Girl in the Bedouin Tent Page 2

  It was an appalling cosmic joke that she of all people should find herself in this situation! ‘Where’s the key?’

  Cassie lifted her chin. She injected insouciance into her tone to counteract the ridiculous shame she felt. As if she’d had a say in this! ‘If I knew that I wouldn’t still be here.’

  Silently he surveyed her, his skimming glance making her hyperaware of every bare inch of skin and of the weight of encircling metal at her waist.

  He sprang to his feet and retrieved her cloak from the floor.

  ‘Here. Cover yourself.’ The order was brusque, as if the sight of her offended him.

  Looking up at his spare, powerful face, half averted, Cassie wondered if it were true. That he wasn’t interested in …

  ‘Thank you.’ The words were muffled as she snatched the material and dragged it close. Its scratchy warmth settled around her but didn’t counteract the cold welling inside. Suddenly her skin was covered in goosebumps and her teeth chattered. She slumped back on her heels, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. The mountain air was cold at night, but Cassie knew it was shock finally taking its toll.

  She watched him busy himself lighting another lamp and the brazier. The warm glow and cheering crackle of the fire reached her, yet still she felt frozen.

  ‘Come. There’s food. You’ll feel better after you’ve eaten.’

  ‘I won’t feel better till I’m out of here!’

  She glared up, all her resentment focusing on the man towering above her: tall, dark and far more compelling than mere handsome could ever be.

  How could she notice that at a time like this?

  Was shock affecting her ability to think?

  He paced forward, extending a hand, and a tremor rippled through her at the thought of touching him again. His powerful body was still imprinted on hers.

  Instinct shrieked that touching him was dangerous.

  Cassie pretended not to notice his gesture and scrambled up, feeling the worse for wear. Acting kept her fit and agile, but being crash-tackled to the floor by a man with the hard body of an athlete was not something she trained for.

  Breathlessly she stood, swaying only a little, determined not to reach for support.

  If possible, his expression hardened even more, his jaw set like stone.

  ‘Who are you?’ Her voice emerged strident and challenging.

  ‘My name is Amir ibn Masud Al Jaber.’

  He inclined his head in a smooth gesture of introduction and waited, as if expecting a reaction.

  ‘I know your name.’ Cassie made a frustrated gesture, trying to remember how she knew his name. She’d never seen him before. That face, that presence was unforgettable.

  ‘I am Sheikh of Tarakhar.’

  ‘Sheikh? Do you mean.?’ No, it was preposterous. ‘Leader, in your language.’

  Cassie’s eyes bulged. No wonder she’d known his name! The Sheikh of Tarakhar was renowned for his fabulous wealth and for the absolute power he wielded within his kingdom.

  It was his country she’d travelled through yesterday.

  Why was he here? Was he in league with the men who’d done this to her?

  Fear crowded close again. Cassie wrapped her arms tighter round her torso and began to sidle out of reach.

  ‘And you are?’ He didn’t move but his deep voice stopped her in her tracks. She braced herself to meet his gleaming gaze.

  ‘My name is Cassandra Denison. Cassie.’

  ‘Cassandra.’ The familiar syllables joined in an unfamiliar, exotic curl of sound. She told herself it was his hint of an accent that made her name sound different, so seductive.

  She swayed a little—or was that the flickering light?

  ‘Come! You need sustenance.’ He didn’t quite click his fingers, but his abrupt gesture made her step automatically towards a low, brass-topped table.

  Her instant response to his command infuriated her, but she had more important things on her mind. Cassie’s eyes rounded. The knife was back where she’d found it, beside a platter of fruit and almonds.

  He trusted her with the blade? Or was it a trick to lull her into relaxing?

  She eyed the entrance to the vast room, the heavy material that blocked the cool night air. Were the guards still on duty around the tent, making it impossible to escape even if she could break the barbaric chain that marked her as his possession?

  A hand closed around her elbow and she jumped, alarm skittering through her. She whipped round to find impenetrable dark eyes fixed on her. His scowl had gone. In its place something like sympathy softened his features.

