Hidden In the Sheikh's Harem (3 page)

Oh, but he was getting under her skin! She stared him down for another few minutes and then gave up. This wasn't a contest, even though he seemed determined to turn it into one. ‘Nevertheless...' she began, pausing when his hands clenched in his lap yet again. She made a mental note to check his bindings before she left. The last thing she needed was to return him damaged. It would only fare worse for her father. ‘You are not going to die on my watch.'

‘And there I was thinking that our plans weren't in alignment.' He smiled and Farah felt an unfamiliar jolt of heat deep in her belly. His teeth gleamed whitely against his dark stubble and she scowled to cover her unexpected reaction. The man was dangerous; his cavalier attitude in the face of his imprisonment was proof enough of that even before one took in the breadth of those shoulders.

Determined not to be intimidated, Farah crouched down in front of the high and mighty Prince of Bakaan. She watched as he blatantly worked his gaze over her from head to toe and for a moment she couldn't move; a horrible urge to arch her spine and thrust her breasts out for his inspection making her nipples pull tight.

Rocked to her core by the inclination she noticed his eyelids had lowered to half-mast making her feel both hot and cold all over, her sense of danger heightened like never before.

The silence between them lengthened and Farah became aware that her breathing was shallow and that her clothing felt rough against her skin. She couldn't seem to drag her eyes away from his perfectly proportioned mouth and, as if he sensed her inner turmoil, one corner of it tilted knowingly. More annoyed than ever, she shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, slowly raised the bowl between them and offered it to him.

He didn't look at the food. Instead his golden eyes held hers in such a way that made her discomfort levels hit an all-time high. ‘If you're so interested in getting me to eat, then you feed me, my feral little cat.'

Feral little cat?
The shock of those soft words had Farah rocking back on her heels as feminine pride kicked in. She might not look her best but she was hardly feral! And as for feeding him... She felt steam rising out of her ears. Even tied up and at her mercy he assumed the superior position. ‘I have no intention of feeding you,' she snapped.

He gave a soft, deep chuckle that took up residence in the pit of her stomach. ‘Well, there goes that fantasy.'

Farah's mouth tightened at the taunt. He'd already made it clear he thought she was lacking in the female department so his comments could only be to try and throw her off. Though to what end, other than to rile her, she didn't know.

It was obvious he didn't believe she would take him up on his challenge to feed him—and normally she wouldn't even think of doing so, but there was something about this insolent prince that rubbed her up the wrong way. Plus, she'd dealt with dusty, stubborn camels her whole life so one dirty, scruffy male would be no different. Involuntarily her eyes dropped to his body. It was difficult to see the full extent of his physique in his current position but there was no doubt he emanated a masculine power she hadn't come across before. Or had never noticed.

She glanced at his hands and the rope around his waist that kept him tethered to the post. The sense of menace and danger that cloaked him made her think twice about her next actions while the wicked glint in his eyes goaded her on. But it wasn't as if he could actually do anything to her, tied as he was.

A shiver went through her anyway and she lifted her chin. ‘If I feed you, will you eat?'

One dark eyebrow lifted lazily and dense ebony lashes lowered slowly to shield his eyes. ‘You'll need to get closer to find out.'

Farah ignored the sudden leap of her pulse at his words. Better just to get this over and done with and she'd have one thing accomplished. And wasn't it true that a man with a full stomach had a better disposition than one with an empty one? Maybe then he'd be more amenable to seeing reason.

Besides, she had something to prove. This was nothing more than a classic power play and she would not let him see that he intimidated her. Not that he did, exactly; it was just that any animal handler knew that you approached an unknown beast with caution. Particularly a large, predatory one.

Deciding that, like cleaning the privy, thinking about the deed was worse than actually doing it, Farah clenched her jaw and dug the tips of her fingers into the fragrant meat dish. She had to shuffle even closer to him and his male scent rose to mingle with the food. Logically he should have smelt like a pair of damp old socks. He didn't. He smelt of man and sweat and heat.

Heat?

What did heat even smell like?

That was about as relevant to her current objective as the shape of his mouth. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she scooped out a portion of meat and rice, careful to keep the bowl close to catch any drips, and leaned forward onto the balls of her feet before raising her fingers to his mouth.

