by Annie West
‘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.’
Guilt punched his gut as he thought of the desperation that must have driven her from the tent.
Because of him. Had she believed he’d gone and left her for Mustafa?
By now the rest of the riders had poured out of the darkness around them.
A low groan sounded from the figure sprawled before them, drawing all eyes as Mustafa dismounted.
‘Your guard is overzealous, Mustafa.’ Amir projected his voice to carry. It resonated with the weight of his authority. ‘He raised his hand to the woman who is mine.’
Cassie peered beneath the hood of her cloak at the throng of riders around them. The smells of sweat, dust and horses filled her nostrils, and in an instant she was back on the deserted road, when raiders had swarmed around the broken-down bus, their eyes hard and their hands rough as they’d yanked her off her feet and away with them.
Fear warred with anger. These were the scum who’d abducted her days ago. Who’d treated her as a possession to be bartered for royal favour!
Despite knowing defeat was inevitable in her tussle with the guard, there’d been a sliver of satisfaction in proving she wasn’t quite as defenceless as they’d assumed. One on one it hadn’t been the easy victory her captor had thought. She’d seen the surprise and pain in his eyes as he realised his mistake.
But now the defiant surge of adrenalin ebbed and she faced the dangerous consequences of her attempt to escape.
Her arms tightened around Amir. He seemed the one solid point of safety in this dangerous, violent world. His warmth and the muscled solidity of his body anchored her.
Yet she guessed nothing could save her from this mob.
At their head was the man Amir called Mustafa. A tough-built man whose cold eyes had fed her fear last night. He took in the fallen guard, moaning at Amir’s feet, then flicked a contemptuous stare in her direction.
Cassie stiffened, refusing to shrink away, though she sensed the rage roaring in him, perilously close to the surface. Retreating from a bully was asking for trouble.
Amir’s hand squeezed hers, then he pried her fingers loose and stepped forward. Before she knew what was happening he’d shoved her behind him.
Cassie stared, dumbfounded, at his broad back, his shoulders shielding her from the crowd.
Automatically she moved. She needed to see what was happening, to be ready to put up what fight she could. Her hackles rose at being pushed out of the way.
Yet his hold tightened, forcibly restraining her.
She opened her mouth to object when logic finally reasserted itself. Where were her wits? She had no chance against this crowd. She couldn’t fight them all, and she couldn’t speak their language to reason or plead.
Cassie’s only option was to rely on Amir. He, at least, had their respect.
It was unprecedented to have a champion take charge for her. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it. Lost, as if he’d snatched something away from her, yet at the same time touched by the gesture.
There was surprising comfort in Amir’s large, warm body shielding her as her heart hammered and her body stiffened from the blows that had rained down.
Staunchly she refused to think of the retribution to come. Because of her, Mustafa’s lackey lay writhing in agony.
For a moment she was almost grateful for Amir’s broad shoulders blocking the view. His wide-legged stance that spoke of strength and a readiness for action.
The idea of a man putting himself between her and danger seemed impossible. Yet there Amir was: solid and real, drawing all eyes to himself and away from her.
A strange sensation filled her chest—a spreading warmth that countered the chill of dread.
She heard the jingle of a harness and the restless snorts of the horses, but not a whisper from the crowd as Amir and Mustafa talked. Their voices weren’t raised. They could have been discussing the weather for all the emotion she heard. But that didn’t stop a shiver tripping down her spine.
That look in Mustafa’s eyes … Cassie had no doubt he’d make her pay in spades for the damage done to his minion.
She tucked her hand into the sash Amir wore over his robe. To offer silent support or gain comfort?
Still they talked.
Eyes closed, head tilted forward, almost touching Amir’s back, Cassie was struck by the beauty of his voice as it flowed, deep and smooth through the night, turning the unfamiliar sounds and rhythms into something arrestingly beautiful.
Finally there was a lull in the discussion and Amir spoke quietly in English. ‘Go now. Walk directly to the tent and wait for me inside.’
Her brain numb after standing so long, lost in thought, Cassie opened her eyes and stared at his back. Had he really spoken or was that wishful thinking?
‘Cassie!’ It was a low hiss of sound. ‘Go now. Quietly. Don’t run. You’re quite safe.’
She swallowed a mirthless laugh at the idea of being safe here. Yet without further thought she slid her hand free of his belt and adjusted the cloak more tightly around her. Steeling her nerve, she turned and forced herself to walk slowly towards the tent’s entrance.
She’d just got inside when she met the man she’d seen last night at Amir’s side, coming the other way. In his hands he carried the long chain Amir had taken off her.
Cassie shrank against the wall of the tent, heart hammering at the sight of it.
The man paused. ‘Don’t concern yourself, Ms Denison,’ he said in fluent English. ‘You won’t have to worry about this again. His Highness will see to it.’ Then he sketched a rapid bow and left before she could find her voice.
Ms Denison.
The title in her own language seemed incongruously formal after a fight in the dark with a guard and the threatening crowd outside.
It reminded her of the safety she’d left behind in Australia. The foreignness of this wild place.
And her total dependence on the Sheikh of Tarakhar.