  ‘You cannot run. Mustafa’s guards would seize you before you got ten metres. Besides, you’d stand no chance alone in the mountains, especially at night.’

  Cassie sucked in a desperate breath. Were her thoughts so obvious? She tilted her chin. ‘Mustafa?’

  ‘Our host. The man who presented you to me.’

  Holding her arm, he half pushed, half supported her till her legs gave way and she plopped onto a pile of cushions. Instantly he released her.

  A moment later, with an easy grace that held her unwilling gaze, he sank to face her across the low table.

  Even seated he loomed too big for comfort. He crowded her space, dominating her senses. Cassie registered his scent: sandalwood and spicy male. Her nostrils flared and reaction feathered through her, jangling her nerves with something other than alarm. She sat straighter, making herself meet his gaze head on.

  The flickering light of the brazier accentuated the strong lines of his face. A face that surely belonged in a storybook tale of Arabian nights and proud princes.

  His deep voice broke across her hectic thoughts.

  ‘Now, Cassandra Denison, you can explain what’s going on.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  CASSIE’S eyes flicked from his flattened mouth to the tiny trickle of blood drying on the burnished skin of his neck. She drew a slow breath as he picked up the paring knife, but relaxed with a shiver of relief when he merely wiped it clean on a snowy cloth and began to pare an orange. Mesmerised, she watched the precise way he sliced the peel, the supple flick of strong wrists and the deft movements of his long fingers.

  ‘I’m not accustomed to waiting.’ Steel threaded his smooth voice and she started.

  ‘And I’m not accustomed to being abducted!’

  Straight black brows winged up. ‘Abduction? That changes things.’ He stilled, his eyes on her.

  Cassie had the feeling he saw deep, beyond the overdone make-up, the decorative henna on her hands and feet and the dark cloak. That he saw right down to the woman trying desperately to conquer fear with bravado.

  The silence lengthened. She should be pleading, demanding help. Persuading him with her eloquence. Words were her stock in trade, after all. Yet something in his steady, assessing gaze dried the words on her tongue. Her agitated pulse slowed a fraction.

  When at last he spoke again his tone was light. ‘You must forgive my curiosity. Being attacked with a knife is something of a novelty. It makes me inquisitive.’

  His lips quirked up at one side and Cassie’s heart gave a tiny jump of surprise.

  She wanted to trust him, but could she?

  Was he in cahoots with her abductors?

  ‘You mean the chain didn’t give it away? The fact that I might be here against my will?’ Cassie lifted her chin. If only anger could melt the hard metal that kept her captive!

  ‘I’m afraid I had other things on my mind.’

  She felt an unwilling flicker of appreciation at his self-deprecating humour. He was a cool customer. Being attacked by a desperate woman wielding a knife hadn’t ruffled his composure one iota!

  Nor had it affected his exquisite manners. With another graceful movement he reached for a ewer and bowl and silently invited her to wash her hands. Despite her dire situation, or perhaps because of it, his old-fashioned courtesy soothed her shredded nerves.

  Slowly Cassie extended her hands over the bo
wl. He poured water over her fingers, waited till she rubbed them clean, then poured again.

  He passed her a towel of fine cotton, careful not to touch her. Cassie drew in a quick breath of relief and dried her hands, trying not to notice that even his hands were attractive—strong and well shaped.

  Instead she concentrated on the soft comfort of the towel. How different the luxury here compared with the Spartan tent where she’d been held!

  Only the best for a royal sheikh.

  ‘Besides,’ he continued as if uninterrupted, ‘the chain could have been a ploy.’

  ‘A ploy?’ Cassie’s voice rose and her body froze in outrage. ‘A ploy? You think I’m wearing this thing for fun? It’s heavy and uncomfortable and … inhuman!’

  And it made her feel like a chattel, a thing rather than a person.

  Cassie pulled the thick cloak tighter round herself, seeking comfort in its concealing folds.

