A Cinderella for the Desert King

by Kim Lawrence

  The memory of the first time she’d seen him floated into her head and, for a moment, the antiseptic room vanished and Abby was back in the desert encampment, the scent of woodsmoke and sour sweat almost as strong as the metallic taste of fear in her mouth.

  At first she hadn’t understood why the raucous cries and yells had faded, but then she’d seen the magnificence of the figure who rode into their midst, entirely ignoring the hostile stares and rifles aimed at him.

  ‘Do I look all right?’

  He looked incredible!

  In that first startled moment when she had turned all she’d got was a blurred impression of the man she remembered—perfect face, perfect body and an aura of high-voltage maleness that had delivered a gut-punch blow to her unprepared nervous system.

  ‘Should you be—?’

  Standing there looking gorgeous?

  Rising above the unhelpful prompting of her subconscious, she took a breath and tried again, focusing on the fact that, though her first impression was correct—he was still off-the-scale gorgeous—he also looked as though sheer willpower was the only thing keeping him on his feet.

  ‘I decided that it might be hard to garner respect when any false move is likely to reveal my rear; however, getting dressed was not quite as simple as I thought.’

  It was not his growled admission that brought a rush of colour to her cheeks but the mental image that flashed into her head. She was not in the habit of imagining men’s bottoms...

  ‘You could have asked someone for help...’ Abby imagined that his position of power would make it likely that the staff would knock the door down to offer him assistance. ‘Shall I...?’ She paused and felt a flush bloom on her cheeks as she struggled to banish the half-formed image in her head of herself performing the required assistance...only in her mind she was taking the clothes off rather than helping him put them on.

  ‘Shall I get someone to help you?’

  ‘Someone who is not you?’

  Her alarmed eyes flew to his face... Relax, Abby; he can’t read your mind. ‘One of those men in the—’

  ‘No!’ He barked out the injunction and then paused and took a deep, obviously painful breath before continuing in a more moderate tone. ‘They are not nurses.’

  ‘Who are they...? Sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy—’

  ‘They are the men who run Aarifa.’

  The comment shocked her into an uncensored response. ‘Isn’t that your father?’

  ‘My father lost interest in the job a long time ago.’

  Her curiosity was interlaced with empathy as an image of a frail and elderly ruler flashed into her head. ‘So he relied heavily on your brother.’

  The suggestion drew an odd laugh that terminated in another wince.

  ‘I think I should call a nurse or—’ Her concern morphed into something far less elevated when he lifted a hand, causing his unbuttoned shirt to gape open a few extra inches, revealing a hard, taut, muscle-ridged torso. The tendrils of shameful heat unfurling in the pit of her belly cooled into empathy as he winced and she realised his injuries were not restricted to his face.

  Abby dragged her eyes upwards towards his face. Under the long-sleeved ankle-length silk dress she wore her heart continued to thud hard as she tilted her head back to meet his heavily lidded eyes. That in itself was a novelty—her own height meant it was rare that she ever had to look up at anyone.

  ‘I think this is a mistake...’ She stopped and shook her head. ‘No, it is a mistake; I really don’t know why I’m here...we could do this by email when you’re feeling better, or...’

  He placed a hand on the side of her cheek. The touch of his long fingers was light but the electrical tingle it sent through her nervous system was anything but.

  ‘I prefer the personal touch.’

  Abby fought the hypnotic tug of his electric-blue eyes and focused on the damage to his face, the bruising along the crest of one razor-sharp cheekbone that extended over the chiselled planes of his dramatically handsome face. Bruising that the dark shadow of stubble dusting his lean cheeks and angular jaw could not disguise.

  ‘I don’t.’ She got nowhere near the level of cool she was aiming for but to her relief his hand fell away, though that may have been simply because he looked as though he needed all of his control just to stay standing up.

  ‘Even if you manage to get dressed, you’ll probably pass out...is that really worth it?’

  An expression of hauteur spread across his lean features as he responded with chilly dismissal. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Well, you can be snooty if you like but I was only trying to help.’

  The hauteur faded from his face, to be replaced by a smile that she found much more disturbing. ‘As forthright as ever... I had forgotten.’ His eyes slid from her face down her body, his gaze possessing a caressing quality that made her stomach muscles quiver. ‘You scrub up rather well...’

  She looked quickly away from the heat in his eyes, but not soon enough to stop the lick of flame that slid through her body.

  ‘And it is very hard to tell that your feet are mismatched.’

  Her wide eyes flew back to his face. ‘You remember that?’

  Something moved at the backs of his eyes. ‘I remember everything.’

  ‘You have a photographic memory?’ she said, searching her own memory for any incriminating things she might have said.

  He gave a low chuckle then stopped, lifting a supportive hand to his ribs. ‘You take things very literally. I just meant that you are memorable.’

  She lifted her chin. ‘I’m assuming that’s not a compliment.’

  ‘It is a statement of fact. For a beautiful woman,’ he observed, ‘you seem to find taking a compliment graciously a struggle.’

