Bella and the Merciless Sheikh

The horse gave a snort of disapproval and continued to walk. Bella was too weak and exhausted to do anything about it.

She was going to die.

Her body was going to be buried under the sand and discovered centuries later by archaeologists digging for relics.

Despite her dizzy, dehydrated state the inevitable headlines flashed into her head: Bad Bella Balfour Disappears from Desert Retreat.

Perhaps they’d think she’d drowned herself in herbal tea.

Perhaps they wouldn’t even care.

She gave a weak moan and tried to say something to the horse but by now her mouth was so dry it was difficult to speak. The pain in her head was so severe she felt as though someone was attacking her with an axe and her vision blurred.

The last thing she saw before she slid from the horse was an ominous black shadow emerging through the golden haze.

Death, she thought dizzily, and landed on the sand unconscious.

CHAPTER TWO

ZAFIQ sprang from his horse and issued a low command. The stallion immediately threw up his head proudly and stood still, his tail held high.

Taking in the identity of the other horse, Zafiq’s initial shock turned to raw, undiluted fury. ‘Amira—’ His voice gentle, he approached his favourite mare, hand out stretched, his anger ruthlessly contained. ‘What are you doing all the way out here?’ The horse allowed him to take the reins and he swiftly tied the animal to the saddle of his own mount.

Later, he promised himself with icy focus. Later, there would be a price to pay for this. For now, his priority had to be the girl.

She was the most unlikely looking horse thief he’d ever seen.

One glance at her thin cotton clothing was sufficient to tell him that she knew nothing about surviving in the harsh, unforgiving desert, and his mouth tightened as he bent over her inert body.

A pink baseball cap lay in the sand some distance from where she’d fallen but apart from that one small concession to the heat of the sun she appeared to have nothing in the way of protection.

Zafiq’s lip curled in contempt. After all the threats and warnings, this was who’d they sent to kidnap his most valued horse?

Impatience mingling with anger he glanced around for a rucksack, or something that indicated the girl had packed liquid, but there was nothing.

Muttering under his breath he stooped and lifted her, the breath hissing through his teeth as her blonde hair trailed over his arm like a shaft of light from a single sunbeam. Sand dusted her flushed cheeks and his eyes rested on her dry lips.

Unable to look away from the generous curve of her mouth, Zafiq felt a dangerous heat explode inside him and he stared down at her beautiful face, momentarily forgetting everything except the woman in his arms. And then her eyelids flickered upwards and he found himself staring into the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. They were eyes that reminded him of a summer sky, of the azure blue of the Arabian Sea, of the cerulean silk that was sold in the souks of Al-Rafid. But despite the intense colour those eyes were dull, dazed and her lips parted and she whispered something—nothing that made sense; something about herbal tea—and then her eyes closed and she didn’t say another word.

Aware that he was still staring down at her face, Zafiq felt a rush of anger.

What sort of a man was he?

The girl was unconscious.

She was half dead, and he was thirsting for her as she was no doubt thirsting for water.

Dehydration, he thought savagely, holding her easily as he walked back to his stallion and removed a bottle from his saddlebag. He’d seen it before, too many times.

‘Drink,’ he ordered harshly, but she gave no sign that she was able to obey his command.

Questioning what crime he’d committed to be saddled with an unconscious girl at a time when he was supposed to be enjoying solitude, Zafiq splashed a small amount of water over her lips and watched with grim satisfaction as her tongue flickered out. At least he wasn’t dealing with a corpse.