  The abduction had been shocking and terrifying, but being tethered with a chain like an animal plumbed the depths of her darkest fears. It put her captors’ intentions on a new and horrible level.

  Even her mother, whose life had revolved around pleasing a man, had never faced a reality so brutal.

  ‘As you say. Even in this lawless part of the world, I didn’t expect to find kidnap and slavery.’

  At her wide-eyed stare he went on. ‘In the old days, centuries ago, slaves were held that way.’ He nodded curtly to the chain that snaked across the floor towards the bed. ‘It’s a slave chain. I thought it possible Mustafa had used it symbolically, rather than seriously.’

  ‘You thought I might have agreed to this? That I chose to dress this way?’ Cassie snapped her mouth shut, remembering her struggles as the women had stripped her clothes away. The horror when they’d produced this gaudy outfit that barely covered her breasts and drew attention to every curve.

  She remembered too the searing look, quickly veiled, in this man’s eyes when she’d been brought before him in the communal tent. It had heated her as no fire could.

  ‘I didn’t know what to think. I don’t know you.’

  Cassie drew a calming breath. Finally she nodded.

  He was right. He knew as little of her as she did of him. The chain could have been a stage prop worn for effect—there to spice the jaded appetites of a man who got turned on by the idea of a woman totally at his mercy. A woman with no function but to please him.

  Was Amir that sort of man?

  Without warning that ancient memory broke through her weary brain’s defences again. The one memory she usually kept locked tightly away. Of Curtis Bevan, who’d been her mother’s lover the year Cassie turned sixteen. How he’d strutted around her mother’s apartment with condescending pride, knowing everything there was bought with his money. Even his lover. How he’d turned his proprietorial eyes on Cassie that day she’d come home for Christmas—

  ‘Cassie?’

  The sound of her name in that soft-as-suede voice shattered the recollection. She looked up into a cool obsidian gaze that she would swear saw too much. Her breath snared and for a moment she foundered, caught between her nightmare past and the present.

  Deliberately she straightened her shoulders.

  ‘For the record, I don’t want to be here! When you came in I thought …’ Her words dried at the recollection of what she’d thought. That he’d come here for sex. That it wouldn’t matter if she was unwilling.

  ‘You thought you had no choice.’ His voice was low and his expression softened. ‘The pre-emptive strike was a good move. A brave one.’

  Cassie shook her head. ‘Just desperate.’

  It had become clear within seconds she had no chance against him. He’d subdued her so quickly, lashed her threshing limbs into immobility and toppled her with an ease that merely reinforced his physical superiority.

  Whatever happened now she had more sense than to try to overcome this man physically. She needed him fighting for her, not against her.

  ‘Who is this Mustafa? What makes him think he has the right to give me to you like this?’

  Amir shrugged, his wide shoulders drawing her unwilling gaze. She told herself her fascination with his sculpted features, his aura of power, was because he was her only hope of getting out of here.

  ‘Mustafa is a bandit chief. He rules these mountains down to the border with Tarakhar. We’re in his camp.’

  Silently he offered her a plate of orange segments and dates. It was her first food in over twenty-four hours.

  Yet she hesitated, wondering at the possibility it had been tampered with. That fear had kept her from devouring it earlier while she waited alone, frantically trying to break the chain.

  But he had no need to drug her. She was already at his mercy.

  Determined, Cassie forced her mind from the insidious thought.

  Carefully she reached for a piece of orange. Its flavour burst like sunshine in her mouth, stinging like blazes where she’d bitten her tongue during their skirmish. Her eyes almost closed in sheer bliss despite the pain. She swallowed and reached for another piece.

  ‘You were going to tell me how you got here.’ The dark voice jerked her attention back to the man seated opposite her.

  His hooded eyes gleamed with an expression she couldn’t name. Was it curiosity, as he’d said? Had she imagined that flash of predatory male interest when he’d first seen her and again as she lay beneath him?

  Cassie recalled his touch on her bare skin and shivered. Anxiety swirled in her stomach, and a flutter of something else she couldn’t put a name to.

  ‘I was travelling through Tarakhar by bus.’

