“You weren’t going to say things like that,” she interjected hurriedly.
“Sorry.” He didn’t sound at all apologetic. “Go on. You were saying that you were a lousy actress?”
“Terrible. But it didn’t make any difference, because this is probably the only film I’ll be in anyway. I only accepted the role because it was a chance to get a free trip to Sedikhan. I like to visit new places.”
“Windflower.” This time his tone was thoughtful. “But even windflowers have roots. What are yours, Billie? A family, a special place?”
“I’m an orphanage brat,” she said lightly. “And all places are special in their own way. And I can’t possibly be a windflower, because I don’t have any roots. I’m a gypsy, and I’ll probably still be one when I’m ninety. I like my life very much just the way it is.”
“You don’t have to be so forceful about it. No one’s arguing with you. We all have to be what we are. I don’t want to change you, Billie; that would be altering the natural order of things.” He rubbed his cheek lightly, almost teasingly, against hers. “But it’s not unnatural to blossom and develop into all you can be. That can be very beautiful. I’d like to watch that happening to you, windflower.”
“You’re absolutely unbelievable,” Billie said blankly. “I’ve never known anyone to speak to a complete stranger the way you do. Windflowers and blossoms and philosophy. Are you always like this?”
“Most of the time,” he said simply. “Something happened to me quite a few years ago that burned all the small talk out of me. Now I don’t even try to play word games. Life is too short for us not to be completely honest with one another.”
“That could be very dangerous,” Billie said slowly. “The world can be a very devious place, and complete honesty leaves you terribly open to hurt.”
“It also leaves you open to beauty and truth and the lovely rhythms of life,” he said quietly. “And to the knowledge of gypsies like Billie Callahan.”
“Knowledge?”
“I’m hoping that if I leave myself open you’ll want to come near and give a little of yourself to me. Rest against me and let me learn you. Do you suppose that’s possible?”
In that moment she could believe anything was possible with this eccentric man whose voice was mellow as honey and whose words glittered clear as crystal yet bewildered at the same time. “I have an idea it wouldn’t make any difference if I said no. Doesn’t the fact that we’re complete strangers make any difference to you?”
“Why should it? I’ve always known what I wanted. I’d just never found it before I lifted my head and saw a windflower clinging to the top of a hill. My windflower.”
She stirred uneasily, and he recognized the disturbance for what it was. “All right. I’ll be quiet,” he said with a chuckle. “I know you’re not ready for all this yet.” This time she was certain he kissed her temple. “But you’ve got to admit it’s taken your mind off the storm.”
It certainly had done that, she realized with astonishment. She’d been more aware of the storm of emotions he was arousing under the flowing burnoose than of the one that was going on around their little cocoon. But now she was conscious that the wind was screaming with a fury that was even greater than before, and she tensed involuntarily.
“Yes, it’s getting worse,” he said quietly. “I think it will reach its height in a few minutes, and I don’t know how long it will last after that.” He was fumbling in his pocket and brought out a pristine handkerchief that he spread over the lower half of her face, covering her mouth and nostrils. Lemon again and something a little spicy. “Some of the sand is so fine that it’s bound to find its way under this hood. It’s important to filter it before it fills your mouth and nostrils.”
“What about you?” she asked, concerned.
“I have my own filter,” he said, burrowing his face contentedly in the copper curls at her temple. “A soft mop of chrysanthemums, silky and smelling deliciously of Shalimar.”
It was Shalimar, and it appeared he was suspiciously knowledgeable about scents more sophisticated than those of the flowers his speech was sprinkled with. Well, why shouldn’t he be? The man was perfectly gorgeous, and women were probably falling all over him. For some reason she shivered with distaste at the thought, and he stiffened against her.
“You’re frightened again,” he said with a touch of impatience in his voice. “And you won’t let me say any of the things that might distract you. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you go through this scared out of your mind.”
“But I wasn’t—” she started to protest, but she was interrupted by his low, mischievous chuckle.
