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was half dead, and he was thirsting for her as she was no doubt thirsting for water.
Dehydration, he thought savagely, holding her easily as he walked back to his stallion and removed a bottle from his saddlebag. He’d seen it before, too many times.
‘Drink,’ he ordered harshly, but she gave no sign that she was able to obey his command.
Questioning what crime he’d committed to be saddled with an unconscious girl at a time when he was supposed to be enjoying solitude, Zafiq splashed a small amount of water over her lips and watched with grim satisfaction as her tongue flickered out. At least he wasn’t dealing with a corpse.
He wanted her to live so that she could face justice for trying to steal his horse. She would pay the price for her crime.
In order to keep her alive, he needed to get her out of the sun and cool her down. And the only place he could do that was in his own camp.
Resigning himself to the inevitable, Zafiq swung her limp body onto his horse and supported her while he vaulted on behind her. Drawing her lifeless body against the power of his own, he closed his legs on the stallion’s flanks and urged him forwards, glancing over his shoulder to check on the mare.
It took less than twenty minutes to reach the shelter of his remote desert camp—twenty minutes during which he discovered to his frustration that he was able to become aroused by an unconscious woman.
Dismounting in a fluid movement, Zafiq gritted his teeth as he lifted her once again into his arms.
Perhaps he should have left her in the desert.
Turning the horses loose to find shade and water in the small oasis, he carried the unconscious girl towards his tent, breathing through his mouth in order to block out the tantalising floral scent of her hair. He dumped her gently on the mat that served as a bed and frowned impatiently as she lay still, not moving.
Torn between concern and exasperation, Zafiq leant forward and placed his fingers on her forehead. Registering the dry, burning heat, he realised that if he didn’t cool her down, he was going to have a serious problem on his hands.
‘I don’t know who you are, but you clearly have more beauty than sense,’ he growled, striding across the tent to fetch a bowl of tepid water and a piece of cloth.
So much for a week of peace, solitude and quiet reflection.
Zafiq dipped the cloth in the water and bathed her face and neck. Knowing that her recovery was dependent on cooling and rehydration, he reluctantly unfastened the buttons of her long sleeve shirt. Peeling it away he bathed her slender arms, keeping his eyes averted from the pretty lace bra that was now the only barrier between him and her body. He left her arms and body damp, allowing the water droplets to cool her overheated skin.
At this rate he was going to need the cool water himself, he thought, seriously unsettled by the effect she had on him. With haste and clinical efficiency he tugged her white cotton trousers past the curve of her hips and down her long legs.
‘Atif?’ She murmured a man’s name and Zafiq frowned sharply, wondering whether there had been someone else out in the desert with her.
Of course. She must have had an accomplice. A plan to kidnap his horse couldn’t have been executed by one lone woman, could it?
Wondering what had happened to his usual clarity of thought, Zafiq dropped the cloth back into the bowl and raked her flushed cheeks with an impatient gaze, but this time his impatience was directed towards himself. Since when had he ceased to think logically?
Driven by concern and the pressing need to extract information, he scooped her up and pressed the cup of water to her lips. ‘Drink,’ he ordered, and although her eyes remained closed she obediently parted her lips and swallowed. ‘And more.’ He continued to encourage her to drink and then laid her gently back against the pillows and bathed her once again.
Shaded by the tent and cooled by the water she started to revive.
Only when he judged that she was able to answer, did Zafiq scoop her up once again and voice the question that was troubling him.
‘Who was with you?’ His voice was rough—rougher than he intended—but even so she didn’t respond. Trying to ignore the softness of her skin against his arms, Zafiq tried again. ‘Were you alone?’
Her eyes slid to his and she looked at him with those stunning blue eyes that were undeniably designed to drive a man to distraction.
‘Horse—’ she croaked, and Zafiq felt the tension ripple across his shoulders.
‘I know about the horse. What about humans?’
Her tongue moistened her lower lip, slowly, as if speaking were the hardest thing she’d ever done. ‘Is the horse OK?’
She was lying half dead in his arms and yet she was asking about the horse?
Momentarily thrown by that surprising fact, it took Zafiq a moment to realise that she obviously had a vested interest in the animal’s welfare. ‘She is fine, although no thanks to you. You will not be profiting on this occasion.’
‘Profiting?’
‘There are many questions which you will answer in time, but first tell me about Atif. Who is he?’
Her eyes closed again but not before he’d seen tears glistening and the dull sheen of despair.
‘Please don’t make me go back.’
‘Go back where?’ Accustomed to receiving an immediate answer to any question he posed, Zafiq found this laborious process of dragging information from her unspeakably tedious.
What sort of man would leave it to a woman to steal a horse?
Or had she seduced someone to achieve her objective?
Irritated by his thoughts, he pressed the cup to her lips again. Her hand closed over his wrist as she drank and the burn of her fingers against his skin induced a reaction so shockingly powerful that Zafiq almost dropped the cup.
‘How could you have done this without help? There must have been someone with you?’
‘No.’ Her voice was faint. ‘On my own.’
As he laid her back against the pillows, Zafiq pondered why a horse thief should be working alone and unsupported. All the intelligence he’d received on the threat to his valuable mare had seemed to point to a group of people. ‘Sleep.’ He rose to his feet swiftly, needing to distance himself. Needing to regain control. ‘I must check on the animals.’
No one would be touching his horses again, he promised himself fiercely as he strode towards the entrance of the tent.
‘Wait—’ Her soft croak stopped him. ‘Who are you?’
Zafiq gave a cynical smile.
Never before had anyone asked him that question. He eyed her blonde hair and fair skin thoughtfully. It was entirely possible that this uninformed, naive woman, who thought she could kidnap a valuable animal without detection, genuinely had no idea who he was.
Which suited him.
His exact location was a secret. And he wanted it to remain a secret, particularly as he now had Amira’s safety to think about.
‘I’m your nemesis,’ he purred, his voice lethally soft as he lifted the flap of the tent. ‘And you are going to live to regret the day you stole my horse.’
Everything had shifted from gold to white.
Had she died and gone to heaven?
Bella blinked several times and realised that she was staring up at canvas. She was inside a tent. And it was hot. Stiflingly hot, like being trapped in an oven on full heat with the door closed. Her head throbbed, her mouth felt parched and she had no idea what she was doing here. Memories