Uncut Bundle

by Susan Stephens

  At least, that was what Asaad figured.

  And, damn, it was tempting. Cam could imagine what it would be like to spear his hands into that spill of hair, raise the woman’s face so that he could see if it was as perfect as the rest of her. He could imagine tasting her breasts, stripping away that gold thong…

  “Mr. Knight?”

  Cam shrugged as if getting a better look at the woman didn’t matter.

  “As you wish, Excellency.”

  The sultan snapped his fingers. The men dragged the woman forward. When they were a few feet away, she raised her head and looked straight at Cam.

  His breath caught in his throat.

  She had wide-set eyes the color of the Mediterranean, fringed by incongruously dark lashes. A small, straight nose. A delicate chin and a mouth—God, what a mouth! It was meant for things men dreamed of in the dark hours of the night.

  Cam felt himself turn hard as stone, his erection so swift and powerful that he had to shift his weight to ease the discomfort of it.

  Asaad barked an order. The guards shoved the woman forward the final few feet. She stumbled, then regained her footing. One of the men snarled a word and she obeyed what must have been an order to bow her head again.

  “Well, Mr. Knight?” Asaad’s voice was a purr. “What do you think?” Smiling, he stepped closer to the woman, caught a handful of her hair and jerked her head up. “Is she not exquisite?”

  “She is—she is very beautiful.”

  “Yes. She is. She has spirit, too. A magnificent creature, yes?”

  What was she? A woman from the harem? But her hands were bound. Why?

  “She is, Excellency.” Cam paused. He didn’t want to sound too curious. If he did, Asaad would probably stretch out whatever game they were now playing. “Is she a prisoner?”

  The sultan sighed. “Yes. Unfortunate, don’t you agree? What you can see of her is beautiful.” Asaad slid his meaty hand down the woman’s throat, over her breast, cupped first one mound of flesh and then the other. When she tried to jerk away, his fingers clamped around her wrist. “But her soul is ugly.”

  Cam looked at the sultan’s meaty fingers, biting into the woman’s flesh.

  “It’s difficult to imagine that a woman like this—any woman, for that matter—could do something so terrible it would anger a man like you, Excellency,” he said, hoping the barbarous lie would work.

  It seemed to. Asaad’s grip loosened.

  “You are correct, Mr. Knight. I am a kind man. A generous one. But Layla pushed me beyond human endurance.”

  The name suited the setting. So did her costume. But the blue eyes and golden hair threw him. They were rare in this place. Hell, they were all but unknown.

  “I imagine you are thinking she is not from here.”

  Right on the nose, you greasy bastard. Cam smiled lazily, as if it were something that really wasn’t of much interest. “I did wonder, yeah.”

  “I bought her,” the sultan said matter-of-factly. “Oh, not the way it sounds, I assure you. We are an ancient culture, sir, but we abhor slavery. No, the lady came to me willingly. She is a dancer. That is what she prefers to call herself but really, she is… I think your word is whore.”

  Cam nodded. He understood. He’d been in this part of the world before. Women like this called themselves models, actresses, dancers…but Asaad was right. Basically they were whores for sale to the highest bidder.

  The blonde stood straight and tall under his scrutiny. Was she trembling? Maybe, but the wind blowing in from the desert was cool and she was damned near naked. That could explain it. So could the fact that she was Asaad’s prisoner. From what he’d seen of things, that would make anybody tremble.

  Asaad leaned closer. “I met her on holiday in Cairo. She was performing in a club. I sent her a note… Well, surely you know how these things go.” He dug his elbow into Cam’s ribs, as if buying a whore’s favors was something they had in common. “Layla is a woman of, shall we say, significant talent. That is why, when it came time to return home, I offered to take her with me.”

  Cam shot another look at the woman. Her head had come up; she was staring almost blindly into the darkness beyond the courtyard and yes, she was definitely trembling.

  Not that it meant a damn to him.

  “And she accepted,” he said, making it a statement instead of a question.

  “Of course. She knew it would be worth her while. All went well for a few weeks. She was inventive. Imaginative.” Asaad gave a deep sigh. “But I wearied of her. A man needs variety, is that not so?”

  “Wouldn’t sending her back to Egypt be simpler than making her your prisoner, Excellency?”

  The sultan threw back his head and laughed. “You are an amusing man, Mr. Knight. Yes, of course. Much simpler. And that was what I attempted to do. I made arrangements to send her home—with a substantial bonus.” His smile faded. “Yesterday, just before she was to leave, I learned she’d stolen a priceless jewel from my chambers. This, after all I’d given her! When I confronted her, she tried to put a dagger between my ribs.” Asaad let go of Cam’s elbow and stepped back. “I have been trying to decide what to do with her.”

