Bound to Her Desert Captor

by Michelle Conder

  ‘You can’t,’ Jag stated. ‘I’m not finished.’

  ‘You want to cook your own meal tonight, boss-man?’

  Jag grunted, wrapping his gloved hand around Zumar’s and hauling him to his feet. He glanced around the basement gymnasium many of his senior officers also used, to see if there was anyone else who would help him work off some steam.

  Regan James might, his recalcitrant libido whispered, though that would be a very different type of workout from this.

  Ignoring that unhelpful thought, he tried to catch the eye of a few of his army officers. Unfortunately Jag had never been known to employ idiots and every man in the room kept his gaze averted. It wasn’t hard to sense that their leader wasn’t quite himself right now.

  ‘What’s up with you anyways, boss-man?’ Zumar asked, wiping the sweat from his brow with a sports towel. ‘This big-deal summit tying you up in knots?’

  ‘It’s not the summit.’

  ‘A woman, then.’

  ‘A woman?’ Jag gave him a baleful look, yanking his gloves off. ‘Why would you say that?’

  The Nigerian shrugged. ‘When a man is as worked up as you are it usually means trouble of the female variety.’ He gave Jag a knowing grin. ‘But there is no escape, huh? The heart knows what the heart wants.’

  The heart?

  ‘What about your parents? Were they happily married?’

  From out of nowhere, Regan’s unexpected question from the night before dredged up unwelcome memories of his childhood. He still couldn’t fathom how he had become embroiled in a conversation about his family with her. He never talked about his parents, not his father’s death, nor his mother leaving them when they were young. It had happened, he’d dealt with both events and moved on, as was befitting for the as then future King of Santara.

  And no, he hadn’t mourned his father’s death. He hadn’t thought to. He had respected his father and always done his duty by him, but he hadn’t really known the man, other than as his King. And as for his mother...she had never asked for Jag’s love and never wanted him to give it.

  His throat thickened. Regan James didn’t know what she was talking about with her fairy-tale ideas about life. She’d never known duty or hardship. She had never... He frowned. Actually, she had known duty and hardship. And still she remained soft and open. Trusting that people behaved the way that they should. Little fool.

  Yes, he would be on one side of the palace, she on the other. Because whenever he was around her she managed to twist logic and common sense into something unrecognisable. And really, why would he see her again? She was a means to an end. When that end came about they’d part company and never see each other again. And wasn’t that a cause for celebration?

  He gave Zumar a hearty slap on the back. ‘Thanks, Chef.’

  Zumar blinked. ‘What for?’

  ‘For helping me realise what was wrong.’

  Zumar cracked his jaw. ‘Next time I’d appreciate you working that out before we get into the ring, boss-man.’

  Jag laughed. It felt good to be on solid ground again. Back in charge.

  Last night...the chemistry between them, the way she made him question himself... Gone. Completely gone.

  At least it was right up until Tarik burst into his dressing room thirty minutes later, his forehead pleated like an accordion.

  Jag immediately stopped whistling. ‘Milena?’

  ‘No, no, I have no updates on Milena, Your Majesty.’

  Jag let out a relieved breath, pulling on his trousers. ‘Then it’s something to do with the American. I can see the signs of frustration on your face. Don’t let it bother you. I imagine she has that effect on everyone she meets.’

  ‘Yes, sir, it is the American woman.’

  ‘What has she done now? Tied her bed sheets together and scaled the palace wall? Planned out my demise in three easy steps? Whatever it is,’ Jag assured him as he pulled a white shirt from its hanger, ‘I’m not going to let it ruin my good mood.’

  ‘She connected to the internet and uploaded a picture of herself at the palace.’

  ‘Say what?’ Jag nearly tore a new armhole in his shirt as he thrust his arm through it. ‘Let me see.’

  Tarik turned the tablet around so that the screen faced him. He scanned the photo that showed way too much of Regan’s sexy cleavage in an ice-blue bra.

  Jag knew five Santarian dialects and he swore in all five of them. ‘Isn’t that the pool in the garden suite?’ he bit out.

