Reluctantly she shook her head. She’d stay. For now.
Half an hour later Cassie stood rigid, eyes fixed on a wall hanging of a courtyard garden with fountains and ornamental trees and beautiful ladies. One played a stringed instrument, one brushed the long, dark hair of another who lifted a cup daintily to her lips. Yet another picked a blossom with delicate fingers.
‘It’s a garden of pleasures,’ the voice, low and rich, murmured. His breath was a puff of warmth on her bare arm and her skin contracted as if brushed by soft suede.
Cassie cleared her throat. ‘Really?’ She tried not to notice the way his body heat seemed to inflame her bare skin when he stood so close. Whenever his fingers brushed her bare torso she felt a curious trembling.
‘Absolutely. In countries like this a garden is a paradise, a place of bountiful water, of green growing things and beauty.’
Cassie knew he only spoke to keep her mind off the fact that he was having trouble unlocking the long lead to the chain around her waist. Yet she found herself lulled by the tantalising burr of his low voice.
Half an hour of kindness, of reassurance, and her terror had abated. Enough for the rigid tension to seep away and anxiety to drop to a barely there undercurrent.
Now she registered other things. A growing awareness of the man beside her, and of her own body.
Perhaps it was the aftermath of stress that made her so sensitive to his nearness. And to his touch.
‘And the women in the picture?’ She searched for a way to keep him talking. She told herself it was to keep her mind off the worry that the ancient padlock on the chain would never open. Not because she needed distraction from the feel of his large hands brushing her skin with a delicacy that sent whorls of sensation through her.
‘Steady, now. This lock is very stiff. You need to be still.’
Cassie sucked in her breath as he insinuated his fingers beneath the chain at her waist and tried to ease the lock free.
‘The women represent the pleasures of the senses. Soothing music, the scent of blossom, the taste of sweet nectar, the pleasure of touch and the sight of beauty.’
He tugged, then moved, adjusting his hold, and she hurried into speech. ‘That’s fascinating. I just thought it was a nice design.’
‘It’s far more than that. It can be read on several levels.’
She felt the soft brush of his hair on her bare skin as he bent close over the old lock. ‘Really? What other meanings does it have?’
One hard shoulder shrugged against Cassie’s hip. There was a sound of grating, then at last a click. A moment later he straightened, holding up one end of the long lead chain and its ancient padlock.
He grinned, a three-cornered smile that creased his face in unfamiliar lines and made this autocratic lord of the desert suddenly look younger, more approachable and devastatingly attractive.
Cassie’s heart thudded to a quickening pace.
Because the loathsome chain was off. That was all.
‘The picture is also a metaphor for the pleasures to be found in a lover.’ His eyes held hers and Cassie’s breathing shallowed. ‘The feel of her soft skin, the sound of her sighs, the feminine scent of her, the pleasure to be found in the sight and the taste of her.’
His gaze dropped to her lips and a tingle of effervescence shot through her blood.
An instant later he’d stepped away, his attention on the chain in his hands. Cassie drew a deep breath, telling herself she was glad he’d moved. Her gaze dropped to the chain and she wrapped her arms around her torso. To be tethered like an animal had been degrading.
‘You’ll be more comfortable without this.’ Anger coloured his voice and his knuckles tightened on the ancient links before he let it fall with a dull thud. ‘I will have it removed in the morning.’
Her stomach clenched hard and hope flared at the sense this man really did take her part. Always she’d fought her battles alone. This time she was grateful for help.
‘Thank you, Your Highness.’ Was that her voice, so breathless?
His head jerked up and their gazes collided. ‘In the circumstances we can drop the formalities. You may call me Amir.’
Cassie swallowed. After all she’d been through why did this simple, sensible offer touch her to the core? Was she so desperate for a friendly face? A gentle tone?
She still felt so…vulnerable.
‘Thank you, Amir.’ She paused, listening to the sound of his name on her tongue.
