A Cinderella For The Desert King. KIM LAWRENCE
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was the possibility of their stopping long enough to unite against a common foe—namely himself and the redhead—that bothered him.
None of the thoughts passing through his head showed in his body language, however, as he had learnt a long time ago that appearances did matter. It wasn’t about a macho reluctance to show weakness; it was common sense. Weakness would always be exploited by enemies, and that went pretty much double when the enemies in question were carrying weapons.
A spasm of impatience flickered across his lean features as the girl slowed and came to a nervous halt when they got within a few feet of the stallion.
‘He won’t bite...unless you annoy him.’
* * *
Abby’s experience of equines had until this point in her life been restricted to a donkey ride on the beach. Even at eleven, her long legs had almost touched the floor as she straddled the little donkey, who had plodded along and looked at her with sad eyes. This animal, with his stamping feet, looked about ten feet tall and his rolling eyes were not kind.
‘I don’t think he likes me.’
The mysterious stranger ignored the comment and vaulted into the saddle before reaching down and casually hauling her up before him.
Landing breathlessly, Abby clutched at the first thing that came to hand, which was the horseman, seizing on cloth. His body was hard as rock with zero excess flesh.
It wasn’t until the horse had stopped dancing like a temperamental ballerina and she had not fallen off that the comment hit her. ‘Bride price...?’
‘Can you do something with that hair? I can’t see a damned thing...’ Holding the reins in one hand, he pushed a skein of her copper hair away from his face and urged the horse into a canter. ‘Yes, we just got married.’
She turned her head to stare in wide-eyed alarm as he urged all several hundred pounds of quivering, high-bred horse flesh underneath them into action, and the animal hit full gallop in seconds.
Her shriek was carried away by the warm air that hit her face. Abby tightened her white-knuckled grip and closed her eyes, sending up a silent prayer...or maybe not so silent. She felt rather than heard his heartless laugh as the sting of sand hitting her face made her turn it protectively into his broad shoulder.
‘Just hang on.’
She had no intention of letting go or, for that matter, opening her eyes again as her stomach lurched sickly. She couldn’t see a thing anyway as they left the lights of the encampment behind. It was pitch-black. How on earth could he see where they were going?
Where were they going?
And were they really married?
The horse’s thundering stride didn’t falter. In fact, after a short time, the rhythm of its hoof beats seemed to have a soothing effect on her. Although perhaps that was too strong a word to describe the calm, almost hypnotic sensation allowing the rigidity of terror to slip from her body by degrees, allowing her to even lift her face from the man’s shoulder.
‘Are they following us?’
‘Maybe. I only managed to disable half the engines before—’ He cut off abruptly as he felt an echo of the swell of rage that had consumed him when he saw the guy raise his hand. ‘Did they...hurt you?’
‘Not in the way you mean.’ She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn. It wasn’t fear that kept her eyes closed now but the fact that the mere effort of lifting her eyelids was a struggle.
But she had to try—there were questions she needed to ask. Not deep, meaningful stuff, just the basics, like who was he and where were they going?
‘This is mad,’ she said as another yawn escaped her. She felt weirdly numb and even her bitten arm seemed to have stopped hurting. Eyes closed, hurtling along like this felt strangely like flying, the hand that was looped casually around her ribs keeping her safe.
* * *
‘No, it’s physiology. Shock releases chemicals.’
And never underestimate the power of chemicals, he thought, the memory of the burst of raw rage that had hit him like a tsunami when he had seen the redhead paraded like a piece of meat for the benefit of the pack of rabid scum still fresh in his mind.
For a man who had always taken his ability to approach problems from the vantage point of cool detachment, the knowledge that his struggle to control the initial primal instinct, the rush of visceral hatred, to rush in without considering the consequences when it could have gone either way was disturbing.
‘I’m not in shock,’ she told him, a hint of challenge in her voice as she prised her eyelids apart and gave her head a tiny shake.
He flashed a look downwards at the woman who sat in front of him. The angle meant her face was hidden from him and he could only see the top of her glossy head and the angle of her jaw. It was a stubborn angle, but it had taken more than stubbornness to stand there and throw a punch. It was stupid, yes, but also just about the gutsiest thing he had ever seen.
‘The danger is over and your adrenaline levels are dipping.’
Abby gave a tiny choking laugh, as if she thought the idea she was out of danger was funny.
‘You’ve found something to laugh about in this situation?’
‘I can have hysterics if you prefer,’ she said with annoyance, a strange look coming over her face. Then, ‘I feel sick,’ she warned him suddenly.
‘Don’t be,’ he said, knowing it was an unfeeling response but also knowing they couldn’t stop now. It wasn’t safe.
Luckily for them both her nausea passed, but the bone-deep exhaustion didn’t as he felt her fight the losing battle to stay awake. At last she gave in and when her head next slumped against his chest it stayed there, her breathing deepening and her body relaxing into his.
Zain dragged her soft, limp body in closer, giving the powerful animal free rein, and found the quiet place in his head that had eluded him all day. It turned out that all it took was being fired at, giving away a priceless gem that had been in his family for generations, and having a beautiful, albeit filthy and bedraggled, woman snore softly in his arms. Just when he’d thought life was getting predictable.
His narrowed glance moved once more towards the east, where he could see a ribbon of distant lights that indicated they were being pursued, but they had had a head start and if he made a detour to the Qu’raing oasis their paths would not cross.
The danger was over...so why did he feel as if he was about to face another?
‘TIME TO STRETCH your legs.’
Abby murmured sleepily and ignored the voice but couldn’t ignore the creak of leather and the abrupt removal of the hard warmth she had been pressed against—as illusions of security went, this one was on an epic scale.
Abby fought her way through the layers of sleep and blinked... The ground was a long way off and the horse she sat astride was stamping and snorting restlessly.
She’d been asleep. How on earth had she actually slept?
She arched her back to stretch out the cricks in her spine and felt herself slip, so she grabbed the first thing that came to hand—a piece of horse mane—to regain her balance. Feeling slightly more secure, she risked letting go for a moment to brush away the hair that had fallen across her face, effectively blinding her.
She was half-inclined to pull the silky curtain back in place when her eyes connected with those of the tall man standing, arms folded across his chest, watching her.
Of their own volition, her eyes made the journey up from his dusty boots to the edges of the gold