Girl in the Bedouin Tent (3 page)

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?

‘W
HY
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.

‘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.

Cassie’s heart thudded to a quickening pace.

Because the loathsome chain was off. That was all.

‘The picture is also a metaphor for the pleasures to be found in a lover.’ His eyes held hers and Cassie’s breathing shallowed. ‘The feel of her soft skin, the sound of her sighs, the feminine scent of her, the pleasure to be found in the sight and the taste of her.’

His gaze dropped to her lips and a tingle of effervescence shot through her blood.

An instant later he’d stepped away, his attention on the chain in his hands. Cassie drew a deep breath, telling herself she was glad he’d moved. Her gaze dropped to the chain and she wrapped her arms around her torso. To be tethered like an animal had been degrading.

‘You’ll be more comfortable without this.’ Anger coloured his voice and his knuckles tightened on the ancient links before he let it fall with a dull thud. ‘I will have it removed in the morning.’

Her stomach clenched hard and hope flared at the sense
this man really did take her part. Always she’d fought her battles alone. This time she was grateful for help.

‘Thank you, Your Highness.’ Was that her voice, so breathless?

His head jerked up and their gazes collided. ‘In the circumstances we can drop the formalities. You may call me Amir.’

Cassie swallowed. After all she’d been through why did this simple, sensible offer touch her to the core? Was she so desperate for a friendly face? A gentle tone?

She still felt so … vulnerable.

‘Thank you, Amir.’ She paused, listening to the sound of his name on her tongue.

‘What about this?’ She hooked a hand through the finer chain encircling her waist. He followed her gesture, his gaze dropping to her almost bare body. Heat coursed through her. ‘Can you get this off?’

He shook his head and slowly lifted his eyes. ‘I’d need tools to remove it. Tools I don’t have with me.’

Dismay filled her. She’d have to keep wearing it? Unlike the other one, this wasn’t heavy but it was a potent reminder of her untenable situation. A slave chain.

Her heady sense of freedom disintegrated as harsh reality returned.

‘When we return to Tarakhar it will be a quick matter to remove it.’

Silently Cassie nodded, telling herself she was grateful for what he’d achieved. Suddenly exhaustion crept into her limbs and she felt the last of her energy seep away.

Amir gestured to the massive old-fashioned hip bath the servants had filled with hot water. Curls of steam rose languidly from the surface.

‘I’ll leave you now to wash.’ He turned and was almost out through the door before pausing. ‘Call if you need anything.’

By his watch not much time elapsed before she emerged from the bathing room. But it seemed like hours. Hours in which
Amir had soothed his fury by planning suitable punishment for Mustafa and those involved in the kidnapping. Yet Amir’s thoughts strayed continually to Cassie Denison’s vibrant face, her courage and determination. Her lush body.

Those long minutes working the ancient padlock free of the chain at her waist had been torment. He guessed she’d steeled herself against his touch. He hadn’t questioned her yet on how badly she’d been abused by her kidnappers, and bile rose in his throat at the thought of any of Mustafa’s rabble laying hands on her.

That was what had made his hands unsteady: anger.

He’d been eager to get the job done, to give her the privacy she needed. Yet he’d been curiously fumble-fingered. It hadn’t just been the old lock that had been the problem. His unsteady hands had been as much to blame.

Her innocent questions about the old wall hanging, no doubt scavenged by Mustafa in some raid on an ancient stronghold, had channelled Amir’s thoughts in directions that were too intimate for comfort.

He knew the look, scent, sound and feel of her. In one moment of heady madness he’d wondered how she’d taste on his tongue, till he’d pulled himself up short and focused on the lock.

His celibacy these past months told against him, letting his thoughts easily stray to sexual pleasure. It had been too long since he’d taken a woman into his bed.

He breathed deep. His advisors were right. The sooner he married the better.

Mistresses were well and good, but he grew tired of their demands and their grasping eagerness. How long since the pleasure of having beautiful women vie for his attention had begun to pall?

A wife wouldn’t cling. A wife would be busy with the royal household, with raising their children. But she’d be there for his comfort too.

He smiled, enjoying the notion.

Till he realised the woman in his imaginings had eyes of deep violet and hair like tumbled corn silk.

The bedroom was still, almost dark but for the dimmed light of a single lamp. Yet Cassie paused on the threshold, her heart thumping.

The bed was massive. Low and wide enough for four. Yet it looked far too full with just one man occupying it.

No matter that he’d given his word. That he’d assured her she was safe. Cassie couldn’t share his bed.

A shiver spidered its way down her backbone, drawing her skin taut at the idea. Silently she crept across the carpeted floor to gather up her black cloak. Holding her breath, she reached her other hand to the bed and slid a massive pillow towards her.

He remained oblivious, his chest rising and falling slightly with each breath.

A spurt of indignation filled her that he should be so unaffected by her presence, her story of abduction and ill use, that he’d fallen asleep. Yet it made this easier.

With quick, efficient movements Cassie wrapped the cloak around herself and curled up on a silk carpet beside the bed. She nestled her head on the plump pillow and almost sighed her pleasure. Every bone ached with tiredness.

‘You can’t sleep there.’ The crisp voice came out of the darkness. Instantly she stiffened.

‘I prefer to sleep alone.’

‘We’ve been through this, Cassie.’ Was that a sigh she heard? ‘Still you do not trust me?’

‘It’s not …’ Of course it was. A matter of trust.

But how could she trust this stranger as completely as he expected?

A stranger whose touch had been gentle yet soothingly impersonal as he’d removed that hated lead chain. A stranger whose deep voice and efficient, unfussy care had eased her frayed nerves and given her support when she needed it.

Still—

Her thoughts disintegrated as warmth surrounded her. Strong arms lifted her tight against his solid form.

Terror engulfed her, obliterating her tentative sense of wellbeing. Cassie fought to escape but could get no purchase on the smooth, hard muscle of his bare torso. Not when his body seemed made of unbreakable steel beneath the warm silk of his skin.