Читать книгу Heir To Danger - Valerie Parv, Valerie Parv - Страница 11

“I’d rather you didn’t,” said a husky voice.

“Tom?”

He lowered the hands he’d raised to shoulder height and came to take the gun from her. He had to pry it from her tense fingers. “You would have used it, wouldn’t you?”

She nodded, blinking hard, letting anger chase away tears. “You’d better believe it. Why didn’t you call out to let me know it was you?”

“Everything was so quiet that I thought you must be resting.” Or gone, he’d thought but didn’t add. His heart had started to race at this possibility.

She massaged her eyes as if they were tired. When she lowered her hands, he saw the fear in her liquid gaze. He eased on the safety catch and propped the rifle against the couch before grasping her hands and bringing her to her feet. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

A tremor shook her. “I thought you were Jamal.”

“If you’re this worried about what he might do, why insist on staying here alone?”

She looked away. “Haven’t you ever wanted to prove something to yourself?”

He pressed one finger under her chin, making her look at him. “You got yourself out of a bad situation that could only have gotten worse. What else do you need to prove?”

“That I’m not a total coward.”

Her husky voice purred through him, warm as molasses. With her hands trapped in his and less than a heatbeat of space between them, his breathing caught. Under different circumstances, he’d have accepted the invitation of her parted lips without hesitation.

Feeling another tremor ripple through her strengthened his resistance, for now anyway. A man could resist temptation only so long. He looked pointedly at the rifle. “You’re not a coward. In another second you’d have put a bullet in me.”

She tossed her head, spilling a river of raven strands over his fingers. “Anyone can be brave with a gun in their hands. Forcing my father to listen to my concerns about Jamal would have shown greater courage.”

“Without proof, you’d only have gotten yourself locked up in the palace for the rest of your life.” His tone rejected the waste.

“It might not have been forever.”

“The other night you said the king meant to lock you away until you agreed to his marriage plans for you. Parole hardly sounds likely.”

Her sigh whispered between them. “No, it doesn’t. But this isn’t freedom, either.”

Her bleak tone made Tom remember a time, many years ago, when he’d felt as if his life was over, too. With his mother dead and his father in prison for her murder, he hadn’t been able to imagine drawing a whole breath again. The muscles used for smiling and laughing had frozen forever, or so he’d believed.

He suspected Shara was staring into a similar abyss now.

Without thinking, he bent his head and brushed his lips over hers. The kiss was meant as reassurance, to tell her she wasn’t alone and that somebody cared. The somebody being him.

She steadied herself by placing her hands on his waist, accepting the touch of his mouth without returning the pressure.

As a result, the kiss was chaste, brotherly and completely one-sided. But the contact sent liquid fire searing along his veins. He made an effort to even his breathing, and took a step back. Her hands dropped away but she didn’t move. “We have to get you out of here,” he said, annoyed with himself for delaying. The arousal he felt told him the time hadn’t been wasted, but that was beside the point.

She ran her tongue over her lips as if tasting him, oblivious to the effect the small gesture had on him. “I can’t keep running away.”

“From the air, Judy spotted one of Horvath’s cars heading this way. It’s likely to arrive any minute.”

Her face paled. “Was Jamal in the vehicle?”

“No way to tell, so let’s assume the answer is yes.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m not running from him.”

“Oh, yes you are. I’m not risking him bundling you into a private plane and taking you back to Q’aresh against your will.” The prospect shook her, he saw, as well it should. From her description of Jamal, the man was capable of abduction—or worse.

Still, her head came up. “You can’t force me to do as you say.”

He got a glimpse of the royal princess in her determined stance and outthrust chin. She was magnificent. He could imagine her in a palace, giving orders to a bevy of servants. He slanted her a smile that his foster sister would have read as a warning and been off before he could blink. Not having Judy’s understanding of him, Shara foolishly stood her ground.

Not for long.

“Put me down, you peasant,” she yelled, drumming her fists against his back as he tossed her over his shoulder. “You’re hurting my injured leg.”

Hit right in the conscience, he almost complied until he remembered that she hadn’t so much as limped since he arrived. “Nice try,” he said.

“I’ll have you thrown in jail, publicly flogged, maybe both.”

Having her small, nicely rounded rear pressing against his cheek was punishment enough, since he couldn’t do anything about it. Except enjoy it, a not unreasonable benefit, considering he was trying to save her life. If his palm lingered on her firm flesh longer than strictly necessary, he could hardly be blamed.

With his free hand he restrained her flailing legs before her drumming feet bruised his ribs beyond repair. “Not in Australia you won’t. In my country we’re equals, Princess.”

