Girl in the Bedouin Tent

‘Keep it with you till I return you to safety. It’s far more effective than the paring knife you dropped.’

Stunned, she looked at his smiling mouth, then up to grim eyes that belied his light-hearted tone.

Suddenly she believed. She trusted.

‘Sleep with it, Cassie. And if anything frightens you in the night, remember you have this.’ On the words he lifted her hand and pressed the tip of the dagger against his chest.

His hand fell away and still the deadly blade rested on his bare, bronzed skin.

Holding the heavy knife took all her strength. Yet within, something surged as she watched him watching her from beneath hooded lids. As she saw the blade glint with every slow rise and fall of Amir’s chest.

Her heart squeezed. He gave her not just words, but the power that had been taken from her. The power to protect her self.

The knife wobbled dangerously in her fist and he closed a gentle hand around hers, lowering it to the cool cotton sheet near her shoulder.

‘Rest now. No one will harm you.’ He released her, his hand hovering a moment as if to stroke her cheek. Then his hand dropped.

His lips thinned and abruptly he stood, towering above her, his wide square shoulders and tapering waist perfect male symmetry outlined by the single lamp.

Before she could respond he pulled the coverlet over her, and she couldn’t help but tense. He stood a moment watching her, then with an abrupt movement bent to tuck in the bedding. A moment later he was striding to his side of the bed.

Cassie’s eyes followed him. She took in the power of his lean torso and the powerful buttocks and thighs encased in pale drawstring pants that rode low on his hips. She’d never known a man to look so elemental. So … male.

Heart in mouth, she watched him lift the coverlet on the far side of the bed and slip beneath it. Without a word he turned away from her.

How long she lay there, staring at the golden expanse of his back, Cassie didn’t know.

Eventually, despite her determination to remain watchful, her eyelids flickered and her fingers loosened their hold on Amir’s knife.

As exhaustion finally claimed her she was aware of a growing sense of peace.

She was almost asleep when her drowsy brain registered why it was she felt so safe. Not because of his words. Nor the concern she’d read in his eyes. Nor the blade he’d given her to defend herself, even against him.

It was the cursory, almost unthinking comfort of that one final action.

How many years had it been since anyone had tucked her into bed for the night? Had showed her such tenderness?

Her heart clutched at the memory, then warmth filled her as she slipped into a dreamless sleep.

She was totally oblivious to the man who turned in the bed and propped himself up to watch her through the night, his brows drawn together in a frown.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE moon rose as Amir rode with Mustafa and his followers through the winding gully back to the encampment.

They’d been out since dawn, occupied by a full day of hawking and riding events designed to entertain and display the prowess of the tough mountain men who gave Mustafa their allegiance. A day designed to exhaust anyone not born to the gritty life of a fighter.

It had been a ploy to give Mustafa the upper hand in the negotiations to come.

He’d miscalculated.

Mustafa knew, of course, about the scandals that had dogged Amir. Who his parents were, his early years of luxury in foreign lands where men weren’t men but had grown soft and lazy. Unpromising beginnings for a prince in a land where uncompromising grit and honour were prized.

But his host, like so many before him, hadn’t done his homework thoroughly. He’d assumed that old story summed up the Sheikh of Tarakhar.

He hadn’t bothered to discover that although Amir’s past had shaped him into the man he was today it had made him tougher, stronger, more determined, more focused than any of the so-called warriors surrounding them.

It was Mustafa who sat swaying in his seat, surreptitiously wiping his forehead and growing ill-tempered while Amir rode easily, shoulders straight and mind keen. He could have ridden through the night, still alert and more than capable of dealing with an overblown bully like Mustafa.

He had little respect for the man as anything more than a power broker in an unstable territory. After last night’s revelations it had taken all Amir’s control not to reveal his fury. The time for that would come. Though Mustafa had received a taste today of the cool hauteur that was a royal sheikh’s prerogative.

An image of huge violet eyes flashed into Amir’s head.

She’d been asleep when he left. Dead to the world and looking far too pale. In the dawn light, her face free of make-up, she’d looked young and lovely. Even, if that could be believed, innocent.

Till Amir noticed the way her fingers curled around the hilt of her dagger even in sleep.

Emotion surged through him. Something fierce that rippled like a predator on the hunt. Something that craved blood for what had been done to her.

Yet there was also a disturbing sense of frustration. Of helplessness. Feelings he hadn’t experienced since boyhood. For, though he wished it otherwise, he couldn’t save Cassie Denison yet from the terror that haunted her.

He had obligations to fulfil here. To move precipitately would risk the peace talks and her safety.

Amir’s hands tightened on the reins and his horse broke into a canter. Mustafa slowly followed suit, lumbering along like a sack of potatoes instead of the valiant leader of men he styled himself.

Effervescence fizzed in Amir’s blood as they rounded a mountain spur and the camp came into view. Soon he’d be able to rid himself, for a while at least, of this unpalatable company.

He assured himself it wasn’t eagerness he felt at the prospect of seeing Cassandra.

How many hours had he lain awake watching her? Sifting her words for truth? Letting his gaze trail over skin that he knew was soft as rose petals, hair like rays of sunlight, a delicate jaw that also spoke of obstinacy, and the most passionate mouth he’d ever seen?

Amir stopped his thoughts in an instant, recognising them as weakness.

He did not cultivate weakness. From the age of eleven he’d had to be better, stronger, tougher than his peers. It hadn’t been good enough to succeed—he’d had to excel. That had required absolute commitment and focus.

The women in his life, pleasing through they were, fulfilled a very specific role. He couldn’t remember ever being kept awake by the need simply to watch one sleep.

He’d opened his mouth to suggest to Mustafa that they commence discussions after dinner when a shout rent the air. There was a flurry of movement. Figures converged in the direction of his guest quarters, set away from the rest of the camp.

Instantly Amir was galloping out of the darkness towards the compound, his sixth sense urging speed.

Streaking ahead of the rest of the party, he thundered down, drawing his horse to an impossible shuddering stop metres from his tent, where cloaked figures surged and writhed.

‘Enough!’ The command cut the night air, clearing the space before him. Startled faces peered up and were quickly averted as the men of the camp bowed their way backwards.

Yet the tussle before him continued. Two figures, unevenly matched, grappled right up against his tent. The smaller one fought like a demon, aiming vicious kicks and cleverly leveraging the other’s vast weight against him in a sudden move that almost felled the bigger man. But the hulking guard saved himself at the last moment. There was a gasp of pain and a hoarse chuckle as the smaller of the figures bowed back as if stretched taut.

‘Release her. Now!’ Amir was off the horse and striding forward as the larger of the pair raised a whip in one beefy arm. Fury boiled in Amir’s veins. He came in hard, bringing the big guard down with a sharp punch to the jaw and another to the solar plexus.