Bella and the Merciless Sheikh

by Sarah Morgan

  ‘If you wish to spend a week alone in the desert, then at least allow your guards to accompany you, Zafiq.’

  ‘If I allowed the guards to accompany me, then I would no longer be alone,’ Zafiq pointed out drily. ‘This is the one week of my life when I am allowed to be a man and not a ruler. I place you in sole charge, Rachid.’

  His young brother paled, clearly daunted by the responsibility. ‘You don’t think you should postpone your trip? The oil negotiations have reached a crucial stage. They are expecting you to come back with a lower offer.’

  ‘Then they will be disappointed.’

  ‘You are seriously going to walk away at the peak of negotiations? It’s the worst time.’

  Zafiq gave a cool smile. ‘On the contrary, it’s the best time, Rachid.’

  ‘What if they go else where?’

  ‘They won’t.’

  ‘But how can you be so sure? How do you know? How do you always know the right thing to do?’ As they walked towards the stables, his brother cast him an envious glance. ‘I wish I could be as inscrutable as you. You never reveal your emotions.’

  Hearing the angry squeal of a stallion, Zafiq walked purposefully in the direction of the commotion. ‘The same cannot be said for my horse, who seems to be revealing his emotions unhindered.’

  ‘Everyone in the stables is terrified of him.’

  Zafiq watched as his Master of Horse led the half-wild, prancing stallion into the yard. Noticing the stallion’s ears flatten angrily, he sighed. ‘It seems Batal needs a break as much as I do.’ Without hesitating he strode towards the horse, his brother following at a safe distance.

  ‘Do you ever worry about anything?’ Rachid blurted the words out as if he’d been bottling them up for days. ‘Was there ever a time when you felt like me?’

  Zafiq reflected on that question, a grim smile touching his mouth. He could have told his brother that his childhood had felt like nothing more than a rigorous training camp for instilling a sense of responsibility and duty.

  ‘Confidence comes with experience. I have had plenty of experience.’ With that economical response, he watched as Batal pawed the ground, nostrils flared. ‘Release him.’ As the sweating stable staff sprang out of the way, he put his hand on the animal’s neck and the stallion shuddered and calmed.

  ‘Horses and women—’ Rachid grinned at him in ad mi ration. ‘How do you do it?’

  Zafiq ignored the question, vaulting onto the animal’s back with athletic ease. ‘I will be back in five days. And Rachid—’ his hand closed around the reins as he stilled the restless stallion ‘—this is your opportunity to gain experience of your own. Don’t waste it. And try not to start a war.’

  Without giving his brother time to voice any more objections, Zafiq allowed the shivering, expectant horse to spring forward, not bothering to rein him in as he plunged forwards through the open gates that led straight from the palace into the desert. The animal gave two ferocious bucks, but Zafiq didn’t shift in the saddle and the stallion settled down, as if remembering that he’d met his match in this particular rider.

  ‘You’re as impatient as I am to leave the city,’ Zafiq murmured, enjoying the surge of adrenalin that came with the sudden burst of speed.

  The desert opened up before him, the space offering sanctuary from the oppressive demands of state business and the pressures of caring for his young brothers and sisters, whose needs appeared to become more complicated as they grew up, rather than less. As their guardian, he felt a burden of responsibility towards them that was in every way equal to the one he felt for his country.

  After eleven punishing months of responsibility and duty, he was ready to leave it all behind and indulge in the yearly solitude he richly deserved and rarely enjoyed.

  No problems. No pressure.

  Just the desert and his own company.

  Lost.

  Heat, thirst, sand, heat, thirst, sand…

  Shouldn’t she be there by now? She’d been riding for hours and it all looked the same.

  Whatever had possessed her to think she’d be able to find her way?

  Her mouth was drier than the desert, her head throbbed and her eyes stung.

  Bella squinted dizzily into the blazing sun, focusing on the shimmer of heat that seemed to make the landscape move. What she really needed now was an oasis with cool water and palm trees offering a generous cocoon of shade. But there was nothing except sand, heat and the desperate burning thirst that grew more acute by the minute.