“Never.” Like the female crocodile, her struggles weakened as her initial energy was spent, but Tom maintained his hold. Where was a wet sack when he needed one?

As he picked up the rifle, he diverted himself by imagining her trussed up on a carrying board and being delivered to him for what Blake had called a blind date. Bad idea, Tom decided when his internal temperature immediately soared.

Dismissing the fantasy, he also snagged a leather satchel from a table near the door. “Is everything you’re likely to need in here? Squirm once for yes, twice for no.”

Her violent lunge almost took out his eye. “Yes, damn you. What about the rest of my things?”

“They’ll have to wait until the coast is clear. It’s nearly an hour since Judy called. Jamal—if it is him—must be practically on the doorstep.”

“Then put me down and I’ll walk to the car.”

“No time.” Certainly not to argue with her over the proper time for heroism. He carried her outside, kicking the door shut behind them. Dumping her and the bag on the back seat of the Jeep, he closed the door and jumped into the driving seat, placing the rifle near his feet. Before she could react, he activated the central locking system and the tires spat gravel as he floored the accelerator.

Pinned down by the sudden acceleration, Shara struggled to right herself. Her eyes glared fire at him as she clung to the back of the seat.

“Fasten your seat belt,” he said over his shoulder. “This is going to be a rough ride.”

“Any more orders?” she snapped, but he heard a metallic click as she complied.

He ignored her murderous tone. “Not right now, but if Jamal shows up, be ready to duck out of sight when I tell you to.”

“Of course, Master,” she said, the words dripping sarcasm. “Anything you say, Master.”

He grinned. “Keep it up, I could get to like the sound of it.”

As he’d anticipated, her mouth snapped shut, but not for long. “You’re the most heartless, insensitive, uncivilized…”

“Peasant?” he reminded her helpfully.

“Barbarian. In my country, no one manhandles me without my permission and lives.”

He deliberately chose to misunderstand. “What does it take to get permission to manhandle you?”

The rabbit punch she delivered to the back of his neck almost ran them off the road. “Do that again and I’ll tie your hands,” he cautioned, fighting to keep the Jeep on the rutted surface. It wasn’t much smoother than the ditches on either side, but at least they wouldn’t get bogged in the talcum powder-like dust known locally as bulldust.

“What am I supposed to do, let you treat me however you will?” she demanded.

If he did that, she wouldn’t be alone in the back seat, he thought, feeling an instant, powerful surge of response. “You’re supposed to let me do my job,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Which includes getting women stabbed with spears, assaulting them and then carrying them off?”

The Jeep bounced off a tree root the thickness of his arm and he winced as her head lashed around. He didn’t dare slow down. “In some traditional cultures, a start like that would have us practically married.”

She’d stopped complaining about the rough treatment, fixated on their conversation, as he’d intended. “I don’t consider any of this amusing.”

“And you think I do? I’m not the one with a murderous fiancé on my tail.”

“You have only my word that he means to harm me,” she said. “For all you know, I could be shirking my royal obligations by avoiding this marriage.”

Seeing her pale face reflected in the mirror, he doubted it. “No one goes to this much trouble to avoid doing their duty.”

“Thank you,” she said simply.

“For what?”

“Trusting me. Believing me when my own father wouldn’t.”

“Maybe he would have been convinced if you’d had more evidence against Jamal.”

He saw her shake her head. “You and your family required no evidence before you were prepared to help me.”

“Code of the outback,” he said, wrenching the wheel to avoid another tree root snaking across the road.

She grabbed the back of the seat. “What?”

“Something my foster brothers and sister made up when we were kids. Under the code of the outback, you don’t back down, you don’t give up and you stand by your mates.” Blake had also insisted on a clause that said “no mushy stuff,” to keep Judy in line, but Tom didn’t think Shara would appreciate that. Besides, his attitude toward women had changed since then. He might not want a permanent relationship, but mushy stuff was definitely on the agenda.

He caught the first glimmer of a smile. “Do you consider me one of your—mates?”

The word sounded foreign on her tongue, but deliciously so. “Anyone who turns to us for help is a mate, so long as they’re innocent of any crime.”

“Is it a crime to want to live your life your own way?”

“Not in this country.”

“Then I’m innocent.”

She meant of any wrongdoing, but Tom had a feeling the description fitted her in every way. No amount of royal pigheadedness could completely disguise her fear of the fate Jamal had in store for her and her country. The ache in Tom’s bruised ribs was easier to tolerate suddenly. It was nothing compared to what she must be going through.

“Are we going to the homestead?” she asked.

“Too obvious.”

“Then where? Oh, no, not to your place.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her in the mirror. “What’s the problem? Not good enough for a princess?”