“I think I’ve come up with something that might help,” he drawled. “I always have believed actions speak louder than words. Suppose you think of this instead of what’s going on around us.” He slowly brought his loins down to rub intimately in the cradle of her hips before nestling comfortably as if he’d found a home. “I told you I believed in total honesty whenever possible.”
She inhaled sharply. Nothing could be more boldly honest than the hard arousal that was cuddled against her. “But you couldn’t,” she gasped. “For heaven’s sake, we’re practically at death’s door, and I’m not even sexy!”
“You’re not? You could have fooled me.” His teeth nibbled delicately at the lobe of her ear, and she felt a thrill of heat start somewhere in the pit of her stomach. “I’m obviously finding you very sexy indeed.” He rubbed teasingly against her again. “And I hate to disillusion you, Billie, but I’d probably have an identical reaction if we were on a raft in the Indian Ocean in the middle of a hurricane.”
“Perhaps you’d better try to distract me with philosophy and windflowers again,” Billie said faintly. “I think it might be safer.”
“Too late.” He chuckled. “I’m finding this much more entertaining. Don’t worry, love, I’m not going to rush you into anything. But I do want you, and it’s best you realize that’s a part of it too.”
“I’m finding it hard to ignore it.”
“That’s the idea,” he said softly in her ear. “Now, you just lie here and think about how much I want you and all the delicious things I’d like to do to you. I’ll even whisper a few of them to you from time to time. Try to think about that instead.”
Try? She was having difficulty thinking of anything else. She was only conscious of the hard, warm heat of him, the scent of lemon and spice and musk, and his words whispering erotically in her ear. Did men really do those things to women? They sounded sinfully kinky spoken in that slow velvet drawl. But exciting! She couldn’t deny that he made it all sound breathlessly exciting. Was he putting her on, making up stories to scare away the bogeyman? She almost asked him, but she was half afraid she’d receive that low chuckle of amusement that had become so familiar in answer. No, she’d just lie here and let him tell her his Scheherazadean tales, let his voice flow over her. There was no harm in it, and girls like her who looked more like boys seldom had the opportunity to have a beautiful sheikh croon erotic litanies in their ears. Yes, she would relax and enjoy it. There was no hint of a threat in this strange golden man. She knew with an odd, rocklike certainty that he’d never do anything to her she didn’t want, despite the evidence of desire that was so blatant.
She was conscious of an overpowering heat and felt a drop of perspiration appear on the temple pressed to her own. Was it caused by the smothering oppression of the storm or the excitement engendered by the verbal pictures he was drawing for her? She couldn’t get her breath, but it could be because of the shocking variation he’d just suggested. No, that one he definitely must have made up, she thought in amusement.
She must have giggled, because she heard his low laugh. “Oh! You like that one? We’ll have to try it, then. Though we might have to take some acrobatic training first.” The smothering heat increased, and his arms tightened around her. “If you like that one, just wait until you hear the one I’ve been saving up for the pièce d
e résistance.” And the passionate litany went on.
Some of the things he suggested were so outrageous, she could only laugh, and some so arousing that it caused a slow-burning flame in places she’d never even known were erogenous. Either way, they wrapped her in a fascination so intense it actually startled her when he suddenly stopped speaking. She impatiently waited for him to start again and then realized that his body was oddly tense and that he was listening. Listening to what? It was the absence of sound that he’d become conscious of. The wind had stopped!
“The storm’s over,” he said quietly. He lifted his head, and the deep azure eyes were twinkling. “We can get up now. Disappointing, isn’t it? I’d only reached number sixty-two in the Kama Sutra. I thought surely I’d have time to go on to a few Japanese and Arabic variations. Oh, well, maybe next time.” He lifted his brow quizzically. “Unless you prefer we continue now?”
“No. I believe you’ve gone quite far enough,” she said quickly. Too far for her peace of mind. “I think we’d better get up and see if I can find my Jeep under all this sand.”
“If you insist.” He sighed. “Close your eyes. There must be two feet of sand on my back, and when I get up, you’re going to get a sand shower.”
