Heir to Danger

by Valerie Parv

  “If you’re this worried about what he might do, why insist on staying here alone?”

  She looked away. “Haven’t you ever wanted to prove something to yourself?”

  He pressed one finger under her chin, making her look at him. “You got yourself out of a bad situation that could only have gotten worse. What else do you need to prove?”

  “That I’m not a total coward.”

  Her husky voice purred through him, warm as molasses. With her hands trapped in his and less than a heatbeat of space between them, his breathing caught. Under different circumstances, he’d have accepted the invitation of her parted lips without hesitation.

  Feeling another tremor ripple through her strengthened his resistance, for now anyway. A man could resist temptation only so long. He looked pointedly at the rifle. “You’re not a coward. In another second you’d have put a bullet in me.”

  She tossed her head, spilling a river of raven strands over his fingers. “Anyone can be brave with a gun in their hands. Forcing my father to listen to my concerns about Jamal would have shown greater courage.”

  “Without proof, you’d only have gotten yourself locked up in the palace for the rest of your life.” His tone rejected the waste.

  “It might not have been forever.”

  “The other night you said the king meant to lock you away until you agreed to his marriage plans for you. Parole hardly sounds likely.”

  Her sigh whispered between them. “No, it doesn’t. But this isn’t freedom, either.”

  Her bleak tone made Tom remember a time, many years ago, when he’d felt as if his life was over, too. With his mother dead and his father in prison for her murder, he hadn’t been able to imagine drawing a whole breath again. The muscles used for smiling and laughing had frozen forever, or so he’d believed.

  He suspected Shara was staring into a similar abyss now.

  Without thinking, he bent his head and brushed his lips over hers. The kiss was meant as reassurance, to tell her she wasn’t alone and that somebody cared. The somebody being him.

  She steadied herself by placing her hands on his waist, accepting the touch of his mouth without returning the pressure.

  As a result, the kiss was chaste, brotherly and completely one-sided. But the contact sent liquid fire searing along his veins. He made an effort to even his breathing, and took a step back. Her hands dropped away but she didn’t move. “We have to get you out of here,” he said, annoyed with himself for delaying. The arousal he felt told him the time hadn’t been wasted, but that was beside the point.

  She ran her tongue over her lips as if tasting him, oblivious to the effect the small gesture had on him. “I can’t keep running away.”

  “From the air, Judy spotted one of Horvath’s cars heading this way. It’s likely to arrive any minute.”

  Her face paled. “Was Jamal in the vehicle?”

  “No way to tell, so let’s assume the answer is yes.”

  She crossed her arms. “I’m not running from him.”

  “Oh, yes you are. I’m not risking him bundling you into a private plane and taking you back to Q’aresh against your will.” The prospect shook her, he saw, as well it should. From her description of Jamal, the man was capable of abduction—or worse.

  Still, her head came up. “You can’t force me to do as you say.”

  He got a glimpse of the royal princess in her determined stance and outthrust chin. She was magnificent. He could imagine her in a palace, giving orders to a bevy of servants. He slanted her a smile that his foster sister would have read as a warning and been off before he could blink. Not having Judy’s understanding of him, Shara foolishly stood her ground.

  Not for long.

  “Put me down, you peasant,” she yelled, drumming her fists against his back as he tossed her over his shoulder. “You’re hurting my injured leg.”

  Hit right in the conscience, he almost complied until he remembered that she hadn’t so much as limped since he arrived. “Nice try,” he said.

  “I’ll have you thrown in jail, publicly flogged, maybe both.”

  Having her small, nicely rounded rear pressing against his cheek was punishment enough, since he couldn’t do anything about it. Except enjoy it, a not unreasonable benefit, considering he was trying to save her life. If his palm lingered on her firm flesh longer than strictly necessary, he could hardly be blamed.

  With his free hand he restrained her flailing legs before her drumming feet bruised his ribs beyond repair. “Not in Australia you won’t. In my country we’re equals, Princess.”

  “Never.” Like the female crocodile, her struggles weakened as her initial energy was spent, but Tom maintained his hold. Where was a wet sack when he needed one?

  As he picked up the rifle, he diverted himself by imagining her trussed up on a carrying board and being delivered to him for what Blake had called a blind date. Bad idea, Tom decided when his internal temperature immediately soared.

  Dismissing the fantasy, he also snagged a leather satchel from a table near the door. “Is everything you’re likely to need in here? Squirm once for yes, twice for no.”

  Her violent lunge almost took out his eye. “Yes, damn you. What about the rest of my things?”

  “They’ll have to wait until the coast is clear. It’s nearly an hour since Judy called. Jamal—if it is him—must be practically on the doorstep.”

  “Then put me down and I’ll walk to the car.”

  “No time.” Certainly not to argue with her over the proper time for heroism. He carried her outside, kicking the door shut behind them. Dumping her and the bag on the back seat of the Jeep, he closed the door and jumped into the driving seat, placing the rifle near his feet. Before she could react, he activated the central locking system and the tires spat gravel as he floored the accelerator.

  Pinned down by the sudden acceleration, Shara struggled to right herself. Her eyes glared fire at him as she clung to the back of the seat.

