Читать книгу The Desert Virgin - Сандра Мартон, Sandra Marton - Страница 7

CAM had seen a lot of places in upheaval.

Baslaam wasn’t in upheaval. It was in collapse. It didn’t take training as a spy to see that.

No people. No vehicles. A gray sky, filled with plumes of smoke. And the vultures, scores of them, circling overhead.

Things were not going well in the sultanate, he thought grimly.

Adair offered no explanations. Cam, nobody’s fool, didn’t request any. All he kept thinking was that the pistol he’d secreted in his briefcase might end up being useful.

The sultan was waiting for him in a marble hall with ceilings easily twenty feet high. He sat on a gold throne elevated on a silver platform, and he sure as hell wasn’t the man Avery had described.

The sultan, his father had told him, was in his eighties. Small. Wiry. Hard-eyed and determined.

The man on the throne was in his forties. He was big. Huge, really, a mass of muscle just starting to turn to fat. The only resemblance between the picture Avery had painted and this behemoth were the eyes, but the hardness in them spoke more of cruelty than determination.

Had there been a coup? That would explain a lot of things, including the disappearance of his father’s representative. It was a good guess the poor bastard was one of the unlucky souls attracting the attention of the vultures.

Cam had only one real question. Why hadn’t he been disposed of, too? The man on the throne must want something of him. What? He had to find out, and do it without giving away the game.

Adair made the introductions. “Excellency, this is Mr. Cameron Knight. Mr. Knight, this is our beloved sultan, Abdul Asaad.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Knight.”

“Excellency.” Cam smiled politely. “I expected you to be older.”

“Ah, yes. You thought you would meet my uncle. Unfortunately, Uncle passed away most unexpectedly a week ago.”

“You have my sympathy.”

“Thank you. We all miss him. I had similar expectations about you, Mr. Knight. I thought the man who owns Knight Oil would be much older.”

“My father owns the company. I’m his emissary.”

“Indeed. And what brings you to our humble nation?”

“My father thought the sultan—I should say he thought that you,” Cam said, with a polite smile, “might prefer to discuss the final details of the contract with me instead of his usual negotiator.”

“And why would I wish that?”

Why, indeed? “Because I have his full authority. I can come to agreement on his behalf.” Cam offered a just-between-us smile. “No middleman, as it were, to slow the process.”

The sultan nodded. “An excellent suggestion. As it is, your predecessor and I have had some areas of disagreement. He wanted to make changes in the wording your father and I had already agreed upon.”

Bull, Cam thought coldly, but he smiled again. “In that case, it’s a good thing I’ve come, Excellency.”

“I am sure Adair explained that the gentleman in question has gone to visit the plains beyond the Blue Mountains.”

“He mentioned it.”

“It was my suggestion. I thought it might do him good to get away from the city for a while. Take a break, I think you would call it. The plains are very beautiful, this time of year.”

The lie bore no resemblance to what Adair had said, and ended any last hope that his father’s representative might still be alive. The desire to leap onto the platform and grab the sultan by the throat was fierce.

Cam forced a polite smile. “A fine idea. I’m sure he’s enjoying himself.”

“Oh, I can promise that he’s getting a good rest.”

The son of a bitch grinned from ear to ear at the double entendre. Once more, Cam fought back the desire to go for him. Outnumbered, he’d be dead before he got within ten feet.

“While he rests,” Asaad said, “you and I can finalize things.” The sultan clapped his hands. Adair hurried forward with a pen and a sheaf of papers that Cam instantly recognized. “All it takes is your signature, Mr. Knight. So, if you would be so kind…?”

Bingo. This was why the negotiator was dead—and why Cam was still alive. Asaad needed a signature on the dotted line to move forward with the deal.

“Of course,” Cam said smoothly. “First, though, I’d like to get some rest. It was a long journey.”

“Signing a document is not difficult.”

“You’re right, it isn’t—which is why, surely, it can wait until tomorrow.”

Asaad’s eyes narrowed but his tone remained smooth. “In that case, permit me to ease the stress of your journey. I have arranged a small celebration of welcome.”

“I appreciate the gesture, sir, but really—”

“Surely you will not disappoint me by turning down my hospitality.”

The sultan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. Was the so-called celebration part of a plan to lure Cam into compliance, or was it for more sinister reasons? Either way, Cam was trapped. The sultan had planned a party. There was no way out.

“Mr. Knight? What do you say? Will you be my guest?”

Cam inclined his head. “Thank you, Excellency. I would be delighted.”

Three hours later, the festivities were finally drawing to a close.

The evening had started with a feast. Platters of grilled meats, sweets, pastries…and bowls of other things, easily identified and grotesque, eaten by custom in decades long past.