Then, with some effort, he heaved upward. She barely had time to obey his injunction before she was deluged by a heavy cloud of sand that replaced the hard warmth of his body as he stood up. Despite the handkerchief that still covered her mouth and nose, she found herself choking and coughing. She had a sudden chilling realization of what it would have been like if she hadn’t been protected by that strong, lithe body. She hadn’t really been aware of how close they’d been to death while he was holding her, distracting her. But he’d been fully aware of the danger, she realized suddenly. It was all there in the sober keenness with which he was surveying the terrain. “We’re going to have the devil of a time plowing our way through all this loose sand to get to your Jeep. How far down the road did you leave it?”
She sat up and shook her head like a wet puppy. Sand flew in all directions. Lord, she felt gritty. “About half a mile. But there’s no use going back there—I told you it had conked out.” She lifted a brow. “Unless you think you can fix it.”
“No chance,” he said with a grimace. “I don’t know enough about the insides of a car to change a spark plug. I just thought you’d want to pick up any valuables before I took you on to Zalandan.”
“I don’t have anything of real value, but there is something I’d like to bring with me. My guitar.”
“An old friend?” he asked understandingly.
She nodded. “An old friend.” She got to her feet, her short suede boots sinking to the ankle in the loose sand, which she tried to dust from her jeans and soft tunic top. “Suppose I hike down and get it while you check on your horse. That Arabian looked a little high-strung to me. We’ll be lucky if he hasn’t run away and left us both to hike to Zalandan.”
He shook his head. “I told him to stay,” he said simply. “Old Nick and I understand each other. He’ll still be there. But you go on anyway. I’ll have to take off the cloth I tied over his eyes and nostrils and quiet him down a little before I try leading him through this shifting sand.” He strode toward the other cluster of rocks nearby, speaking to her over his shoulder. “We won’t be able to ride him before we get to ground that’s a hell of a lot firmer than this, or he could break a leg.” He disappeared behind the rocks, and she heard a welcoming whinny.
Billie shook her head wonderingly as she carefully started winding her way through the newly formed dunes of loose sand. A man who could command a high-spirited Arabian to stay put through a sandstorm and actually be obeyed was mindboggling. Come to think of it, though, the feat was no more astounding than the other facets of his character he’d shown her. Why was she even surprised?
The small, open Jeep looked like a beach toy whose child owner had shoveled it full of sand, then forgotten it and wandered away to new amusements. There was a green army duffel bag lying on its side a few yards away from the jeep. In the middle of the road Billie Callahan knelt, cradling a shattered guitar in her arms as if it were a wounded child. She wasn’t even aware that she was no longer alone until he spoke from a few yards away.
“Billie.” It was only her name, but so full of understanding and sympathy that it pierced even the numb despair she was feeling. She looked up to see him standing a few yards away, the reins of the black in his hand and all the gentleness in the world in his eyes.
“It wasn’t worth much, you know.” She could feel the foolish tears brim over and run down her cheeks. She traced one of the many scratches on the guitar’s battered surface. “I took it with me everywhere, so it got pretty beat up.” She was looking at him without really seeing him. “I bought it for twenty bucks in a pawnshop in Santa Fe. I was only fifteen then, and working at a service station pumping gas. I never wanted anything in my life as much as I wanted that guitar in the pawnshop window.” She drew a deep breath and shook her head as if to clear it. “Pretty stupid, huh? It didn’t look much better then than it does now.”
He knelt across from her now, his eyes holding hers with such tenderness it was almost as if he were holding her in his arms. “Not stupid at all. I grew up on a ranch in the Rio Grande valley, and my mother was addicted to books about the West. I remember I once read an old one by Harold Bell Wright about a tenderfoot from the East who wanted to start a new life out west with a brand-new name.” He tucked a copper strand of hair gently behind her ear. “Do you know what name he chose? He called himself after a pair of torn and scuffed chaps. He called himself Honorable Patches. He knew it would cause him all kinds of trouble in the wild, woolly West, but he did it anyway. He did it because it signified all the worth and dignity and usefulness he wanted in his life.” His index finger gently traced the same scratch on the guitar her own had, while his eyes steadily held hers. “Honorable Patches, Billie.”
