Girl in the Bedouin Tent Page 3

  One neat hand clutched the coarse fabric of her cloak and her jaw hardened.

  ‘The bus broke down in the foothills near the border. Apparently it was a major mechanical problem, something that couldn’t be fixed quickly. All the passengers headed off across country to their own homes. There was just me and the driver left, and then.’ She shrugged, a jerky little movement that belied her show of casualness. ‘Then we heard a sound like thunder.’

  She flashed a look at him. Behind the defiance he detected a shadow that might have been fear.

  Instinctively Amir leaned towards her, only to straighten abruptly when she recoiled.

  It wasn’t a reaction to which he was accustomed.

  ‘Horsemen came galloping down from the mountains. They grabbed me.’ Her voice flattened to an emotionless pitch that anyone less observant might mistake for insouciance. ‘I lost sight of the driver in all the dust and milling horses.’ She paused. ‘He’d been kind to me. I … don’t know what happened to him.’

  ‘You needn’t fear for him. A report of the raid came through as I travelled here. The driver is recovering from concussion in hospital.’

  Anger ignited in Amir’s belly. For Mustafa to have led a violent raid and the abduction of a foreign national inside Tarakhan’s borders the day before Amir’s visit was little short of a direct insult.

  Yet it wasn’t Mustafa’s arrogance that rankled. It was what had been done to this remarkable woman. Terrified, abducted and abused, she still managed to hold her own, challenging him and giving no ground even when it was patently clear she was dependent on his goodwill.

  Was it her vulnerability or her courage that sliced straight through the diffidence he wore like a second skin?

  Long dormant emotions stirred uneasily.

  It was understandable he’d feel pity. Yet when had he truly cared on a personal level about anyone? Cared for anything but work or his own pleasure?

  His lips twisted. He hadn’t.

  Amir was self-sufficient and glad of it. He’d never experienced love, even as a child. Nor had friendship been permitted with the other boys who, with him, had learned the ways of a Tarakhan warrior under his uncle’s stern eye.

  With the ease of long practice Amir turned his mind to more important matters.

  Tonight he’d been the polite guest, playing the game of diplomacy and courtesy to the hilt. He’d allowed Mustafa to bask in the honour of hosting a man far more powerful than he could ever hope to be. Tomorrow his host would find a change in his revered guest.

  Mustafa might live in a chaotic nation where the rule of law barely existed, but he’d soon discover the Sheikh of Tarakhar was no pushover. Earlier Amir had been impatient at the need for slow negotiations when an all-important personal arrangement required his attention at home. Now he looked forward to making Mustafa squirm.

  ‘The driver’s really OK?’

  Amir saw concern on her pale features and felt a stab of admiration. Despite her own situation she was worried for the driver.

  ‘He’ll be fine. He was knocked unconscious, which would be why he didn’t raise the alarm about your kidnap.’

  A tide of impatience rose that he was sitting talking when every nerve screamed for action. Amir was about to surge to his feet when her expression caught his notice.

  She pretended strength and insouciance, yet her posture was a little too perfect. Instead of lounging on the comfortable cushions she sat erect, as if ready for anything, even sudden attack. She’d flinched earlier at his exclamations of outrage. Obviously she still didn’t trust him. How could she?

  Amir subsided onto the banked cushions.

  ‘You’ve been with Mustafa’s men since the abduction?’

  She nodded slowly, and he couldn’t help but read significance into the fact that this time she didn’t elaborate. He’d already learned she wasn’t afraid to express her opinion.

  What had they done to her?

  His stomach clenched at the possibilities.

  Cassie watched him pour juice into a chased goblet that looked as if it dated from the time of the crusades. Who knew? Perhaps it did.

  His hand, the colour of dark honey, looked strong and capable as he held it out to her.

  ‘Thank you.’ She reached to take it from him, careful only to touch the cool metal. She remembered the heat of his skin on hers, the curious sensation when he touched her, and knew better than to risk further contact.

