Lost to the Desert Warrior

For some reason just saying that made her body warm.

Because looking at his face made her feel hot and uncomfortable she stared instead at his hands, but for some reason that didn’t make her feel any better. She felt as if she’d had a shot of adrenaline straight into the heart.

‘You are reluctant to take off your robe,’ he said softly, ‘but once we’re married you are going to be naked when you share my bed.’

Layla felt her stomach curl. Everything inside her twisted and heated. She felt dizzy and strange.

Nerves, she thought. ‘Does this mean you’re agreeing to my suggestion?’

Without warning he lifted a powerful hand and pushed back the swath of fabric covering her head. His handsome face was taut and unsmiling, as if he were weighing up a decision of enormous importance.

Layla tried not to flinch even though the gentle brush of those strong fingers against her cheeks made everything inside her clench. She told herself he had every right to look at the woman he might marry.

Was he looking to see if she were as beautiful as his wife? Or was he deciding if he could look upon her every day and not see the face of her father and Hassan and think of the destruction they’d caused in his life.

He continued to look, his gaze disturbingly intense as his fingers trailed slowly over her cheek.

She knew her face was flushed. She could feel the heat and knew he would be able to feel it, too, with those fingers that seemed in no hurry to cease their exploration of her skin.

Her heart started to pound.

The seconds passed and a minute became two minutes and longer.

His forefinger traced the line of her jaw.

His eyes dropped to her mouth.

Layla was rigid with discomfort. She had no idea of the correct etiquette in this situation. Was she supposed to do something? Say something? Was it some sort of test?

She remembered Yasmin telling her that his wife had been stunningly beautiful.

Was this all about comparison?

When he spoke, there was something in his tone she couldn’t identify. ‘You are brave.’

Torn between relief that there was at least one thing about her he liked and disappointment that such close examination hadn’t uncovered anything else to commend her, Layla felt obliged to tell the truth. ‘I’m not very brave. I ran away from the palace.’

‘And you ran to me and offered me everything, even though deep down the thought of it frightens you.’

‘I’m not frightened.’

‘So far I believe you have been honest with me. I advise you not to change that.’

She hesitated. ‘I don’t think you’ll hurt me.’

His eyes darkened. ‘I will inevitably hurt you—as you would know if you’d read the book.’

Was he talking physically? Out of her depth in a conversation that felt like a swim in boiling oil, Layla had never felt more mortified in her life. ‘If there is pain then I’ll bear it.’

‘You seem determined to pursue this course, but what you are proposing will tie us together for a lifetime, so I urge you to think carefully and be sure this is what you want.’

‘That’s why I came to you and suggested it.’ Surely the facts spoke for themselves? Why did he keep asking her? ‘The alternative is being tied to Hassan for a lifetime and you must see that lacks appeal for so many reasons.’

There was a glimmer of something in his eyes. It might have been admiration or it might have been pity or even humour.

‘You have strength and honesty and I respect those traits. If respect is truly all you need from a relationship then I can promise you that. It will be done.’ He rose to his feet, sure and confident and very much the one in control. ‘I will send Salem to find your sister and instruct him to bring her here. I agree that there is no time to lose, so you and I will be married within the hour. I will send someone to help you prepare. Oh, and princess...’ He paused by the entrance to the tent, his eyes a wicked shade of black. ‘You have no need of that book. When the time comes I will teach you what you need to know.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘I AM TO search for a princess who talks too much? What sort of a description is that? Every woman I know talks too much.’ Salem sat relaxed on his horse, a look of incredulity on his handsome face as he looked at his brother. ‘If the stallion she stole is the one we think it is, he was bred for speed and endurance. He could have carried her for miles. She could be anywhere. Or lying dead somewhere in the desert.’