  ‘By yourself?’ Was that disapproval in his tone?

  Cassie’s spine stiffened. ‘I’m twenty-three and more than capable of travelling alone!’

  Circumstances had forced Cassie into independence early. She’d never had the luxury of relying on others. Besides, her destination—a rural town near the border—wasn’t on the tourist route. She’d had to travel overland for the last part of the journey.

  ‘Visitors are welcomed and treated with respect in Tarakhar. Yet it’s advisable not to travel alone.’

  ‘So I’ve discovered.’ Cassie shot him an eloquent look, her ire rising. Anger, she’d found, was preferable to fear. How dared he blame her for what had happened? She was the innocent party!

  ‘A travel warning for foreign visitors might be useful. Perhaps you could have one issued since you’re in charge?’ Her voice dropped to saccharine sweetness. ‘Maybe something about travellers being fair game for kidnappers?’

  His eyes narrowed, yet she couldn’t read his expression.

  Finally he nodded. ‘You’re right. Action must be taken.’

  Cassie watched the grooves deepen around his mouth and wondered what action he had in mind. Despite his stillness and his relaxed pose, she sensed he wasn’t nearly as laid-back as he appeared.

  Finally she asked the question she’d been putting off. ‘You said Mustafa rules these mountains.’ She paused, delaying the inevitable. ‘Aren’t we in Tarakhar any more?’

  ‘No. We’re no longer in my country but in the neighbouring state of Bhutran. It’s Mustafa’s tribal territory and he rules with an iron fist.’

  Cassie’s heart plunged. She’d already experienced the iron fist. But she’d hoped, prayed, they were still in Tarakhar, where help might reach her. Where Sheikh Amir had authority. Bhutran was a lawless state—notoriously so.

  Despair threatened to swamp her but she fought it. Her only hope lay in not giving up. She still had to find a way out of here.

  Cassie forced herself to reach for the fruit platter. She needed energy to escape.

  Amir watched her devour the fruit with delicate greed. The combination of feisty opponent, all flashing eyes and quick tongue, with soft femininity intrigued him. More than he could remember being intrigued in a long, long time.

  In repose her lips were a soft pout of invitation, glistening with fruit j
uice. The tip of her pink tongue appeared now and then to swipe the excess moisture. Amir realised her sensuality was innate, not contrived.

  Yet it wasn’t anything as simple as sexual magnetism alone that intrigued him.

  The moment Mustafa had presented her in a flourish of generosity her sparking gaze had sizzled across the space between them, piercing Amir’s boredom at the gathering’s false bonhomie and crude revelry.

  Later, through his fury at her attack, he’d still registered her pliant body cushioning him and her delicate scent: desert rose and warm woman.

  He’d known women, had women in all sorts of circumstances. It had become rare for one to quicken his pulse.

  She reached for a date and her cloak slipped enough to reveal the smooth, pale skin of her collarbone, her cleavage. The cloak slid again to show straining midnight blue silk. The material scooped indecently low, revealing far too much of one full, perfect breast.

  He recalled how she’d looked in the skimpy dancing costume. She was all lush curves, with a slender waist accentuated by what he’d thought at the time was merely a decorative chain.

  Amir yanked his gaze away. He needed to focus!

  ‘Why were you travelling in this region?’ The border country wasn’t a sightseeing area.

  Violet eyes clashed with his before she looked away, hurriedly securing the gaping front of her cloak.

  ‘I’ve been accepted on to a volunteer programme, teaching English to adults for a couple of months.’

  ‘You’re a teacher?’ He tried not to let his surprise show. Obviously these weren’t her normal clothes. Look at the way she’d just covered up. Yet still he found it difficult, imagining her in a classroom.

  ‘It’s not my field back home in Australia, but they were eager for volunteers and it sounded … fulfilling.’

  This woman grew more interesting by the moment. He could picture her at home in a bustling, lively city. She was so full of energy and opinions. Teaching in a provincial school was the last place he’d imagine her. ‘How did you get here?’