  He was too disturbing, even now when he sat with easy composure, drawing out her story, each movement measured and non-threatening. She couldn’t forget her sense of peril as she’d stared into fathomless dark eyes and that grim slash of a mouth.

  What disturbed her most was the conviction the danger lay not only in his physical strength, his ability to subdue her bodily. It lay in that indefinable aura that tugged at her consciousness. The way her senses, though battered by kidnap and confinement, stirred when he gave that rueful half smile. When he apologised for being distracted, fighting for his life. When his eyes met hers and something unnamed sizzled through the air.

  That didn’t stop her covertly noticing the slight shadow along his jaw that made him look like a sexy bandit, and the way his full lower lip and mobile mouth turned severe features into something far too appealing.

  Cassie blinked, shocked. Her mind was wandering. She clasped her hands tight and leaned closer.

  ‘Now you know I’m here against my will, you’ll be able to get me away from here.’ Even outside his realm surely he’d be able to help her.

  The silence lengthened. Her confident smile grew ragged.

  The hastily stitched fabric of her defences began to unravel. Each second that ticked past shredded her nerves. The thud of her heart, so fast she felt dizzy with it, almost deafened her. He must help!

  He couldn’t ignore what had happened to her. Finally he spoke. ‘Unfortunately it’s not that simple.’

  ‘Not simple?’ Her stunned voice echoed hoarsely. She felt betrayed. She’d counted on his assistance.

  ‘I’m afraid not. You need to be patient.’

  Stiffening her spine, Cassie stared at the man sitting so imperturbably. Shadows from the lamps cast elongated shadows across the strong lines of his face, accentuating the way his hooded eyelids veiled his expression.

  Didn’t he understand her desperation?

  Unless he’d decided it was in his own interests not to help her.

  Had she been gulled into a false sense of security by his calm questions and his mellow tone?

  Breathing slowly, trying not to hyperventilate, Cassie told herself the Sheikh of Tarakhar couldn’t be interested in her. She had none of the sultry allure or seductive experience she imagined his lovers possessed. Despite the stark austerity of his clothes, he looked like a man who’d only settle for the best.

  If it came to sexual skills, Cassie wasn’t in the running.

  But then experience wasn’t always required. She knew that from bitter experience.

  Surreptitiously she slid her hand under cover of her cloak to where he had carelessly abandoned the knife, holding his gaze unblinking all the while.

  ‘Sheathe your claws, kitten. You have no need of a blade now.’

  Kitten! Indignation swamped doubt as her fingers clenched convulsively on the hilt of the fruit knife. ‘No?’ She tilted her chin.

  ‘No. I do not harm women.’ The glint in his gaze spoke of pride and outrage.

  But she’d take no chances. ‘In the circumstances I know you’ll understand if I reserve the right to protect myself.’

  Not by so much as a flicker of his eyelids did he move. Yet his features grew taut, the grooves beside his mouth deepening, the angle of his jaw becoming razor-sharp.

  Amir regarded her with stunned curiosity. His word was not enough? He wasn’t to be trusted?

  Surely she couldn’t believe him to be cut from the same cloth as Mustafa and his cronies?

  It seemed she could.

  She lifted
her chin, revealing a slender throat that reminded him of her fragility despite her bone-deep defiance. Luminous skin caught his eye, so at odds with her gaudy make-up.

  Something stirred inside. Respect for this woman who didn’t realise she had no need to keep fighting.

  He thought of the long years he’d spent proving himself again and again, fighting against doubt, scorching disapproval and ever-present prejudice. That determination to keep fighting had got him where he was today. Who was he to insist she give up?

  ‘If it gives you comfort, then by all means keep the knife.’

  He paused and smiled, expecting acknowledgment of his gesture. After all, to bear arms in the presence of royalty had been till recently a capital offence.

  She remained stony-faced and he was torn between exasperation at her distrust and approval of her determination.

  Amir gestured towards the outer wall. ‘But don’t try attacking one of Mustafa’s guards with it. They’re trained warriors. They won’t hesitate to use maximum force if attacked. You’ll come off worst.’