The first time such a course appeared, Cam felt his stomach roll. He managed a polite smile, began to shake his head—and realized that a hush had fallen over the several dozen armed men seated at the long table.

Every eye was on him.

The sultan raised his eyebrows.

“This is a great delicacy, Mr. Knight—but we will understand if you are not prepared to partake of it. Not all men can be like the men of Baslaam.”

Hell. Was this going to be a pissing contest? A Baslaamic version of “I’m tougher than you are”? If so, Cam couldn’t afford to lose. He smiled, leaned forward and scooped a ladleful of the quivering mess on his plate.

“A delicacy, Excellency? In that case, I can’t pass it up.”

He ate quickly, tasting slime and something even worse on his tongue, keeping his gut from rebelling by reminding himself that he’d eaten things as bad in other places. A soldier in the field couldn’t be choosy. Bugs, lizards, snakes… Protein, he told himself, that’s all this was.

There was a perceptible murmur when he swallowed the last of the stuff. Cam smiled. Asaad didn’t smile back. His expression was ugly. The bastard had lost the first round and he didn’t like it.

“Delicious,” Cam said politely.

Asaad clapped his hands. A servant scurried in, carrying an oversize urn. “Since you enjoyed that so much, perhaps you would like to sample another of our delicacies. A drink, made from… Well, I won’t tell you the ingredients but I assure you, it is more potent than anything you’ve had before.” At his nod, the servant filled two cups with a brown liquid. Asaad took one, handed Cam the other. “Unless, of course, you’d rather not?”

It was a pissing contest. Juvenile, even pathetic, but what choice did he have except to accept the challenge? Any show of weakness and he could end up keeping his father’s rep company. Asaad needed his signature but there were ways to get it that didn’t involve pretending they were all one big, happy family.

“Mr. Knight?”

“Excellency,” Cam said, lifting the cup to his lips. The liquid smelled like rotting fish but he’d survived worse one long night in Belarus, when he’d downed endless shots of homemade vodka in a face-off with a thickheaded guerilla leader. He held his breath, tossed his head back and drank the swill in one gulp.

“Great stuff,” he said calmly, and held out his empty cup. Another murmur of approval filled the great hall. Asaad’s face grew dark as a thundercloud.

“Do you ride horses, Mr. Knight?”

Maybe the sultan was thickheaded, too. Asking a born-and-bred Texan if he rode horses was like asking a pigeon if it could fly.

“Some,” Cam said politely.

Moments later they were outside in a vast courtyard lit by torches, racing over the hardpacked sand on the backs of half-wild ponies in a game that involved sticks as thick as baseball bats, a leather ball and a looped rope hanging from a tree. Cam had no idea what the rules were but he stayed on his snorting mount, managed not to get clobbered by men wielding their bats with abandon, and whacked the ball straight through the loop.

The sultan’s men cheered. Asaad’s face turned purple. He shouted for silence.

“You are a worthy opponent,” he said in a voice that made clear the statement was a lie, “and I shall reward you.”

With what? A knife across the throat? A bullet in the head? Lose the game and you were dead. Win, and you were dead, too. Asaad was a psychopath, and capable of anything.

Cam’s muscles tensed and he fought to keep his tone calm.

“Thank you, Excellency, but the only reward I want is—”

The words caught in his throat. Two of the sultan’s men were coming toward them. They were big, bigger than the sultan…

Twice as big as the woman they all but dragged between them.

The first thing he noticed was that her hands were bound.

The second was that she was naked. No. Not naked. It was just that her skin was the palest gold and what little she wore was only a shade darker.

Gold cupped her full breasts; a gold thong rode low on her flat belly. A thin gold chain adorned her narrow waist; slender, twisted ribbons of gold hung from the chain and swayed sinuously with each thrust of her long legs.

Her feet were encased in golden sandals, the heels so spiked they could have been declared lethal weapons. Tiny bells dangled from the straps of the sandals and tinkled softly at her every step. Her hair was gold, too, and tumbled forward in silken disarray around her downcast face.

“Do you like your reward, Mr. Knight?”

“She is…” Damn it! Cam cleared his throat. He hadn’t expected anything like this golden creature and it had thrown him. The sultan knew it; he could hear it in the bastard’s oily voice. “She is an amazing sight, Excellency.”

“Indeed.” Asaad smiled. “I will have her brought closer, yes?”

The obvious answer was no. This woman was a trap. It didn’t take a genius to know that. Cam had been wined and dined; he’d been entertained with a crazy game of desert polo. Asaad had softened him up and now he was moving in for the kill. An hour with this houri and he’d sign the contract, no questions asked. He’d be too sated to do anything else.

At least, that was what Asaad figured.

