Girl in the Bedouin Tent Page 8

  She strove for a change of subject, flustered as she hadn’t been since that first night.

  ‘Do you enjoy acting?’ He came to her rescue, slanting his gaze down at her hands, threading together in her lap.

  Instantly Cassie stilled. ‘I love it. Most of the time.’ Drama had been a refuge and an escape.

  ‘But not always?’

  She shrugged. ‘Like everything, it’s got its ups and downs.’ There were too many men who believed actresses, particularly ones who looked like her, were either dumb or easy or both. ‘But I make a living … most of the time. I wait tables and do whatever else I have to in order to make ends meet. It took me ages to save up for the fare here.’

  ‘It was so important that you work here as a volunteer?’

  ‘It’s something I want to do.’ She lifted her shoulders in a casual shrug, unwilling to try explaining the importance of this opportunity. With Amir she found herself revealing too much and this was … private.

  Though she loved acting, increasingly she felt a need for something more in her life. Despite the bonhomie she’d found in her profession, there was a focus on individual careers—every man and woman for themselves.

  All her life Cassie had felt adrift and alone. Time and again she’d tried to connect with her mother without success. Her mother had blamed Cassie for her break-up with the one man she’d claimed to care for: Cassie’s father. Having a kid underfoot, she’d said, had destroyed the romance. After that she’d shut everyone out emotionally—especially Cassie—never displaying anything like true caring again.

  Cassie had forged that experience into self-reliance and decisiveness. Yet she yearned for something more solid. Stability, purpose, community. A sense of contributing.

  These months in Tarakhar would help her decide if she wanted more permanent changes in her life.

  Avoiding Amir’s penetrating gaze, Cassie reached for an apricot, inadvertently colliding with him as he leaned forward. Amir jerked violently away as if scalded.

  Stunned, Cassie watched his features grow taut, the grooves bracketing his mouth carving deep. A frown pleated his brow as he yanked his hand back from the table.

  He looked forbidding, as if she’d trespassed into private territory.

  Which she had. He was royalty, used to the best of everything, and here he was sharing his private accommodation with an unwanted guest. A guest who normally would be far beneath his notice.

  She waited for him to make some light remark, change the subject and put her at ease as he did so often.

  He remained silent.

  In a flurry of movement Cassie made to rise.

  ‘Stay!’ It wasn’t a request. It was a command.

  Amir reached out as if to prevent her rising, but his hand halted a telling distance from her arm. As if touching her tainted him. Unbidden, she recalled him holding her behind him as he faced the dangerous mob. His fingers stroking ointment on her bruised skin. Had he felt distaste then at the need for contact?

  The look on his face was grimly remote. Vanished was their easy camaraderie. Had she imagined approval in his eyes? Or had it just been a mask for disdain?

  It wasn’t fair or reasonable, but out of the blue the old sense of inferiority swamped her. Worse this time, because Amir was the catalyst. The man from whom she’d come to expect support.

  She’d lost count of the times people had pulled away, distancing themselves when they learned the truth about her parents. About why her father had paid the bills at the elite school where she’d never felt welcome. There’d been the girls who’d made her life hell. The teachers who’d watched her with prurient curiosity or distaste. The parents who’d looked down their noses at her, as if fearing she might contaminate one of their precious darlings.

  A lifetime’s hurt shuddered to the surface as she looked from his hand into his set face.

  Try as she might she could read nothing in his stern expression but rejection and disapproval.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me.’ She needed all her dramatic skill to keep her voice cool, as if pain didn’t cramp her vocal cords and frozen lungs. ‘I know when I’m not wanted.’

  Cassie scrambled to rise, hampered by the long cloak. She’d rather sit in the bathroom than remain here.

  A hand clamped around her wrist and tugged so hard she plopped back down to the cushions, her breath escaping in a whoosh of disbelief.

  Amir didn’t release her. His long fingers encircled her, firm and warm. Darts of sensation shot through her from his touch and she silently berated herself—because even now she revelled in the feel of his skin against hers.

