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Girl in the Bedouin Tent
Annie West
Not your average damsel in distress! Sheikh Prince Amir has vowed to redeem his scandalous family name – so the last thing he needs on a tour of his desert kingdom is to have a sensuous blonde with more spirit than clothes presented for his harem. Fiery Cassie might have been kidnapped by bandits and dolled up as the Sheikh’s love-slave, but she refuses to be any man’s plaything.Yet spending a week in Amir’s desert tent pretending to be his mistress would get under any girl’s skin. Especially when she is under his sheets.



Amir thrust aside the heavy curtain.
No sign of the girl.
He checked, senses suddenly alert, his nape prickling.
An instant later he threw up a blocking arm as someone leapt at him out of the gloom. A jingle of clashing coins at her belt warned him of her identity just in time.
Instinct saved him. Instinct honed by years perfecting a warrior’s skills and others learning less honourable ways to survive. He pivoted and snapped an arm around her wrist, just as a blade pricked the base of his neck.
‘Wild cat!’

About the Author
ANNIE WEST spent her childhood with her nose between the covers of a book—a habit she retains. After years preparing government reports and official correspondence she decided to write something she really enjoys. And there’s nothing she loves more than a great romance. Despite her office-bound past she has managed a few interesting moments—including a marriage offer with the promise of a herd of camels to sweeten the contract. She is happily married to her ever-patient husband (who has never owned a dromedary). They live with their two children amongst the tall eucalypts at beautiful Lake Macquarie, on Australia’s east coast. You can e-mail Annie at www.annie-west.com, or write to her at PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

Recent titles by the same author:
PASSION, PURITY AND THE PRINCE
PRINCE OF SCANDAL
Girl in the Bedouin Tent



Annie West




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
With thanks and love to Andrew, who has been an inspiration. What a guy!

CHAPTER ONE
GRAVEL crunched under Amir’s boots as he strode across the starlit compound to the tent provided for him. It had been a tedious evening in poor company. Playing guest to the renegade tribal leader in a neighbouring state was not how Amir chose to spend his time. Especially since he had important personal business to conclude when he returned to his own country.
‘Highness.’ Faruq hurried after him. ‘We need to consult before the negotiations begin.’
‘No.’ Amir shook his head. ‘Get your sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.’ Especially for Faruq. Amir’s aide was city-bred, not used to this wild, remote region, where old ways held sway and diplomacy was rough and ready.
‘But Highness …’ The protest died as Amir gestured to Mustafa’s guards stationed around the tent. Ostensibly for Amir’s protection, but undoubtedly to spy if possible.
Faruq ducked his head, then murmured, ‘There’s also the girl.’
The girl.
Amir’s pace slowed as he recalled the woman Mustafa had given him tonight with such ostentation. Blonde hair that shimmered in the lamplight like fluid silk framing a pale face. Luminous violet eyes that stared boldly back, holding Amir’s gaze in a way few men and no women in this region of traditional values would dare.
The unexpected combination of beauty and defiance had for an instant stalled the air in his lungs.
Until he’d remembered his taste ran to sophisticated women. Not dancing girls, or whores in gaudy make-up presented by their master to pleasure a visiting dignitary.
Amir had his pick of gorgeous women on six continents. He chose his own bed partners.
And yet … something about her had snared his interest. Perhaps the haughty way she’d arched her delicate blonde eyebrows in a look that would have done an empress proud.
Fleetingly that had intrigued.
‘You doubt my capacity to handle her?’
Faruq smothered a chuckle. ‘Of course not, Sire. But there’s something … unusual there.’
Unusual was right. In Monte Carlo, Moscow or Stockholm her colouring wouldn’t warrant a second glance. As for those eyes—that particular shade surely indicated the use of coloured contact lenses. But here, in rough border country inhabited by nomads, brigands and subsistence farmers?
‘Don’t concern yourself, Faruq. I’m sure she and I will come to some … accommodation.’
Amir nodded dismissal and entered the tent. He removed his boots in the small anteroom, his feet sinking into layered carpets.
Would she be on the bed waiting for him, her skirts spread about her? Or perhaps she’d be naked. No doubt she’d offer herself with the finesse of a professional.
Despite his distaste, Amir’s pulse hummed at the memory of a lush, sultry mouth at odds with the fire in her blazing eyes. That mouth promised sensual pleasure enough to interest any man.
