Dark Oasis

Dark Oasis
HELEN BROOKS

A dangerous attractionWhen Kit was stranded in Morocco with no money, her memory a blank, she could only pray for a miracle. And when Gerard Dumont, a gorgeous Frenchman, came to her rescue, Kit was so grateful that it didn't occur to her he might not be the charming protector he seemed….It wasn't long before Kit discovered that Gerard had a hidden agenda. But by then it was too late. This brooding stranger had taken over her life, and Kit soon realized he'd also captured her heart!

“You do not like me much, little one, do you?” (#ubf5f3804-cb9e-506d-b2ee-958285723952)About the Author (#ua266eb77-cae2-5028-9a35-476fa0956375)Title Page (#ua246fe02-97d8-5710-a25a-d6968851a67a)CHAPTER ONE (#ua3741556-6be3-5944-a66c-fd550c9dc58e)CHAPTER TWO (#u8ded6180-02eb-51e9-b068-62ad6f17b2e1)CHAPTER THREE (#u5d947f52-d89e-5343-8b5f-fb0425bb946f)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“You do not like me much, little one, do you?”

Kit decided silence was definitely the best policy. There was nothing she could say.

“I am clearly the lesser of two evils, and it is a long time since I have been cast in such a rôle—” Gerard’s glittering gold eyes moved swiftly over her “—especially by such a beautiful woman.”

“You said you didn’t find me attractive.. ”

The deep voice was unrepentant “I lied!”

Helen Brooks lives in Northamptonshire, England, and is married with three children As she is a committed Christian, busy housewife and mother, her spare time is at a premium, but her hobbies include reading and walking her two energetic and very endearing young dogs Her long-cherished aspiration to write became a reality when, on reaching the age of forty, she finally put pen to paper and sent the result off to Harlequin

Dark Oasis

Helen Brooks

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CHAPTER ONE

‘KIT! Where on earth are you? Everyone’s absolutely frantic here and David’s been tearing his hair out. As well he might! Are you all right, for goodness’ sake?’

‘I’m fine.’ Kit took a long, deep breath. She didn’t even want to hear David’s name. ‘It’s over between us. Did he tell you?’

‘Yes.’ Her friend’s voice was scathing. ‘He’s such a fool, Kit, he always has been, even if he is my brother. To mess about with Virginia of all people—Virginia! Never has a name been more un-apt, or at least the first six letters.’

‘Emma...’ Kit closed her eyes briefly and prayed for her voice to sound cool and calm despite her racing heart. ‘I don’t want to discuss it. I found them in bed and our engagement is over. That’s it. End of story. Now, I’ve arranged for my half of the rent for our flat to be paid—’

‘But where are you?’ Emma interrupted urgently. ‘You wouldn’t do anything silly, would you?’

‘Of course not!’ Her voice had risen and she breathed deeply before speaking again, her tone a few decibels lower. ‘I’m having a short holiday in the sun to think where I’m going to go from here, that’s all. I’ll contact you in a week or so, OK? Bye for now and take care.’

She put down the receiver and leant back against the small booth in the hotel lobby, shaking violently. The brief phone call had brought David vividly to mind and it was as though his face were there in front of her, his mouth a snarl as she had faced him in the doorway of the flat they were buying together for their intended marriage four months away, Virginia’s naked body hidden from her sight now behind the closed bedroom door that he had slammed shut as he had raced after her. ‘Damn well listen to me!’ He had pulled the towelling dressing-gown more tightly round him as her large grey eyes flicked disgustedly over his rumpled appearance.

‘There is no point, David.’ She was working on automatic, she knew it, but she blessed the shock that was keeping her from disintegrating in front of him. ‘And I think this belongs to you.’ As she deliberately removed the diamond engagement ring from her finger and held it out to him, his pale good-looking face flushed red, a hint of unease and panic replacing the aggressive bravado with which he had met her stunned face.

