A Cinderella for the Desert King

by Kim Lawrence

  ‘Where are we?’

  Not civilisation; the pale grey light of dawn revealed that much. There was something that looked like grass under their feet and a few scrubby trees to their left which blocked the view beyond. Behind them lay the seemingly endless miles of bare, bleak desert blushed pink by the dawn. She shivered again.

  * * *

  He had never seen skin so smooth, features so crystal-clear... He brought his list of her attributes to an abrupt halt. Her beauty had made her a victim today, but it was inevitable that there had been many occasions when it had played to her advantage, when men had made fools of themselves over her.

  Zain dragged his eyes, which were inclined to linger on the long length of her slim, shapely legs, upwards. The twist of his lips held self-mockery as he observed, ‘It’s a bit late in the day for caution, don’t you think?’ His heart might be in cold storage but it seemed his libido was still active and functioning.

  Maybe that was the way forward?

  Not here, not now and definitely not with a woman who probably didn’t even realise how vulnerable she was. But empty sex, while not exactly an original way to move on, was a tried and tested method and appealed to him a hell of a lot more than drowning in self-pity or becoming celibate.

  Sex was healthy if you kept it free of emotions. And he had learnt to control his years ago...mostly... Unbidden, the moment he had got his first glimpse of the kidnapped woman flashed into his mind.

  When he set out to find her he’d had no mental image in his head of the woman he was seeking—she hadn’t actually been a person for him. Regardless, nothing he could imagine would have come close to the reality.

  He hadn’t needed the cacophony of competing music blaring from the trucks to cover his entrance into the ramshackle encampment. All attention had been fixed on her. In a heartbeat the electric air of anticipation in the place had been explained. It had taken Zain a moment to absorb every detail of her lithe, lush body, the impossibly long legs, the sinuous curves, the pale skin and tangled skein of flaming auburn hair. There was nothing plastic or air-brushed about her—just a warm, luscious, desirable woman.

  It wasn’t difficult to imagine her on a billboard selling anything and maybe causing a few accidents. She was the sort of woman to make a man forget about his troubles. Not that he was that man but, even so, the last few miles with her soft body pressed against his had made for an interesting journey—just him, the sleeping girl and his testosterone. There was a simplicity to it that, after a day of his calculating his every expression and verbal intonation, had been a strange sort of relief.

  * * *

  It took a couple of seconds for Abby’s exhausted, stress-racked brain to pick its way through the man’s critical comment.

  ‘You think it was my fault I got kidnapped? I asked for it maybe...? You know, one of the things I despise most is victim-blaming...not that I am—a victim, I mean—but...oh, hell!’ She threw up her hands, immediately losing her balance and a couple of wild, flailing moments later falling straight into his open arms.

  The impact of hitting a chest that was as hard as steel expelled a soft whoosh of air from her lungs as the arm banding her ribs loosened enough to let her slide slowly all the way to the floor. It was obvious before she made land fall that the rest of him was equally hard—the man was built of solid muscle—and falling had felt less alarming than the head-spinning, stomach-fluttering sensation that made her world spin. The sensation was so strong it was a breathless moment before she managed to get her erratic breathing under control enough to protest.

  ‘Let me g...go!’

  He did, with a care that bordered, unexpectedly, on tenderness. ‘I’m not the one doing the holding,’ he pointed out, angling a quizzical look at her fingers still clutching the sleeves of his robe.

  Before she could react to the taunting reminder, the blades of his dark brows drew into an interrogative straight line above his spectacular, dazzling blue eyes. ‘What’s that?’

  She lifted a hand to the puffy, swollen area on her arm where his accusatory glance rested. ‘A bite, I suppose.’

  He laid one hand on her forehead, caught her wrist with the other and extended her arm, bending in closer to inspect the area.

  ‘Do you mind? That hurts!’ she protested, turning her head away and tugging on her arm; after what had happened it seemed bizarre that he had fixated on this minor problem.