  Cassie stared at him, furious, hurt and, despite herself, curious.

  He gave nothing away. His features might have been carved centuries ago, by a sculptor with an eye for beauty and character. Strong nose, purposeful jaw, deeply hooded eyes that hinted at secrets well kept. A mouth that drew her gaze and made her blood rise and effervesce.

  ‘You are.’

  Cassie was so absorbed in studying his face, trying to read his thoughts, that the words didn’t penetrate.

  ‘Sorry?’ With an effort she dragged her reluctant gaze from his lips, over his face of dark gold, to eyes suddenly revealed in blazing glory.

  ‘You are … wanted.’

  The words hung between them and it seemed they both held their breath. Nothing moved.

  Her brain crashed into gear. That look in his eyes.

  Cassie swallowed. Her pulse jumped under his long fingers. She remembered the sensation of his touch, his breath on her bare midriff when he’d worked on that ancient padlock. She felt the hard muscle of his thigh against hers and her mouth dried.

  ‘There’s no need to spare my feelings.’ Indignation lingered.

  His mobile mouth quirked up at one side in an expression that could have signalled wry amusement or possibly pain.

  ‘I’m not given to platitudes, Cassie. I say what I mean.’ He drew a breath that expanded his chest mightily. His fingers slid down till he held her hand. ‘You are welcome in my tent. More than welcome.’

  ‘It’s kind of you to—’

  ‘It’s not kindness.’ His voice was rich and dark like treacle, swirling languidly around her senses. ‘I’m not a kind man. I have no experience of it. But I am truthful. Believe me when I say I want you.’

  The breath whooshed from Cassie’s lungs as she finally allowed herself to read the meaning in his glittering gaze.

  Want in the physical, sexual sense.

  Want in the way she’d avoided all her life. From the day she’d understood what being a ‘kept woman’ meant. The day she’d understood her mother survived by pandering to the sexual needs first of Cassie’s father and then, when he dumped her, of a string of equally wealthy, demanding men who had precious little respect for her.

  Yet, reading the stark hunger in Amir’s eyes, feeling the loose grasp of his hand around hers, it wasn’t the usual revulsion Cassie felt.

  It was a thrill of excitement.

  Only days ago the thought of Amir looking at her with desire had made her reach for a knife. But now.

  The continual restless undercurrent, the hum of awareness and edginess when she thought of Amir or when he drew near, finally made sense.

  For the first time in her life Cassie wanted. Wanted a stranger she barely knew. A stranger who’d cared for her with more genuine tenderness than anyone she’d known.

  A tremor rippled through her, making her hand shake in his. His fingers wrapped more tightly around hers.

  ‘Don’t look so stunned, little one. Is it so surprising? You’re a beautiful woman. A fascinating woman.’

  His gaze lingered warmly—not on her curves, but her face. Almost as if it was more than her body that appealed.

  ‘I don’t … I can’t …’ Stunned, she shook her head. She was bereft of words. She, the expert at deflecting propositions with a light-hearted quip! Who’d sashayed unscathed past the minefield of sexual relationships with nev
er a backwards glance.

  This was different. With Amir for the first time Cassie experienced the compelling desire for intimacy. It was in the gnawing sensation deep in her womb, the need to touch him and snuggle up against his hard body. No wonder she’d been stir crazy these past days! It wasn’t just her confinement; it was Amir getting under her skin.

  His grip loosened and his fingers slid away. Bereft, she watched his hand bunch on his thigh. She wanted to reach out and stroke him, wrap her hand around his.

  ‘Don’t worry, Cassie. You don’t have to do anything.’

  Her head jerked up and she met his gaze, once more unreadable, all trace of incendiary heat banished. He looked distant, as if that moment of unbridled desire had never been.

  ‘I want you, but you are safe under my protection. Even from me!’

  Once more his mouth tilted in that one-sided smile, and this time she’d swear it was pain she read there.