And, damn, it was tempting. Cam could imagine what it would be like to spear his hands into that spill of hair, raise the woman’s face so that he could see if it was as perfect as the rest of her. He could imagine tasting her breasts, stripping away that gold thong…

“Mr. Knight?”

Cam shrugged as if getting a better look at the woman didn’t matter.

“As you wish, Excellency.”

The sultan snapped his fingers. The men dragged the woman forward. When they were a few feet away, she raised her head and looked straight at Cam.

His breath caught in his throat.

She had wide-set eyes the color of the Mediterranean, fringed by incongruously dark lashes. A small, straight nose. A delicate chin and a mouth—God, what a mouth! It was meant for things men dreamed of in the dark hours of the night.

Cam felt himself turn hard as stone, his erection so swift and powerful that he had to shift his weight to ease the discomfort of it.

Asaad barked an order. The guards shoved the woman forward the final few feet. She stumbled, then regained her footing. One of the men snarled a word and she obeyed what must have been an order to bow her head again.

“Well, Mr. Knight?” Asaad’s voice was a purr. “What do you think?” Smiling, he stepped closer to the woman, caught a handful of her hair and jerked her head up. “Is she not exquisite?”

“She is—she is very beautiful.”

“Yes. She is. She has spirit, too. A magnificent creature, yes?”

What was she? A woman from the harem? But her hands were bound. Why?

“She is, Excellency.” Cam paused. He didn’t want to sound too curious. If he did, Asaad would probably stretch out whatever game they were now playing. “Is she a prisoner?”

The sultan sighed. “Yes. Unfortunate, don’t you agree? What you can see of her is beautiful.” Asaad slid his meaty hand down the woman’s throat, over her breast, cupped first one mound of flesh and then the other. When she tried to jerk away, his fingers clamped around her wrist. “But her soul is ugly.”

Cam looked at the sultan’s meaty fingers, biting into the woman’s flesh.

“It’s difficult to imagine that a woman like this—any woman, for that matter—could do something so terrible it would anger a man like you, Excellency,” he said, hoping the barbarous lie would work.

It seemed to. Asaad’s grip loosened.

“You are correct, Mr. Knight. I am a kind man. A generous one. But Layla pushed me beyond human endurance.”

The name suited the setting. So did her costume. But the blue eyes and golden hair threw him. They were rare in this place. Hell, they were all but unknown.

“I imagine you are thinking she is not from here.”

Right on the nose, you greasy bastard. Cam smiled lazily, as if it were something that really wasn’t of much interest. “I did wonder, yeah.”

“I bought her,” the sultan said matter-of-factly. “Oh, not the way it sounds, I assure you. We are an ancient culture, sir, but we abhor slavery. No, the lady came to me willingly. She is a dancer. That is what she prefers to call herself but really, she is… I think your word is whore.”

Cam nodded. He understood. He’d been in this part of the world before. Women like this called themselves models, actresses, dancers…but Asaad was right. Basically they were whores for sale to the highest bidder.

The blonde stood straight and tall under his scrutiny. Was she trembling? Maybe, but the wind blowing in from the desert was cool and she was damned near naked. That could explain it. So could the fact that she was Asaad’s prisoner. From what he’d seen of things, that would make anybody tremble.

Asaad leaned closer. “I met her on holiday in Cairo. She was performing in a club. I sent her a note… Well, surely you know how these things go.” He dug his elbow into Cam’s ribs, as if buying a whore’s favors was something they had in common. “Layla is a woman of, shall we say, significant talent. That is why, when it came time to return home, I offered to take her with me.”

Cam shot another look at the woman. Her head had come up; she was staring almost blindly into the darkness beyond the courtyard and yes, she was definitely trembling.

Not that it meant a damn to him.

“And she accepted,” he said, making it a statement instead of a question.

“Of course. She knew it would be worth her while. All went well for a few weeks. She was inventive. Imaginative.” Asaad gave a deep sigh. “But I wearied of her. A man needs variety, is that not so?”

“Wouldn’t sending her back to Egypt be simpler than making her your prisoner, Excellency?”

The sultan threw back his head and laughed. “You are an amusing man, Mr. Knight. Yes, of course. Much simpler. And that was what I attempted to do. I made arrangements to send her home—with a substantial bonus.” His smile faded. “Yesterday, just before she was to leave, I learned she’d stolen a priceless jewel from my chambers. This, after all I’d given her! When I confronted her, she tried to put a dagger between my ribs.” Asaad let go of Cam’s elbow and stepped back. “I have been trying to decide what to do with her.”

What to do? How to do it, the sultan surely meant. The penalty for theft and attempted murder could only be death. That the woman had survived a day was something of a miracle. Tomorrow, she’d be food for the vultures. But tonight…

And then Cam understood. Asaad had a plan, and it was as transparent as glass.