  ‘Yes, sir. This is a social-media post from the palace.’

  He went still. ‘The palace is not on social media.’

  ‘No, sir, but Miss James is.’

  ‘Miss James does not have a phone or any other device with her.’

  ‘No. But she somehow got access to one and two hours ago she uploaded this post.’

  ‘She got access to one?’ Jag repeated softly. ‘How?’

  ‘The IT department is working on obtaining that information. They should know very soon.’ There was a touch of desperation in Tarik’s voice and Jag knew that his aide was trying to handle him.

  ‘Take it down before anyone sees it,’ he ground out. Like her brother, whom he had no doubt had been the troublesome woman’s intended audience.

  ‘I already ordered it to be taken down, Your Majesty.’ Tarik swallowed heavily. ‘Unfortunately it has already been seen.’

  Jag paused in the process of buttoning his shirt, a sense of foreboding turning his powerful frame tense. ‘By whom?’

  ‘The post has been shared across various multimedia outlets six million times, sir.’

  ‘Six mill...’ Jag scowled. ‘How is that possible in so short a time frame?’

  ‘You are a very popular monarch, Your Majesty, especially since the world is expecting you to announce your betrothal to Princess Alexa this weekend. And, with all eyes on Santara at present because of the impending summit, I’m surprised it’s not more.’

  Jaeger cursed viciously. He had completely forgotten about Princess Alexa.

  ‘Quite,’ Tarik agreed. ‘But, speaking of your prospective engagement, I have King Ronan on the phone. He is furious that it seems you are entertaining a concubine—his words, sir—after agreeing to marry his daughter. He is threatening to call off the engagement and boycott the summit.’

  Jag stared at Tarik. For the first time in his life his brain was struggling to keep up with the turn of events. As beautiful as Princess Alexa was, Jag had no real desire to marry her other than the convenience of it. She understood his world and, from what he knew of her, she was as logical and pragmatic as he was. She was also polished and poised. Any leader would be fortunate to have her on his arm. Not only that, but marrying her would strengthen ties with Berenia, Santara’s third neighbour.

  ‘Miss James is not my live-in mistress,’ he bit out. ‘And I have not formally agreed to marry Princess Alexa.’

  ‘I know, Your Majesty, but King Ronan is clearly of the impression that you have.’

  ‘That’s because King Ronan is a pushy bastard who tries to manipulate people.’

  ‘Of course, sir. But it is important that you have a plus-one this weekend. If King Ronan is not pacified he will not allow Princess Alexa to attend as your escort. And you know it is never a good idea to attend these events alone.’

  Yes, he did, but he had more pressing matters to consider right now than a plus-one. He dragged a hand through his still damp hair. By rights he should be furious with Regan for this stunt—and he was—but part of him couldn’t fault her ingenuity. Hell, he might even admire it if she wasn’t causing him so much grief in the process.

  ‘King Ronan is holding for you, Your Majesty. He wants to speak with you personally.’

  ‘Of course he does.’ Jag snatched up his cell phone from his dresser. ‘Transfer the call to my personal
number,’ he ordered, his brain having gone from sluggish to full-on alert as he went into automatic problem-solving mode.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Tarik flicked his finger quickly across the screen on his tablet. ‘And Miss James?’

  Jag scowled. ‘Leave Miss James to me.’ He’d strangle her as soon as he placated the volatile King of Berenia and made a decision about whether or not to marry the Princess.

  Striding down the marble staircase en route to the garden suite, he brought his phone to his ear. ‘King Ronan,’ he said smoothly. ‘I believe we have a small problem.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘COME ON, JUST sit still,’ Regan crooned. ‘Please, just for another few seconds.’

  Her camera shutter clicked as she photographed a pair of olive and yellow birds with elegantly turned-down beaks. It was clear by the way they danced around each other and rubbed their beaks together that they were a couple, and their antics made her smile. They reminded her of hummingbirds back home, and she’d always had a soft spot for photographing couples—both animal and human. Everyone loved the notion of finding their soulmate, and she found that ‘couples’ sold well as stock photos.

