Hidden In The Sheikh's Harem

CHAPTER FOUR

FOR 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.’

Relax? Farah couldn’t have been more tense if he’d pointed a loaded gun at her head. It had been a long time since she had been physically close to anyone and all this bodily contact was messing with her head. ‘This isn’t right.’

‘But kidnapping your prince is fine.’

‘Must you always have the last word?’ she grumbled.

‘Must you?’

Not wanting to find anything remotely amusing about him, Farah curled herself into a tight ball to try to put distance between them. Self-sufficiency was a prized trait in the harsh desert climate and Farah was proud that, although she was female, she could survive on her own if she had to. She wanted to point this out to the prince but that would involve speaking to him and she’d much rather pretend he wasn’t there. She’d much rather pretend she was in her own bed than on the cold, hard ground wrapped in the strong arms of her father’s number one enemy.

* * *

Finally she fell asleep. Thank Allah. Once her trembling had subsided, she’d squirmed around trying to get comfortable to the point that Zach had needed to place a staying hand on her hip to stop her from rubbing her bottom against his burning erection one more time. It was bad enough he even had one let alone her knowing about it.

Realising that his hand was still gripping her hip, he eased it away. He knew his reaction to her was based on his recent bout of celibacy and little else. Maybe the way danger heightened the senses, as well. Whatever it was, he had no intention of acting on it. He wasn’t the type to lose his head over anything and one slender spitfire wouldn’t change that.

Sighing, he shifted to get comfortable. The little spitfire whimpered in her sleep like a small kitten having a bad dream. He didn’t doubt she was and he wondered if it featured a jail cell and the span of twenty years. That brought a small smile to his lips, one that was quickly supplanted by a scowl when she burrowed closer to his warmth. He briefly thought about putting his arm beneath her head to offer his biceps as a pillow but then dismissed the idea. What did he care about her comfort? She might have offered him food earlier and... Damn. Just the thought of her crouching over him and bringing the food to his lips was enough to have his mind spiralling back to what she would look like naked. He’d noticed the telltale flush of arousal on her face when he’d drawn her fingers into his mouth and laved them with his tongue, the way her eyes had glazed with desire. She’d been turned on and, damn it, so was he. Again.

Absently he wondered if she was intimate with the arrogant soldier who had argued with her. He clearly wanted her. Not that Zach cared, but there was definite tension between the two of them. The man was clearly a moron, though, to have left her alone with him. If she had been his woman there was no way he’d have let her have her own way in a dangerous situation. She would be his to take care of. His to protect. And thank Allah she wasn’t.

He felt her shiver and curl into a tighter ball. She must still be cold; he damned well was. Cold, hungry, angry and his arms and torso felt like they were covered in a thousand tiny pinpricks from where the sand and rain had pelted him in the storm.

He let out an aggrieved sigh. Farah Hajjar better not give him any trouble in the morning because he was very far from his cool, controlled self.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘WAKE UP, ZENOBIA. Time to hustle.’

Hustle?

Groggily Farah came awake and realised the prod in her bottom had been the Prince of Bakaan’s foot. Her teeth ground together at the way he mockingly referred to her as a warrior queen from the Roman era. Some warrior she was, allowing him to get the better of her. ‘Only if you’ll give me back my dagger so I can do to you what she did to Probus.’

She sat up and rubbed the grit from her eyes but still caught the look of surprise on his face. ‘Oh, sorry,’ she simpered. ‘Am I supposed to play the part of the village idiot who isn’t anywhere near as learned as the high and mighty prince with his first-class degree?’

He didn’t move but she felt his eyes on her like a hot brand. ‘Two degrees, actually.’

‘Oh, well, excuse me.’ She glanced at Moonbeam so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

‘So you’re educated?’

‘Self-educated, no thanks to your family’s reign.’ She flicked him a scathing look. ‘But, as much as your father tried to keep us all in the dark, we’re a little more resourceful than you might think. Especially when—’

She stopped, suddenly realising she was about to tell him that there was someone on his staff who was supplying the outer tribes with contraband medical and educational goods.

Great going, Farah, she admonished herself. What a way to get a man fired—or, worse, killed.

His eyes narrowed. ‘When what?’

She brushed sand off her legs. ‘Never mind. Why did you kick me?’

‘I didn’t kick you. I nudged you.’ His deep voice made her insides feel unsteady. ‘And I wouldn’t be Probus in your little fantasy. I’d be Aurelian.’

Aurelian, who had captured Zenobia and ended her reign as queen. She made a rude noise at his arrogance. ‘You wish,’ she muttered, half under her breath.

