The Desert Virgin

The world went black, narrowed down to only the woman’s taunting smile and the contempt on the face of the sultan.

Cam growled an obscenity, pushed past him, curled his hand around the narrow band that joined the golden cups of the woman’s bra and ripped it in half.

Her face went white. She threw up her bound hands in a frantic attempt to cover herself but Cam grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands down.

Now, the only sound in the vast courtyard was the rasp of his breath.

“You like to play rough?” he said softly. His mouth twisted in a cold smile. Slowly, purposefully, he let his eyes sweep over her.

Her breasts were perfect. Round and high, just the size to fill his palms. The tips, beaded by the rapidly chilling night breeze, were the shade of ripe apricots.

“Very nice,” he said in a voice he barely recognized as his own.

Eyes locked to hers, he lifted his hand, ran his knuckles lightly over her breasts. When she tried to jerk away, her guards grabbed her arms and forced her to stand still as Cam stroked her nipples, warm silk against his fingertips.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said thickly. “I’ll take her.”

Her scream was lost in the delighted howl of the crowd as he scooped her up, tossed her over his shoulder and headed for the palace.

CHAPTER THREE

THE laughing crowd of barbarians parted like the Red Sea as the American strode through it.

Leanna had come up with a plan, but it had all gone wrong.

A hand reached out, fondled her bottom. She shrieked. The pig who’d touched her said something that made the others laugh even harder.

“Please,” she gasped to her captor, “please, you’ve got this all wrong.”

He grunted and shifted her weight. For all she knew, he couldn’t even hear her. She was hanging over his shoulder like a bag of laundry, bound hands clutching desperately at the ragged ends of her bra.

As if modesty mattered at a time like this.

As if anything mattered, except forcing this man to listen.

A couple of hours back, it had all seemed so clear. What she’d do, how she’d do it. The giants had brought her to the sultan who’d looked her over and smiled as if she were a mouse in the paws of a cat.

“Very nice,” he’d said softly.

Then he’d told her that he’d have to put off their first time together, as if, dear God, as if being raped by him was something to look forward to.

“I have a guest,” he’d said, “an American business associate. Take him to bed, keep him occupied so that he hears and sees only you. I will reward you by having you taken to the airport and sent home.”

And Santa and the Easter Bunny were kissing cousins.

Asaad would never set her free, but Leanna had decided that seeming to go along with things was her best bet.

She’d be brought to the American’s room like a gift-wrapped package. The door would shut, he’d smile at his luck and she’d say, very softly because the walls surely had ears, Thank God you’ve come. I’m an American, I was kidnapped. I’m supposed to keep you busy so that you’re deaf and blind to whatever the sultan is planning to do to you. We have to get out of this horrible place before that happens.

Instead she’d been delivered like a package, in front of the sultan. Okay, she’d thought. She’d wait until she and the American were alone.

It had never occurred to her he’d refuse Asaad’s gift.

The man’s eyes had glinted with desire when he saw her. His body had quickened. It had been impossible not to notice.

And then his hot stare had turned to ice. She had no idea why. She’d had to do something, and fast.

The way he looked—the hard face and muscled body, the stubble on his jaw, the faded jeans and leather boots—were almost overtly masculine. This was a man who wouldn’t take an insult lightly.

So she’d deliberately taunted him. That was the good news.

The bad was that it had worked too well. He’d ripped her bra in half, handled her with an icy lust that terrified her more than anything that had happened yet…

But it wasn’t too late. He was her countryman.

That had to count for something.

The guards at the palace doors snickered as he marched past them. The doors swung shut and she and the American were alone.

Now, she told herself, and took a breath. Despite everything, she knew she had to stay calm. Sound rational. If she did, surely, she could get through to him.

“Mr. Knight? That’s your name, isn’t it?”

The American began climbing the stairs.

“Mr. Knight. The sultan lied. I didn’t steal anything. I didn’t try to kill him. I’m not even named Layla.”

She knew he could hear her. There was no crowd, no noise, only the sound of his boot heels hitting the marble floor as he made his way down a corridor.

Why didn’t he say something?

“Did you hear me?” Still no answer. “Mister. Answer me. Say something. Tell me you understood what I—”

“Shut up.”

Leanna shrieked and pounded her fists against his back. It was about as effective as pelting a stone wall with pebbles.

“Damn you,” she screamed, and sank her teeth into his shoulder. All she got for her effort was a mouthful of denim shirt, but it got his attention.

“Do that again,” he snarled, “and I’ll reciprocate.”

“You have to listen! I know what Asaad told you, but—”

“You want to be gagged as well as tied?”

Oh God! He was as much a savage as the sultan. How stupid she’d been to think his nationality and hers would create a bridge of decency in this godforsaken place.

She heard another snicker of laughter, saw another pair of grinning soldiers. He brushed past them and stepped through a set of massive doors and into an enormous room.