  ‘So you dress like you’re off to play a game of beach volleyball, and for good measure don’t use mosquito repellent. Do you know how dangerous this desert is?’

  Fighting the urge to pull at the hem of her shorts to cover herself from his contemptuous gaze, she lifted her chin a defiant notch and cut across him.

  ‘It was a photo shoot. I don’t choose what I wear, and I did use repellent.’ It had been in the sunscreen that she had virtually bathed in. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to go straight back to my hotel,’ she announced.

  He looked startled, then, after a short, stunned-seeming silence, gave a laugh. ‘I am not a taxi service.’

  The amused hauteur in his response made her feel marginally less awful about coming across like some sort of snooty tourist, but she could see he had a point.

  Her descent from snooty was rapid and clearly not at all what he’d expected. ‘Of course not. Sorry. And I suppose it’s a bit late but I’m tremendously... Thank you,’ she said, her gratitude as genuine as her hope he really was one of the good guys. She felt the ball of fear in her stomach tightening and refused to acknowledge it.

  The groove between his brows deepened. Her rescuer hadn’t expected the back-down and it threw him, as did the obvious genuineness of it. ‘I don’t require your thanks.’

  The lingering shock in her system made her response teary. ‘Tough, I’m grateful.’

  ‘What were you doing all the way out there alone anyway?’ His question had an unexpected throaty quality.

  Abby took a breath, feeling tears press against her eyelids, and tried to flatten out her emotional response. Facts, she could do facts.

  ‘We were meant to be much closer to the city, but nobody had factored in the wedding. Did you know? Sorry, it doesn’t matter.’ All her efforts focused on not sounding weepy, she avoided his eyes. That bright, glittering stare made it hard for her to concentrate. ‘But it did complicate things—there was a no-fly zone, diversions and a lot of restrictions.’ They had sat in an airport lounge drinking coffee while emails between the firm paying for the jaunt and the director decided their fate. ‘I even wondered at first when I was...’ Catching herself up short, she gave a self-conscious little nod. She swallowed, her hand pressed to her throat as she relived those awful moments when the men had grabbed her. ‘I wondered, actually hoped it was a set-up for publicity...’ She swallowed again and rubbed her hands over her forearms, remembering the sensations of total, overwhelming helplessness. ‘I feel grubby.’ She wasn’t talking just about the sand clinging to her skin and hair or the assorted smears of dirt on her inadequate clothing.

  ‘Then come.’ He tipped his head towards the trees. ‘Bathe.’

  She blinked at the unexpected response.

  ‘A horse needs water.’ He took hold of the horse’s reins and approached the scrubby undergrowth.

  The incline had not been apparent from where they had stood but it explained why she hadn’t been able to see the taller trees or the palms. An oasis meant water and soon they reached it, a bubbling trickle that rose up from the ground and ran in a thin silver ribbon through the trees. Neither horse nor rider paused; instead they carried on, the reason becoming clear a few moments later when the stream fed into a pool of turquoise water framed by palms.

  Her exposure to life’s ugliness had given her a new appreciation of life’s beauty, and emotion deepened her voice as she stared at the shimmering, postcard-perfect image and gasped. ‘It�
�s beautiful!’

  The stranger watched her battle to subdue the tears, blinking and sniffing but stubbornly determined not to add any new tear tracks to her face as she pressed a hand to her soft, trembling lips. Standing there, bedraggled, her face filthy and scratched, she knew she looked ridiculously fragile. Stubborn pride was the only thing holding her up.

  ‘We need to do something about your arm.’

  The first hint of gentleness in his voice released the floodgates and the tears began to overflow, sliding down her cheeks as first one sob escaped her lips then another. They just kept coming...deep, subterranean sobs that shook her entire body.

  * * *

  Without thinking, Zain reacted to her distress. He moved in closer, took her by the arms and stood there, bodies close but not touching, his chin on her head while she wailed like a banshee. One look at her tear-filled eyes and the fear warring with pride there had touched him in a corner of his heart he hadn’t known existed.