  Cassie opened her mouth to blurt out what she felt. That she’d been going slowly mad these past days, trying to battle the uncharacteristic need to be with him. Not just share that wide bed, but share herself.

  She shook her head, innate caution intervening. They’d never even kissed, had barely talked, yet the force of her tumultuous feelings was undeniable.

  The force of this yearning scared her.

  She’d grown up despising her mother’s lifestyle, so bitterly cold-hearted beneath the surface gloss. Despising the men who’d used her mother to satisfy their egos and sexual appetites. That had tainted Cassie’s dealings with men and she’d never felt anything like this urgent attraction.

  It left her floundering, torn between excitement and fear.

  Could it be because of their forced proximity? Some strange version of Stockholm Syndrome? Did the danger and isolation make her fancy herself falling for not her kidnapper but the man who would rescue her?

  How could she believe what she felt was real?

  Yet it felt blood-pulsingly real: urgent and demanding.

  She dared to reach out and touch his fist, only to see it turn white-knuckled.

  ‘Don’t touch me, Cassie.’ At his sharp tone she snatched her hand back. ‘This is already a test of willpower. Don’t make it more difficult to keep my word.’

  He spoke so coolly she was tempted to believe it was all a hoax. That for some reason he played with her, pretending to desire. But, touching him, she’d felt the tension shimmer through him, an unseen vibration.

  Amir desired her.

  And Cassie wanted him!

  Yet surely she’d be a fool to give in to this dangerous desire, no matter how intense, no matter how tempting.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘YOU’RE a talented chess player.’

  Cassie’s face lit with pleasure. Then she looked away hurriedly, as if guilty at enjoying the compliment.

  The light flickered in a caress over her lovely features. Cassie grew more vibrant, more engaging, with each hour. It was as if a fire had been lit within her, giving her a glow that drew him like a moth to raw flame.

  How was a man to resist?

  It should be easy. Though he’d spelled out his desire for her she hadn’t reciprocated, hadn’t encouraged.

  That guaranteed she stayed off-limits. No matter the provocation of too many sleepless nights, his body taut with the need for restraint.

  The abduction had made her vulnerable. Was it any wonder she had no interest in pursuing what he guessed would be a combustible passion between them?

  He shouldn’t have revealed his feelings. Yet her revelations had thrown him off balance. He’d been stunned by the searing hurt he’d felt on her behalf, hearing about her neglectful family and reading the vulnerability behind her bravado.

  Amir had grown up distanced from everyone, especially his family. It was that isolation, that need to prove himself against doubts and scorn, that had made him successful and self-sufficient. He’d never had time for regrets. Emotion was something he eschewed.

  Yet hearing snippets of Cassie’s story something inside him had cracked. He’d wanted to make someone pay for the distress she tried so valiantly to hide. Comfort her.

  As if he had experience in providing comfort! Pleasure, yes—that was easy. But he sensed Cassie needed far more.

  ‘I used to play chess a lot.’

  ‘So I can see.’

  She collected his rook in a daring move. ‘But I’m a bit rusty,’ she admitted as he captured her knight.

  ‘Check.’

  She nodded and bit her lip, her brow puckering in concentration. Amir wanted to stroke her soft lips, then press his mouth there, taste her sweetness on his tongue.

  His grip tightened on the captured knight. Three more days and they’d be out of here. Three more days and he could give Cassie space till she was ready to be persuaded.

  For the first time Amir discovered no other woman would do. It was Cassie he wanted. Not one of the many women so eager for his attention.

  Cassie alone tortured him every hour. Even when he closed his eyes she was there, waiting to tempt him. She was becoming a fixation.

  ‘Who taught you to play?’

  She raised her eyes and instantly he was lost in those wary violet depths.

  ‘A teacher at school. The same one who taught me debating and drama.’

  ‘You were busy.’

  Her luscious mouth pursed into a sultry bow and she lunged forward, moving a piece seemingly at random.