Amir thrust aside the heavy curtain.
One step in and he registered the dimmed lamp on the far side of the room.
No sign of the girl.
He checked, senses suddenly alert, his nape prickling. An instant later he threw up a blocking arm as someone leapt at him out of the gloom. Something heavy hit him a glancing blow and he swung round, grabbing his assailant.
He caught at a voluminous cloak that fell as he clutched it. A jingle of clashing coins at her belt warned him of her identity just in time. He pulled back sharply to avoid felling her with a single knockout blow.
Amir caught her arm and twisted it behind her back. His movements were controlled, precise, despite the way she threshed and fought. He’d learned to wrestle with full-grown heavyweights. He couldn’t use those tactics on a woman, even a woman who ambushed him in his own chamber.
Still she fought. She was like a tigress, alternately trying to wrest herself free or disable him with vicious kicks to the groin.
‘Enough!’ His patience was at an end. He reached to grab her free arm. But before he could catch it she twisted, rose and brought her arm down in a desperate slashing motion.
Instinct saved him. Instinct honed by years perfecting a warrior’s skills and others learning less honourable ways to survive. He pivoted and snapped an arm around her wrist, just as a blade pricked the base of his neck.
‘Wild cat!’ He squeezed and the knife clattered to the floor. Without compunction he hooked his foot around her legs and brought her down, slamming into her as she collapsed. She landed heavily on her back, his full weight on her, his legs surrounding hers.
An instant later he’d captured both her slender wrists and pinioned them on the carpet high above her head.
She was spent, so still that for a moment he even wondered if she breathed. Then he felt the tremulous rise of full breasts beneath him and heard a raw, shuddering gasp as she drew in air.
Slowly he raised his hand to his throat. A thin trail of wetness slid down from his collarbone. She’d stabbed him!
Reflexively his hold on her hands tightened and she cried out—a sharp mew of pain, quickly stifled. Immediately he eased his grip.
Jaw set, he reached for the blade on the floor. Her breath hitched and she froze rigid, but he barely noticed as he balanced it in his hand. Small, sharp and beautiful. An antique paring knife. Keen enough to peel fruit, or inflict serious injury on the unwary.
The blade caught the lamplight and she flinched. What? Did she think he’d use it on her?
With a curse he tossed it to the far side of the room.
‘Who sent you to do this? Mustafa?’
It didn’t make sense. His host had no reason to wish him dead. Nor could he think of anyone who’d resort to royal assassination. Yet the trickle of blood across his skin was real.
This was one hell of a way to spice up a distasteful duty visit!
Curiosity and fury vied for dominance as he surveyed those lush, scarlet lips now parted to drag in air. The impossibly violet kohl-rimmed eyes, huge beneath thick purple eyeshadow.
‘Who are you?’ He leaned over her, his face bare inches from hers, but her expression was blank, as if schooled to show no fear no matter the threat.
Cursing, he rose on one arm. The movement pressed his groin harder against her body and part of his brain registered her satisfying softness, an innate invitation he couldn’t quite ignore despite his scorching anger.
He forced his mind into action. This was no time to be distracted.
If she had one knife there might be others. He rolled to one side, careful to keep her thighs pinioned with one of his and her hands imprisoned.
Her breathing shallowed as he surveyed the expanse of bare skin revealed by her belly dancer’s outfit. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly, threatening to pull free of the skimpy bodice. Surely there was no room for a lethal weapon there.
His gaze dropped, skimming her smooth, pale torso, past the dip to her neat waist accentuated by a decorative chain and the flare of her hips. The old-fashioned coin belt sitting low on her hips might be wide enough to conceal something, but her side-slit skirt was too filmy for a hiding place.
Amir lowered his palm to her belly, registering the flinch of her velvet soft skin. He paused. In all his years he’d never touched an unwilling woman. His mouth flattened in distaste. This had to be done—it wasn’t sexual, just self-preservation.
Deftly he slid his hand under her belt.
Instantly she erupted in convulsing movement. Her hips bucked and writhed, her torso twisted, her legs scrabbled fruitlessly for purchase.
‘No! Please, no!’ The words rang hoarsely. Not in any of the local dialects but in a language rarely heard here.
‘You’re English?’
Amir whipped his head round and froze as he saw the expression in those wide violet eyes. Sheer terror.