  Her mouth was so dry she would even have welcomed herbal tea.

  She’d stopped guiding the horse and was only dimly aware that the animal was still walking purposefully.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she moaned, leaning forward and burying her burning face in the mare’s mane. ‘I don’t care about me but I’m really sorry I’ve done this to you. Why aren’t you fitted with sat nav? Stop walking. There’s no point. We might as well just give up.’

  The horse gave a snort of disapproval and continued to walk. Bella was too weak and exhausted to do anything about it.

  She was going to die.

  Her body was going to be buried under the sand and discovered centuries later by archaeologists digging for relics.

  Despite her dizzy, dehydrated state the inevitable headlines flashed into her head: Bad Bella Balfour Disappears from Desert Retreat.

  Perhaps they’d think she’d drowned herself in herbal tea.

  Perhaps they wouldn’t even care.

  She gave a weak moan and tried to say something to the horse but by now her mouth was so dry it was difficult to speak. The pain in her head was so severe she felt as though someone was attacking her with an axe and her vision blurred.

  The last thing she saw before she slid from the horse was an ominous black shadow emerging through the golden haze.

  Death, she thought dizzily, and landed on the sand unconscious.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ZAFIQ sprang from his horse and issued a low command. The stallion immediately threw up his head proudly and stood still, his tail held high.

  Taking in the identity of the other horse, Zafiq’s initial shock turned to raw, undiluted fury. ‘Amira—’ His voice gentle, he approached his favourite mare, hand out stretched, his anger ruthlessly contained. ‘What are you doing all the way out here?’ The horse allowed him to take the reins and he swiftly tied the animal to the saddle of his own mount.

  Later, he promised himself with icy focus. Later, there would be a price to pay for this. For now, his priority had to be the girl.

  She was the most unlikely looking horse thief he’d ever seen.

  One glance at her thin cotton clothing was sufficient to tell him that she knew nothing about surviving in the harsh, unforgiving desert, and his mouth tightened as he bent over her inert body.

  A pink baseball cap lay in the sand some distance from where she’d fallen but apart from that one small concession to the heat of the sun she appeared to have nothing in the way of protection.

  Zafiq’s lip curled in contempt. After all the threats and warnings, this was who’d they sent to kidnap his most valued horse?

  Impatience mingling with anger he glanced around for a rucksack, or something that indicated the girl had packed liquid, but there was nothing.

  Muttering under his breath he stooped and lifted her, the breath hissing through his teeth as her blonde hair trailed over his arm like a shaft of light from a single sunbeam. Sand dusted her flushed cheeks and his eyes rested on her dry lips.

  Unable to look away from the generous curve of her mouth, Zafiq felt a dangerous heat explode inside him and he stared down at her beautiful face, momentarily forgetting everything except the woman in his arms. And then her eyelids flickered upwards and he found himself staring into the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. They were eyes that reminded him of a summer sky, of the azure blue of the Arabian Sea, of the cerulean silk that was sold in the souks of Al-Rafid. But despite the intense colour those eyes w
ere dull, dazed and her lips parted and she whispered something—nothing that made sense; something about herbal tea—and then her eyes closed and she didn’t say another word.

  Aware that he was still staring down at her face, Zafiq felt a rush of anger.

  What sort of a man was he?

  The girl was unconscious.

  She was half dead, and he was thirsting for her as she was no doubt thirsting for water.

  Dehydration, he thought savagely, holding her easily as he walked back to his stallion and removed a bottle from his saddlebag. He’d seen it before, too many times.

  ‘Drink,’ he ordered harshly, but she gave no sign that she was able to obey his command.

  Questioning what crime he’d committed to be saddled with an unconscious girl at a time when he was supposed to be enjoying solitude, Zafiq splashed a small amount of water over her lips and watched with grim satisfaction as her tongue flickered out. At least he wasn’t dealing with a corpse.

  He wanted her to live so that she could face justice for trying to steal his horse. She would pay the price for her crime.

