Scandal: His Majesty's Love-Child

‘I want to check your reactions.’ She moved to kneel at the end of the mattress. ‘Can you move your feet?’

She watched as he rotated his ankles and then lifted first one foot then the other. Relief coursed through her.

‘Excellent. I’m going to hold your feet. When I tell you, push against my hands. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

Gently she lifted his heels onto her knees and cupped his bare feet with her palms. A curious jolt of heat shot through her from the contact. She blinked and tried to concentrate.

His feet were long, strong and well shaped. For a moment she knelt there blankly staring, absorbing the sensation of skin on skin.

She’d never before thought of feet as sexy.

Annalisa’s brow puckered. She felt out of her depth.

‘Annalisa?’ His voice yanked her mind back and heat seared her cheeks. She kept her head bent and concentrated on what her father had said about head injuries.

‘Push against my hands.’ Instantly she felt steady pressure. She smiled and looked up, meeting his narrowed stare. ‘That’s good.’

Carefully she lowered his feet and moved up beside him, leaning over so he didn’t have to twist to face her.

‘Now, take my hands,’ she said briskly, adopting a professional manner. But it was hard when eyes like sapphires fixed unblinkingly on her. She wondered what he saw, whether he read her trepidation and uncertainty.

Large hands, powerful but marred by scratches, lifted towards her.

Not allowing herself to hesitate, Annalisa placed her hands in his. She told herself the swirling in her abdomen was relief that he was well enough to cooperate.

‘Now, squeeze,’ she murmured, ignoring the illusion of intimacy engendered by their linked hands.

Again the pressure was equal on both left and right sides. Her shoulders dropped a fraction as relief surged. For now the signs were good.

She moved to pull back, slide her hands from his. Instantly long fingers twined with hers, holding her still.

Her heart gave a juddering thump as their gazes meshed. She realised how she leaned across him, the heat of his bare torso warming her through the thin fabric of her clothes. The way his eyes flashed with something unidentifiable yet disturbing. Her breathing shortened. She felt vulnerable, though he was the injured one.

‘What are you checking?’ The words were crisp. Not slurred like when he’d called out in his sleep.

‘Just making sure your reactions are normal.’ She met his gaze steadily, refusing to mention the possibility of bleeding to the brain. ‘They are. You should be up and about in no time.’

‘Good. I find I have a burning desire to bathe. You said this is an oasis?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Then there’s no problem getting water.’ He paused. ‘I’ll need someone from your party to help me get upright.’

‘There’s only me. And I don’t think bathing is a good idea yet.’

His eyes darkened in surprise. ‘You’re alone?’

She nodded.

‘You’re a remarkable woman, Annalisa Hansen.’ His grip loosened and she found herself free. Belatedly she remembered to straighten so she didn’t hover over him.

‘Do you do this often? Camp alone in the desert?’

She shook her head. ‘This is the first time I’ve been here alone.’ Stupidly her voice wobbled on the last word and his eyes narrowed. Abruptly she looked away.

It was almost six months to the day since her father died. Maybe it was the looming anniversary that sideswiped her, dredging up such grief sometimes she thought she couldn’t bear it.

Abruptly he spoke, changing the subject. ‘If you knew how much sand I’ve swallowed you wouldn’t begrudge me your help to get clean.’ He levered himself up on one elbow, then pushed himself higher to sit, swaying beside her.

He ignored her protests, setting his jaw with a steely determination and clambering stiffly to his knees. Finally she capitulated and helped him, realising she couldn’t stop him.

It was only later she remembered the look in his bright eyes as grief had stabbed her out of nowhere.

Had he read her pain and decided to distract her?

No, the idea was absurd.

Tahir cursed himself for being every kind of fool as he sat in the pool and let water slide around his aching body. He’d known moving was a bad idea, but he refused to play the invalid.

Bad enough that his brain wasn’t functioning. The more he tried to remember the more the ache in his skull intensified, matching the searing pain in his ribs. He let his thoughts skitter from the possibility the damage was permanent. He wouldn’t accept that option.

It made him even more determined to conquer his physical weakness.

Then there was the memory of Annalisa’s soft brown eyes, brimming with distress as she avoided his gaze.

Despite her brisk capability he sensed pain, a deep vulnerability. Looking into her shadowed eyes, Tahir had felt an overwhelming need to wipe her hurt away.

Enough to brave getting to his feet.

Fool! He’d almost collapsed. Only her support had kept him upright the few metres to the water. Now he sat waist-deep, naked but for the silk boxers he’d kept on in deference to her presence, wondering how he’d summon the strength to return to the tent.

Wondering how long he could keep his eyes off the woman who sat watchfully beside the stream.

It had been torture of a different sort, allowing her to undress him. Her soft hands fumbling at his trousers had been a torment that had made him forget for a brief moment the pain bombarding him. The sight of her kneeling before him, drawing his trousers off as he leaned on her shoulder, had evoked sensations no invalid should feel.

Then she’d waded into the water, supporting him. She’d been heedless of the way their unsteady progress had sent up sprays of water that soaked large patches of her trousers and shirt.

But Tahir hadn’t.

When he shut his eyes he still saw her lace bra outlined against transparent cotton, cupping voluptuous breasts that strained forward as she steadied him. He remembered the neat curve of her hip, the narrow elastic ridge of bikini underwear where her trousers plastered her skin, then the long supple line of her thigh.

Tahir’s mouth dried and it had nothing to do with the arid air.

He should be frantically trying to remember who he was. Trying to piece together the fragments of memory, like snippets of disjointed film, swirling in his head.

Instead his thoughts circled back to Annalisa. Who was she? Why was she here?