  What to do? How to do it, the sultan surely meant. The penalty for theft and attempted murder could only be death. That the woman had survived a day was something of a miracle. Tomorrow, she’d be food for the vultures. But tonight…

  And then Cam understood. Asaad had a plan, and it was as transparent as glass.

  The woman was shaking, she was on display—but she was docile. Why? If her life was at stake, why wasn’t she pleading for mercy?

  There could only be one reason. The sultan must have promised her mercy. All she had to do to was follow his orders, and those orders surely involved Cam.

  She was to be a gift.

  He’d take her to bed, she’d perform tricks that would keep him from thinking and Asaad would let her live. But why? Was she supposed to put a knife in Cam’s belly while she feigned passion? No. Asaad would want him alive until he signed the contract.

  Maybe the son of a bitch just wanted to watch through a hole in the wall. Maybe his men were going to break in and grab him while he was screwing the woman.

  Maybe that was the night’s real entertainment.

  “Don’t look so grim, Mr. Knight. Layla tried to kill me. She doesn’t warrant your concern.”

  “Frankly, Excellency,” Cam said with a man-to-man grin, “my only concern—if you want to call it that—is over the world’s loss of the lady’s considerable talents.”

  “Indeed.” The sultan leaned toward him. “Then you will be happy to hear that I have decided to give her to you for the night.”

  “You are most generous,” Cam said, trying to look as if he meant it. “But you may recall what I said earlier. I’ve had a long day, and I am—”

  “Tired.” Asaad winked. “But we are both warriors, and a warrior knows the best way to renew his strength. Unless… Is she not to your liking? She has the morals of a desert viper but you have nothing to fear. My men will stand guard outside your door.”

  Cam almost laughed. He’d just bet they would.

  “She will give you pleasure beyond your wildest dreams.”

  “I’m certain she would, Excellency. Still—”

  “Take a better look, Mr. Knight.”

  Asaad cupped the woman’s breast and pinched the nipple through the gold fabric. She flinched but made no sound. Cam jammed his hands into his pockets to keep from grabbing the sultan by the throat. So what if Asaad manhandled her? She was his to do with as he pleased.

  He’d seen worse in his years undercover. Black ops wasn’t for the faint of heart.

  Still, something about what was happening made his belly knot.

  “Touch her yourself, Mr. Knight. See how smooth her skin is.”

  Asaad ran his hand over the woman, from her breasts to her belly. She swallowed hard, her throat visibly constricting, and drew a breath that made he
r nipples press against the gold cloth that contained them.

  The sultan laughed.

  And Cam felt his body respond.

  He wanted to touch her. Shove Asaad out of the way and put his hands on Layla instead. He despised himself for it but the need burned in his belly, hot as flame.

  He wanted to bare her breasts, see if her nipples were the pink of rose petals or the pale rust of apricots. Taste them, roll them on his tongue while he slid his hand between her thighs, under the thong to the hot, wet center of her.

  He told himself there was a logical reason for this insanity. All the adrenaline he’d burned these last hours, anticipating danger, meeting it, being on constant guard…

  Any man would be more than ready for the release you found in sex. Never mind that the woman was a whore, a thief and worse. That she’d sold herself to God only knew how many men.

  She was beautiful, and he wanted her…but he wouldn’t take her. She was a golden trap.

  Cam stepped back, drove every X-rated image from his head.

  “Do what you want with her,” he said coldly. “I’m not interested.”

  There was a silence. Then the woman’s head came up. Her lips curved in an insolent smile as her eyes swept over him, lingered on the taut fabric at his groin, then rose to his face.

  “What he means, Lord Asaad,” she said softly, her eyes never leaving Cam’s, “is that he’s not man enough to use me properly.”

  She spoke in English but the insult was clear. A collective roar went up from the assembled men. After a shocked moment, the sultan threw back his head and shouted with laughter.

  The world went black, narrowed down to only the woman’s taunting smile and the contempt on the face of the sultan.

  Cam growled an obscenity, pushed past him, curled his hand around the narrow band that joined the golden cups of the woman’s bra and ripped it in half.

  Her face went white. She threw up her bound hands in a frantic attempt to cover herself but Cam grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands down.

  Now, the only sound in the vast courtyard was the rasp of his breath.

  “You like to play rough?” he said softly. His mouth twisted in a cold smile. Slowly, purposefully, he let his eyes sweep over her.

  Her breasts were perfect. Round and high, just the size to fill his palms. The tips, beaded by the rapidly chilling night breeze, were the shade of ripe apricots.

  “Very nice,” he said in a voice he barely recognized as his own.

  Eyes locked to hers, he lifted his hand, ran his knuckles lightly over her breasts. When she tried to jerk away, her guards grabbed her arms and forced her to stand still as Cam stroked her nipples, warm silk against his fingertips.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” he said thickly. “I’ll take her.”

