Heir To Danger

He deliberately chose to misunderstand. “What does it take to get permission to manhandle you?”

The rabbit punch she delivered to the back of his neck almost ran them off the road. “Do that again and I’ll tie your hands,” he cautioned, fighting to keep the Jeep on the rutted surface. It wasn’t much smoother than the ditches on either side, but at least they wouldn’t get bogged in the talcum powder-like dust known locally as bulldust.

“What am I supposed to do, let you treat me however you will?” she demanded.

If he did that, she wouldn’t be alone in the back seat, he thought, feeling an instant, powerful surge of response. “You’re supposed to let me do my job,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Which includes getting women stabbed with spears, assaulting them and then carrying them off?”

The Jeep bounced off a tree root the thickness of his arm and he winced as her head lashed around. He didn’t dare slow down. “In some traditional cultures, a start like that would have us practically married.”

She’d stopped complaining about the rough treatment, fixated on their conversation, as he’d intended. “I don’t consider any of this amusing.”

“And you think I do? I’m not the one with a murderous fiancé on my tail.”

“You have only my word that he means to harm me,” she said. “For all you know, I could be shirking my royal obligations by avoiding this marriage.”

Seeing her pale face reflected in the mirror, he doubted it. “No one goes to this much trouble to avoid doing their duty.”

“Thank you,” she said simply.

“For what?”

“Trusting me. Believing me when my own father wouldn’t.”

“Maybe he would have been convinced if you’d had more evidence against Jamal.”

He saw her shake her head. “You and your family required no evidence before you were prepared to help me.”

“Code of the outback,” he said, wrenching the wheel to avoid another tree root snaking across the road.

She grabbed the back of the seat. “What?”

“Something my foster brothers and sister made up when we were kids. Under the code of the outback, you don’t back down, you don’t give up and you stand by your mates.” Blake had also insisted on a clause that said “no mushy stuff,” to keep Judy in line, but Tom didn’t think Shara would appreciate that. Besides, his attitude toward women had changed since then. He might not want a permanent relationship, but mushy stuff was definitely on the agenda.

He caught the first glimmer of a smile. “Do you consider me one of your—mates?”

The word sounded foreign on her tongue, but deliciously so. “Anyone who turns to us for help is a mate, so long as they’re innocent of any crime.”

“Is it a crime to want to live your life your own way?”

“Not in this country.”

“Then I’m innocent.”

She meant of any wrongdoing, but Tom had a feeling the description fitted her in every way. No amount of royal pigheadedness could completely disguise her fear of the fate Jamal had in store for her and her country. The ache in Tom’s bruised ribs was easier to tolerate suddenly. It was nothing compared to what she must be going through.

“Are we going to the homestead?” she asked.

“Too obvious.”

“Then where? Oh, no, not to your place.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her in the mirror. “What’s the problem? Not good enough for a princess?”

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