food from the soldier’s hands. Needing more time alone, Zach goaded him by asking where he’d misplaced his baydot. The soldier stiffened. So did the spitfire.
She whirled on him, all fire and ice. Maybe ‘spitfire’ was too tame a word to describe her. She was more like a wild little cat with her dark, almond-shaped eyes and pursed lips.
‘Come, Farah.’
The girl rounded on the other man and, for all that Zach didn’t like him, he felt himself wince for the guy. ‘He’s just trying to rile you,’ she bit out.
Not stupid, then, Zach mused with reluctant admiration.
‘He is dangerous,’ the soldier returned. And he should know, since it had taken six of them to subdue him.
‘And tied up,’ she pointed out impatiently. ‘Which I have no plans to change.’ But Zach did and he felt another coil of rope give as he put more pressure on it.
‘What are your plans?’
Fascinated by the changed tension in the air, Zach stilled his movements. He sensed there was more behind that question than met the eye. The girl obviously did, too, but her scrunched brow indicated that she didn’t understand the meaning behind his question.
He wants in your pants, sweetheart, if he hasn’t been there already.
She released a slow breath. ‘Just give me five minutes here. I’ll meet you in the dinner tent.’
Slightly mollified, the soldier nodded tersely. He sneered at Zach before stalking out of the tent, letting the flap drop back loudly into place.
She stared at it, brooding.
‘Trouble in paradise, little cat?’ Zach offered, as if they were old friends taking tea together.
His question snapped her out of her reverie and she marched back to him. ‘Be quiet. And don’t call me that.’
‘I thought you wanted me to speak.’
She glanced down at the small metal bowl in her hand and frowned. ‘What I want is for you to eat.’
Zach’s stomach agreed with her. ‘I’m not hungry.’
She scoffed. ‘What is the point of starving yourself? You’ll die.’
‘So nice of you to care.’
‘I don’t.’
Her condescending attitude and lack of respect annoyed the hell out of him and he was starting to get some inkling as to the reasoning behind his ancestors’ methods of subduing a woman. He wouldn’t mind having this one bow down at his feet and acknowledge his superior position to hers. ‘You know, your father might want to send someone with better interpersonal skills to plead for leniency next time,’ he suggested testily.
* * *
Damn, but the urge to have this man bow and scrape at her feet was so strong Farah nearly pulled her small dagger out from inside the hidden pocket in her tunic and made him do it. His attitude was truly irritating.
As were those piercing golden eyes. Lion’s eyes. They said so much and nothing at all, just stared back at her as if he knew something that she didn’t. With the few days’ worth of beard growth covering his angular jaw, those implacable eyes made him seem harshly masculine and deeply imposing even though he was sitting on the ground. The tightly coiled energy he emanated made her think of a cobra about to strike. Or an eagle about to take flight and rip its prey to shreds. He wore a dusty black shirt that stretched across broad shoulders and jeans that hugged what looked to be powerful thighs, the muscles bunching periodically when he looked at her.
She’d known he was incredibly good-looking from the magazine pictures she’d seen, but with his aristocratic features, wide mouth and pitch-black, neatly cropped hair, he was something else in the flesh. Not that she cared.
‘I have not come to plead for leniency,’ she assured him.
‘Lucky.’ His eyes trapped hers in a challenging stare. ‘Because when I get out of here I have no intention of giving it.’
Her mouth twisted. ‘Perhaps you need a little longer to think about your position,’ she suggested, glancing pointedly at his bound hands.
‘Perhaps I do,’ he drawled carelessly.
Oh, but he was getting under her skin! She stared him down for another few minutes and then gave up. This wasn’t a contest, even though he seemed determined to turn it into one. ‘Nevertheless...’ she began, pausing when his hands clenched in his lap yet again. She made a mental note to check his bindings before she left. The last thing she needed was to return him damaged. It would only fare worse for her father. ‘You are not going to die on my watch.’
‘And there I was thinking that our plans weren’t in alignment.’ He smiled and Farah felt an unfamiliar jolt of heat deep in her belly. His teeth gleamed whitely against his dark stubble and she scowled to cover her unexpected reaction. The man was dangerous; his cavalier attitude in the face of his imprisonment was proof enough of that even before one took in the breadth of those shoulders.
Determined not to be intimidated, Farah crouched down in front of the high and mighty Prince of Bakaan. She watched as he blatantly worked his gaze over her from head to toe and for a moment she couldn’t move; a horrible urge to arch her spine and thrust her breasts out for his inspection making her nipples pull tight.
Rocked to her core by the inclination she noticed his eyelids had lowered to half-mast making her feel both hot and cold all over, her sense of danger heightened like never before.