  Her scream was lost in the delighted howl of the crowd as he scooped her up, tossed her over his shoulder and headed for the palace.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE laughing crowd of barbarians parted like the Red Sea as the American strode through it.

  Leanna had come up with a plan, but it had all gone wrong.

  A hand reached out, fondled her bottom. She shrieked. The pig who’d touched her said something that made the others laugh even harder.

  “Please,” she gasped to her captor, “please, you’ve got this all wrong.”

  He grunted and shifted her weight. For all she knew, he couldn’t even hear her. She was hanging over his shoulder like a bag of laundry, bound hands clutching desperately at the ragged ends of her bra.

  As if modesty mattered at a time like this.

  As if anything mattered, except forcing this man to listen.

  A couple of hours back, it had all seemed so clear. What she’d do, how she’d do it. The giants had brought her to the sultan who’d looked her over and smiled as if she were a mouse in the paws of a cat.

  “Very nice,” he’d said softly.

  Then he’d told her that he’d have to put off their first time together, as if, dear God, as if being raped by him was something to look forward to.

  “I have a guest,” he’d said, “an American business associate. Take him to bed, keep him occupied so that he hears and sees only you. I will reward you by having you taken to the airport and sent home.”

  And Santa and the Easter Bunny were kissing cousins.

  Asaad would never set her free, but Leanna had decided that seeming to go along with things was her best bet.

  She’d be brought to the American’s room like a gift-wrapped package. The door would shut, he’d smile at his luck and she’d say, very softly because the walls surely had ears, Thank God you’ve come. I’m an American, I was kidnapped. I’m supposed to keep you busy so that you’re deaf and blind to whatever the sultan is planning to do to you. We have to get out of this horrible place before that happens.

  Instead she’d been delivered like a package, in front of the sultan. Okay, she’d thought. She’d wait until she and the American were alone.

  It had never occurred to her he’d refuse Asaad’s gift.

  The man’s eyes had glinted with desire when he saw her. His body had quickened. It had been impossible not to notice.

  And then his hot stare had turned to ice. She had no idea why. She’d had to do something, and fast.

  The way he looked—the hard face and muscled body, the stubble on his jaw, the faded jeans and leather boots—were almost overtly masculine. This was a man who wouldn’t take an insult lightly.

  So she’d deliberately taunted him. That was the good news.

  The bad was that it had worked too well. He’d ripped her bra in half, handled her with an icy lust that terrified her more than anything that had happened yet…

  But it wasn’t too late. He was her countryman.

  That had to count for something.

  The guards at the palace doors snickered as he marched past them. The doors swung shut and she and the American were alone.

  Now, she told herself, and took a breath. Despite everything, she knew she had to stay calm. Sound rational. If she did, surely, she could get through to him.

  “Mr. Knight? That’s your name, isn’t it?”

  The American began climbing the stairs.

  “Mr. Knight. The sultan lied. I didn’t steal anything. I didn’t try to kill him. I’m not even named Layla.”

  She knew he could hear her. There was no crowd, no noise, only the sound of his boot heels hitting the marble floor as he made his way down a corridor.

  Why didn’t he say something?

  “Did you hear me?” Still no answer. “Mister. Answer me. Say something. Tell me you understood what I—”

  “Shut up.”

  Leanna shrieked and pounded her fists against his back. It was about as effective as pelting a stone wall with pebbles.

  “Damn you,” she screamed, and sank her teeth into his shoulder. All she got for her effort was a mouthful of denim shirt, but it got his attention.

  “Do that again,” he snarled, “and I’ll reciprocate.”

  “You have to listen! I know what Asaad told you, but—”

  “You want to be gagged as well as tied?”

  Oh God! He was as much a savage as the sultan. How stupid she’d been to think his nationality and hers would create a bridge of decency in this godforsaken place.

  She heard another snicker of laughter, saw another pair of grinning soldiers. He brushed past them and stepped through a set of massive doors and into an enormous room.

  A room dominated by a bed the size of a stage.

  He dumped her on it, walked to the doors and shot the brass bolts.

  “Alone at last,” he said coldly.

  Leanna scrambled back against the headboard. “Mr. Knight,” she said desperately, “I know what you think…”

  He gave a low, dangerous laugh. “I’ll bet you do.”

  “But you’re wrong. I’m not… I’m not what the sultan…” Her eyes widened as he began unbuttoning his s
hirt. “Wait. Please. You don’t—you don’t understand.”

  His gaze dropped to her breasts, all but spilling from the torn bra she clutched like a lifeline.

  “Let go of it.”

  “What?”

  “Let go of that thing.” He looked up, his smile icy enough to freeze the marrow of her bones. “I like what I saw in the courtyard, Layla. I want to see it again.”

  “My name isn’t Layla. It’s—”