  The heat in his eyes was hard to escape, but then escaping when you didn’t really want to was never going to be simple. It took her to the count of ten to regain control of her chaotic, jagged respirations. This was far too close and personal for her taste...injured or not, this man had a raw sexual aura that she found massively disturbing, but she had fought the hypnotic tug of his eyes before so she knew it was achievable if she tried.

  Her confidence wilted when she lifted her eyes and found his gaze now trained on her mouth. While the heat low down continued to unfurl its very disturbing tendrils she fought to maintain a passive expression...or, at least, a relatively passive expression.

  * * *

  Zain quite literally couldn’t stop staring at her mouth. He put down his lack of self-control to his weakened condition but in his head he saw that lush pinkness parting under the pressure he applied before he sank into...

  The sabre-sharp stab of pain helped him distance himself from the sexual fantasies swirling in his head. Having her here was not about indulging his fantasies—it was far more prosaic.

  His views on marriage had not changed but his position had. He was no longer the spare, he was the heir, and the forced desert marriage to this enticing redhead was all that stood between him and Kayla, who was waiting in the wings like a praying mantis in Prada.

  He understood that continuity and the smooth transition of power was important, and he was fully prepared to accept the burden of duty that came with the role that he had been thrust into, a position the several people who he had awoken from the crash to find standing around his hospital bed had been eager to inform him of.

  But, they added when several of the machines he was attached to had begun to beep loudly, he was not to concern himself with securing a bride. A wedding to his late brother’s widow, a union that would ensure stability and the line of succession, could be performed as soon as he could leave his hospital bed.

  He had felt the darkness coming to claim him and there had been no time for subtlety as he’d croaked out, ‘I’m already married, Jones at the British Embassy will conf
irm.’

  He had slept through the subsequent diplomatic storm his revelation had created, and by the time he’d been conscious again the marriage had been confirmed as genuine.

  Abby had adopted a businesslike expression, though it was clear maintaining it was becoming difficult. ‘So, is there something you want me to sign?’

  ‘You’re in a hurry.’

  ‘The thing is, I think I’d prefer to get out of here before you kill yourself with all this unnecessary effort,’ she husked out as her glance moved from his bloodstained shirt sleeve to the beads of moisture he could feel along his upper lip...and the deep lines of strain he knew were bracketing his mouth.

  Her concern spilled over into exasperation. ‘For heaven’s sake, I know you’re big and tough, but you’re in pain. It doesn’t make you a lesser man to admit it!’ She rolled her eyes.

  Her outburst startled him into silence but that quickly gave way to a low, throaty laugh. ‘Fine, I’m not too proud to ask for help.’ He nodded towards the bed. ‘Will you lend me a shoulder?’

  Abby’s eyes were wide as she moved seamlessly from lofty female superiority to something approaching panic.

  He lifted an arm. ‘I’m swallowing my pride, and asking for your help.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ABBY FOUND HERSELF staring at his abs, the muscles perfect enough to make her stomach flutter helplessly in reaction. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, disturbed more than slightly by her body’s helpless reaction to his physicality.

  It was mystifying and definitely bad timing! Lord, what was it about this man that made him the one member of the opposite sex capable of awakening her dormant sex drive? Recognising this was a question for later when she was safely back home and far away from temptation, so she huffed out a resigned but determined sigh and lifted her chin, responding to the internal challenge of not acting like a sex addict with as much dignity as she could manage.

  ‘Fine. So what do you want me to do?’

  He almost looked as if he was going to tell her something very different, but at the last second he seemed to regain some control and dragged his eyes off her mouth. ‘I just need to sit down for a minute.’

  ‘All right, lean on me,’ she said, trying to sound brisk and not breathless at the thought of contact with his hard, lean maleness.

  ‘No, it’s fine.’

  She shot him a glance from under the sweep of her thick, straight lashes, discovering as she did that he was looking tense. ‘You really don’t have the hang of this accepting help thing, do you?’ she sighed out. ‘It was your idea,’ she reminded him. ‘And don’t worry, I’m stronger than I look.’

  An image of her landing a right hook on her captor’s jaw flashed into her mind.

  ‘I remember, cara,’ he said, the look he gave her hinting that he was seeing the same replay in his own head.

  The unexpected approving warmth in his voice brought a flush to her cheeks. ‘I don’t normally need rescuing,’ she husked out, not sure why it felt important to establish this upfront, but it did.

  The tentative half-smile that had begun to twitch the corners of her mouth upwards wilted then vanished completely as their glances connected. Abby had the weirdest sensation of time slowing as the air seemed to buzz with an invisible static. She had no idea how long the moment lasted, but when she did manage to wrench free she took refuge in resentment.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me who you were?’ Had it been some sort of joke to him? she wondered, remembering their smooth negotiation of the security checkpoints, which of course made perfect sense now.

  ‘I was trying hard to forget myself.’

  Abby had not begun to decipher this cryptic response when he moved in closer and laid a hand across her shoulders. She fought against the impulse to tense, the effort making her body quiver as she struggled to focus on the mundane, the ordinary, the smell of antiseptic to distract herself from the massive hormone rush that sent wave after wave of heat through her body.