  ‘I was the poster girl for extracurricular activities.’ Her smile was perfunctory. ‘I did them all—from badminton to archery, baking, French conversation, a dozen crafts, and later even motor mechanics. I could play the piano and the saxophone before I got to high school, but I had to quit violin to save everyone’s ears.’

  ‘A high achiever.’ Amir could relate to that.

  Again and again they’d given him new tasks to master, new skills they’d been sure he’d fail. He’d forced himself to master them all, to excel, especially at the traditional skills of a Tarakhan warrior. His uncle and the rest had been so certain Amir could never take his place among them. Their contempt had driven him to prove them all wrong.

  Cassie shook her head. ‘I’d rather have been playing a game or reading a book, but I wasn’t given a choice. After-school lessons kept me away from home. Much more convenient than having me underfoot. Then when I was boarding it was easier to keep me occupied rather than pestering to come home.’

  Again that shaft of anger mixed with regret and pain speared him. She spoke so matter-of-factly, not lingering in search of sympathy, yet she had it.

  What was it about Cassie Denison that made him feel so much? Empathise, where in the past he’d had no difficulty retaining a discreet, unbreachable distance from those who, since his accession, wanted to get close?

  ‘How about you? Did your father teach you chess?’ She looked up at a point near his ear, then lowered her gaze. He found that almost-collision of eyes infuriating. Unsatisfactory. He wanted … what he couldn’t have.

  ‘Hardly.’ The word emerged more brusquely than he’d intended and she looked up sharply. ‘A palace servant taught me.’

  ‘Really? Like an old family retainer?’

  ‘Something like that. My uncle was horrified that I didn’t know the basics of the game when I came to live in Tarakhar. He ordered one of the staff to instruct me.’

  ‘You weren’t born in Tarakhar? How did you become Sheikh?’ She tilted her head in curiosity, then hurriedly turned to focus on the board.

  ‘The Council of Elders chose me as the most suitable leader from the members of my extended family.’ Amir’s lips twisted derisively.

  How times had changed. Once they wouldn’t have given him the time of day, much less bestowed the nation into his safekeeping.

  ‘What is it?’ She peered up at him again, obviously seeing the emotion he usually kept to himself. Why did he find himself letting down his guard with her more and more?

&nb
sp; ‘Nothing. Just that when I came to Tarakhar I wasn’t well regarded. I would have been last on the list to be given a public role.’

  ‘Why? What had you done?’

  She stirred, and Amir caught her skin’s warm fragrance, fresh and tempting. ‘I hadn’t done anything. I was only eleven.’ He watched her brows furrow in that tiny frown she wore when thinking, and repressed the impulse to stroke it away.

  He sat straighter.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  Clearly Cassie didn’t read the gossip columns. Or perhaps it was such old news the press didn’t bother to dig up scandalous snippets any more. It had been years since he’d bothered to read what they printed about him.

  Amir moved a piece, surprised to find she’d begun to turn the tables and attack.

  ‘My father was youngest brother to the old Sheikh, so I was a member of the ruling family. But we didn’t live in Tarakhar.’

  ‘You were raised with your mother’s family?’

  ‘Hardly!’ There’d been no family at all on his mother’s side. His mother hadn’t even known who her own father was. On her birth certificate ‘unknown’ had been inserted instead of a father’s name. His uncle had made sure Amir learned that, as well as a lot of other facts he’d have preferred never to know. ‘My parents moved around. They didn’t have a home but stayed in hotels and resorts. One day the Caribbean, the next, Morocco or the South of France.’

  ‘It sounds exotic.’

  He shrugged, feeling a strange tautness in his shoulders. It reminded him of the tension that had gripped him as a kid, when he’d borne the weight of others’ expectations—not their hopes, but their certainty he’d fail.

  ‘I suppose it was exotic.’ He moved a chess piece in a strategy to corner her. ‘To me it was just a blur of hotel rooms and unfamiliar faces.’ They’d never stayed in one place long enough for him to make friends, and his parents had had a habit of sacking the nannies hired to look after Amir just as he was beginning to know them.