‘What about this?’ She hooked a hand through the finer chain encircling her waist. He followed her gesture, his gaze dropping to her almost bare body. Heat coursed through her. ‘Can you get this off?’
He shook his head and slowly lifted his eyes. ‘I’d need tools to remove it. Tools I don’t have with me.’
Dismay filled her. She’d have to keep wearing it? Unlike the other one, this wasn’t heavy but it was a potent reminder of her untenable situation. A slave chain.
Her heady sense of freedom disintegrated as harsh reality returned.
‘When we return to Tarakhar it will be a quick matter to remove it.’
Silently Cassie nodded, telling herself she was grateful for what he’d achieved. Suddenly exhaustion crept into her limbs and she felt the last of her energy seep away.
Amir gestured to the massive old-fashioned hip bath the servants had filled with hot water. Curls of steam rose languidly from the surface.
‘I’ll leave you now to wash.’ He turned and was almost out through the door before pausing. ‘Call if you need anything.’
By his watch not much time elapsed before she emerged from the bathing room. But it seemed like hours. Hours in which Amir had soothed his fury by planning suitable punishment for Mustafa and those involved in the kidnapping. Yet Amir’s thoughts strayed continually to Cassie Denison’s vibrant face, her courage and determination. Her lush body.
Those long minutes working the ancient padlock free of the chain at her waist had been torment. He guessed she’d steeled herself against his touch. He hadn’t questioned her yet on how badly she’d been abused by her kidnappers, and bile rose in his throat at the thought of any of Mustafa’s rabble laying hands on her.
That was what had made his hands unsteady: anger.
He’d been eager to get the job done, to give her the privacy she needed. Yet he’d been curiously fumble-fingered. It hadn’t just been the old lock that had been the problem. His unsteady hands had been as much to blame.
Her innocent questions about the old wall hanging, no doubt scavenged by Mustafa in some raid on an ancient stronghold, had channelled Amir’s thoughts in directions that were too intimate for comfort.
He knew the look, scent, sound and feel of her. In one moment of heady madness he’d wondered how she’d taste on his tongue, till he’d pulled himself up short and focused on the lock.
His celibacy these past months told against him, letting his thoughts easily stray to sexual pleasure. It had been too long since he’d taken a woman into his bed.
He breathed deep. His advisors were right. The sooner he married the better.
Mistresses were well and good, but he grew tired of their demands and their grasping eagerness. How long since the pleasure of having beautiful women vie for his attention had begun to pall?
A wife wouldn’t cling. A wife would be busy with the royal household, with raising their children. But she’d be there for his comfort too.
He smiled, enjoying the notion.
Till he realised the woman in his imaginings had eyes of deep violet and hair like tumbled corn silk.
The bedroom was still, almost dark but for the dimmed light of a single lamp. Yet Cassie paused on the threshold, her heart thumping.
The bed was massive. Low and wide enough for four. Yet it looked far too full with just one man occupying it.
No matter that he’d given his word. That he’d assured her she was safe. Cassie couldn’t share his bed.
A shiver spidered its way down he
r backbone, drawing her skin taut at the idea. Silently she crept across the carpeted floor to gather up her black cloak. Holding her breath, she reached her other hand to the bed and slid a massive pillow towards her.
He remained oblivious, his chest rising and falling slightly with each breath.
A spurt of indignation filled her that he should be so unaffected by her presence, her story of abduction and ill use, that he’d fallen asleep. Yet it made this easier.
With quick, efficient movements Cassie wrapped the cloak around herself and curled up on a silk carpet beside the bed. She nestled her head on the plump pillow and almost sighed her pleasure. Every bone ached with tiredness.
‘You can’t sleep there.’ The crisp voice came out of the darkness. Instantly she stiffened.
‘I prefer to sleep alone.’
‘We’ve been through this, Cassie.’ Was that a sigh she heard? ‘Still you do not trust me?’
‘It’s not…’ Of course it was. A matter of trust.
But how could she trust this stranger as completely as he expected?