He stopped in front of her and she stared at his dusty boots and the way his jeans—so foreign in her part of the world and yet so sexy in the way they moulded to his legs—hung over the top. ‘I captured you, didn’t I?’

Instant annoyance hit her at his words and she threw her head back to glare at him—only something black and alive dropped to the ground beside her and she let out a blood-curdling scream. The scorpion took off into a nearby crevice and Farah went from paralysed inertia to violently brushing at her clothing in seconds.

Suddenly large hands grasped her upper arms and lifted her to her feet. ‘Keep still.’ The prince scoured the ground for the offending visitor and released her. ‘It’s gone.’

Something crawled across her shoulder and she nearly hit the cave roof. ‘More! There’s more.’

‘No, there’s not.’ The prince’s voice seemed to come from far off before he gripped her arms again and shook her gently. ‘It’s your imagination.’

‘My hair,’ she gasped. ‘They’re in my hair.’ It was one of those irrational fears she’d struggled to master since her mother’s death all those years ago.

With an exaggerated sigh, the prince gently knocked her hands away from her head and turned her around.

* * *

Zach’s eyes swept over dark chestnut tresses that a bird would think twice about before nesting in. It was long, thick and matted with sand, half of it still in the braid that hung down her back.

Carefully he scanned it for anything moving. ‘There is nothing.’

‘There is. I can feel...’ She shivered and turned towards him. Her eyes were huge in her face and moist from where she held tears at bay. She was afraid he realised; truly petrified. Something inside his chest pulled tight and before he could question the move he dug his fingers into her hair. She stood stock-still but he caught the small tremors of fear racing through her and the need to comfort her overwhelmed everything else.

Smoothing her hair back from her face, he moved behind her to unwind her plait. The dark waves parted beneath his fingers and he found himself studying the lightly tanned skin of her neck. It looked smooth and supple, not unlike the body he had curved around the night before.

Reminding himself that she was as bloodthirsty as her father, he ignored the underlying silky texture of her hair as he combed his fingers through it. Again his body responded to the fact that he was touching her, which only elevated his already soaring stress levels. He should be focused on getting home, not on saving a woman he couldn’t care less about from desert insects.

Roughly he turned her back to face him. ‘You’re clear.’

She stared up at him with those guileless chocolate-brown eyes and he felt a jolt go right through him. Bedroom eyes, he decided, his gaze automatically dropping to her slightly parted lips. Bedroom eyes and soft, kissable lips...

Time seemed to stop as he imagined doing all sorts of unholy things to those lips, starting with his mouth and ending with... The hair on his forearms stood on end and it wasn’t the only thing that did.

Hell.

He stepped back and took himself in hand—metaphorically speaking.

* * *

Farah stiffened as the prince moved away and grabbed hold of Moonbeam’s halter.

She shook off the lethargy that had invaded her limbs as soon as he had touched her, as soon as he had looked at her mouth—as if it were the ripest peach and he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into it. For a tense moment she had thought he might kiss her, and she was ashamed to admit that she had wanted him to. But how could she when he was the kind of man she had vowed to avoid? A man who walked all over others in order to further his own interests. Not to mention the reason behind the situation they were in. ‘He needs water,’ she muttered, knowing it must be true because her lips were as dry as the desert itself.

‘Water and food,’ he agreed shortly. ‘But unless you can divine it from these rocks he isn’t going to get any here. Nor are we.’ He patted the stallion. ‘He’s an impressive animal. What’s his name?’

‘Moonbeam.’

The laughter that followed her announcement was both warm and strong. ‘You should have just gelded him when you named him. It would have been easier on him.’

‘Oh, you’re hateful.’

‘When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.’ He sobered and threaded his fingers together to form a platform. ‘Give me your foot.’

‘I’m not coming with you!’ He had to be mad to suggest it, the hateful, arrogant—

‘Fine.’ He straightened and vaulted onto Moonbeam as if the stallion was no bigger than a Shetland.

Hold on. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Leaving.’

‘Not on my horse.’ She grabbed onto the halter. He couldn’t just leave her here without any way of getting home. ‘Damn it, why did you have to come into my life?’

He stared down at her. ‘I’ve been asking myself the same question. Now, get on or I’ll leave you to become buzzard food.’

Farah thought about telling him to go to hell but knew that she couldn’t. Yet. ‘This time I’m riding on the back.’ No way was she going to be made to feel small and helpless by having his arms wrapped around her again.

‘I don’t care if you ride on your head. Just move it.’

