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Kamal patted his stallion’s neck to stop him alerting Kaliah to their presence before he was ready.
Dismounting in silence, he draped the reins over the corral railing, then unhooked the bridle so Asad could get a well-earned drink. But he didn’t remove the saddle. They could not stay here for their discussion. He’d noticed a weather alert this morning for the whole region, signalling the possibility of sandstorms this afternoon.
The storms were rare, but could be dangerous, especially in such an exposed position. And, anyway, he did not want their conversation interrupted by the need to flee back to the palace. He wanted her on his own turf—where he could get the answers he sought out of her without any interference. The choking fury closed around his throat again.
She had used him and then discarded him—he understood that now—because he was not of royal blood.
He yanked off his keffiyeh and dunked his head in the water trough. The cool water washed away the sweat but did little to cool the anger and frustration that had been building ever since he had woken yesterday morning, the need for her still pounding through his system.
A need which hadn’t really abated in the last twenty-four hours, even though she had rejected him.
Perhaps he ought to wait for her to wake up but, as he strode towards the main tent, he discarded the idea. They’d gone past politeness a long time ago. And he would be damned if he’d treat her like some rare, exotic bird when he’d been inside her, when her fingernails had dug into the scars on his back as she’d clung to him and the heady sobs of her climax, the sweet scent of her arousal, had driven him into a frenzy.
This has nothing to do with your honour, or the Law of Marriage of the Sheikhs, or even your need to find a convenient bride. Stop kidding yourself. This is much more basic and elemental than that.
The thought echoed in his head as his groin throbbed and the choking fury was joined by the feeling he hated and thought he had conquered long ago—of shame, of vulnerability, of yearning, the longing for something he knew he could never have, could never deserve.
He cut it off.Again.
He had fought long and hard to leave that child behind and become a man of standing, of huge wealth, importance and position. And he was not about to let some reckless virgin make him feel like that rejected boy again, however desirable she was, however royal her heritage.
The irony that she had made him feel this way once before, when she’d been five and he fourteen, didn’t escape him as he ripped open the tent flap.
‘Kaliah, it is Prince Kamal,’ he announced as he stepped into the cool, shadowy interior. ‘If you think you can run from me and our responsibilities, you are wrong. You have five minutes to clothe yourself.’
It took several seconds for his eyes to adjust to the light. But, several minutes later, she had yet to come out of the bedroom—or even reply to his perfectly reasonable demand.
To hell with this.
He strode across the lavishly furnished space. ‘Time’s up!’ he shouted, and marched through the curtains guarding the bed chamber.
As his gaze slanted over heremptyunmade bed, and a lung full of her spicy, sultry, spellbinding scent fired through his system, his temper charged back.
He marched out of the tent, the last threads of his control fraying.
When he finally located her, it would be nothing short of a miracle if he managed to prevent himself from flinging her across his knee and spanking her.
Liah sighed as the spring water gushed from the rocks and doused her in glorious cold. It was already warm, and would be scorching later, but she had a solar-powered generator here to keep the living quarters cool.
Her skin tingled and pulsed, alive and still far too sensitive from her night of debauchery. She would have to return to the palace tomorrow—her father’s steward had contacted her on the satellite phone twenty minutes ago to tell her of the threat of sandstorms. Their data were suggesting she should be okay, but her father was insisting she return home or he would send out the guard to bring her back.
After all the trouble she’d caused in the last few days, she knew she’d have to comply. At least Malik had also told her Prince Kamal and his men had departed for Zokar that morning, so she didn’t have to hide out any longer.
She tilted her face into the flow and let the invigorating stream sluice down her body.
You’re not hiding from him. You’re simply giving him time to make a dignified departure.
She turned to tiptoe back across the rocks, her drenched T-shirt and panties making her aware of places still tender from his forceful caresses.
But, as she stepped away from the splashing water, a deep, husky sound, like someone clearing their throat, reverberated in her chest. Her head snapped up so fast, she almost got whiplash.
Him?
Heat and panic fired through her system, swiftly followed by shock. And a strange out-of-body sensation which made her sure she had to be imaging the tall, dark shape of the man who had occupied her thoughts for two solid days standing by the water’s edge. His muscular arms were folded across his broad chest and his long legs were akimbo, encased in dusty jeans and riding boots, as if he were braced for action. The short black robe he wore to stave off the heat caught on the breeze and swirled around him, making him look like an avenging angel... Or, rather, an avenging devil.
She stared, utterly transfixed, as the heat continued to ripple through her over-sensitised body... Perhaps she’d got more sun than she’d thought on the ride here yesterday. Her worst nightmare could not possibly be here, standing on the shore ofhersecret oasis, his dark gaze roaming over her features then sinking down to examine her breasts with insolent entitlement.
Her nipples chose that precise moment to swell and elongate, poking against the wet T-shirt like two Exocet missiles. And making her brutally aware of the fact she was not wearing a bra. She folded her arms over her breasts.