‘Don’t be so stupid,’ he spat angrily. ‘You’re not throwing me over because of that?’ He flung back a contemptuous hand towards the closed bedroom door through which she had walked so innocently minutes before. ‘I was just easing myself; she was available—Kit!’ He caught hold of her arm and she was made to turn without a word. ‘Kit, you can’t mean it? We’re getting married, we’ve got this flat, furniture, everything—’

‘Keep it.’ Let me get out of here with a little dignity, she prayed desperately. ‘Keep it all.’ She was tall at five feet ten, her slender figure carrying an unmistakable air of cool composure, and she had never been more glad of it as she met him eye to eye, her mouth curling with contempt. ‘I wouldn’t marry you now if you were the last man on earth.’

The torrent of abuse that followed her as she made her escape polluted the very air, mixing with the picture on the screen of her mind of Virginia’s sprawled naked limbs beneath David’s heaving thrusting body, and now, as Kit relived the sickening episode, she felt the need to breathe in some fresh clean air. As she left the pleasant coolness of the air-conditioned building and stepped into the Moroccan heat, it was like stepping into an oven, the iridescent blue sky shimmering with heat Casablanca. Kit squared her slim shoulders as she walked towards the little red convertible she had hired for her stay, pushing the bitter hurt and painful humiliation back into the closed box in her mind. She’d face that, and the tangles that would undoubtedly ensue over the little design business Emma, David and herself had started eighteen months ago, later. Enough of licking her wounds; today she was going to explore, and if tonight in the quiet of her room she cried hot, angry tears again, well...only she would know.

She travelled southward along the Atlantic coast from Casablanca making for Essaouira, meaning small fortress in Arabic. The hotel manager had fired her interest, explaining that the large harbour in the town had been used for thousands of years, ancient Romans frequently visiting to obtain a brilliant colouring material produced from shellfish and used for dyeing their robes purple. Ancient cannons still lined the main street and, after wandering its length, she turned into a quieter area. But, then, just as she felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle a warning about the footsteps behind her, a heavy blow on the side of her head turned the light into splintered glass, and as her shoulder-bag was wrenched from her arm she fell. Fell into a hot blackness that seemed to race up from the dusty ground to consume her.

She came out of the buzzing whirl of unconsciousness slowly, very slowly, aware of a sick pounding in her head that dominated all her senses and made her limbs like lead. ‘Can you hear me? Try and open your eyes.’ A deep male voice and a cool hand on her burning forehead registered on her bruised mind, but as her eyelids fluttered in obedience the piercing light drove them instantly shut. ‘No matter. I am going to lift you now but you are perfectly safe. Do you understand me?’ She couldn’t reply, and in the next instant she was being carried. She knew she ought to try and open her eyes again, to speak, but somehow it was so much easier to slip back into that soft enveloping darkness...

‘Try and hang in there this time.’

‘What?’ As she forced her heavy lids open, the cool shadowed room made it easier to fix her wavering gaze on the hard male face in front of her.

‘You have been slipping in and out of consciousness for the last few minutes.’

He was dark and magnificently male, his voice the one she had heard before. The accent teased her mind. French? Italian perhaps?

‘Just lie still and try to concentrate on my face only until the dizziness stops,’ he continued softly. ‘OK?’

It was more than OK. If Michelangelo’s David was beautiful, this man’s face was stunning. His gleaming hair was a thick tawny brown worn unusually long, almost down to his shoulders. High, hard cheekbones, straight nose and sensual, almost cruel lips below eyes that were the same tawny gold-brown as his hair completed a picture of such aggressive, vibrant masculinity that Kit felt her toes begin to curl.

But who was he? And where was she? And why did she feel so desperately ill? ‘Please...’ As she tried to struggle into a sitting position on the wide leather couch on which she was lying, he moved quickly, his body carrying the same powerful grace as a beautiful wild animal.