It was his stillness that finally penetrated Cassie’s panic. That and the fact he’d slipped his large hand free of her clothes and held it, palm outward, as if to placate her.
Her heart thudded high in her throat and clammy sweat beaded her brow as she stared up at him. She couldn’t get her breath, though she gulped in huge, racking breaths.
‘You’re English?’ he said again in that language, and his black eyebrows drew down in a scowl that accentuated the hard, sculpted lines of his face. He looked fierce and frightening and aggressively male.
Would it matter if she was English? Frantically her mind scrabbled to work out if her nationality would make a difference. Was one nationality safer than another in this place where travellers were abducted and imprisoned?
‘American?’ His head tilted to one side and tiny lines of concentration wrinkled his brow.
He didn’t look angry now, but the weight of his solid thigh, the firm grasp that bound her wrists, reminded her she was still at his mercy. He could subdue her with ease.
Her eyes flicked to the scarlet dribble of blood at his throat and she shuddered, fear rising anew. She’d thought to save herself with a pre-emptive attack, knocking him out with the brass pot, but he’d been too quick for her. Too quick, too strong, too dangerous.
‘Please.’ It was a hoarse whisper from a throat tight with dread. ‘Don’t do this.’
Every muscle and tendon in her body tensed as she waited for his response.
His sensual mouth lifted at one corner in a snarl of displeasure and his eyebrows shot up. ‘You want me to release you? After this?’ He gestured to his wound.
Cassie let go a quivering breath. His deep voice with its crisp English and just a hint of an exotic accent had broached her defences. And sharpened the nightmare horror of her situation.
This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t!
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I just.’ Her eyelids fluttered as the world began to dip and swirl about her.
Desperately she clawed back to full consciousness. Fear and fury had kept her strong through the last twenty-four hours. She refused to faint now! Not when she sensed she’d be safe only as long as she kept him talking.
Cassie snapped her eyes open to find he’d bent closer. She saw the slight shadow darkening his strong jaw, a pale scar to the side of his mouth, the way his nostrils flared as if scenting her. The gleam of eyes so dark and so close they looked black and fathomless.
‘Please,’ she choked. ‘Don’t rape me.’
Instantly he reared back, letting cool air rush between them. His eyes widened and his fingers tightened convulsively around her wrists. She bit her tongue rather than cry out her pain.
‘You think …?’ He gestured to her skirts with his free hand and suddenly it was distaste she read in his expression. ‘You really think …?’ He shook his head slowly and said something under his breath in Arabic.
She flinched at the violence in his tone but refused to look away. She was already at his mercy. To appear weak could be a fatal mistake.
His mouth snapped shut, his eyes zeroing in on her face. She felt the intensity of his stare like the burn of ice on bare flesh.
He drew a breath that expanded his chest impressively. Sickly she realised she had no hope if he forced her.
Memories swirled. The metallic tang of terror filled her mouth again as she recalled being pinioned against a door by a man twice her size and three times her age. She’d been only sixteen, but even now she remembered the feel of his meaty hand thrusting inside her shirt, his other hand bruising her thigh, his weight suffocating as he tried to—
‘I would not stoop to such an act. No matter what the provocation.’ The stranger’s voice rang clear with outrage, shattering the past.
Cassie blinked up at a face carved of stone. His jaw clenched as if she’d offered him the worst imaginable insult and he tilted his head, looking down at her as if he’d never seen her like.
‘I prefer my women willing.’
His headscarf had come off in the tussle. Glossy black hair was cut close to his well-shaped head. His eyes flashed and emotion drew the skin tight over an impressive bone structure for which any of the leading men she’d performed with would give their eye teeth.
This man would have no trouble finding willing women.
‘Then let me go.’
Lying half-naked beneath him, she couldn’t trust his word no matter how indignant he looked. She was too aware of his big, hard body, all heavy muscle and bone, imprisoning her. Of his callused hand encircling hers with almost casual dominance. Of the intrinsically male scent of his skin in her nostrils.
‘When I’m sure you’re not hiding another weapon.’
Cassie’s eyes bulged. That was what he’d been doing? Looking for concealed weapons? If she’d had something other than that little knife they’d left beside the fruit platter she’d have used it as soon as he walked through the door. When she’d felt his hand thrusting down into her skirt she’d been sure—
She choked as a bubble of desperate mirth rose from tight lungs. She tried to force it away but the idea was ludicrous. As if there was space in her skimpy clothes to hide anything! Her vision blurred as she gasped for breath over the ragged, sickening laughter she couldn’t stifle.