In this position she was almost straddling him and she flushed hotly as unexpected images of the two of them naked and entwined came into her head. A year ago she'd seen a sexy magazine spread of a man and a woman pretending to make love. She'd felt a momentary jolt of curiosity at seeing them but it was nothing compared to the jolt she was feeling now. She'd always viewed sex as a means of procreation, not pleasure. So why had her mind transplanted the skimpily clad models in the magazine with the two of them? It was so clear she could almost picture the prince's powerful body lying beneath her own; she could almost see herself sitting astride him; could almost feel the press of his ribs against her inner thighs. She squeezed them together unconsciously and heat bloomed there, catching her off guard.

The walls of the tent seemed to draw in around her as she fought to contain her body's visceral reaction to her thoughts and she frowned as the prince's firm lips remained resolutely closed. Exasperated, she lifted her eyes to his, the angry tirade she was about to unleash on him dying on her tongue as he chose that moment to lean forward and draw the rice and meat—and her fingers—inside his warm mouth.

As soon as her fingers slipped inside his lips, his tongue curled around them to claim the food. She felt its warm, thick moistness and shuddered at the rush of liquid heat between her legs and the tingling sensation that caused her nipples to tighten. She'd never experienced anything like this and she couldn't tear her eyes from his.

Dimly aware that she was all but panting, she was completely mesmerised by the way he licked and sucked on her fingers, some deep part of her consciousness trying to tell her that her fingers were now well and truly clean. Still she allowed him to linger, another part of her consciousness urging her to replace her fingers with her mouth. It was so overpowering it was all she could do not to lean in and...

Realising she was about to topple into him, she felt a fire rise up to consume her face and jerked back. Before she could remove her fingers, however, he gripped her wrist and stroked his tongue in between the webbing.

‘I think I missed a bit,' he murmured in a rough voice that worked like a sanding tool over her sensitive skin. His tongue flicked back and forth, back and forth, in a purely sensual exploration, before gently biting down on her sensitive palm.

A small whimper escaped her lips and her fingers curled against his beard-roughened face, her body swaying toward his. Almost absently she was aware that a warning voice had started clanging inside her brain but his hand was pressing hers closer. His hand that was...that was...

By Allah! Farah's eyes flew to his as it finally registered that his hands were free, only to find him staring into hers with a knowing gleam. Immediately she tried to wrench herself free and the small metal bowl hit the dirt as she valiantly pushed against him. Unfortunately he was on her quicker than lightning could fork into the ground and she was on her back before she had time to blink.

Slightly winded from the way he tossed her onto the ground, Farah twisted away from him to scream, but the back of her head hit the dirt as his large hand clamped over her mouth. ‘Oh, no, you don't. There will be no calling the cavalry just yet, sweetheart.'

Farah squirmed beneath the weight of his upper body and knew it was futile to push against him. He was too strong. And it wasn't just from lean, hard-packed muscle either. One look into his furious face and she could see that he'd leashed his rage so successfully she hadn't realised how deep it ran. Although she
should
have, and perhaps she
would
have, if she hadn't been stupidly distracted by his masculinity and her own rioting hormones.

Knowing she could never throw him from this angle, she tried desperately to get her hands beneath her tunic to her hidden dagger that had saved her skin a few times in the past. Admittedly those times had been from snakes and scorpions, but hadn't she already noted that this man was just as dangerous as any predator? Having learnt how to use a dagger and to fight with a sword when she was younger, Farah knew just where to threaten him with it so that he'd let her go. But it was as if he could read her mind because he caught her wandering hand in his and brought it over her head.

Frantic at the ease with which he contained her, she desperately curled her fingers towards his skin in the hope of causing some damage but he pressed the hand against her mouth more firmly and brought her eyes to his.

‘Scratch me, little cat, and I'll scratch you back,' he growled close to her ear.

Farah paused at the menace in those words but then she realised that he would have to let her go to scratch her so she didn't care. She kicked out, catching his shin with the solid point of one boot, and scratched at his wrists at the same time.

‘Damn it to hell!' He cursed softly and stretched her arms high to breaking point, pinning her legs down with one of his. Farah moaned behind his hand. She was struggling to draw oxygen into her lungs and was thankful when he adjusted his palm a little to ease her growing dizziness.

‘Follow my instructions and I won't hurt you,' he promised.

Ha! As if she believed that. His family had been hurting the people of Bakaan for centuries and tyranny ran in his veins as surely as the blood she'd just drawn on his wrist.

The weight of him felt like an anvil slowly crushing her chest and Farah was just wondering how she could lever her legs to help dislodge him when she felt him go still above her.