  In order to keep her alive, he needed to get her out of the sun and cool her down. And the only place he could do that was in his own camp.

  Resigning himself to the inevitable, Zafiq swung her limp body onto his horse and supported her while he vaulted on behind her. Drawing her lifeless body against the power of his own, he closed his legs on the stallion’s flanks and urged him forwards, glancing over his shoulder to check on the mare.

  It took less than twenty minutes to reach the shelter of his remote desert camp—twenty minutes during which he discovered to his frustration that he was able to become aroused by an unconscious woman.

  Dismounting in a fluid movement, Zafiq gritted his teeth as he lifted her once again into his arms.

  Perhaps he should have left her in the desert.

  Turning the horses loose to find shade and water in the small oasis, he carried the unconscious girl towards his tent, breathing through his mouth in order to block out the tantalising floral scent of her hair. He dumped her gently on the mat that served as a bed and frowned impatiently as she lay still, not moving.

  Torn between concern and exasperation, Zafiq leant forward and placed his fingers on her forehead. Registering the dry, burning heat, he realised that if he didn’t cool her down, he was going to have a serious problem on his hands.

  ‘I don’t know who you are, but you clearly have more beauty than sense,’ he growled, striding across the tent to fetch a bowl of tepid water and a piece of cloth.

  So much for a week of peace, solitude and quiet reflection.

  Zafiq dipped the cloth in the water and bathed her face and neck. Knowing that her recovery was dependent on cooling and rehydration, he reluctantly unfastened the buttons of her long sleeve shirt. Peeling it away he bathed her slender arms, keeping his eyes averted from the pretty lace bra that was now the only barrier between him and her body. He left her arms and body damp, allowing the water droplets to cool her over heated skin.

  At this rate he was going to need the cool water himself, he thought, seriously unsettled by the effect she had on him. With haste and clinical efficiency he tugged her white cotton trousers past the curve of her hips and down her long legs.

  ‘Atif?’ She murmured a man’s name and Zafiq frowned sharply, wondering whether there had been someone else out in the desert with her.

  Of course. She must have had an accomplice. A plan to kidnap his horse couldn’t have been executed by one lone woman, could it?

  Wondering what had happened to his usual clarity of thought, Zafiq dropped the cloth back into the bowl and raked her flushed cheeks with an impatient gaze, but this time his impatience was directed towards himself. Since when had he ceased to think logically?

  Driven by concern and the pressing need to extract information, he scooped her up and pressed the cup of water to her lips. ‘Drink,’ he ordered, and although her eyes remained closed she obediently parted her lips and swallowed. ‘And more.’ He continued to encourage her to drink and then laid her gently back against the pillows and bathed her once again.

  Shaded by the tent and cooled by the water she started to revive.

  Only when he judged that she was able to answer, did Zafiq scoop her up once again and voice the question that was troubling him.

  ‘Who was with you?’ His voice was rough—rougher than he intended—but even so she didn’t respond. Trying to ignore the softness of her skin against his arms, Zafiq tried again. ‘Were you alone?’

  Her eyes slid to his and she looked at him with those stunning blue eyes that were undeniably designed to drive a man to distraction.

  ‘Horse—’ she croaked, and Zafiq felt the tension ripple across his shoulders.

  ‘I know about the horse. What about humans?’

  Her tongue moistened her lower lip, slowly, as if speaking were the hardest thing she’d ever done. ‘Is the horse OK?’

  She was lying half dead in his arms and yet she was asking about the horse?

  Momentarily thrown by that surprising fact, it took Zafiq a moment to realise that she obviously had a vested interest in the animal’s welfare. ‘She is fine, although no thanks to you. You will not be profiting on this occasion.’

  ‘Profiting?’

  ‘There are many questions which you will answer in time, but first tell me about Atif. Who is he?’

  Her eyes closed again but not before he’d seen tears glistening and the dull sheen of despair.

  ‘Please don’t make me go back.’

