Girl in the Bedouin Tent. Annie West
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died abruptly.
He sat on his heels, his eyes fixed on her. This close they looked like black velvet. His skin was golden, his brows dark as sin. A hard angular jaw and strong nose gave him an air of purpose.
His big hands clasped her shoulders, a reminder of his latent strength. A wisp of something shimmered in the air between them for a second. Something new. Her dazed brain tried to grab at it but it vanished as he withdrew his hands and she drew another breath, less ragged this time.
Her wrists throbbed as blood surged through them again. Slowly, each movement painful, she dragged her hands down to cradle them at her chest.
He’d let her go! She could scarcely believe it.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, swallowing hard.
Yet, free of his hold, exhaustion engulfed her as the manic surge of adrenalin ebbed.
Twenty-four hours living on the edge of terror had sapped her reserves of strength. It took a few moments to gather herself and find the energy to stir.
Conscious of his gaze assessing every movement, of his tense body still far too close, she rolled to her side and braced her hands against the carpet, ready to get up. Each action took so much energy, and she still felt winded from the impact of what surely must be six feet three of powerfully muscled man tumbling her to the floor.
‘What’s that?’ His voice was sharp. Cassie looked over her shoulder, eyes wide.
‘What?’
‘On your back.’ He gestured towards her bare back but thankfully didn’t touch. ‘Down low, just above your skirt, and there, on your thigh.’
Cassie’s lips compressed as she pushed herself to her knees. ‘Bruises, I expect. The guard likes to exert his authority.’ Her lips twisted as she remembered the sadistic glitter in the big man’s eyes as he’d laid into her. She’d made the error of defying him. How soon would she have to return to face his tender mercies?
Another burst of Arabic sounded and she swung her head around.
The expression in those dark eyes was ugly. Instinctively she raised clenched hands in defensive fists. ‘Don’t look at me like that!’ If anything, he scowled more ferociously. Finally he breathed deep, as if searching for calm. ‘You have nothing to fear from me.’
It took a moment to realise his gaze had moved to the chain circling her waist and the longer, heavier one connected to it. The one that tethered her to the wide bed on one side of the room.
Cassie had spent fruitless hours trying desperately to prise one of the links open. But nothing had worked, not even the knife. Her fingers were raw and her nails torn from the attempt.
Heat surged into her cheeks as she followed his stare. The symbolism of that chain, securing her like a slave to the bed, was too blatant to be missed.
She was here for his pleasure, to service his needs. As she watched expressions flit across his stark features, Cassie was sure she spied fleeting masculine speculation there.
Defiance flared in her belly.
Cassie knew the brutal power imbalance between a man and a woman kept solely for his amusement. Even if her own society dressed it up as something a little less blatant, it was a role she’d vowed long ago to avoid. Given her background, the thought of being any man’s sexual plaything made her break out in a sweat.
It was an appalling cosmic joke that she of all people should find herself in this situation! ‘Where’s the key?’
Cassie lifted her chin. She injected insouciance into her tone to counteract the ridiculous shame she felt. As if she’d had a say in this! ‘If I knew that I wouldn’t still be here.’
Silently he surveyed her, his skimming glance making her hyperaware of every bare inch of skin and of the weight of encircling metal at her waist.
He sprang to his feet and retrieved her cloak from the floor.
‘Here. Cover yourself.’ The order was brusque, as if the sight of her offended him.
Looking up at his spare, powerful face, half averted, Cassie wondered if it were true. That he wasn’t interested in …
‘Thank you.’ The words were muffled as she snatched the material and dragged it close. Its scratchy warmth settled around her but didn’t counteract the cold welling inside. Suddenly her skin was covered in goosebumps and her teeth chattered. She slumped back on her heels, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. The mountain air was cold at night, but Cassie knew it was shock finally taking its toll.
She watched him busy himself lighting another lamp and the brazier. The warm glow and cheering crackle of the fire reached her, yet still she felt frozen.
‘Come. There’s food. You’ll feel better after you’ve eaten.’
‘I won’t feel better till I’m out of here!’
She glared up, all her resentment focusing on the man towering above her: tall, dark and far more compelling than mere handsome could ever be.
How could she notice that at a time like this?
Was shock affecting her ability to think?
He paced forward, extending a hand, and a tremor rippled through her at the thought of touching him again. His powerful body was still imprinted on hers.
Instinct shrieked that touching him was dangerous.
Cassie pretended not to notice his gesture and scrambled up, feeling the worse for wear. Acting kept her fit and agile, but being crash-tackled to the floor by a man with the hard body of an athlete was not something she trained for.
Breathlessly she stood, swaying only a little, determined not to reach for support.
If possible, his expression hardened even more, his jaw set like stone.
‘Who are you?’ Her voice emerged strident and challenging.
‘My name is Amir ibn Masud Al Jaber.’
He inclined his head in a smooth gesture of introduction and waited, as if expecting a reaction.
‘I know your name.’ Cassie made a frustrated gesture, trying to remember how she knew his name. She’d never seen him before. That face, that presence was unforgettable.
‘I am Sheikh of Tarakhar.’
‘Sheikh? Do you mean.?’ No, it was preposterous. ‘Leader, in your language.’
Cassie’s eyes bulged. No wonder she’d known his name! The Sheikh of Tarakhar was renowned for his fabulous wealth and for the absolute power he wielded within his kingdom.
It was his country she’d travelled through yesterday.
Why was he here? Was he in league with the men who’d done this to her?
Fear crowded close again. Cassie wrapped her arms tighter round her torso and began to sidle out of reach.
‘And you are?’ He didn’t move but his deep voice stopped her in her tracks. She braced herself to meet his gleaming gaze.
‘My name is Cassandra Denison. Cassie.’
‘Cassandra.’ The familiar syllables joined in an unfamiliar, exotic curl of sound. She told herself it was his hint of an accent that made her name sound different, so seductive.
She swayed a little—or was that the flickering light?
‘Come! You need sustenance.’ He didn’t quite click his fingers, but his abrupt gesture made her step automatically towards a low, brass-topped table.
Her instant response to his command infuriated her, but she had more important things on her mind. Cassie’s eyes rounded. The knife was back where she’d found it, beside a platter of fruit and almonds.
He trusted her with the blade? Or was