The silence between them lengthened and Farah became aware that her breathing was shallow and that her clothing felt rough against her skin. She couldn’t seem to drag her eyes away from his perfectly proportioned mouth and, as if he sensed her inner turmoil, one corner of it tilted knowingly. More annoyed than ever, she shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, slowly raised the bowl between them and offered it to him.
He didn’t look at the food. Instead his golden eyes held hers in such a way that made her discomfort levels hit an all-time high. ‘If you’re so interested in getting me to eat, then you feed me, my feral little cat.’
Feral little cat? The shock of those soft words had Farah rocking back on her heels as feminine pride kicked in. She might not look her best but she was hardly feral! And as for feeding him... She felt steam rising out of her ears. Even tied up and at her mercy he assumed the superior position. ‘I have no intention of feeding you,’ she snapped.
He gave a soft, deep chuckle that took up residence in the pit of her stomach. ‘Well, there goes that fantasy.’
Farah’s mouth tightened at the taunt. He’d already made it clear he thought she was lacking in the female department so his comments could only be to try and throw her off. Though to what end, other than to rile her, she didn’t know.
It was obvious he didn’t believe she would take him up on his challenge to feed him—and normally she wouldn’t even think of doing so, but there was something about this insolent prince that rubbed her up the wrong way. Plus, she’d dealt with dusty, stubborn camels her whole life so one dirty, scruffy male would be no different. Involuntarily her eyes dropped to his body. It was difficult to see the full extent of his physique in his current position but there was no doubt he emanated a masculine power she hadn’t come across before. Or had never noticed.
She glanced at his hands and the rope around his waist that kept him tethered to the post. The sense of menace and danger that cloaked him made her think twice about her next actions while the wicked glint in his eyes goaded her on. But it wasn’t as if he could actually do anything to her, tied as he was.
A shiver went through her anyway and she lifted her chin. ‘If I feed you, will you eat?’
One dark eyebrow lifted lazily and dense ebony lashes lowered slowly to shield his eyes. ‘You’ll need to get closer to find out.’
Farah ignored the sudden leap of her pulse at his words. Better just to get this over and done with and she’d have one thing accomplished. And wasn’t it true that a man with a full stomach had a better disposition than one with an empty one? Maybe then he’d be more amenable to seeing reason.
Besides, she had something to prove. This was nothing more than a classic power play and she would not let him see that he intimidated her. Not that he did, exactly; it was just that any animal handler knew that you approached an unknown beast with caution. Particularly a large, predatory one.
Deciding that, like cleaning the privy, thinking about the deed was worse than actually doing it, Farah clenched her jaw and dug the tips of her fingers into the fragrant meat dish. She had to shuffle even closer to him and his male scent rose to mingle with the food. Logically he should have smelt like a pair of damp old socks. He didn’t. He smelt of man and sweat and heat.
Heat?
What did heat even smell like?
That was about as relevant to her current objective as the shape of his mouth. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she scooped out a portion of meat and rice, careful to keep the bowl close to catch any drips, and leaned forward onto the balls of her feet before raising her fingers to his mouth.
In this position she was almost straddling him and she flushed hotly as unexpected images of the two of them naked and entwined came into her head. A year ago she’d seen a sexy magazine spread of a man and a woman pretending to make love. She’d felt a momentary jolt of curiosity at seeing them but it was nothing compared to the jolt she was feeling now. She’d always viewed sex as a means of procreation, not pleasure. So why had her mind transplanted the skimpily clad models in the magazine with the two of them? It was so clear she could almost picture the prince’s powerful body lying beneath her own; she could almost see herself sitting astride him; could almost feel the press of his ribs against her inner thighs. She squeezed them together unconsciously and heat bloomed there, catching her off guard.
The walls of the tent seemed to draw in around her as she fought to contain her body’s visceral reaction to her thoughts and she frowned as the prince’s firm lips remained resolutely closed. Exasperated, she lifted her eyes to his, the angry tirade she was about to unleash on him dying on her tongue as he chose that moment to lean forward and draw the rice and meat—and her fingers—inside his warm mouth.
As soon as her fingers slipped inside his lips, his tongue curled around them to claim the food. She felt its warm, thick moistness and shuddered at the rush of liquid heat between her legs and the tingling sensation that caused her nipples to tighten. She’d never experienced anything like this and she couldn’t tear her eyes from his.
Dimly aware that she was all but panting, she was completely mesmerised by the way he licked and sucked on her fingers, some deep part of her consciousness trying to tell her that her fingers were now well and truly clean. Still she allowed him to linger, another part of her consciousness urging her to replace her fingers with her mouth. It was so overpowering it was all she could do not to lean in and...
