Page 34 of Kismet

With a look of skepticism arching his small eyebrows, Malik rolled his eyes before he scurried off, leaving Shaheen to stare after him with more than just a touch of irritation. He should have known his rescue of Allegra would incite gossip. His bachelor status had been the topic of discussion for some time now, and several of his friends had been hinting it was time to do something about the situation. He wasn’t ready to contemplate the idea of marriage, and certainly not with a courtesan.

Snorting in disgust, he headed toward Jamal’s tent for a bedroll. He’d need to sleep near the horses to ensure Allegra didn’t leave the camp. Between the hard ground and standing watch, he wouldn’t get much sleep tonight. In truth, he could think of far more pleasurable ways to spend the evening. Unbidden came the image of Allegra fresh from her bath. Damnation. He needed to find some other outlet for this craving he experienced where the woman was concerned. If he didn’t, life would become even more complicated than it already was.

The night air was chilly as Allegra stepped out of Shaheen’s tent. It hadn’t taken long at all for her to start thinking of him in that manner. Not one person she’d come into contact with this evening had referred to him as Lord Newcastle. They’d only called him Shaheen. Begrudgingly, she’d admitted that the name suited him. The sound of it was strong and solid. Just like the man himself.

She grimaced as the skin beneath her tattoo tingled. It didn’t matter that he’d rescued her from Nassar. He was still holding her prisoner. But tonight she’d be free of him, just like she was free of Nassar. Hovering in the shadows, she wasn’t sure whether to be grateful for the fullness of the moon or not. The celestial body illuminated everything, and it would be easy for anyone to see her moving through the camp if she failed to stay in the shadows. The hair on her skin rose slightly at the memory of Shaheen’s warning. She shivered. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Shaking off her fear, she slipped through the darkness and worked her way toward the horses. Perhaps the brightness of the moon was a good sign. There would be enough light to help her avoid riding in the wrong direction. With luck, she’d be in Marrakech by morning. There was every possibility that she could be in the city by dawn’s light.

The quiet sound of horses moving against each other caught her ear. It was the sound of freedom, and she sucked in a sharp breath of triumph. Slipping around the corner of a tent, she saw the hobbled Arabians dozing quietly where they stood. As quietly as she could, she quickly retrieved a tassel laden bridle from a nearby pole and approached a golden brown mare. The horse snorted softly as she rubbed the animal’s neck.

“You wouldn’t get far with Naaja. Her name might mean escape, but she’s not known for her speed.”

She jumped at the sound of Shaheen’s voice, barely stifling her cry of surprise. Whirling around, she saw him step out of the shadows into the moonlight. She’d come so close to freedom, only to have him steal it from her at the last moment.

“Then perhaps you might tell me which of these horses is the fastest, so I can reach Marrakech by morning,” she said through clenched teeth.

“That would be Tarek, although I doubt you have the strength to handle him.” He nodded toward the large chestnut horse he’d ridden that afternoon. “But then we both know you aren’t going anywhere.”

The quiet confidence in his voice made her want to scratch his eyes out. All she wanted was to return to Marrakech and then to England. She excelled at keeping confidences. It was a necessity for someone in her position. She had no intention of telling Charles that the man he sought was living in the desert as a Bedouin. But convincing this man of that fact was another matter altogether. Furious, she flung the bridle at him.

Not bothering to wait for his reaction, she stalked back toward the tent she’d been using. His tent. For a brief moment, she wondered where he’d been forced to sleep. She squashed the thought. Where the man slept wasn’t any concern of hers. If he insisted on keeping her prisoner, he could damn well give up his tent in return. She stumbled over a tent stake and nearly fell. A strong hand pulled her upright, and the heat of his touch washed over her skin with the strength of a hot sun. Jerking free of his grasp, she increased her pace. It was bad enough the man was holding her against her will, but for her body to react to him in such a fashion was maddening. She stormed into the darkness of the tent and stumbled again, this time over a pillow on the tent’s carpet floor.

“Damn it to hell,” she exclaimed as she recovered her balance.

“Your temper matches the fiery color of your hair.”

The deep note of his voice reached out to stroke her senses, and she spun around to face him. A small amount of moonlight streamed through in the places where the tent walls didn’t quite meet, making it easy to see his tall, dark form directly in front of her. The mention of her hair sent her hand shooting upward to touch her head. Tension locked her jaw as her fingers brushed over the short, jaggedly cut locks.

“Don’t you mean what’s left of my hair?” she asked with a bitterness that matched the bile rising in her throat. She knew he wasn’t responsible for what Rana had done, but he deserved every ounce of her resentment and hostility.

“It will grow back, ma chérie.” He stepped forward to caress the top of her head. She slapped his hand away.

“Being my jailer doesn’t give you the right to touch me. Now get out.”

He was silent for a long moment, his face unreadable in the darkness. But the stubborn set of his jaw was easy to see as he leaned toward her. The warmth of him soaked its way into her skin, and her heart skipped a beat as she breathed in his crisp cedar scent.

“You forget this is my tent, helwa jahannam meshsh.” The words were spoken softly, but the sharp edge of command was unmistakable.

Frustration crashed through her. She wanted to scream and rage at him for refusing to let her leave. Never had she met a man like this one. One moment solicitous, the next arrogant and commanding. What did she have to do to convince him to let her go? The internal question made her inhale a sharp breath. What a half-wit she was. When had she forgotten that she could control a situation simply with a stroke of enticement? She knew how to pleasure a man, entice him into giving her whatever she wanted.

Appalled at the direction of her thoughts, she bit back a gasp. Never before had she used her skills to manipulate one of her lovers. How could she even contemplate seducing this man? The simplicity of the answer stunned her.

She wanted him.

Even despite his refusal to release her, she still desired him. Since that night at the Sultan’s palace, she’d wanted more of his caresses. Seducing him would achieve her freedom, while satiating the desire she felt for him. The question was whether Shaheen would resist her. He’d resisted temptation before, but not without difficulty.

She knew when a man desired her, and he was no different than any other. He wanted her. It was simply a matter of making him blind to anything but the sensations of pleasure. And given that day in Agdal Gardens, seducing him might not be difficult at all. She turned her back on him and removed her gambaz. Behind her, she heard him suck in a harsh breath.

“Christ almighty.” The way he choked out his exclamation made her smile to herself. She hid her amusement and looked over her shoulder at him.

“What’s wrong?”

“What the devil are you doing?”

“If you won’t return me to Marrakech, I’m going to bed.” She tossed the gambaz to one side then turned her attention to the drawstring of her sherwals. “I sleep better without any clothes.”

She heard him inhale another sharp breath as she prepared to slide the sherwals off her hips. Large, warm hands prevented her from removing the pants as he grabbed her from behind and pulled her close. Soft wool caressed her bare back as a hard muscular body pressed into the length of hers. She didn’t fight him as he prevented her from removing the garment.

“You seem to enjoy playing with fire, ma chérie,” he rasped.