The Sheikh's Disobedient Bride
“Yes. Until this morning there’d been no problem.”
He regarded her for a long silent moment. “Why did you want to come to Ouaha?”
“Is that where I am?”
“Don’t act so surprised.”
“I am surprised. I hadn’t realized we’d left Baraka. There was no border crossing—”
“A desert separates the countries, Woman.”
She flinched at the “woman” but didn’t contradict him. Instead she took a breath, suppressing her aggravation. “There was no plan to come to Ouaha. I merely told my guides what I wanted and they set the course knowing I needed to be in Casablanca by the first of October.”
“Why the first of October?”
“My visa for Baraka ends and I need to be in Morocco by then.”
His thickly fringed eyes narrowed, his angular jaw thickening yet again. “And so what exactly are you doing here, so far from your home?” His voice had dropped, and it was low, low and deadly.
“Nothing. Just sightseeing.”
“With rebels as your guides?”
Her pulse quickened yet again. She pressed her palms together, the skin damp, sticky. “I don’t know their politics. We never discussed—”
“But you paid them.”
“Yes. I needed them. This part of the world is remote, and often inaccessible for women. I needed experienced guides.”
“You’re sure they didn’t pay you?”
Tally would have laughed if the situation weren’t so precarious. “For what?”
He slowly crouched down in front of the bed until he was eye to eye with her. His dark gaze met hers, held, the set of his mouth anything but gentle. “Why don’t you tell me.”
His eyes were so dark, and the expression so intense that Tally felt her heart stutter, not just with fear, but awareness. She knew men and was comfortable with men but Tair wasn’t like men she’d ever known. There was an untamed element to him, a primitive maleness that made her feel increasingly small, fragile, female. And she didn’t like feeling small or fragile, she just wasn’t. Life had toughened her. She didn’t frighten easily.
Swallowing, Tally gathered her courage. “I have no idea what you want from me. I’m just a tourist—”
“Not just a tourist. You’ve spent two weeks with those men. Two weeks photographing, documenting.” His voice dropped even lower, deeper, and the husky ominous pitch slid down Tally’s spine.
“We’ll try this one more time,” he said slowly, quietly, “and I warn you, I’m not a patient man but I’m trying. So don’t test me. Understand?”
She nodded, because she did understand, and she also understood that things weren’t going well and if they didn’t come to some kind of agreement relatively soon, she would be in even greater danger. “Yes.”
“Now tell me about the men you were traveling with.”
“I know very little about them. They were quiet. They kept to themselves quite a bit. I thought they were good men.”
“You’ve been with them two weeks and this is all you can tell me?”
How did he know she’d been traveling for two weeks with the men? He’d either been told, or he’d been watching her. Either way she’d been followed. “I’m sorry,” she said, picking her words with care. If ever there was a time for diplomacy, this was it. “We didn’t speak much. They’re men. I was a foreign woman. There were cultural differences.”
“Cultural differences.”
She flushed, locked her fingers together. “I wish I could tell you more. I hadn’t thought I was doing anything wrong. I’ve always wanted to visit Baraka—”
“But you’re not in Baraka anymore. This is Ouaha. An independent territory, and this is my country, and these are my people and you entered my country with Barakan rebels. Men who have brought violence and destruction to my people.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I arrived in Atiq, hired these men as escorts, and yes, I have been traveling with them but that’s because I’m a tourist, and traveling alone. I needed local guides and they came highly recommended.”
“What about your pictures?” he asked, eyes narrowing.
She paled. “What about them?”
“You were taking pictures for them, weren’t you?”
“No. They were for me. I didn’t work for those men. Those men worked for me. The pictures are for me.”