Knowing this was probably a mistake, but aware that she really had little option, Farah stomped to his side. He’d wrapped part of her dark tunic around his head again and, even though he was as dusty and as unkempt as she was, he managed to look regal and magnificent atop her snorting stallion. When their eyes connected she refused to let herself be swayed by his looks and injected as much venom into her gaze as she could.

Stony-eyed, he reached out his much larger hand for her to take. As soon as she placed hers in it he yanked her up behind him as if she weighed little more than a pillow.

Unfortunately, riding behind him didn’t make her feel any better than riding in front, because she was forced to hold tightly to his lean hips as he urged Moonbeam to get them to safety.

Which came in the form of a nearby tribal village some hours later, just when she thought she might expire. The tribe was a fair distance from her own so she knew they had covered a lot of ground the night before, desperation and adrenaline pushing them on. She didn’t know anyone in the village, not having much cause to leave her own, and was surprised when their leader bought the prince’s charming ‘lost in the storm with one of his servants’ scenario.

Servant!

Oh, how she wished she could contradict him but the consequences weren’t worth it.

With a promise that Moonbeam would be housed until he could return, the prince ate down a mountain of food before borrowing a battered jeep and driving them through most of the afternoon and night, with only the occasional rest for a power nap. Farah didn’t know how he kept up the pace and after a night of little rest, slept most of the way.

Awakening just before dawn her eyes were riveted to the changing landscape and the size of the city of Bakaan as they approached the following morning. She’d visited once or twice as a child but she’d forgotten how large it was—and how busy. Even this early the streets were filled with cars, bicycles, oxen and camels with a mass of people dressed in all styles of clothing filling the pavements. Built into a hillside, the Shomas Palace towered over the city in all its golden glory and Farah secretly admired its opulent beauty as Zach identified himself to the guards and drove through the iron gates.

‘What do you intend to do with me?’ she asked, proud of the way she managed to keep the tremor out of her voice.

Ignoring her question, he jerked the old car to a stop in front of a set of massive stone steps; heat shimmered off the pale sandstone walls of the palace, turning them white. The courtyard they were in was already a hive of activity with a procession of servants rushing around. Farah returned her gaze to the prince’s as he rested his hands on the steering wheel, his lion’s eyes scanning her face to the point of discomfort.

She raised her chin as if his perusal was nothing more than an irritant. She was hoping he was going to tell her that, now that he was back home, he was going to let her go. That he was going to let the whole thing drop and forget it had even happened. She knew she’d like to. ‘Well?’ She stared him down. ‘Are you going to tell me or not?’

‘Yes, I’m going to tell you.’ He smiled but it was grim in his hard, beautiful face. ‘I’m going to use you as bait.’

* * *

Farah fumed as the prince all but dragged her along opulent hallways and past closed doors, servants and guards bowing one after the other as they proceeded; none of them showing an ounce of shock at seeing their prince pulling a woman along roughly by the arm. If possible the interior of the palace was grander than the exterior and Farah’s mind buzzed at the wondrousness of the wide hallways and soaring ceilings stencilled in blue, green and gold fretwork prevalent in the Moorish period, the ancient artworks that were framed under bright lights, and the solid marble floor that shone to a high gloss from the sunshine streaming in through high arched windows.

Realising she was letting herself become awestruck, she dug her heels into the polished floor. ‘You can’t do this.’

Of course he didn’t respond to her outraged cry but stopped before an enormous carved door. Ignoring her, he turned towards two guards who had rushed to follow them. ‘No one comes in here, no one goes out—is that clear?’

‘Yes, Your Highness,’ they said in unison.

‘I won’t let you use me this way,’ Farah asserted as he shoved her into the room.

When he gave a short, sharp laugh she stared at him belligerently. ‘You have no grounds to hold me.’

The prince turned cold, menacing eyes on her and for the first time she noticed the deep brown ring that bordered all that gold. ‘I don’t need a reason.’

‘Right. Your word is law, is that it?’ Farah tossed her filthy hair which she’d replaited after the prince had sifted his fingers through it back over her shoulder.

He stepped into her space and brought his face level with hers. ‘That is it, yes. An eye for an eye. Isn’t that what your father believes in?’

Her father did unfortunately hold to that cynical view of the world but Farah didn’t.

Dismissing her, he turned towards a maid she hadn’t noticed slip into the room behind them. Only half listening to what he was saying to the girl, Farah took in the scope of the opulent room for the first time. And what she saw made her gasp out loud.

‘Oh, my...is this the harem?’

‘What gave it away?’ the prince drawled lazily. ‘The cherub motifs on the wall or the large sunken marble tub in the middle of the room?’ He walked over to it and raised his foot to rest on the curved edge like the insolent sheikh that he was.