  The sobs and tremors shaking her body subsided and finally she pulled away, looking embarrassed rather than grateful.

  ‘I must look terrible,’ she sniffed, not quite meeting his eyes.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed, too distracted by the scene playing in his head to display any tact.

  She was under him, her warmth pushing up into him, her body arching as he slid deep inside her.

  He’d known her barely a few hours and already it was becoming a recurrent theme that his imagination was intermittently adding erotic details to. More a man for action, Zain had never thought fantasies were any substitute for reality. What he hadn’t realised until this moment was just how frustrating they were!

  His distracted response made her forget her determination not to look at him. As she did, the startled indignation on her face melted into amusement and she broke the silence with a gurgle of laughter. ‘Well, at least I know you’re honest now. Which means... I’m safe.’ She paused, as if giving it time to sink in. ‘I didn’t think that...’

  She had a very expressive face and he could virtually see the nightmare scenes playing through her head.

  ‘Then don’t think,’ he recommended, guilt at his lustful thoughts making him sound abrupt. She had just escaped hell and his empathy amounted to fixating on the lush promise of her incredible mouth—and for that matter the lush promise of the rest of her. Hell, but you’re a sensitive guy, he told himself sardonically.

  ‘I’m just relieved that I’m safe.’ And with relief came a deep exhaustion and she made no protest when he urged her down onto the grass beside the pool.

  Leaving her there, Zain walked over to where the stallion was grazing and pulled out a thermos that was tucked into one of the saddlebags. Dropping down into a squat beside her, he unscrewed the top and handed it to her.

  She drank greedily, wiping her lips when she’d finished then handing it back.

  He couldn’t keep calling her ‘the redhead’ and he’d forgotten what the men had called her. ‘Do you have a name?’

  ‘Abby. And you are?’

  ‘Zain.’

  ‘Let me see your arm, Abby.’

  He inspected it gently before nodding, then looking around. ‘Stay put.’

  * * *

  Abby doubted of she could have moved even if she’d wanted to. Still, she followed him with her eyes—he was easy to watch and the way he moved...the combination of power, grace and perfect co-ordination...her stomach gave a lazy flip before she snatched her glance guiltily away.

  There was no harm looking, was there?

  Actually, if she hadn’t been looking she really would need the medical attention as badly as he seemed to think she did. If she met a woman who could pronounce herself indifferent to what this man oozed she would know she was in the presence of a liar!

  ‘This might sting.’

  Might...? She bit her lower lip to stop herself crying out when he poured water over the bite. ‘Are those leaves?’ she asked, watching doubtfully as he laid something over the red, swollen area.

  ‘Neem leaves... Hold it there.’

  This time he walked down to the water. He unfastened the gold rope that held his headdress in place before pulling the white cloth of his head-covering free.

  Abby felt a little stab of shock; she had just assumed that his hair would be long, in keeping with the whole Bedouin thing...but it was short, very dark, but for a fairer streak near the hairline at the front.

  Her fascination increased as she watched him run his hand across the short strands, making them stand on end in sexy tufts before he squatted down, splashed water on his face and head, and pulled a knife from a fold in his gown.

  He turned his head and she looked away quickly, guilty that she’d been caught staring like a child with her nose pressed to the window of a sweet shop, except the thoughts that went through her head when she looked at him were not innocent or childlike.

  ‘What is neem?’ she asked, watching as he split the white fabric with the knife, tearing it into several strips.

  Still in the crouching position, he leaned back on his heels and pointed upwards. ‘A tree—that one there and those over there.’

  She shaded her eyes and looked up into the canopy of the tree he indicated.

  ‘People have been using neem medicinally for centuries for any number of conditions; it’s said to have antiseptic properties, so here’s hoping.’

  ‘That it’s not an old wives’ tale?’