‘Stop it! Now!’ Firm hands shook her shoulders.
The off-key laughter died abruptly.
He sat on his heels, his eyes fixed on her. This close they looked like black velvet. His skin was golden, his brows dark as sin. A hard angular jaw and strong nose gave him an air of purpose.
His big hands clasped her shoulders, a reminder of his latent strength. A wisp of something shimmered in the air between them for a second. Something new. Her dazed brain tried to grab at it but it vanished as he withdrew his hands and she drew another breath, less ragged this time.
Her wrists throbbed as blood surged through them again. Slowly, each movement painful, she dragged her hands down to cradle them at her chest.
He’d let her go! She could scarcely believe it.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, swallowing hard.
Yet, free of his hold, exhaustion engulfed her as the manic surge of adrenalin ebbed.
Twenty-four hours living on the edge of terror had sapped her reserves of strength. It took a few moments to gather herself and find the energy to stir.
Conscious of his gaze assessing every movement, of his tense body still far too close, she rolled to her side and braced her hands against the carpet, ready to get up. Each action took so much energy, and she still felt winded from the impact of what surely must be six feet three of powerfully muscled man tumbling her to the floor.
‘What’s that?’ His voice was sharp. Cassie looked over her shoulder, eyes wide.
‘What?’
‘On your back.’ He gestured towards her bare back but thankfully didn’t touch. ‘Down low, just above your skirt, and there, on your thigh.’
Cassie’s lips compressed as she pushed herself to her knees. ‘Bruises, I expect. The guard likes to exert his authority.’ Her lips twisted as she remembered the sadistic glitter in the big man’s eyes as he’d laid into her. She’d made the error of defying him. How soon would she have to return to face his tender mercies?
Another burst of Arabic sounded and she swung her head around.
The expression in those dark eyes was ugly. Instinctively she raised clenched hands in defensive fists. ‘Don’t look at me like that!’ If anything, he scowled more ferociously. Finally he breathed deep, as if searching for calm. ‘You have nothing to fear from me.’
It took a moment to realise his gaze had moved to the chain circling her waist and the longer, heavier one connected to it. The one that tethered her to the wide bed on one side of the room.
Cassie had spent fruitless hours trying desperately to prise one of the links open. But nothing had worked, not even the knife. Her fingers were raw and her nails torn from the attempt.
Heat surged into her cheeks as she followed his stare. The symbolism of that chain, securing her like a slave to the bed, was too blatant to be missed.
She was here for his pleasure, to service his needs. As she watched expressions flit across his stark features, Cassie was sure she spied fleeting masculine speculation there.
Defiance flared in her belly.
Cassie knew the brutal power imbalance between a man and a woman kept solely for his amusement. Even if her own society dressed it up as something a little less blatant, it was a role she’d vowed long ago to avoid. Given her background, the thought of being any man’s sexual plaything made her break out in a sweat.
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 bowl. 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 juice. 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?’
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.
‘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.
A whoosh of air was expelled from her lungs as he dropped her onto the bed. Cassie barely touched the mattress before she was scrabbling to escape, but he sat beside her, his hip hard against her own, his hold firm as he captured her flailing hands in one of his.
‘Enough!’ The single word broke through her panicked struggles. ‘Enough. You are quite safe.’
Safe? Cassie stared up at a broad, muscled torso dusted with dark hair, to a dangerously angled jaw accentuated by the shadow of stubble. Her heart gave a single lurch. Of fear or something else?
‘You can’t sleep on the floor. You will sleep here, with me, and you will give the impression, when the servants arrive in the morning, that you are well content. Is that understood?’
Eyes like glittering black jade met hers. ‘Cassie? Do you understand? It must appear we spent the night as lovers. For your own safety. Unless you wish to be taken away.’
Cassie swallowed, the movement like scratching sandpaper in her throat. Through the manic pounding of her heart the only sound was her ragged breathing. Fury, she assured herself.
He leaned a fraction closer and the scent of sandalwood tickled her nostrils. ‘All right?’
‘You give me no choice!’ She had no doubt he’d bring her back if she shifted from the bed.
‘I’m glad you understand.’ Amir moved then, bending away from her and reaching out to something beside the bed.