The woman was shaking, she was on display—but she was docile. Why? If her life was at stake, why wasn’t she pleading for mercy?

There could only be one reason. The sultan must have promised her mercy. All she had to do to was follow his orders, and those orders surely involved Cam.

She was to be a gift.

He’d take her to bed, she’d perform tricks that would keep him from thinking and Asaad would let her live. But why? Was she supposed to put a knife in Cam’s belly while she feigned passion? No. Asaad would want him alive until he signed the contract.

Maybe the son of a bitch just wanted to watch through a hole in the wall. Maybe his men were going to break in and grab him while he was screwing the woman.

Maybe that was the night’s real entertainment.

“Don’t look so grim, Mr. Knight. Layla tried to kill me. She doesn’t warrant your concern.”

“Frankly, Excellency,” Cam said with a man-to-man grin, “my only concern—if you want to call it that—is over the world’s loss of the lady’s considerable talents.”

“Indeed.” The sultan leaned toward him. “Then you will be happy to hear that I have decided to give her to you for the night.”

“You are most generous,” Cam said, trying to look as if he meant it. “But you may recall what I said earlier. I’ve had a long day, and I am—”

“Tired.” Asaad winked. “But we are both warriors, and a warrior knows the best way to renew his strength. Unless… Is she not to your liking? She has the morals of a desert viper but you have nothing to fear. My men will stand guard outside your door.”

Cam almost laughed. He’d just bet they would.

“She will give you pleasure beyond your wildest dreams.”

“I’m certain she would, Excellency. Still—”

“Take a better look, Mr. Knight.”

Asaad cupped the woman’s breast and pinched the nipple through the gold fabric. She flinched but made no sound. Cam jammed his hands into his pockets to keep from grabbing the sultan by the throat. So what if Asaad manhandled her? She was his to do with as he pleased.

He’d seen worse in his years undercover. Black ops wasn’t for the faint of heart.

Still, something about what was happening made his belly knot.

“Touch her yourself, Mr. Knight. See how smooth her skin is.”

Asaad ran his hand over the woman, from her breasts to her belly. She swallowed hard, her throat visibly constricting, and drew a breath that made her nipples press against the gold cloth that contained them.

The sultan laughed.

And Cam felt his body respond.

He wanted to touch her. Shove Asaad out of the way and put his hands on Layla instead. He despised himself for it but the need burned in his belly, hot as flame.

He wanted to bare her breasts, see if her nipples were the pink of rose petals or the pale rust of apricots. Taste them, roll them on his tongue while he slid his hand between her thighs, under the thong to the hot, wet center of her.

He told himself there was a logical reason for this insanity. All the adrenaline he’d burned these last hours, anticipating danger, meeting it, being on constant guard…

Any man would be more than ready for the release you found in sex. Never mind that the woman was a whore, a thief and worse. That she’d sold herself to God only knew how many men.

She was beautiful, and he wanted her…but he wouldn’t take her. She was a golden trap.

Cam stepped back, drove every X-rated image from his head.

“Do what you want with her,” he said coldly. “I’m not interested.”

There was a silence. Then the woman’s head came up. Her lips curved in an insolent smile as her eyes swept over him, lingered on the taut fabric at his groin, then rose to his face.

“What he means, Lord Asaad,” she said softly, her eyes never leaving Cam’s, “is that he’s not man enough to use me properly.”

She spoke in English but the insult was clear. A collective roar went up from the assembled men. After a shocked moment, the sultan threw back his head and shouted with laughter.

The world went black, narrowed down to only the woman’s taunting smile and the contempt on the face of the sultan.

Cam growled an obscenity, pushed past him, curled his hand around the narrow band that joined the golden cups of the woman’s bra and ripped it in half.

Her face went white. She threw up her bound hands in a frantic attempt to cover herself but Cam grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands down.

Now, the only sound in the vast courtyard was the rasp of his breath.

“You like to play rough?” he said softly. His mouth twisted in a cold smile. Slowly, purposefully, he let his eyes sweep over her.

Her breasts were perfect. Round and high, just the size to fill his palms. The tips, beaded by the rapidly chilling night breeze, were the shade of ripe apricots.

“Very nice,” he said in a voice he barely recognized as his own.

Eyes locked to hers, he lifted his hand, ran his knuckles lightly over her breasts. When she tried to jerk away, her guards grabbed her arms and forced her to stand still as Cam stroked her nipples, warm silk against his fingertips.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said thickly. “I’ll take her.”

Her scream was lost in the delighted howl of the crowd as he scooped her up, tossed her over his shoulder and headed for the palace.