‘Damn it, keep still.'

His rough tone compelled her to stop fighting him and she was completely unprepared when he flipped her onto her stomach. Before she could pull in another breath, he had her hands wrapped in the same rope that should still have bound his own.

Sand coated her eyelashes and filled her nose and she tried to turn her head before she suffocated. It was then that she felt his hand smoothing over her bottom and fear turned her as cold as stone. Surely he wasn't going to...going to...?

‘Easy, little spitfire.' He brought his hand up to the side of her face and she felt the cool blade of her dagger flat against her cheek. ‘Quite a nice little piece. I could have used this a couple of days ago,' he said mockingly. ‘Do you even know how to use it?'

Trust him to think that she wouldn't be able to handle a knife. Her eyes flashed with annoyance but she wasn't going to tell him anything. Not that she could with his hand pressed against her mouth. But she could still make sounds, she realised, and although she couldn't hear anyone walking outside she knew there was a guard nearby. If he heard something, he'd come running.

Squirming beneath him, she tugged against the rope and screamed behind his hand.

Immediately his thumb and forefinger pinched her nose and her ears popped as she tried to force the sound out of her lungs. She thrashed her head from side to side even though she knew it was futile.

‘This is how it's going to go,' he murmured when she finally exhausted herself. ‘I'm going to take my hand away from your mouth and you're going to stay quiet.'

Farah listened but she knew there was no way she was going to follow his orders.

‘If you don't, you'll surely bring the guard in from outside and I'll be forced to kill him with
your
dagger.'

Fear kept her immobile. It was one thing to risk her own life but she'd never risk another person's.

Roughly he pulled her to her feet. ‘Nod if you're going to comply.'

CHAPTER FOUR

F
OR
 
A
 
MOMENT
 
Zach thought he was going to have to knock her out cold and he didn't want to do that. In order to get out of the camp, he needed her to lead him to the horses without drawing too much attention to them.

Fortunately she had no idea how important she was to his escape and she nodded curtly. Slowly Zach drew his hand back and she immediately pressed her lips together as if he'd hurt them. Probably he had. She'd fought like a little wild thing and he was surprised at how strong she was. He was surprised at how slender and soft she had felt beneath him as well, and at how beautiful her face was—oh, not classically, like the faces of many of the women he'd dated, but there was something about the slant of her cheekbones and those bottomless brown eyes that made him want to sink into them. Her smooth skin and sexy-as-sin mouth didn't hurt, either.

With her
keffiyeh
having come off during their struggle, he ran his eyes over her heart-shaped face and down the long dark plait that rested just above small jutting breasts. She was dishevelled and in need of a bath, her proud little chin tilted upwards as if she wanted to tell him to go to hell, but still he wanted to hear her make that soft little hitch in her voice she'd made when he'd sucked on her fingers.

Hell of a time to get a hard-on, oh mighty pride of the desert.

He looked her over. ‘Do you have any other weapons, my little Zenobia?' he asked dulcetly, unwinding the rope from her slender wrists.

She rubbed at them and, even though it was nearly completely dark inside the tent, he could still read her fury and the desire to best him in her eyes. ‘As if I'd tell you that.'

‘If you don't, I'll be forced to search you.'

‘No!' The sharp little word sprang from her lips like an Olympian off the starter's block. ‘I don't.'

Zach nearly laughed at the desperation behind her words and wondered if she was afraid of him or afraid of the unexpected chemistry that had ignited between them.

Chemistry he needed to ignore.

‘Come.'

Her chin shot up again and she tossed her head like a mare that was being pulled too hard at the bit. ‘I'm not going anywhere with you.'

Zach smiled grimly. ‘You are. You're about to walk me out of here and take me to the horses. If anyone stops us, you will tell them that you are taking me to your father. You'll then lead me by this rope that will look like it is binding my hands until we get there.'

He could almost hear her thoughts running wild, trying to take an alternate route. He yanked her against him and ignored her shocked gasp and the way his palm fit snuggly around the curve of her bottom. He had a moment of questioning his decision, of second-guessing his plan, but he really had no other option. And he'd let her go as soon as they got to the horses. In the meantime, she needed to know that he wasn't about to cop any attitude from her. ‘Sound the alarm and I'll kill anyone who stops us.'

The desert was already freezing and he could hear the rising wind beating at the sides of the tent and making a hell of a racket. He had no idea how far Mohamed Hajjar's camp lay from civilisation but he knew it was going to be a long night.

