Sheikh's Temptation

“Thank you for that advice,” she muttered, to the dashboard.

She stepped out of the truck and instantly began to shiver in the icy air. He was right—her jacket and jeans would get her nowhere. She would freeze to death if the temperature dropped much further.

Her short red curls were lifted and blown flat against her head; even her eyelashes were caught by the wind.

Her jacket billowing, she staggered to the back of the truck, where Arash dragged out the bag she pointed to and dropped it at her feet. Lana bent down and started pulling clothes out of it. She hadn’t packed for cold weather; she was heading to the desert, after all. She had few suitable things. But layers were the warmest way to dress anyway.

She quickly grabbed out sweatshirts and jerseys, a pair of sweatpants, socks. Then came a couple of pairs of leggings. She gazed at them in surprise, suddenly remembering having packed them, paused for a moment, then tucked them back into the case.

“Put them on,” Arash commanded her.

She glanced up. She had thought he was fully engaged, but apparently he had time to watch her.

“Put them on,” he repeated in a voice that brooked no argument. Another wind slammed into them, smashing one of the doors of the truck closed, rocking the vehicle violently. It was icy cold, with fingers that reached inside the cotton shirt she was wearing to count her ribs. She shivered.

“Are you crazy? I’d have to take off my jeans first! I’d freeze just putting them on!”

“You will quickly get warm again when we start to walk,” he said.

She really didn’t want to strip off in the middle of the road—in front of Arash—if she could help it.

“I’m sure I’ll be all right with—”

“The temperature is still dropping. We have a long walk on exposed mountain.”

She still hesitated, and his voice got flatter and more urgent.

“Lana, we are using valuable time. Do as I say! Take off your jeans!”

The explosion over, his words hung in the air. Their eyes met.

A muscle pulsed in his jaw. She wished they could laugh. It should have amused them. But somehow, instead, she felt heat burn up in her cheeks. Lana turned away and pulled her jacket off, reaching for a jersey.

As she pulled on all her sweaters, Arash pulled on a thick tracksuit over his jeans and shirt, then a heavy sweater and down vest, and then his leather jacket. All right for him, he didn’t have to strip off his jeans, Lana thought bitterly, pulling down the zipper and shivering as she slipped the denim down over her hips.

Underneath she was wearing only a tiny pair of briefs in paper-thin yellow Lycra, and she saw Arash glance involuntarily at her bare hips and thighs before he firmly continued with his own business.

It was just male instinct, she told herself, trying to ignore her reaction to his glance. Trying not to remember the last time he had looked at her body.

Her jeans around her knees, she held down her boot heel with the other toe and tried to prise her foot free, but her feet must have swollen during the long drive—the boot was stuck.

“Damn!” she swore, wrestling with the boot for a moment before starting to hike her jeans back up.

“What is it?” Arash turned. He had dressed quickly and was packing the supplies. He held a coil of rope in his hand. “Lana, believe me, it is best if you put on everything you can.”

“I’m trying to. I can’t get my boots off!” she exploded. Now she couldn’t get her jeans back up over her hips.

Without another word Arash sank down at her feet and quickly loosened the laces.

“Lift your foot,” he commanded impatiently, and when she mutely obeyed he wrapped one hand around her ankle and worked the boot off with the other.

She shivered violently. It really was freezing. Hastily she stepped with her free foot on the gravelly road to let Arash draw off the other boot. She shoved her jeans down again, and he took over to pull them down over her knees and shins and off one foot and then the other.

Then she stood half naked in front of him, nothing on her lower body except the yellow bikini briefs. Lana swallowed convulsively, looking down at his dark, thickly waving hair as he lifted his head and frowned questioningly up into her eyes.

For a moment they were both silent, remembering.

“Ohhh, it’s cold!” she cried, pretending that she had been assailed by no memory of another life, another world.

Arash got to his feet and turned to business, and Lana shook out the first pair of leggings, lifted a foot and quickly began to work them on.

When she had put on the leggings and jeans and her sweatpants she began to warm up again. She quickly pulled on her boots and jacket, tied a big silk scarf around her head and face, pulled up her hood and made the drawstrings tight. She slipped a small toiletries bag with the bare essentials into her pocket.

Meanwhile Arash had stuffed two backpacks full, and was tying a rope around his waist. When that was done he took the other end and began to tie it around her.

“What on earth are you doing?” she demanded.

He threw her a look and went on tying the rope.

“Answer me, Arash!”

His hands stilled for one moment of what looked like irritation and he looked into her eyes at close quarters. In this grey light his eyes were the colour of crushed dark violets. She could almost smell their perfume.

“I am tying a rope around your waist,” he said levelly.

“I can see that!”

He shrugged. “You asked the question.”

“You know what I meant!”

“The reason for what I am doing is as obvious as the action itself. What do you want me to say? If you get blinded by the storm, do you relish the prospect of wandering off the path away from me and getting lost—or worse? Do not waste time on argument, Lana! Every second counts! You must submit to me in this! If you challenge me every step of the way, we are doomed.”

You must submit to me in this.

Lana swallowed. Of course he was right. He was the expert here. “Sorry,” she muttered, and then turned and slipped into the straps of the backpack he held up for her. A moment later he had shouldered another one himself, larger, heavier.

“Ready?” he asked.

Together they stepped into the storm. Survival depended on mutual cooperation now. She wondered if they could achieve it.

She had gone to London to study at university, wanting adventure, wanting travel, wanting to get away from the restrictions that her father’s sudden wealth imposed on her life.

Lana had been born and raised in an ordinary, comfortably-off family environment, with a father she hardly saw and a mother who was proportionately devoted to maintaining home and family. She rarely spent time with her father because his field was computers, and when Lana was about five he had taken the plunge of starting his own company.

Within ten years Jonathan Holding was almost a billionaire, and Lana’s life had changed completely. She had of course enjoyed the freedoms that such wealth offered, but she had equally disliked the restrictions that it imposed.

The worst effect was in her dating life. She had only been sixteen when she had had to fight off a date rape from a guy who, when a well-placed kick had finally calmed his ardour, had drunkenly apologized and confessed that he had wanted to be able to claim he had deflowered Jonathan Holding’s daughter.