  “Fasten your seat belt,” he said over his shoulder. “This is going to be a rough ride.”

  “Any more orders?” she snapped, but he heard a metallic click as she complied.

  He ignored her murderous tone. “Not right now, but if Jamal shows up, be ready to duck out of sight when I tell you to.”

  “Of course, Master,” she said, the words dripping sarcasm. “Anything you say, Master.”

  He grinned. “Keep it up, I could get to like the sound of it.”

  As he’d anticipated, her mouth snapped shut, but not for long. “You’re the most heartless, insensitive, uncivilized…”

  “Peasant?” he reminded her helpfully.

  “Barbarian. In my country, no one manhandles me without my permission and lives.”

  He deliberately chose to misunderstand. “What does it take to get permission to manhandle you?”

  The rabbit punch she delivered to the back of his neck almost ran them off the road. “Do that again and I’ll tie your hands,” he cautioned, fighting to keep the Jeep on the rutted surface. It wasn’t much smoother than the ditches on either side, but at least they wouldn’t get bogged in the talcum powder-like dust known locally as bulldust.

  “What am I supposed to do, let you treat me however you will?” she demanded.

  If he did that, she wouldn’t be alone in the back seat, he thought, feeling an instant, powerful surge of response. “You’re supposed to let me do my job,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Which includes getting women stabbed with spears, assaulting them and then carrying them off?”

  The Jeep bounced off a tree root the thickness of his arm and he winced as her head lashed around. He didn’t dare slow down. “In some traditional cultures, a start like that would have us practically married.”

  She’d stopped complaining about the rough treatment, fixated on their conversation, as he’d intended. “I don’t consider any of this amusing.”

  “And you think I do? I’m not the one with a murder
ous fiancé on my tail.”

  “You have only my word that he means to harm me,” she said. “For all you know, I could be shirking my royal obligations by avoiding this marriage.”

  Seeing her pale face reflected in the mirror, he doubted it. “No one goes to this much trouble to avoid doing their duty.”

  “Thank you,” she said simply.

  “For what?”

  “Trusting me. Believing me when my own father wouldn’t.”

  “Maybe he would have been convinced if you’d had more evidence against Jamal.”

  He saw her shake her head. “You and your family required no evidence before you were prepared to help me.”

  “Code of the outback,” he said, wrenching the wheel to avoid another tree root snaking across the road.

  She grabbed the back of the seat. “What?”

  “Something my foster brothers and sister made up when we were kids. Under the code of the outback, you don’t back down, you don’t give up and you stand by your mates.” Blake had also insisted on a clause that said “no mushy stuff,” to keep Judy in line, but Tom didn’t think Shara would appreciate that. Besides, his attitude toward women had changed since then. He might not want a permanent relationship, but mushy stuff was definitely on the agenda.

  He caught the first glimmer of a smile. “Do you consider me one of your—mates?”

  The word sounded foreign on her tongue, but deliciously so. “Anyone who turns to us for help is a mate, so long as they’re innocent of any crime.”

  “Is it a crime to want to live your life your own way?”

  “Not in this country.”

  “Then I’m innocent.”

  She meant of any wrongdoing, but Tom had a feeling the description fitted her in every way. No amount of royal pigheadedness could completely disguise her fear of the fate Jamal had in store for her and her country. The ache in Tom’s bruised ribs was easier to tolerate suddenly. It was nothing compared to what she must be going through.

  “Are we going to the homestead?” she asked.

  “Too obvious.”

  “Then where? Oh, no, not to your place.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her in the mirror. “What’s the problem? Not good enough for a princess?”

  “Stop throwing my rank at me. I can’t help being born royal.”

  “A minute ago you were threatening to have me flogged for laying hands on you.”

  He saw her reflected frown. “Yes, well, I’m not accustomed to having men touch me so intimately.”

  “Trust me, Prin…Shara, that kind of touching is not what I call intimate. One day I’ll show you the difference.”

  Her reply was drowned by the crash of the Jeep as they became briefly airborne before returning to the dusty road surface on the far side of a jump-up. The gullies pitted the surface at irregular intervals where the floodwaters of the wet season had swirled across the road. Over the engine’s roar, he thought he caught something about, “Over my dead body.”

  He was going to show her the meaning of intimacy, was he? Shara muttered a response, not sure if Tom heard her over the laboring engine. She was furious with him for treating her so cavalierly.

  She felt heat surge into her face. Being thrown over his shoulder like a sack of rice was bad enough. He deserved to be boiled in oil for such disrespectful treatment. Far more mortifying was the hot, weak way his touch had made her feel.

  Much as she had hated being carried, for one mad moment she had fantasized about sliding down his body and pressing herself against him until he kissed her again. Not in brotherly reassurance this time, but fiercely, passionately.

  The stress of avoiding Jamal must be the reason for her weakness. Remaining unresponsive to Tom’s kiss at the cottage had been surprisingly difficult, but she refused to accept that she’d welcomed his touch. Not because she was as innocent as he believed, but because she had her own code of behavior.