Bending down, he retrieved a length of rope and coiled it around his wrists. He knew an observant guard would notice that his ankles were no longer bound but he was hoping the closing darkness would prevent anyone from noticing that before they got to the horses. Of course, he'd much prefer a high-powered vehicle to climb into, but in the three days he'd been held hostage he hadn't once heard the sound of an engine.

Zach positioned Farah just to the side so he could observe her expression. ‘Okay, my little warrior queen, let's go.'

‘I'm not your anything.' She kept her face averted but he saw the betraying tremble of her lower lip. For all her attitude, she was afraid of him. Not something he was going to allay even though he had never hurt a woman in his life. Of course, he'd never had cause to before now. Women loved him and he loved them—a much more desirable arrangement than this one.

‘Move.' He positioned himself slightly in front of her but, rather than her grabbing his hands, he grabbed hers, laying the small dagger against her inner arm so that she knew who was in charge. ‘And don't rush it.'

When she lifted the tent flap he blew out a relieved breath that her boyfriend didn't appear to be in the vicinity.

The nearby guard was, though, and he immediately came to attention when he saw them. He asked Farah if everything was okay and when she hesitated Zach pressed the tip of her sharp dagger against her wrist.

‘Fine,' she said through clenched teeth.

‘We'll have to brush up on your acting skills but good enough for now,' Zach whispered against her ear and got another whiff of camel. He grimaced and wondered whether she'd been rolling around with them.

‘You can't get away. There's a storm brewing.'

Zach had already clocked the incoming storm and his eyes scanned the camp. Many of the men were still filling their stomachs around the campfire and the remaining ones were busy securing the tents against the rising wind. ‘I know. Perfect cover.'

She stopped and he nearly ran into her. ‘I won't do it,' she hissed out of the side of her mouth.

‘Your father will mourn your death, no doubt.'

‘You won't kill me.'

Zach crowded her from behind. ‘It would be a mistake to underestimate what I would or would not do right now. Have you forgotten who my father was?'

‘Pig.' The word was spat towards the sand.

Exactly
. Zach urged her forward. ‘I'm glad we understand each other. Now, walk and none of your men will die. Hopefully.'

* * *

Farah brushed at the strands of her hair that had come loose from her struggles with the prince and which now blew uncontrollably around her face. She was so angry with herself for being duped, she could spit. No doubt this would reinforce for her father that women were best left to domestic chores and had no place getting involved in the business of men. Right now she had to agree because it was her own stupidity that had got her into this mess. As if reading her mind, the hateful prince leaned in close again, his warm breath stirring the loose strands of hair at her temple. ‘Don't feel bad about aiding my escape. If it had been anyone else, I would have been forced to kill him.'

That thought gave her little comfort. She had made a mistake and didn't know how to fix things. And she always knew how to fix things. It was her calling card. Everyone in the village came to her when there was trouble. And now she'd caused the trouble—or at least exacerbated it before a solution could be found.

Focusing on the biting cold wind against her face, she willed one of the men around her to notice that something was amiss. Other than a cursory glance, they didn't question her. They trusted her. Trusted her, and she was about to let them down. A well of emotion rose up in her throat and self-pitying tears filled her eyes.

‘Stop here.'

The prince's words were low and with a start Farah realised they had already reached the horses. As if sensing her presence, her big stallion trotted over.

‘By Allah, he's a monster,' the prince murmured appreciatively.

One of the men had put him in a halter and blanket to ward off the cold and as soon as he reached them he stretched his nose out to her, as if seeking a treat.

‘Yours?'

She knew from the tone of his voice that he was going to steal him and she shoved at Moonbeam's muzzle to try and push him away.

At the same time a cry went up from across the camp. It was Amir calling her name; the prince tensed. Relief flooded Farah and she pushed harder at Moonbeam to get him to go. Typically male, he didn't listen so she yelled at him.

More shouts rung out around them and Farah could hear the heavy sound of feet pounding the sand as her father's men rallied. Giving up all pretence that he was still captured, the prince shoved her through the gate, her scream lost on the driving wind. Then suddenly hard hands spanned her waist and her eyes snapped back to the prince's. She saw a moment of indecision cross his face, then she was being lifted, and she instinctively raised her leg to swing it over Moonbeam's neck before she thought better of it.

Seconds later the prince vaulted on behind her and kicked her stallion into action. Being herd animals, the remaining horses fretted and the prince used this to his advantage, wheeling around behind them and forcing them out of the gate.