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’ Her eyes sparked fire. ‘You call them warriors? Kidnapping an unarmed woman? I thought the men here would have more pride.’

  ‘You’re right. Their behaviour blemishes honour.’

  The mark branded him too. She’d been in his kingdom when abducted. It sickened him that she’d been plucked from his country and subjected to this.

  ‘Mustafa’s men will do what Mustafa tells them to.’

  ‘And you?’

  She went too far this time.

  ‘Ms Denison.’ His voice rang with hauteur. ‘I give my word you have nothing to fear from me. The first I knew of your presence was when you were brought to me at the feasting tent.’

  ‘I …’ She faltered and her gaze dipped. ‘I see. Thank you.’

  Like a balloon pricked by a pin, she seemed to deflate before his eyes. Instantly, regret lashed him. Where was his control? Strive as he might to reassure, his reactions to Cassandra Denison were too raw and unpredictable.

  How to gentle her and win her trust?

  He had a lifetime’s experience in pleasuring women. His lovers were well satisfied. But since adolescence females had pursued him. All he’d had to do was reach out and select the one he wanted. He treated them well, but he’d never had to exert himself to win a woman’s trust.

  How was he to deal with this woman who defied yet intrigued him? A woman so reluctantly dependent on him?

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘WHY isn’t it so simple?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  Cassie struggled to sound calm. ‘Getting me away from here. You said it’s not that simple.’

  ‘That’s right.’ He poured himself a drink, then raised a golden goblet to his lips.

  Frowning, Cassie looked away to the table between them. There was something disturbingly intimate about watching the strong muscles of his burnished throat as he tipped his head back to drink.

  Was it the stress of her situation that made her so hyperalert? Or the intimacy of this quiet lamplit haven, so peaceful after her recent trauma?

  Slowly he lowered the goblet, and she had the unnerving feeling he was preparing to break bad news.

  ‘I’ve just arrived and I won’t be leaving for a week.’

  Cassie nodded. ‘And.?’

  ‘And you will have to remain here till then.’

  ‘No way!’ On surging outrage she rose, only to subside again when he held out an arm to bar her way. He didn’t touch. His hand stopped centimetres from hers. But his expression had its effect. ‘If you expect me to wait around here a whole week—’

  ‘That’s exactly what I expect, Ms Denison. When my negotiations are over I’ll escort you to safety. In the meantime, so long as you remain in this tent, you are under my protection. No one will touch you while you are mine.’

  Cassie’s eyes rounded. His.

  A bolt of electricity zapped her.

  It wasn’t news. That scene in the other tent had been brutally clear, despite the language barrier. Yet to hear him spell it out was too much.

  ‘I’m not yours.’ Her voice rose. ‘I’m not any man’s.’

  He shook his head. ‘As far as Mustafa and everyone else in this camp are concerned you belong to me.’

  ‘That’s barbaric!’

  What century did he think this was?

  He shrugged. ‘Of course it is. Mustafa thinks to shore up his position by acts of bravado and posturing.’ Dark eyes dropped for a moment to her voluminous cloak, but she suspected it wasn’t coarse wool he pictured in his head. A tremor ran through her as she remembered his gaze on her bare skin. ‘The man has no subtlety.’

  Out of nowhere heat washed her. She only just stopped herself wondering what sort of subtleties the Sheikh of Tarakhar preferred.

  ‘But you can’t expect me to stay here!’

  ‘I cannot cut this visit short.’

  ‘Not even to rescue a woman in distress?’ Cassie never thought she’d play the helpless female, but her situation was dire.

  He spread his hands, drawing her gaze to long, capable fingers and strong wrists.

  ‘I’m here to put an end to the sort of border raid to which you fell victim. If diplomacy fails force will be needed. I’m sure you’ll understand my preference not to risk the lives of my citizens unless absolutely necessary.’

  At his words she raised her head and found her gaze captured.

  ‘I cannot risk what’s happened to you happening to anyone else.’

  Cassie sat back on her heels. She applauded his purpose. Yet she had to fight to suppress a demand that he take her away from here now—this instant!

