The Sheikh's Disobedient Bride

“It wasn’t very polite.”

She could feel the sand on her neck, feel it press relentlessly, feel the slippery cool grains everywhere and her head spun, dizzy. “I hate you.”

He sighed. “Why are you so stubborn?”

“Why are you?” Tears filled her eyes and she couldn’t even brush them away. “You know I can’t get out of here without your help but you’re making me beg and that’s cruel—”

“Refusing to ask for help is worse. That’s a death wish, and stupid.”

“What word do you want? What is it you want to hear? Tair, you’re so marvelous. Or Tair, you’re my man. What is it you want?”

The edge of his mouth tugged. “That’s quite gratifying, Woman, but I was actually just looking for please.”

Tair rose in one fluid motion, white robes swirling and going to his horse, he withdrew a rope, tied it to his stallion’s saddle and returned to her side.

He stretched out on the sand, and inched his way toward her and tossed the looped rope around her shoulders, and tugged, the loop tightened lasso-like and he had her secure.

Whistling to his horse, the stallion began to back up and with Tair guiding the rope, he managed to drag Tally free of the sand.

“Thank you,” Tally choked, tears streaming and she rubbed one cheek and then the other, her face streaked with tears and sand.

“You’re welcome.” He whistled again to the stallion and the horse trotted over. Swinging into his saddle, he leaned down, held an arm out to Tally. “Let’s go home.”

Tally froze. She didn’t put her hand in his. “But that’s the problem, Tair. It’s not my home.”

“Here we go again,” he muttered beneath his breath.

“It’s not.”

“I don’t want to do this now. The sand is still unstable from yesterday’s storm. There are probably more sand traps out here. If you really want me to leave you here, fine. But I’m going home.”

Tally sagged, exhausted, forlorn. “I don’t want to be left here.”

“Then you’re accepting my protection?”

Fresh tears burned her eyes but she wouldn’t let them fall. “No.” She turned, stared out across the desert that had become a treacherous prison and she wondered when and how this would end. Worn out, worn down she couldn’t keep running away but how to give up her world? Her life? Her dreams? Because she knew once she said yes, there would be no going back.

Tair swore softly and with a scoop of his arm lifted Tally up, settling her in his saddle in front of him. His arm was hard around her, holding her completely immobile. “This is getting familiar,” he said, dragging her even closer.

Tally shivered at the feel of his chest against her back, his body hard, solid, warm.

It wasn’t a particularly long ride back to camp and as they arrived, Tair’s men looked away, their heads turned, gazes respectfully fixed elsewhere as Tair wrestled with what they must think a truly demented woman. Well let them think she was mad. Because she wasn’t going to go back without a fight. She wasn’t going to just accept whatever sentence Tair handed out.

They were back. The men spilled from his camp, watching as Tair reined his horse to a stop but none actually looked at her.

Not a good sign, Tally thought, defensively. “You can’t keep me here,” she whispered. “I will take off first chance I can. I will continue to go—”

“You’ve nearly died in a sandstorm, spent a frightening afternoon in a sandpit. What do you want to happen now?”

“I don’t know, but I’m beginning to think being eaten by a snake is preferable to staying here with you.”

“Now come,” Tair said, sliding off the horse and yanking her down behind him, “that’s unfair. You haven’t even been bedded by me yet. You might actually like being my woman.”

“Never.”

He clucked disapprovingly, and walked toward his tent, strides long, determined, his hold on her wrist just as hard. “The least you could do is withhold judgment until I’ve had you.”

He tossed aside the curtainlike flap and pulled her inside. The flap snapped closed. “Which I intend to do—” he broke off as his gaze swept over her, up and down “—as soon as you bathe. You, my dear woman, reek.”

“Reek?” Her voice rose and yet she threw her shoulders back, puffed her chest out. “Well, that’s just lovely considering you’ve kept me in rank tents, eating tough goat meat and drinking warm goat’s milk for days. You’ve no proper bath, no shampoo, no lotions, no scented oils. Nothing. I thought sheikhs lived in beautiful palaces filled with sunken tiled baths and gorgeous mosaic arches. But no. I have to get kidnapped by a sheikh who lives like a peasant with nothing but a half dozen ancient tents to his name.”