  ‘Go back where?’ Accustomed to receiving an immediate answer to any question he posed, Zafiq found this laborious process of dragging information from her unspeakably tedious.

  What sort of man would leave it to a woman to steal a horse?

  Or had she seduced someone to achieve her objective?

  Irritated by his thoughts, he pressed the cup to her lips again. Her hand closed over his wrist as she drank and the burn of her fingers against his skin induced a reaction so shockingly powerful that Zafiq almost dropped the cup.

  ‘How could you have done this without help? There must have been someone with you?’

  ‘No.’ Her voice was faint. ‘On my own.’

  As he laid her back against the pillows, Zafiq pondered why a horse thief should be working alone and unsupported. All the intelligence he’d received on the threat to his valuable mare had seemed to point to a group of people. ‘Sleep.’ He rose to his feet swiftly, needing to distance himself. Needing to regain control. ‘I must check on the animals.’

  No one would be touching his horses again, he promised himself fiercely as he strode towards the entrance of the tent.

  ‘Wait—’ Her soft croak stopped him. ‘Who are you?’

  Zafiq gave a cynical smile.

  Never before had anyone asked him that question. He eyed her blonde hair and fair skin thoughtfully. It was entirely possible that this un in formed, naive woman, who thought she could kidnap a valuable animal without detection, genuinely had no idea who he was.

  Which suited him.

  His exact location was a secret. And he wanted it to remain a secret, particularly as he now had Amira’s safety to think about.

  ‘I’m your nemesis,’ he purred, his voice lethally soft as he lifted the flap of the tent. ‘And you are going to live to regret the day you stole my horse.’

  Everything had shifted from gold to white.

  Had she died and gone to heaven?

  Bella blinked several times and realised that she was staring up at canvas. She was inside a tent. And it was hot. Stiflingly hot, like being trapped in an oven on full heat with the door closed. Her head throbbed, her mouth felt parched and she had no idea what she was doing here. Memories flickered through her head—a strong male voice ordering her to drink, firm, decisive hands stripping her of her clothing…

  Stripping her of her clothing?

  Realising that she was naked a
part from her under wear, she was about to find something to cover herself with when the flap of the tent was pushed aside and a man strode inside. Stripped to the waist, his muscular bronzed shoulders glistened with water, as though wet from a dip in the pool. He was naked apart from a towel tied loosely around his lean hips.

  For a moment she thought she must be hallucinating because he was indecently, impossibly, handsome.

  ‘OK, maybe I have died and gone to heaven,’ Bella croaked humorously but there was no answering smile from her rescuer. Eyes as dark as jet scanned her with arrogant appraisal and unconcealed disdain.

  ‘You have a strange concept of heaven. Or maybe you don’t realise how much trouble you’re in.’

  ‘You are my kind of trouble—’ Feeling weak and dizzy, Bella eyed his powerful physique and started to laugh. ‘You have to see the funny side—all those hours I’ve spent at parties hoping to meet a spectacular-looking man and he turns up here in the desert—’ The desert.

  Oh, God, she was still in the desert.

  Catching the flare of shock in his eyes, she sighed as everything rushed back to her. ‘Look, I’ve no idea where I am, but just tell me you’re not going to make me drink herbal tea and search for the meaning of life. Otherwise I’ll have a relapse.’ Conscious of the contrast between his striking good looks and her dishevelled appearance, Bella surreptitiously slid her fingers through her hair, wincing as she encountered a dry, matted mass. ‘Ugh. Sand. There’s sand everywhere.’

  ‘That’s why it’s called the desert.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s even in my hair—’ Her trademark silky mane had the texture of sandpaper and Bella shuddered.

  No wonder he wasn’t looking at her the way men usually looked at her.

  ‘A few hours ago you were staring death in the face and now you are worrying about your hair?’ The contempt in his tone added insult to injury.

  ‘Look, do you have any idea what it’s like to be stranded in this red, gritty wilderness without so much as a bottle of decent conditioner?’ Bella pouted at him and then lifted her fingers to her mouth in horror. ‘My lips are cracked—’