Hidden In The Sheikh's Harem

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.

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