Cassie froze, wary and at the same time mesmerised by the shift and bunch of muscles in his torso. She’d never realised how imposing a naked male could be up close.
‘Here.’ He closed her fingers around something cold. ‘My gift to you.’ He straightened.
Frowning, Cassie turned from him to look at the heavy object in her hand.
‘Hold it like this.’ His hand closed around hers and he drew from the scabbard a lethal-looking blade that gleamed wickedly in the lamplight.
‘You’re kidding!’ Cassie’s breath sucked in on a hiss of disbelief.
‘Keep it with you till I return you to safety. It’s far more effective than the paring knife you dropped.’
Stunned, she looked at his smiling mouth, then up to grim eyes that belied his light-hearted tone.
Suddenly she believed. She trusted.
‘Sleep with it, Cassie. And if anything frightens you in the night, remember you have this.’ On the words he lifted her hand and pressed the tip of the dagger against his chest.
His hand fell away and still the deadly blade rested on his bare, bronzed skin.
Holding the heavy knife took all her strength. Yet within, something surged as she watched him watching her from beneath hooded lids. As she saw the blade glint with every slow rise and fall of Amir’s chest.
Her heart squeezed. He gave her not just words, but the power that had been taken from her. The power to protect her self.
The knife wobbled dangerously in her fist and he closed a gentle hand around hers, lowering it to the cool cotton sheet near her shoulder.
‘Rest now. No one will harm you.’ He released her, his hand hovering a moment as if to stroke her cheek. Then his hand dropped.
His lips thinned and abruptly he stood, towering above her, his wide square shoulders and tapering waist perfect male symmetry outlined by the single lamp.
Before she could respond he pulled the coverlet over her, and she couldn’t help but tense. He stood a moment watching her, then with an abrupt movement bent to tuck in the bedding. A moment later he was striding to his side of the bed.
Cassie’s eyes followed him. She took in the power of his lean torso and the powerful buttocks and thighs encased in pale drawstring pants that rode low on his hips. She’d never known a man to look so elemental. So … male.
Heart in mouth, she watched him lift the coverlet on the far side of the bed and slip beneath it. Without a word he turned away from her.
How long she lay there, staring at the golden expanse of his back, Cassie didn’t know.
Eventually, despite her determination to remain watchful, her eyelids flickered and her fingers loosened their hold on Amir’s knife.
As exhaustion finally claimed her she was aware of a growing sense of peace.
She was almost asleep when her drowsy brain registered why it was she felt so safe. Not because of his words. Nor the concern she’d read in his eyes. Nor the blade he’d given her to defend herself, even against him.
It was the cursory, almost unthinking comfort of that one final action.
How many years had it been since anyone had tucked her into bed for the night? Had showed her such tenderness?
Her heart clutched at the memory, then warmth filled her as she slipped into a dreamless sleep.
She was totally oblivious to the man who turned in the bed and propped himself up to watch her through the night, his brows drawn together in a frown.

CHAPTER FOUR
THE moon rose as Amir rode with Mustafa and his followers through the winding gully back to the encampment.
They’d been out since dawn, occupied by a full day of hawking and riding events designed to entertain and display the prowess of the tough mountain men who gave Mustafa their allegiance. A day designed to exhaust anyone not born to the gritty life of a fighter.
It had been a ploy to give Mustafa the upper hand in the negotiations to come.
He’d miscalculated.
Mustafa knew, of course, about the scandals that had dogged Amir. Who his parents were, his early years of luxury in foreign lands where men weren’t men but had grown soft and lazy. Unpromising beginnings for a prince in a land where uncompromising grit and honour were prized.
But his host, like so many before him, hadn’t done his homework thoroughly. He’d assumed that old story summed up the Sheikh of Tarakhar.
He hadn’t bothered to discover that although Amir’s past had shaped him into the man he was today it had made him tougher, stronger, more determined, more focused than any of the so-called warriors surrounding them.
It was Mustafa who sat swaying in his seat, surreptitiously wiping his forehead and growing ill-tempered while Amir rode easily, shoulders straight and mind keen. He could have ridden through the night, still alert and more than capable of dealing with an overblown bully like Mustafa.
He had little respect for the man as anything more than a power broker in an unstable territory. After last night’s revelations it had taken all Amir’s control not to reveal his fury. The time for that would come. Though Mustafa had received a taste today of the cool hauteur that was a royal sheikh’s prerogative.