‘I said lie still.’ His voice was firm and cool. ‘You’ve received a nasty blow on the head so just take it easy.’

‘I have...?’ As her voice trailed away on a little gulp, she felt hot tears of weakness and pain prick against her eyelids seconds before he spoke again.

‘And do not dissolve on me, not yet.’ He fixed her with that hard tawny gaze that reminded her of the piercing stare of one of the big cats watching its intended prey. ‘I need to know your name, hotel, something. You are a tourist, I think?’ His voice was cool and steady and quite unemotional.

‘A tourist?’ Her tongue felt too big for her mouth. ‘I don’t know.’

A tourist? The panic that had been at the back of her mind ever since she had opened her eyes began to claw at her throat with strangling fingers. She could be a tourist. She could be anything. She didn’t remember.

‘Just relax.’ He saw the naked horror in her eyes and recognised it for what it was. ‘You’re clearly concussed, which is not surprising in the circumstances. Unfortunately the animal that did this to you also took your bag, so we have no identification to help us. I was hoping when you awoke you could provide a few answers but as it is—’ he shrugged massive shoulders slowly ‘—the police will have to sort it.’

As he leant towards her she cowered instinctively into the bulk of the couch, flushing as he eyed her sardonically with cool raised eyebrows before wiping her face and mouth gently with a damp perfumed cloth. ‘As I said, relax’

He stood up from his crouching position at her side and it registered on her just how tall he was, well over six feet, inches over, and with a powerful hard frame that would win first prize in any Mr Universe competition. ‘My name is Gerard Dumont, by the way,’ he added lazily as he folded muscled arms to stand staring down at her impassively. French. Yes, she should have known. ‘And you are...?’

‘I...’ Her voice trailed away as her eyes widened. ‘My name... I don’t know it.’ She raised agonised eyes to the gold of his. ‘I don’t know who I am.’

‘This is not a difficulty; do not panic.’ The pronunciation of his words and correct English in that broken accent was incredibly attractive, she thought faintly as she struggled for composure. ‘The bump will heal and then you will remember.’ He smiled suddenly and she drew in a hard short breath of air. He was something. He really was something. Did he know the effect he had on women? She looked into the darkly tanned handsome face silently, mesmerised by her own unaccustomed helplessness and vulnerability and the frightening loss of memory. She had to try to remember. She must remember something. ‘The police are on their way, incidentally.’ He eyed her lazily. ‘It would seem you were perverse enough to be, how you say, mugged at the same time as a rather large jewellery robbery was under way in the middle of the town. Needless to say, you were not considered the immediate priority.’

‘Oh.’ Her head felt as though it was going to explode any minute. ‘Where am I?’ It was the ultimate stage response to fit the situation, but for the life of her she couldn’t think of a less unsubtle rejoinder.

‘In my office.’ The gold eyes narrowed a little. ‘Can you not remember anything at all? Look down at your clothes; they may produce a spark. It would be preferable to the mountain of questions the police may ask. Subtlety is not their strong point here.’

She glanced down at her legs stretched out in front of her encased in light white cotton trousers, the cut impeccable, and tried to focus her whirling thoughts into some sort of order. Her feet were shod in slender coffee-coloured sandals that matched her waist-length blouse exactly, and again she noticed that both items seemed expensive. Well, fine. She obviously wasn’t destitute, but who on earth was she?

‘No.’ She sank back against the couch and shut her eyes again. ‘I’m sorry.’

When the police arrived a few minutes later she discovered one thing; she couldn’t speak the language. Fortunately the two police officers seemed quite fluent in English but she couldn’t tell them much, repeating the same thing over and over again until her head spun.

‘I think the lady needs to see a doctor,’ Gerard cut into the interrogation after a time, his hard face autocratic.

‘Do I have to go with them?’ She looked up at him, her large grey eyes suddenly terrified at the thought of leaving the only person she had any knowledge of, albeit a slight one, in this strange country.