Before she knew it they were in full flight and all Farah could do was grab Moonbeam's mane as the prince reached around her for the halter and raced them straight into the dark heart of the incoming storm.

Hours later, wet, filthy and exhausted, the prince stopped the now plodding horse. Farah would have slipped from Moonbeam's back if the man behind her hadn't tightened his arm around her waist, the steel-like muscles bunching beneath her breasts as they had so often done over the past few hours.

Some time ago, when the storm had hit hard, he had stopped and pulled off his shirt to tie around Moonbeam's eyes and nose to shield him from the worst of the swirling dust. He'd then cut the bottom of her tunic to make two coverings to keep as much of the sand off their faces, as well.

Feeling wretched, with sand coating every part of her cold, wet body, Farah could have cried with relief when she glanced up to see a rocky incline in front of them.

Jumping down from the stallion's back, the prince reached up and tugged her off, unceremoniously dragging her and her horse under the shelter. It wasn't much, just a narrow crevice really, but it was facing away from the wind. When he released her arm, she swayed and he held her while her legs worked to keep her upright.

Carefully she unwrapped her makeshift headdress and shook it out. She tried to brush some of the sand from her body but she was so wet it only made her cold fingers sting. Instead, she used the torn fabric to brush over Moonbeam's legs to offer him some relief. She could hear the prince shaking out fabric and presumed he had taken his shirt from around the stallion's head. She knew his skin must be sore from where he'd been pelted by the storm.

‘Thank you,' she said stiffly.

‘For what?' His deep voice sounded beside her and she jumped because she hadn't heard him move and couldn't see a thing in the blackness.

‘For protecting my horse.'

‘If he had died, so would we,' he bit out.

Okay, so that cleared up any notions she'd had about him being thoughtful. About to move as far away from him as possible she let out a shriek when he put his hands on her shoulders and worked them down to her waist.

Incensed at the invasion of her person, Farah slapped his hands away. ‘I told you I don't have any more weapons.'

‘Where's your mobile phone?'

Feeling small and helpless compared to his size and strength, she shoved at his wide chest, thankful that it was now covered in fabric. ‘Why would I have a mobile phone when our village doesn't have coverage?'

He cursed and moved away from her. Farah let out a pent-up breath and gave a hollow laugh, her arms coming around her body to ward off the chill. ‘Swearing won't help, and you only have yourself to blame, because your father refused to spend money on anyone but himself.'

He ignored the jab and once again she heard the rustle of fabric.

‘What are you doing?' she demanded as he pulled Moonbeam's blanket off.

‘We need this more than he does.'

‘You can't just take it off. He'll freeze.'

‘He will not freeze. He has a thick coat of hair and he's mostly dry. We are not.'

As if on cue, another huge shiver wracked her body and she rubbed her arms. The wind howled outside their rocky respite but at least it didn't cut right through her any more. Too tired to argue, she dropped to her knees on the hard ground.

‘You're too close to the opening there. Come here.'

How he knew her location was beyond her. ‘I'm fine.'

‘That wasn't a request,' he growled so close to her she jumped again.

‘I'm too tired to argue with you' she snapped. ‘Just let me be.'

‘The way your father let me be?'

Farah closed her eyes. She didn't want to think about why they were in this predicament because she knew her father had been wrong to do what he'd done, even if he did think his reasoning was solid. ‘Did I not just say I was too tired to—hey! Put me down!'

‘I too am tired, I'm also hungry and angry, so I would advise you not to test the limits of my patience because that ran out three days ago when your father refused to release me. He hasn't had the courage to face me since.'

‘My father is not a coward!'

‘No?' He placed her on the ground more gently than she expected, given the roughness of his hold. ‘So you condone his actions? Or perhaps you assisted him.' When he sat beside her Farah automatically scooted sideways to get away from him but he grabbed her arm and yanked her back. Then he anchored her with his forearm and pulled her backwards until she was lying on her side with him plastered along her back, his knees pressing into the backs of hers.

‘I'm not sleeping with you!'

He tugged the horse blanket over the top of them. ‘No, you're not. You're sleeping
next
to me. There's a big difference,
habiba
,
and believe me you would not be invited to do the former.'

Farah felt her blood boil at his arrogance.

‘But there is only one blanket,' he continued, shifting her even closer. ‘And, given that you can't stop shaking, we need to share body heat to warm up. Relax and this will go a lot easier.'