An image of huge violet eyes flashed into Amir’s head.
She’d been asleep when he left. Dead to the world and looking far too pale. In the dawn light, her face free of make-up, she’d looked young and lovely. Even, if that could be believed, innocent.
Till Amir noticed the way her fingers curled around the hilt of her dagger even in sleep.
Emotion surged through him. Something fierce that rippled like a predator on the hunt. Something that craved blood for what had been done to her.
Yet there was also a disturbing sense of frustration. Of helplessness. Feelings he hadn’t experienced since boyhood. For, though he wished it otherwise, he couldn’t save Cassie Denison yet from the terror that haunted her.
He had obligations to fulfil here. To move precipitately would risk the peace talks and her safety.
Amir’s hands tightened on the reins and his horse broke into a canter. Mustafa slowly followed suit, lumbering along like a sack of potatoes instead of the valiant leader of men he styled himself.
Effervescence fizzed in Amir’s blood as they rounded a mountain spur and the camp came into view. Soon he’d be able to rid himself, for a while at least, of this unpalatable company.
He assured himself it wasn’t eagerness he felt at the prospect of seeing Cassandra.
How many hours had he lain awake watching her? Sifting her words for truth? Letting his gaze trail over skin that he knew was soft as rose petals, hair like rays of sunlight, a delicate jaw that also spoke of obstinacy, and the most passionate mouth he’d ever seen?
Amir stopped his thoughts in an instant, recognising them as weakness.
He did not cultivate weakness. From the age of eleven he’d had to be better, stronger, tougher than his peers. It hadn’t been good enough to succeed—he’d had to excel. That had required absolute commitment and focus.
The women in his life, pleasing through they were, fulfilled a very specific role. He couldn’t remember ever being kept awake by the need simply to watch one sleep.
He’d opened his mouth to suggest to Mustafa that they commence discussions after dinner when a shout rent the air. There was a flurry of movement. Figures converged in the direction of his guest quarters, set away from the rest of the camp.
Instantly Amir was galloping out of the darkness towards the compound, his sixth sense urging speed.
Streaking ahead of the rest of the party, he thundered down, drawing his horse to an impossible shuddering stop metres from his tent, where cloaked figures surged and writhed.
‘Enough!’ The command cut the night air, clearing the space before him. Startled faces peered up and were quickly averted as the men of the camp bowed their way backwards.
Yet the tussle before him continued. Two figures, unevenly matched, grappled right up against his tent. The smaller one fought like a demon, aiming vicious kicks and cleverly leveraging the other’s vast weight against him in a sudden move that almost felled the bigger man. But the hulking guard saved himself at the last moment. There was a gasp of pain and a hoarse chuckle as the smaller of the figures bowed back as if stretched taut.
‘Release her. Now!’ Amir was off the horse and striding forward as the larger of the pair raised a whip in one beefy arm. Fury boiled in Amir’s veins. He came in hard, bringing the big guard down with a sharp punch to the jaw and another to the solar plexus.
Quick. Contained. Lethally effective. Though Amir retained enough control to do no more than stop the aggressor in his tracks. It was more difficult than he’d expected to stifle the urge for violent retaliation. The need to avenge Cassie was a roaring tide in his blood.
The man was easily recognisable as the one who’d led Cassie into the feasting tent last night. The gaoler she’d flinched from. The man who’d left his mark on her skin.
Anger scythed through Amir’s belly.
He gathered Cassie to him. Despite the enveloping cloak it could be no other. Her size and proximity to his tent made it inevitable. Who else would have the temerity to keep fighting so desperately against the biggest, most brutal guard in Mustafa’s retinue?
As he drew her in, close within the curve of his arm, every sense confirmed her identity.
How could a woman he barely knew feel so familiar? It wasn’t merely that she fitted perfectly, tucked under his chin, her arms snaking around his waist as if for support. It was something indefinable that stirred unaccustomed sensations.
A need to protect. A desire to comfort.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was a hoarse gasp that tore at his control. He felt the heat of her heavy breathing through the fine cotton of his clothes and pulled her in tighter.
Nevertheless she stood stiffly, as if poised to repel further attack, every straining muscle tense.
This woman was brave to the point of being foolhardy.
‘What possessed you to leave the tent?’ She knew there were guards. That she’d be stopped if they saw her.
‘It was so late I thought you weren’t coming back.’

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