  In her country, affairs before marriage were less common than in Tom’s, but they did happen. She wasn’t proud that she had been tempted herself three years before. Forbidden by her father to travel overseas to study, she had been matched with a female professor who came to her at the palace. The professor had been assisted by a handsome young undergraduate only five years Shara’s senior.

  She’d thought him the most attractive and fascinating man. He had returned her feelings, kissing her with a passion that was hardly the norm between teacher and student. But when he’d wanted to go further she’d refused, not because of any noble ideals of chastity, but because she hadn’t loved him enough.

  Now here she was, imagining herself in Tom’s arms. Hardly noble, she thought on a hollow laugh.

  He’d been affected, too. She hadn’t been so traumatized by the threat from Jamal not to notice Tom’s arousal. Lying across his shoulder she’d felt the caress of his hand over her bottom and his shuddering response. Yet unlike her tutor, Tom had been strong enough to resist temptation. Why?

  Wasn’t she beautiful enough? Worldly enough? Or did his code of the outback preclude relationships with “mates.”

  Trying to push Tom out of her head, she concentrated on her surroundings. She had never experienced anything like this drive. In her country, roads were arrow-straight, black-topped highways financed by the bounty of oil. Being bounced around in a motorized tin can with a hell driver at the wheel was entirely new to her. How could Tom tell what was road and what was trackless desert?

  He was like the nomads of Q’aresh, she decided, able to read the country the way others read newspapers. Ranger’s training or an affinity with his land? Probably a bit of both. He was a curious mixture in other ways, too, part warrior bearing the scars of pagan initiation on his chest; part healer, tending her injured leg with an amazingly gentle touch.

  Now he was a rally driver, fighting the Jeep over a road barely worthy of the name. She looked back but all she could see was the cloud of dust generated by their passing.

  “Relax, he isn’t following us,” Tom said, catching her glance through the driving mirror. “Not enough bulldust.”

  “How can you tell through the clouds of the stuff.” Although the car windows were closed, the dust seeped into every crevice. Her mouth and nose were choked with the powdery particles. She couldn’t imagine how a second car could churn up much more.

  “Trust me, we aren’t being followed.” Over his shoulder he handed her a canteen of water and she drank thirstily, wetting a handkerchief with a few drops to clean the grit from her mouth. She may as well not have bothered. Within seconds the dampness dried and the dust was back.

  His confidence and skill helped her to relax although she would probably be covered in bruises by the time this drive was over. She hoped his home, cabin, whatever he lived in had a decent bathroom.

  For a moment, nostalgia for her apartments at Dashara Palace swept over her again. There, the bath was as deep and wide as a child’s pool, the water perfumed with attar of roses. She had servants to assist her and to help her dry and dress afterward. Her hair was coiffed by the most skilled of her attendants, and her clothes prepared by her personal maid. In her wildest dreams she’d never imagined a simple shower seeming like a luxury.

  “You live underground?” she asked when he stopped the car at last. They were on the outskirts of Halls Creek Township. Tom’s home was cut into the side of a steep hill with a garden of succulents and sedges extending over the roof.

  He got out and opened her door. “It’s called earth-integrated. I built it this way so the house is protected from the heat without the need for air-conditioning.”

  “You built it.” Was there no end to his talents?

  Inside there were more surprises, such as a panoramic view of the surrounding country, and a surprising amount of natural light from the windows and a series of cleverly placed light shafts.

  All the woodwork was fifty-year-old recycled Oregon, he told her, showing her the kitchen, bedrooms opening onto a shared patio, a shower and c
omposting toilet. Best of all there was a luxurious spa bath located on a platform overlooking the living room.

  “So I can enjoy the view while I soak the dust away,” he explained when she queried the location.

  She didn’t ask how she was supposed to take advantage of the spa without providing him with a view of a different kind. One way or another she intended to try that bath.

  First she needed to get something straight. “I appreciate your help getting me away from Jamal, but if you ever manhandle me like that again, your ability to procreate will be in serious jeopardy.”

  “Ouch.”

  He sounded more amused than threatened, she thought as her annoyance rose. “It’s no idle threat. At the palace I was taught self-defense by experts.” In a blur of movement she flicked her foot up and sideways, stopping the kick only inches from his groin.

  This time his flinch was genuine. “Bloody hell, Princess. You could do a man an injury.”

  She lowered her foot. “Do we understand each other?”

  He didn’t cup himself protectively but looked as if he wanted to. “I understand if I want to touch you, I’d better make sure you’re bound hand and foot first.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “Then we’re well matched.” His mouth sloped into a teasing smile. “There is another way to disarm you.”

  He had already found too many ways for her liking. “What?”

  “Close in, so you don’t have room for any of those fancy moves.”

  She wasn’t the only one capable of fast action, she discovered. Before she could react, he had taken her in his arms, holding her so tightly that she was molded against him. Not only was she captive, but the desire to escape had deserted her suddenly. She waited, trembling, for Tom to make his next move.

  Chapter 6

  Whatever had possessed him to bring her to his home? Tom asked himself. He should have taken her to the homestead. She could have hidden there and Tom could have protected Des if Jamal decided to play rough. Or to a hotel in town. Anywhere away from temptation. Now there was nothing Tom could do—nothing he wanted to do—except give in to it.