A stranger whose touch had been gentle yet soothingly impersonal as he’d removed that hated lead chain. A stranger whose deep voice and efficient, unfussy care had eased her frayed nerves and given her support when she needed it.
Still—
Her thoughts disintegrated as warmth surrounded her. Strong arms lifted her tight against his solid form.
Terror engulfed her, obliterating her tentative sense of wellbeing. Cassie fought to escape but could get no purchase on the smooth, hard muscle of his bare torso. Not when his body seemed made of unbreakable steel beneath the warm silk of his skin.
A whoosh of air was expelled from her lungs as he dropped her onto the bed. Cassie barely touched the mattress before she was scrabbling to escape, but he sat beside her, his hip hard against her own, his hold firm as he captured her flailing hands in one of his.
‘Enough!’ The single word broke through her panicked struggles. ‘Enough. You are quite safe.’
Safe? Cassie stared up at a broad, muscled torso dusted with dark hair, to a dangerously angled jaw accentuated by the shadow of stubble. Her heart gave a single lurch. Of fear or something else?
‘You can’t sleep on the floor. You will sleep here, with me, and you will give the impression, when the servants arrive in the morning, that you are well content. Is that understood?’
Eyes like glittering black jade met hers. ‘Cassie? Do you understand? It must appear we spent the night as lovers. For your own safety. Unless you wish to be taken away.’
Cassie swallowed, the movement like scratching sandpaper in her throat. Through the manic pounding of her heart the only sound was her ragged breathing. Fury, she assured herself.
He leaned a fraction closer and the scent of sandalwood tickled her nostrils. ‘All right?’
‘You give me no choice!’ She had no doubt he’d bring her back if she shifted from the bed.
‘I’m glad you understand.’ Amir moved then, bending away from her and reaching out to something beside the bed.
Cassie froze, wary and at the same time mesmerised by the shift and bunch of muscles in his torso. She’d never realised how imposing a naked male could be up close.
‘Here.’ He closed her fingers around something cold. ‘My gift to you.’ He straightened.
Frowning, Cassie turned from him to look at the heavy object in her hand.
‘Hold it like this.’ His hand closed around hers and he drew from the scabbard a lethal-looking blade that gleamed wickedly in the lamplight.
‘You’re kidding!’ Cassie’s breath sucked in on a hiss of disbelief.
‘Keep it with you till I return you to safety. It’s far more effective than the paring knife you dropped.’
Stunned, she looked at his smiling mouth, then up to grim eyes that belied his light-hearted tone.
Suddenly she believed. She trusted.
‘Sleep with it, Cassie. And if anything frightens you in the night, remember you have this.’ On the words he lifted her hand and pressed the tip of the dagger against his chest.
His hand fell away and still the deadly blade rested on his bare, bronzed skin.
Holding the heavy knife took all her strength. Yet within, something surged as she watched him watching her from beneath hooded lids. As she saw the blade glint with every slow rise and fall of Amir’s chest.
Her heart squeezed. He gave her not just words, but the power that had been taken from her. The power to protect herself.
The knife wobbled dangerously in her fist and he closed a gentle hand around hers, lowering it to the cool cotton sheet near her shoulder.
‘Rest now. No one will harm you.’ He released her, his hand hovering a moment as if to stroke her cheek. Then his hand dropped.
His lips thinned and abruptly he stood, towering above her, his wide square shoulders and tapering waist perfect male symmetry outlined by the single lamp.
Before she could respond he pulled the coverlet over her, and she couldn’t help but tense. He stood a moment watching her, then with an abrupt movement bent to tuck in the bedding. A moment later he was striding to his side of the bed.
Cassie’s eyes followed him. She took in the power of his lean torso and the powerful buttocks and thighs encased in pale drawstring pants that rode low on his hips. She’d never known a man to look so elemental. So…male.
Heart in mouth, she watched him lift the coverlet on the far side of the bed and slip beneath it. Without a word he turned away from her.
How long she lay there, staring at the golden expanse of his back, Cassie didn’t know.