Cassie grabbed a tent pole for support as she absorbed the stunning reality of what had just happened.
Amir had done what no man ever had. He’d stood on Cassie’s side. He’d done more, literally fighting her battle for her.
The memory of him putting her behind him and facing down that threatening mob made something twist inside.
The men she’d known hadn’t been models of virtue. They’d been self-absorbed and anything but honourable. As a result she’d learned self-reliance and distrust young. Cassie never let any man close enough to find out if he had an honourable streak. She no longer believed such a man existed.
It worried her to discover how much she wanted to believe Amir was such a man. He’d come back for her, protected her, putting himself in danger in the process. He’d won her gratitude and respect.
But the hard lessons of youth couldn’t be ignored. Would he expect recompense for his protection? Her mouth twisted at the thought, and she knew a twinge of unfamiliar regret that suspicion was so ingrained.
‘Cassie?’ Amir’s deep voice skimmed like hot velvet over her body. ‘What’s wrong? Are you hurt?’ An instant later strong arms enfolded her, sweeping her up against his tall frame.
Her eyes rounded in surprise. She opened her lips to demand he put her down. But she closed them as an unfamiliar sense of wellbeing filled her.
‘I’m perfectly fine. I was just thinking.’ She told herself she wanted to stand on her own feet despite feeling battered and bruised. Yet his embrace was insidiously comforting. Something she could get too accustomed to.
She needn’t have worried. He sat her on the edge of the wide bed and stepped back, well out of arm’s length.
Out of sensibility for her situation? The possibility was intriguingly novel. The bud of warmth inside her swelled.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, forcing herself to sit straight des
pite new aches.
‘Are you hurt?’
‘No.’ She lifted her head, meeting a dark gaze that seemed to bore right through her attempt to gloss over her injuries. ‘I’m OK.’
Amir’s brows arched eloquently, as if he knew just how much pain she’d borne, but he said nothing.
‘How about you? Are you injured?’ She hadn’t seen exactly how he’d taken down the guard.
His mouth turned up at one corner in a lazy smile that tugged something in her chest tight. ‘Never better.’
‘Good.’ She clasped her hands, unsure of the expression in those dark eyes. As an actress she prided herself on her knowledge of body language, but this man was so hard to read!
‘Thank you for coming to my rescue.’ The words emerged primly, as if she thanked him for a trifling favour, when they both knew that without his intervention she’d have been—
‘I told you I’d look after you. Why didn’t you believe me?’
Cassie spread her hands. No point saying she’d learnt never to take anyone’s promises at face value.
When she’d woken, rested and unharmed in that massive, empty bed, she’d almost wondered if she’d dreamed Amir’s presence. But his dagger in her fist had been real. His belongings further proof he’d been there.
‘I couldn’t be sure. Besides, I’ve been alone so long I’m used to looking out for myself.’
‘You’ve had a traumatic experience.’
Cassie nodded. She hadn’t been talking about just that, but there was no point revealing her isolation had taken a lifetime to grow.
‘When I didn’t see anyone all day I—’
‘No one?’ Amir scowled. ‘What about servants bringing food and water?’
Cassie shook her head and watched as the lines bracketing his mouth grew deep and fire lit his eyes.
‘Go on.’ His voice was grim.
‘There’s nothing more to say. At first it was OK. I felt safe and … comfortable.’ Even though she’d chafed at the inaction, waiting for his return when all she wanted was to get away.
‘Then, as evening drew in, I started to worry.’ She looked away from his sharp scrutiny. No need to tell him she’d thought he’d decided to leave her to her fate. ‘I wondered if something had happened to you.’
‘And about what would happen to you if it had?’
Quickly she nodded, not wanting to think about it, remembering the savage blows that had rained down on her. She drew a deep breath and shifted to ease the aches in her back and side. ‘Finally I gave up waiting. I took your knife and tried to slip out the back of the tent.’
If only she’d done as he’d said—trusted in his word to protect her and stayed where she was. She’d tried. She really had. But as the hours had ticked by it had become increasingly difficult to believe he would return. To believe she could trust him.
‘I don’t like to think what would have happened if you hadn’t rescued me.’
‘You are my responsibility.’ His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was no mistaking its grim edge. Amir wasn’t happy about this situation either.
‘I’m.’ Cassie shut her mouth before she could blurt out that she was no one’s responsibility. She looked after herself! But in her current situation independence was an illusion, possible only with the concurrence of this man. The knowledge ate at her like acid.
Stoically she repressed a shiver.
‘You’re cold.’ He took a step forward, then halted. Cassie was glad of his distance. This man could crowd her with just a look.
‘Your dagger!’ She started, suddenly remembering the knife she’d dropped as she’d wriggled from under the tent. ‘We’ll look for it later.’
‘No!’ She couldn’t have that on her conscience.
In the darkened room last night she’d noticed nothing but the fact he’d trusted her with a blade against his bare skin. That he’d given her the means to protect herself. But today she’d examined the knife and been stunned to discover what looked like an antique heirloom.
The scabbard was encrusted with rubies cut in old-fashioned cabochon style. The blade, wickedly sharp, bore a flourish of exquisite calligraphy near the hilt. The handle was a work of art: an emerald the size of an egg embedded in precious metal.
