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“Very impressive, but who is ‘us’? I haven’t seen anyone except you and one servant.”
“Oh, there are others in the village.”
The village. For the first time, he felt a stir of hope. “Where is this village?”
“It is not far, sir.”
“Surely there must be some sort of transportation there?”
“A few wagons and mules, that is all.”
Wagons and mules against a fleet of Humvees. Still, that was something. They’d make better time than if they walked. Besides, Cam had lifted Salome’s feet to his lips for kisses when they made love this morning. The toes on one foot were red and swollen. When he’d asked about it, she’d brushed his question aside.
“My feet are the toughest part of me,” she’d said. “Dancers get used to a little pain. Sometimes, we go off-stage with blood in our shoes.” She’d laughed at his shocked expression. “We only look fragile, Cameron. It’s part of the illusion.”
A wagon it would be, he thought, and smiled politely at Shalla.
“In that case, I’d like to visit your village as soon as possible.”
A look swept over her face. It was fleeting but it set off a warning bell in his head. The sooner they got that wagon and a couple of mules, the better.
“Of course, sir. I have some chores to attend to first. I will take you when the sun is high over the palace. Is that suitable?”
The whole damned situation wasn’t suitable, but what could he do to change it?
“It’s fine,” Cam said briskly. “Just fine.”
Leanna waited until Shalla was gone. Then she leaned close to Cam.
“Wagons and mules? That’s all they have?”
“So the lady claims.”
“Do you believe her?”
“What I believe,” he said carefully, “is that wagons and mules are all we’re going to get. Hey, look at the bright side. We won’t have to worry about finding gas stations.” She smiled up at him and he wrapped his arm around her. “One way or another, I’ll do whatever it takes to get you home.”
“To get both of us home,” she said, her eyes locked to his. “I don’t want to go home unless it’s with you, Cameron. Do you understand?”
He saw the expression in her eyes and he knew what she was telling him.
She thought she’d fallen in love with him.
He knew better.
What she felt, what he felt, was a wild blur of sexual passion and danger, heightened for her because he was her first lover; heightened for him because—because…
Because she was special.
But it wasn’t love.
He didn’t believe in love. Not that kind. He loved his country. His brothers. The men who’d fought and bled beside him. But the June-moon thing was the creation of cheap songs and bad movies. People who let themselves believe it existed left themselves weak and vulnerable.
Why else would his mother have tolerated his father’s coldness? His constant disapproval?
Why else would she have succumbed to illness and died?
No, Cam didn’t believe in love. In the power of sex, yes. Add danger to the mix and you had a potent brew. A memorable one. He didn’t love Salome and she didn’t love him. She only thought she did and he—he only thought—he only thought—