Eventually, despite her determination to remain watchful, her eyelids flickered and her fingers loosened their hold on Amir’s knife.
As exhaustion finally claimed her she was aware of a growing sense of peace.
She was almost asleep when her drowsy brain registered why it was she felt so safe. Not because of his words. Nor the concern she’d read in his eyes. Nor the blade he’d given her to defend herself, even against him.
It was the cursory, almost unthinking comfort of that one final action.
How many years had it been since anyone had tucked her into bed for the night? Had showed her such tenderness?
Her heart clutched at the memory, then warmth filled her as she slipped into a dreamless sleep.
She was totally oblivious to the man who turned in the bed and propped himself up to watch her through the night, his brows drawn together in a frown.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE moon rose as Amir rode with Mustafa and his followers through the winding gully back to the encampment.
They’d been out since dawn, occupied by a full day of hawking and riding events designed to entertain and display the prowess of the tough mountain men who gave Mustafa their allegiance. A day designed to exhaust anyone not born to the gritty life of a fighter.
It had been a ploy to give Mustafa the upper hand in the negotiations to come.
He’d miscalculated.
Mustafa knew, of course, about the scandals that had dogged Amir. Who his parents were, his early years of luxury in foreign lands where men weren’t men but had grown soft and lazy. Unpromising beginnings for a prince in a land where uncompromising grit and honour were prized.
But his host, like so many before him, hadn’t done his homework thoroughly. He’d assumed that old story summed up the Sheikh of Tarakhar.
He hadn’t bothered to discover that although Amir’s past had shaped him into the man he was today it had made him tougher, stronger, more determined, more focused than any of the so-called warriors surrounding them.
It was Mustafa who sat swaying in his seat, surreptitiously wiping his forehead and growing ill-tempered while Amir rode easily, shoulders straight and mind keen. He could have ridden through the night, still alert and more than capable of dealing with an overblown bully like Mustafa.
He had little respect for the man as anything more than a p
ower broker in an unstable territory. After last night’s revelations it had taken all Amir’s control not to reveal his fury. The time for that would come. Though Mustafa had received a taste today of the cool hauteur that was a royal sheikh’s prerogative.
An image of huge violet eyes flashed into Amir’s head.
She’d been asleep when he left. Dead to the world and looking far too pale. In the dawn light, her face free of make-up, she’d looked young and lovely. Even, if that could be believed, innocent.
Till Amir noticed the way her fingers curled around the hilt of her dagger even in sleep.
Emotion surged through him. Something fierce that rippled like a predator on the hunt. Something that craved blood for what had been done to her.
Yet there was also a disturbing sense of frustration. Of helplessness. Feelings he hadn’t experienced since boyhood. For, though he wished it otherwise, he couldn’t save Cassie Denison yet from the terror that haunted her.
He had obligations to fulfil here. To move precipitately would risk the peace talks and her safety.
Amir’s hands tightened on the reins and his horse broke into a canter. Mustafa slowly followed suit, lumbering along like a sack of potatoes instead of the valiant leader of men he styled himself.
Effervescence fizzed in Amir’s blood as they rounded a mountain spur and the camp came into view. Soon he’d be able to rid himself, for a while at least, of this unpalatable company.
He assured himself it wasn’t eagerness he felt at the prospect of seeing Cassandra.
How many hours had he lain awake watching her? Sifting her words for truth? Letting his gaze trail over skin that he knew was soft as rose petals, hair like rays of sunlight, a delicate jaw that also spoke of obstinacy, and the most passionate mouth he’d ever seen?
Amir stopped his thoughts in an instant, recognising them as weakness.
He did not cultivate weakness. From the age of eleven he’d had to be better, stronger, tougher than his peers. It hadn’t been good enough to succeed—he’d had to excel. That had required absolute commitment and focus.
The women in his life, pleasing through they were, fulfilled a very specific role. He couldn’t remember ever being kept awake by the need simply to watch one sleep.
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