“Honorable Patches,” she echoed, and suddenly felt a healing serenity flood her that miraculously eased her pain. It was as if those glowing eyes were giving her more strength and love and tranquility with every passing second.
She pulled her glance away as she reached for the hunter-green felt case and carefully zipped the shattered guitar within its protective folds. This encounter was growing more weird by the minute, and she felt a sudden desire to edge away from him, from the closeness he was forcing upon her by the very strength of the emotions he was arousing. “It must have been some storm to lift all these things out of the Jeep and toss them around so.” She didn’t look at him as she rose to her feet and carried the guitar to the Jeep to place it carefully on the back seat. “I guess I’m ready to go. We can’t possibly handle the duffel bag on horseback, so I suppose I’ll have to wait and have it brought in with the Jeep.” She looked over her shoulder with an impish grin. “I trust there’s a Triple A in Zalandan. If not, my towing premium is going to be completely wasted.”
“I’m afraid you’re out of luck.” He was picking up the duffel and storing it back in the Jeep. “But we have several cars in the Casbah and an expert mechanic. There shouldn’t be any problem having it towed and fixed.”
Casbah. So the desert prince had an equally exotic lair. He probably had a harem of concubines too, she thought wryly. “I’d appreciate that.” She turned and strode swiftly toward the black stallion. “Naturally I’ll reimburse you for any expenses. You’ve gone to enough trouble on my account already.”
He was following more leisurely, his face lit with a smile of amusement. “No trouble, windflower. Pure pleasure, I assure you.”
She turned to face him, frowning. “Look, you don’t have to give me all that chivalrous guff,” she told him impatiently. “I know you were only trying to make it easier for me by distracting me back at the hill. I don’t expect you to keep it up now.”
“That’s very understanding of you,” he said mildly as he placed his hands on her waist and lifted her in
to the saddle with easy strength. “If a trifle muddleheaded. I meant every single word, Billie.”
“You couldn’t possibly,” she argued desperately as he swung up behind her. “It’s completely insane. We’re total strangers. I don’t know anything about you.” She ran her hand distractedly through her hair. “For heaven’s sake, I don’t even know your name, where you live, anything!”
He gathered up the reins, and the black started off at a trot. “I live in the Casbah in Zalandan in the sheikhdom of Sedikhan,” he said calmly as his arm went around her waist in a protective embrace. “And my name is David Bradford.”
TWO
IT LOOKS MORE like an ancient medieval fortress than a city.” Billie’s eyes were bright with curiosity as they took in the high stone walls that surrounded Zalandan, while they rode through an open wooden gate that was as tall as the walls themselves. “I half expect to see the caliph’s guard thundering through the streets on horseback. Marasef was interesting, but this is really fascinating.”
“I’m glad you approve.” David’s voice in her ear was amused. “But if you don’t stop turning from side to side trying to see everything, you’re going to fall off old Nick. It will all still be here tomorrow. I’ll take you for a complete Cook’s tour then. Now I want to get you home and arrange to send someone out to get your Jeep while there’s light enough to see.” His eyes gazed appraisingly at the slanting rays of the sun. “It should be sunset in an hour or so. That won’t give anyone much time.”
She leaned back against him with a resigned sigh. “Okay, tomorrow. But I want to see everything.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled. “It will be as you command, lallah.”
The cobbled square they crossed was utterly intriguing. It was lined with long rows of awning-covered stalls selling everything from leather goods, jewels, and exotic scents to Jaffa oranges and red-gold pomegranates. There were a number of alleyways leading off the bazaar. They turned off into one of them. The shadowed, winding street was crowded with whitewashed, flat-roofed houses and tiny shops, and Billie found the scene just as interesting as the marketplace.
Touch the Horizon Page 2