The thing was probably a national treasure!
Cassie shot to her feet, then paused, a hand going to her lower back as pain slammed through her. That guard had pulled no punches.
‘Cassie?’
She forced a taut smile as she turned towards the edge of the tent. ‘I’m just a bit stiff.’ ‘Are you always this stubborn?’
‘Always.’ What he called stubborn she called getting on with life.
She sensed him just behind her as she searched for the place where she’d wriggled out of the tent. The heat of his big frame so close to her should have disturbed and intimidated after the events of the past few days. Yet strangely she found his nearness comforting. As if nothing could harm her while he was there.
Nonsense! It was absurd wishful thinking. Dangerous thinking.
Yet as she crouched down and investigated the layers of carpet at the place she’d escaped Cassie found herself grateful for his reassuring presence.
‘There.’ A long arm reached round her and grabbed the gleaming hilt, half hidden beneath an edge of carpet.
Cassie froze, her pulse rocketing. The sense of being surrounded was suddenly too real and not at all reassuring.
But instead of pressing home his physical advantage Amir stood, then extended his hand to her. ‘Here.’
It was on the tip of Cassie’s tongue to refuse his help. But grappling with the guard had taken its toll. She felt as if she’d had a run-in with a herd of wild horses.
‘Thank you.’ Her voice was husky as his hand engulfed hers and he pulled her up. Strange how the touch of that callused hand seemed so much more real than the smooth handshakes of the men she met and worked with in Melbourne.
His was the touch of a hard-working man. A man of decision. Of strength.
Cassie blinked and withdrew her fingers, disturbed at the trend of her thoughts.
‘I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if anything had happened to it.’ She forced herself to turn and meet his enigmatic gaze. ‘It must be worth a fortune.’
‘Far more than a fortune. Its value is in the fact it’s been passed through my family for centuries.’
‘Yet you gave it to me?’ Cassie frowned, snapping her gaze from his arresting features to the weapon in his hand.
‘Your need was greater than mine.’
He made it sound so simple. Yet to trust a stranger, even for a short while, with such an heirloom seemed crazy.
‘Here.’ He extended his hand, palm open. Light reflected off the gem in the hilt and dazzled her. ‘Keep it till you’re free.’
For an instant Cassie knew an insane urge to push his hand away and say she felt utterly safe here, with him.
Until she remembered the guards surrounding the tent. The malice in Mustafa’s eyes. She reached for the weapon, her fingers closing around its solidity.
She concentrated on its weight, the protection it represented, and tried to ignore the ripple of sensation that coursed through her when her hand touched Amir’s.
CHAPTER FIVE
AMIR was reading a report on a new gas pipeline when he sensed her enter. Her bare feet made no sound on the carpet, and without the jingling coin belt there was no obvious sign of her presence.
Yet he sensed her. Felt her here, in his domain.
Deliberately Amir forced himself to read another long paragraph. The pipeline was far more important to him, to his plans for Tarakhar, than the woman who’d finally emerged from the bathroom.
Yet the words ran together, jumbling into incoherence as he pretended not to notice her. Finally he thrust aside the papers and looked up. His breath seared his lungs.
She stood defiantly, as if daring him to comment. Her chin was up, her eyes narrowed, and her feet plant
ed a little apart.
In other circumstances Amir would have warned her that the spark of challenge in her eyes, far from dousing male interest, only heightened the delicious temptation of the picture she made.
Gone was the dancing girl outfit. Instead she wore a collarless white shirt of his.
Whatever misguided sympathy had possessed him to offer his clothes for her to wear after her bath?
But how could he have known that Cassie wearing his shirt would be one of the sexiest sights he’d ever encountered?
Heat coiled low as his eyes flicked over her.
The cotton covered her almost to the knees. She’d rolled the sleeves up and the material hung loose around her. Yet the slit neck dived to her cleavage. The hint of a shadow there intrigued him as she moved restlessly.
Worse, the cotton clung to her breasts, firm and high even without the bustier. As he watched, her nipples peaked, thrusting against the fine material.
Amir swallowed, his mouth drier than the great interior desert, as he dragged his gaze down to shapely legs and dainty feet.
Less is more.
It was true. The dancing costume had been blatantly sexy, designed to appeal to the basest of male hungers.
Yet the simplicity of what she wore now was more erotic than anything he could recall. Or was that because he knew beneath his shirt she was naked?
Quickly Amir looked away.
‘I have something for you.’ His voice was husky and he reached for water, telling himself he was dry after a day in the saddle.
‘A pair of shoes?’
His lips curved at her undaunted humour. ‘I’m afraid even I can’t conjure a pair small enough to fit you.’
He shoved aside the realisation that he liked her barefoot in his rooms. No doubt the sight appealed to some deeply buried primitive instinct for dominance.
‘Though I could arrange a smaller shirt if you like.’ Faruq was much smaller than he. Surely one of his shirts—?
‘No. Thank you. This is fine.’
Amir nodded and put the goblet down. Even as he’d suggested it part of him had protested at the idea of her wearing another man’s clothes.
What sort of crazy possessiveness was that?