  She checked her viewfinder, satisfied that the pretty pair would be very popular when they were uploaded onto her website. The light was magnificent in Santara, making the exotic colours of this timeless land pop. Just looking at the sweeping sands of the desert beyond the palace made her itch to explore it.

  As concentrated as she was on capturing a shimmering mauve dragonfly hovering above the azure-blue of the pool with her lens, there was no mistaking the moment the King stormed into her suite. She heard the heavy door to her room bang forcefully against the wall, and turned to see a small cloud of white powder float to the floor from where the ornate handle had gouged the plaster.

  Regan moved to the arched doorway and then blinked. King Jaeger stood inside her room, dressed in a pair of tailored trousers that hugged his powerful legs, an unbuttoned pristine white shirt, and that was it. His legs were braced wide, his hands held loosely at his sides, and he wore an expression on his face that could level a mountain. Regan couldn’t prevent her eyes from running down the darkly tanned strip of flesh from his neck to the trousers that sat low on his hips. Dark hair covered his leanly muscled chest, arrowing down to bisect abdominal muscles you could probably bounce a coin off.

  Her mouth ran dry as her gaze continued on down to his feet.

  ‘I think you forgot your shoes,’ she said, appalled to find that she even found the sight of his bare feet sexy.

  The door closed behind him with a thud.

  ‘And possibly your sense of humour,’ she added, trying to lighten the mood and stop herself from obsessing about his body.

  ‘If I were you I’d be very worried right about now,’ he drawled menacingly.

  She was. Worried that she couldn’t stop thinking about sex whenever he was around. It was becoming insidious.

  ‘About?’ she asked, deciding to brave out his obviously bad mood. It wasn’t possible that he’d found out about her post so quickly. Not unless he had ESP, or security cameras in her room. She cast a quick glance at the corners of the ceilings. Nothing there. Thank heavens.

  ‘How did you do it?’ he asked softly.

  Damn. He did know. ‘Do what?’

  ‘Don’t play cute with me—it won’t work. How did you access the internet?’

  ‘Oh, that...’ She strolled further into the room until she’d put the protection of the sofa between them. He didn’t have the look of a man who was about to do her physical harm, and indeed, every time he had restrained her she’d felt him leash his physical strength so as not to hurt her, but she suspected that if his temper ever did blow it would make Mount Vesuvius look as innocuous as a child throwing sand.

  ‘Yes. That.’ He came towards her, with animal grace, the muscles in his abdomen rippling with every silent footfall. Regan swallowed, her own stomach muscles pulling tight at the sight. A rush of excitement shot through her. Excitement? Was she completely daft? The man looked as if he was coming up with new ways she was going to die!

  He stopped in front of the sofa, his eyes briefly scanning it before returning to her. It wouldn’t be enough, she thought wildly; the Great Wall of China wouldn’t be enough to keep her from him if he wanted to get to her.

  ‘So I accessed the internet,’ she murmured vaguely. ‘I didn’t write anything negative. I actually implied that I liked you. Which I don’t, in case you get any ideas.’

  Or, at least, any more ideas...

  ‘You implied a lot more than that,’ he muttered furiously.

  ‘You’re just unhappy because I countered your move and foiled your horrible plan to worry Chad. How did you find out so quickly, by the way? Do you have cameras in this room, watching my every move? That would be truly creepy if you did.’

  ‘I do not have cameras in here, though I might after this,’ he bit out. ‘But, in answer to your question, your post has been shared a number of times.’

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘I hope Chad has managed to see it.’

  ‘I know Chad was your intended audience.’ His thick dark lashes narrowed, making his blue eyes seem impossibly vibrant. ‘Unfortunately you picked up a few more interested parties.’

  Regan frowned at his deceptively light tone. ‘How many more?’

  ‘Six million more.’

  ‘Six mill—! That can’t be true. I only have forty-eight followers and most of those are work-related.’

  ‘You might not be popular, Miss James, but I am.’