Realising she was about to topple into him, she felt a fire rise up to consume her face and jerked back. Before she could remove her fingers, however, he gripped her wrist and stroked his tongue in between the webbing.
‘I think I missed a bit,’ he murmured in a rough voice that worked like a sanding tool over her sensitive skin. His tongue flicked back and forth, back and forth, in a purely sensual exploration, before gently biting down on her sensitive palm.
A small whimper escaped her lips and her fingers curled against his beard-roughened face, her body swaying toward his. Almost absently she was aware that a warning voice had started clanging inside her brain but his hand was pressing hers closer. His hand that was...that was...
By Allah! Farah’s eyes flew to his as it finally registered that his hands were free, only to find him staring into hers with a knowing gleam. Immediately she tried to wrench herself free and the small metal bowl hit the dirt as she valiantly pushed against him. Unfortunately he was on her quicker than lightning could fork into the ground and she was on her back before she had time to blink.
Slightly winded from the way he tossed her onto the ground, Farah twisted away from him to scream, but the back of her head hit the dirt as his large hand clamped over her mouth. ‘Oh, no, you don’t. There will be no calling the cavalry just yet, sweetheart.’
Farah squirmed beneath the weight of his upper body and knew it was futile to push against him. He was too strong. And it wasn’t just from lean, hard-packed muscle either. One look into his furious face and she could see that he’d leashed his rage so successfully she hadn’t realised how deep it ran. Although she should have, and perhaps she would have, if she hadn’t been stupidly distracted by his masculinity and her own rioting hormones.
Knowing she could never throw him from this angle, she tried desperately to get her hands beneath her tunic to her hidden dagger that had saved her skin a few times in the past. Admittedly those times had been from snakes and scorpions, but hadn’t she already noted that this man was just as dangerous as any predator? Having learnt how to use a dagger and to fight with a sword when she was younger, Farah knew just where to threaten him with it so that he’d let her go. But it was as if he could read her mind because he caught her wandering hand in his and brought it over her head.
Frantic at the ease with which he contained her, she desperately curled her fingers towards his skin in the hope of causing some damage but he pressed the hand against her mouth more firmly and brought her eyes to his.
‘Scratch me, little cat, and I’ll scratch you back,’ he growled close to her ear.
Farah paused at the menace in those words but then she realised that he would have to let her go to scratch her so she didn’t care. She kicked out, catching his shin with the solid point of one boot, and scratched at his wrists at the same time.
‘Damn it to hell!’ He cursed softly and stretched her arms high to breaking point, pinning her legs down with one of his. Farah moaned behind his hand. She was struggling to draw oxygen into her lungs and was thankful when he adjusted his palm a little to ease her growing dizziness.
‘Follow my instructions and I won’t hurt you,’ he promised.
Ha! As if she believed that. His family had been hurting the people of Bakaan for centuries and tyranny ran in his veins as surely as the blood she’d just drawn on his wrist.
The weight of him felt like an anvil slowly crushing her chest and Farah was just wondering how she could lever her legs to help dislodge him when she felt him go still above her.
‘Damn it, keep still.’
His rough tone compelled her to stop fighting him and she was completely unprepared when he flipped her onto her stomach. Before she could pull in another breath, he had her hands wrapped in the same rope that should still have bound his own.
Sand coated her eyelashes and filled her nose and she tried to turn her head before she suffocated. It was then that she felt his hand smoothing over her bottom and fear turned her as cold as stone. Surely he wasn’t going to...going to...?
‘Easy, little spitfire.’ He brought his hand up to the side of her face and she felt the cool blade of her dagger flat against her cheek. ‘Quite a nice little piece. I could have used this a couple of days ago,’ he said mockingly. ‘Do you even know how to use it?’
Trust him to think that she wouldn’t be able to handle a knife. Her eyes flashed with annoyance but she wasn’t going to tell him anything. Not that she could with his hand pressed against her mouth. But she could still make sounds, she realised, and although she couldn’t hear anyone walking outside she knew there was a guard nearby. If he heard something, he’d come running.
Squirming beneath him, she tugged against the rope and screamed behind his hand.
Immediately his thumb and forefinger pinched her nose and her ears popped as she tried to force the sound out of her lungs. She thrashed her head from side to side even though she knew it was futile.
‘This is how it’s going to go,’ he murmured when she finally exhausted herself. ‘I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth and you’re going to stay quiet.’
Farah listened but she knew there was no way she was going to follow his orders.
‘If you don’t, you’ll surely bring the guard in from outside and I’ll be forced to kill him with your dagger.’
Fear kept her immobile. It was one thing to risk her own life but she’d never risk another person’s.
Roughly he pulled her to her feet. ‘Nod if you’re going to comply.’