  ‘But even if you’re staying here I could—’

  ‘What?’ His eyebrows arrowed down and his lips thinned. ‘Find your own way to safety?’

  Did he have to sound so dismissive? She wasn’t that naïve. ‘Perhaps some of your people could take me.’

  Already he was shaking his head. ‘I only have a small staff with me and all are required here.’ He paused. ‘I regret it, but your only option is to leave when I do.’

  Cassie clamped her mouth shut and looked away, lest he see the desperation in her eyes.

  ‘This isn’t as I’d wish it either.’ His voice dropped. ‘But it’s the only way. Look at me, Cassandra.’

  Startled by the sound of her name on his lips, she swung round. ‘Cassie.’

  ‘Cassie, then.’ Eyes as black as the midnight desert sky bored into hers. She had the unnerving sensation he looked deep into her soul. ‘You will forgive my need for absolute honesty?’

  ‘I’d prefer it.’ Knowledge was strength. She needed to know where she stood.

  He nodded. ‘It’s essential the camp believes I am content with this arrangement. And that you accept it.’

  Her eyes widened as his meaning sank in.

  ‘Should they believe otherwise, Mustafa will give you to someone else and find me a replacement companion. Or keep you for himself.’ Dark eyes pinioned hers. ‘Do you want to risk that?’

  Dread coursed through her veins and she shuddered, remembering the avid faces of the all-male crowd who’d watched as she was presented like some trophy to this man.

  Reluctantly she shook her head. She’d stay. For now.

  Half an hour later Cassie stood rigid, eyes fixed on a wall hanging of a courtyard garden with fountains and ornamental trees and beautiful ladies. One played a stringed instrument, one brushed the long, dark hair of another who lifted a cup daintily to her lips. Yet another picked a blossom with delicate fingers.

  ‘It’s a garden of pleasures,’ the voice, low and rich, murmured. His breath was a puff of warmth on her bare arm and her skin contracted as if brushed by soft suede.

  Cassie cleared her throat. ‘Really?’ She tried not to notice the way his body heat seemed to inflame her bare skin when he stood so close. Whenever his fingers brushed her bare torso she felt a curious trembling.r />
  ‘Absolutely. In countries like this a garden is a paradise, a place of bountiful water, of green growing things and beauty.’

  Cassie knew he only spoke to keep her mind off the fact that he was having trouble unlocking the long lead to the chain around her waist. Yet she found herself lulled by the tantalising burr of his low voice.

  Half an hour of kindness, of reassurance, and her terror had abated. Enough for the rigid tension to seep away and anxiety to drop to a barely there undercurrent.

  Now she registered other things. A growing awareness of the man beside her, and of her own body.

  Perhaps it was the aftermath of stress that made her so sensitive to his nearness. And to his touch.

  ‘And the women in the picture?’ She searched for a way to keep him talking. She told herself it was to keep her mind off the worry that the ancient padlock on the chain would never open. Not because she needed distraction from the feel of his large hands brushing her skin with a delicacy that sent whorls of sensation through her.

  ‘Steady, now. This lock is very stiff. You need to be still.’

  Cassie sucked in her breath as he insinuated his fingers beneath the chain at her waist and tried to ease the lock free.

  ‘The women represent the pleasures of the senses. Soothing music, the scent of blossom, the taste of sweet nectar, the pleasure of touch and the sight of beauty.’

  He tugged, then moved, adjusting his hold, and she hurried into speech. ‘That’s fascinating. I just thought it was a nice design.’

  ‘It’s far more than that. It can be read on several levels.’ She felt the soft brush of his hair on her bare skin as he bent close over the old lock. ‘Really? What other meanings does it have?’

  One hard shoulder shrugged against Cassie’s hip. There was a sound of grating, then at last a click. A moment later he straightened, holding up one end of the long lead chain and its ancient padlock.

  He grinned, a three-cornered smile that creased his face in unfamiliar lines and made this autocratic lord of the desert suddenly look younger, more approachable and devastatingly attractive.