  ‘Lucky you,’ she retorted, wishing he’d worn more clothing. ‘Don’t you want to button your shirt?’ she said, inwardly cringing at the husky note in her voice when she’d been aiming for cool. ‘It’s quite chilly today.’

  ‘It’s forty degrees in the shade. And I’ll button my shirt when I’m good and ready.’ His voice became a lethal purr. ‘Unless it’s bothering you...’

  ‘No. Not at all.’ She waved off his suggestion as if it were ludicrous. ‘I was just thinking that it didn’t look very...kingly.’

  His smile said that he knew she was lying. ‘Good, because I’m not feeling very kingly right now.’ His eyes drifted to her lips and Regan barely resisted the urge to moisten them. Sexual tension arced between them like a tightrope, and she had no idea what to do with all the jittery energy that coursed through her. She felt like a small child in a room full of sweets who had been told to stand in the corner and not touch anything.

  Heat suffused her cheeks and she tried not to think about how warm and resilient his skin would feel if she were to slide her hands inside his open shirt. ‘Of course, how you walk around the palace is entirely up to you. Don’t mind me.’

  She bit into her lip to stop the nervous chatter. She hoped the sharp little pain would also stop all the inappropriate thoughts running through her head.

  ‘Thanks for the memo,’ he bit out tautly. ‘Now stop prevaricating and tell me how you did it.’

  ‘I can’t.’ One thing she wouldn’t do was get the lovely girl who cleaned her room into trouble.

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. ‘Miss James, I am two seconds away from strangling you with my bare hands and feeding your body to a lake full of alligators. I suggest you don’t push me any further.’

  ‘There are alligators in the desert?’

  ‘Regan!’

  She jumped as he bellowed her name. He’d never used her first name before and it scattered her thoughts. ‘Calm down.’ She didn’t know if she was referring to him or herself, but it didn’t matter. ‘I was only asking. But...’ She couldn’t think of any more stalling tactics, so she just went with honesty. ‘I have no intention of telling you how I accessed the internet, so stop asking me.’

  ‘If someone in my employ helped you they will be punished.’

  Rega
n planted her hands on her hips. ‘It wasn’t her fault.’

  Jaeger’s blue eyes narrowed, assessing. ‘The maid helped you.’

  ‘She didn’t help me. She had a tablet and I...borrowed it.’

  The muscle in his jaw flexed rigidly.

  ‘If you punish her I’ll never forgive you,’ she said earnestly, ‘because it wasn’t her fault.’

  ‘I have no doubt it wasn’t her fault but it is obvious she was negligent.’

  ‘I took advantage.’

  ‘Believe me, I’m in no doubt about that.’

  ‘So you won’t do anything to her?’ she implored. ‘Because I can’t allow it.’

  ‘You can’t allow it?’

  He coughed out a laugh and Regan folded her arms across her chest. ‘No. It wouldn’t be fair. And you strike me as a very fair man.’

  ‘Stop playing to my vanity.’ He shook his head. ‘It hasn’t worked with women before you; it won’t work for you either.’

  ‘I was only—’

  ‘Quiet,’ he growled. ‘I need to think.’

  He might need to but she could really use some air.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  Regan looked over her shoulder to find him watching her. ‘There’s no need to shout,’ she grouched. ‘I’m right here. And you clearly don’t need me to think.’

  ‘I never shout,’ he corrected her. ‘At least, I didn’t before I met you.’

  Seriously unnerved by the effect his near naked body was having on her Regan’s heart hammered inside her chest. ‘You know how to fix that,’ she said faintly. ‘You can let me go.’

  He laughed. ‘I wish I could. Believe me, you’re a nuisance I could well do without.’

  For some reason his words hurt. For all the unconventional nature of their meeting, and their missing siblings, Regan couldn’t deny that he was the most exciting man she had ever met. Since her parents had died she’d become cautious and responsible. She always played it safe. One look at this man, one touch, made her feel electrified and more alive than she’d felt in so long. The feeling was at once thrilling and completely appalling. The man didn’t do love and that was all she knew how to do.