  Whether he was injured or not, the animal magnetism that poured off him had a mind-blanking force.

  Get a grip, Abby told herself sternly as she followed her own advice, literally, and slid her arm very carefully around his narrow waist, feeling ludicrously self-conscious.

  ‘Is that ok?’ she asked, tilting her chin up to look into his face. The veil of his lashes lifted and she was instantly skewered once more by the mesmeric tug of his electric-blue stare. When she managed, after a short delay, to react to his head jerk of acknowledgement, she was too flustered to notice that he looked as disconcerted as she felt.

  She cleared her throat. ‘Good, then lean on me and take your time...say when you need to stop.’

  She hadn’t wanted him to stop...

  The memory surfaced and she felt a stab of shame. Oh, hell, now was not the time to relive a moment that was indelibly printed onto her mind for all the wrong reasons!

  Her jaw quivered and her teeth clenched as she closed the door on the memory of the mortifying moment when she had come on to him with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer and then—as if that wasn’t enough to make her cringe—been firmly rebuffed.

  It was an embarrassing memory but that, she reminded herself, was all it was. It wasn’t exactly rocket science—she’d been vulnerable and he hadn’t taken advantage...humiliating at the time and, yes, she had hated him for it then, but now she was glad he’d been a gentleman.

  Common sense told Abby that it had been the circumstances as much as the man that had fanned into life instincts she didn’t even know she possessed. Chances were she might never experience a moment like that again. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or depressed by the thought.

  At several points during the transfer his breathing sounded laboured but they didn’t stop, their progress slow but steady.

  ‘Thanks. I’ll be fine now.’ Zain straightened up and took the last steps under his own steam, then lowering himself down onto the edge of the bed. ‘It’s easing.’

  She tossed him a sceptical look but shrugged; clearly, showing weakness was not his thing, another reason on the list she’d compiled that he really wasn’t her type. The macho stuff really tried her patience; she liked men who didn’t mind showing their vulnerable side. There was just one vital ingredient missing, however. The thought of kissing them, let alone anything more intimate, left her feeling...well, nothing really.

  The silence stretched until Abby decided that getting straight to the point was probably the best policy—she knew what she wanted to say, as she’d been rehearsing it on the journey here, not sure when she’d have the opportunity to deliver her speech and wanting to be ready when it came.

  ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be well enough for me to—’

  He spread his hands in a mock-submissive gesture. ‘I’m weak but willing.’

  She cursed the flush that she felt run up under her skin but tried not to react to it. Being flippant was probably his way of coping; the man had almost lost his life and had seen his brother die, so having a fake wife revealed was the least of his problems but one she had no doubt he could do without.

  She took a deep breath and decided that even though he was injured there was no point skirting delicately around the elephant in the room, and she could at least reassure him on some points. ‘I just want you to know that I’ve no intention of...there is no question of me making any claims, if we really are married.’ She paused, shaking her head slowly in an attitude of disbelief—she still couldn’t quite believe they actually were. ‘I’m assuming that under the circumstances an annulment will be straightforward. I can see what you’re thinking.’

  * * *

  Well, that, Zain thought, made one of them!

  ‘But you don’t need to worry, I’ll fully co-operate. I’ll sign whatever you need me to sign,’ she added earnestly. ‘Including a confidentialit
y clause.’ She pressed a finger to the small furrow between her brows as if mentally ticking things off a list. ‘I don’t think I’ve missed anything out.’

  ‘Is your lawyer here with you?’ Her expression was confirmation that she wasn’t here to negotiate. She didn’t, incredibly, seem to be aware that she had the advantage; she wasn’t thinking about what she could get...she just wanted out.

  ‘Do I need a lawyer?’

  Everyone has an angle.

  Zain had probably learnt this fact of life before he had had the ability to communicate it and now he had met someone who, it seemed, hadn’t.

  ‘And what sort of settlement did you have in mind for delivering these guarantees?’ As he appealed to her avarice part of him wanted to see her fail the test, and silence the soft whisper of his freshly awoken optimism, but to his frustration Abigail Foster didn’t even seem to recognise his gentle prompt; instead she reacted as though he’d just offered her an insult.

  ‘Settlement...?’ Her puzzled frown faded as the angry heat climbed into her cheeks. ‘Money, you mean? I don’t want anything from you!’

  ‘Because such things are above you? You expect me to believe money means nothing to you?’ he cut back. Nobody was that wholesome and sweet.

  Her chin lifted but she didn’t react to his challenge.

  ‘I admire your principles’ he said, a scornful curl turning his smile mocking. ‘But are you really in the enviable position to refuse money?’

  ‘You make it sound as though everything...everyone...is a commodity or has a price.’

  ‘Oh, in my experience they do, cara, they do.’

  ‘Then I pity you. I never want to be that cynical.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m impressed, especially when you consider that you are supporting your grandparents.’

  She went rigid, her delicate jaw quivering as her suspicious gaze narrowed on his face. ‘Who told you that? What do you know about my grandparents?’

  He produced an enigmatic smile that he saw made her teeth clench and intensified the uneasy look on her face.