  ‘A lot of scientific research suggests otherwise. Pharmaceutical firms are taking an interest; Aarifa has developed a project farming the trees. They grow fast, literally anywhere, in any soil, and a deep, extensive root system means they can survive drought.’

  * * *

  She looked more impressed than the old guard—all men—had been when he’d explained the same thing to them. They’d all held positions of power in Aarifa for a generation and were negative about any idea that originated in his office, but Zain believed in it and had pushed on regardless. Ultimately, he’d been proven right.

  The project he’d proposed had been a commercial success, bringing investment from foreign companies, creating much needed jobs and inspiring home-grown entrepreneurial talent in the shape of a couple who had developed a cosmetics line using the plant.

  Abby, holding her hair back from her face, watched him take a leaf and crush it between his long fingers before pressing it into a piece of wet fabric. He did it with the same precision that characterised everything he did.

  ‘You sound like a teacher.’

  His eyes lifted momentarily from his task before he continued. ‘I’m not.’

  He could tell she was curious but her reluctance to reveal her interest stopped her from bombarding him with questions.

  ‘A bit makeshift—it needs grinding to make a proper poultice—but it’s better than nothing.’

  ‘How do you know about this stuff...do you live in the desert?’ she probed casually and again he framed a reply that told her nothing.

  ‘Life is simpler in the desert.’

  And that had a certain appeal, but time was the issue. His yearly month-long sabbatical, when he returned to his roots and his paternal grandmother’s family, who still lived a traditional tribal Bedouin existence, had this year become a begrudging two weeks... How long before it was just a memory?

  ‘You can let go now.’

  He took the leaf that adhered to her skin and replaced it with the wet fabric wad covered with the ground leaves of the tree, deftly wrapping another one of the fabric strips around to hold it in place.

  He arched a brow. ‘Not too tight?’

  She shook her head, lowering her gaze from his.

  ‘My shoe is though,’ she said, waggling her right foot at him. ‘One foot is half a size bigger than the other.’ He looked at her as though she were mad—she probably was.r />
  ‘You need to drink some more water.’

  Abby clenched her teeth at his order.

  ‘Thanks.’ She got the water bottle as far as her lips before something distracted her. A memory, perhaps.

  Zain watched her eyes glaze as she stared, unfocused, into the distance. He was ready to catch the bottle when it slipped from her fingers.

  The cynic in him wanted to believe her vulnerability was feigned as she blinked up at him like a baby owl, but he knew it wasn’t.

  ‘An imagination can be a curse.’ His terse delivery hid the reluctant sympathy he felt.

  Abby nodded and looked away, patting the damp spot where water had spilled, soaking a patch of her top before pooling in her cleavage. The action drew Zain’s gaze and kick-started his own distracting imagination.

  A curse, maybe. Painful, definitely.

  He breathed his way through a bolt of mind-numbing molten lust—not so easy when in his head his hands were weighing those tight, high breasts and he was bending his head to taste the berry sweetness of the nipples.

  ‘Your bite is infected...’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SHE GLANCED AT his face, wondering what she had said to make him sound annoyed...or more annoyed.

  ‘You should get it checked out when you get back to civilisation. You need a course of antibiotics asap.’ He rose smoothly from his crouched position and stood over her, holding out a hand.

  Abby took it. Standing beside him, she was again very conscious of his physical presence. She was used to looking down on men, or at least to looking most in the eye, and not so long ago had gone through life hunching her shoulders, embarrassed by her height and envying petite women.

  ‘How long will it take to get back?’ she asked, rubbing her hand against her thigh. The weird tingling impression remained.

  ‘Half an hour or so, now that he’s rested,’ Zain estimated. The stallion, as though sensing he was the subject of conversation, wandered over and nudged his master’s arm, demanding attention.

  So, back to normal life... She frowned, wondering why she didn’t feel happier at the prospect. I’m lucky, she reminded herself; her life was something that many would have aspired to and it had fallen into her lap. More importantly, it was a means to an end, a way to give her grandparents back the life that had been stolen from them.