Bella and the Merciless Sheikh

He wanted her to live so that she could face justice for trying to steal his horse. She would pay the price for her crime.

In order to keep her alive, he needed to get her out of the sun and cool her down. And the only place he could do that was in his own camp.

Resigning himself to the inevitable, Zafiq swung her limp body onto his horse and supported her while he vaulted on behind her. Drawing her lifeless body against the power of his own, he closed his legs on the stallion’s flanks and urged him forwards, glancing over his shoulder to check on the mare.

It took less than twenty minutes to reach the shelter of his remote desert camp—twenty minutes during which he discovered to his frustration that he was able to become aroused by an unconscious woman.

Dismounting in a fluid movement, Zafiq gritted his teeth as he lifted her once again into his arms.

Perhaps he should have left her in the desert.

Turning the horses loose to find shade and water in the small oasis, he carried the unconscious girl towards his tent, breathing through his mouth in order to block out the tantalising floral scent of her hair. He dumped her gently on the mat that served as a bed and frowned impatiently as she lay still, not moving.

Torn between concern and exasperation, Zafiq leant forward and placed his fingers on her forehead. Registering the dry, burning heat, he realised that if he didn’t cool her down, he was going to have a serious problem on his hands.

‘I don’t know who you are, but you clearly have more beauty than sense,’ he growled, striding across the tent to fetch a bowl of tepid water and a piece of cloth.

So much for a week of peace, solitude and quiet reflection.

Zafiq dipped the cloth in the water and bathed her face and neck. Knowing that her recovery was dependent on cooling and rehydration, he reluctantly unfastened the buttons of her long sleeve shirt. Peeling it away he bathed her slender arms, keeping his eyes averted from the pretty lace bra that was now the only barrier between him and her body. He left her arms and body damp, allowing the water droplets to cool her over heated skin.

At this rate he was going to need the cool water himself, he thought, seriously unsettled by the effect she had on him. With haste and clinical efficiency he tugged her white cotton trousers past the curve of her hips and down her long legs.

‘Atif?’ She murmured a man’s name and Zafiq frowned sharply, wondering whether there had been someone else out in the desert with her.

Of course. She must have had an accomplice. A plan to kidnap his horse couldn’t have been executed by one lone woman, could it?

Wondering what had happened to his usual clarity of thought, Zafiq dropped the cloth back into the bowl and raked her flushed cheeks with an impatient gaze, but this time his impatience was directed towards himself. Since when had he ceased to think logically?

Driven by concern and the pressing need to extract information, he scooped her up and pressed the cup of water to her lips. ‘Drink,’ he ordered, and although her eyes remained closed she obediently parted her lips and swallowed. ‘And more.’ He continued to encourage her to drink and then laid her gently back against the pillows and bathed her once again.

Shaded by the tent and cooled by the water she started to revive.

Only when he judged that she was able to answer, did Zafiq scoop her up once again and voice the question that was troubling him.

‘Who was with you?’ His voice was rough—rougher than he intended—but even so she didn’t respond. Trying to ignore the softness of her skin against his arms, Zafiq tried again. ‘Were you alone?’

Her eyes slid to his and she looked at him with those stunning blue eyes that were undeniably designed to drive a man to distraction.