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Even from this distance she could see the raised marks clearly. The ragged strips covered the whole of his back, stretching from the broad ridge of his shoulder blades all the way down to the base of his spine. She stared, her breath clogging in her lungs, recalling the strange ridges she’d felt when she’d clung to him as he thrust into her. Ridges she’d been curious about but had never seen because of the shirt he’d Insisted on wearing.
He reached up to slick back his hair and step into the stream of water pounding down from the fissure in the rock wall. The torn flesh on his back flexed and stretched.
These were old scars which had healed long ago. But, even so, she couldn’t swallow down the well of sympathy building under her breastbone at the evidence of the violence and abuse this hard, indomitable man had once endured.
Knowing exactly how strong he was now—thanks to her own first-hand experience—she knew no one could have done this to him as an adult.
Was that why he hadn’t removed his shirt during their night together?
The wrenching in her chest became worse.
Kamal was a proud man. She’d convinced herself he was too proud—willing to ignore her wishes, and even his own, to satisfy some arcane tradition, some stupid sense of honour. She swallowed to ease the thickness in her throat and the thundering pain in her ribs. It occurred to her his pride, his determination to do the right thing after he’d taken her virginity, might have nothing to do with tradition, honour or even his new position as a desert prince and everything to do with the boy who had once been so brutally beaten. Was that the real reason his pride meant so much to him?
She retreated into the undergrowth—suddenly feeling like the worse kind of voyeur—and retraced her steps along the rocky path back to the camp, the bundle of dirty clothing forgotten in her arms. Her heart continued to pulse at her throat but, instead of fading, the thickness in her throat became raw and jagged as one of her earliest memories flickered at the edges of her consciousness. An encounter she remembered from long ago, when she’d been a little girl, and she had made eye contact with a serving boy while on a diplomatic visit to Zokar with her father and her uncle Raif.
She had never forgotten that boy—although he hadn’t seemed like a boy to her then, because he’d been so much older than her. But, as she recalled him now, she realised he could only have been a teenager, tall, wiry and way too thin, and no match for the brute who had appeared from nowhere and attacked him when he had dropped a few plates.
She could still hear the hideous thud of the belt slicing through flesh, the man’s angry shouts and the boy’s strange grunts as he had lifted his arms to stave off the attack. Could still hear her cries of distress as she had begged her father to intervene—and stop the awful punishment. And she could still see her father leaping up to grab the man’s arm and prevent him from hitting the boy again.
Recalling that terrifying incident, and how her father had reprimanded that horrid man and spoken quietly with the boy to ensure he was okay, her love and respect for her father swelled.
But the swell of respect and affection for her father was nothing compared to the surge of distress and pity she still felt for that boy...
And her shock at the look in his eyes when his gaze had connected with hers that day. She could still picture his face as clearly now as if that incident had been yesterday, not fifteen years ago—the sallow skin, the high cheekbones hollowed out by malnutrition and the deep amber of his eyes sparking with anger, resentment and fierce pride. But what had shocked her most of all was the lack of tears, even though she’d been able to see blood seeping through the worn fabric of his shirt.
She blinked furiously, aware of the sting behind her eyes again.
From the first moment she had met Kamal something about him had seemed strangely familiar. And now she knew what it was. His eyes were the same deep amber as that boy’s eyes, and they’d had the exact same expression in them, four days ago in her father’s study, when he had demanded marriage and had been told no.
As night fell over the gorge, Kamal led Asad along the trail back to the encampment, his skin bristling from his second cold swim of the day, after yet another hard ride through the canyon to try and alleviate at least some of the sexual frustration that had been threatening to blow his careful plans to have Kaliah come to him for three endless days now... And even more endless nights.
How much longer is she going to ignore me and the incessant heat between us?
The heat he’d been able to see in the flush of her skin as she’d sat across the fire from him and eaten the food he had made for her wearing a sour, angry expression on her face.
He had spent the last two days venturing further and further away from the camp on Asad so he would not have to spend time close to her. And had forced himself to trust she would not try to leave again after he had tracked her to the edge of the canyon yesterday. He had been prepared to follow her into the desert, if she tried to cross the deadly terrain. But, as he had watched her through the spyglass while she’d assessed the desert beyond the gorge, he had seen her shoulders slump and the defeated look on her face.
Pride had risen in his chest alongside the ever-present frustration. Kaliah Khan might be impulsive and reckless—and far too captivating—with a temper that could put an unbroken stallion to shame but she was not a fool.
Even so, when he had left the camp today, determined not to return until nightfall—for his own stress levels as much as hers—the fear she would do something reckless had not helped to control the unsettled feeling that was now a permanent fixture in his gut.
Last night he had stopped himself from touching her, from goading her, from demanding to know what the hell she had been thinking, believing she could survive in the desert alone. Not just because he wanted her to feel less of a prisoner but also because he could not trust himself not to go too far. The desire to glide his fingers over the swell of her breasts, pluck those responsive nipples, nibble across her collarbone and make her beg was something he was becoming increasingly concerned was liable to drive him wild.
He huffed out a breath, the heat pumping back into his groin.
Damn. Stop thinking about the scent and texture of her skin and the soft sobs which drove you mad on that one night with her in your arms or you will need yet another cold swim.
Asad snorted as they entered the camp. Kamal tied him alongside Ashreen in the corral. He patted the mare’s back, surprised to see new feed had been added to her bag and the stall had recently been mucked out.
A small smile creased his lips.
Finally. Kaliah was relenting. Surely this had to be a sign she had decided to stop sulking? Perhaps tonight he would be able to coax her back into his bed and prove to her that a marriage between them would have some benefits.
Although the need to persuade her to marry him felt a lot less urgent than it had three days ago. His concerns now almost exclusively centred on the need to get her back into his arms and for her to forgive him for the high-handed way he had got her here.
He frowned as he rubbed down the stallion, poured fresh grain into its feed bag and replenished the water in the corral’s trough. Not that he needed to be forgiven. He had done what was necessary for her safety as well as his future. Was it his fault she still had some growing up to do?
He stopped abruptly though as he walked out of the corral, surprise swiftly followed by the pulse of longing.
