Bella and the Merciless Sheikh (7 page)

His harsh evaluation was all the more hurtful because she was feeling so ill. Suddenly she felt horribly vulnerable, alone in the desert with this ice-cold stranger.

She ought to be putting all her efforts into persuading him to take her to the city, but she felt too ill to summon up the energy.

It was only when the bowl was gently removed from her hands that she realised that he was watching her.

‘I'm fine,' she whispered fiercely, and he sighed.

‘Go to bed. Tomorrow you will feel better.'

Would she? She didn't think she'd ever feel better again.
Despite the fire, her teeth were chattering. ‘I—is it c-cold or is it me? Do you have a j-jumper or something?'

With a driven sigh, he rose to his feet. ‘You have sunstroke—that is why you are shivering.'

‘Sun stroke? That sounds serious!' Alarmed, Bella stared at him, her teeth still clattering. ‘Sh-should you call an air ambulance or something?'

‘There are no emergency services in the desert.'

‘I d-don't want to d-die in the d-desert.'

‘That is unlikely.'

‘And I b-bet you're disappointed about that.'

‘Can you walk back to the tent or do you want me to carry you?'

‘I don't want you to touch me!'

‘Good—' His mouth grim, he doused the fire. ‘On that one thing, at least, we are in agreement. You need to go to bed and rest. Keep drinking. I will bring you a blanket and some cream for your skin.'

Feeling wretched, Bella dragged herself into the tent and collapsed on the bed. ‘At least this ultra stylish garment you've given me to wear can pass as night wear.'

A look of exasperation on his handsome face, he tucked a blanket over her. But despite his rough tone his fingers were gentle as he checked the temperature of her forehead. ‘Sleep. You will be better by tomorrow.'

Still shivering, Bella closed her eyes. ‘And then what?'

‘You and I are going to have to learn to live along side each other,
habibiti
.' He gave a humourless laugh. ‘Unless you develop a sudden gift for silence, I suspect that will prove a challenge.'

Z
AFIQ
urged his stallion across the sand, his hands barely touching the reins. Usually on his first night in the desert he fell into a soundless, dreamless sleep. Last night, sleep had eluded him and he'd stared at the stars for more hours than he cared to remember.

And the reason for his unusual bout of insomnia was currently asleep in the tent.

His tent.

Concerned about the shivering, he'd checked on her several times during the night and watching her sleep had proved every bit as disturbing as spending time with her awake. Asleep she lost the feisty, wilful side that was so much a part of her personality. Instead she looked vulnerable, her incredible blonde hair trailing over the sheets and her body curled into a fetal position, as if she were trying to protect herself.

Wiping that memory from his brain, Zafiq urged Batal faster. Usually, riding was guaranteed to clear his mind but apparently the golden-haired goddess had the ability to ruin even that simple pleasure.

Even a swim in the oasis hadn't cooled his blood because his memory of her walking semi-naked through the water was indelibly printed on his brain.

Temptation
, he thought grimly,
had been shaped into the form of a woman.

Was this what his father had faced with his stepmother? All those times he'd given in to her greedy demands, was this what he had been fighting?

For the first time Zafiq felt a flicker of sympathy towards his father and then he crushed it.

A man always had a choice, he reminded himself grimly, no matter how captivating the woman. And the true test of a man lay in the choices he made, not when those choices were easy, but when he was presented with temptation.

And he would
not
be making the same choices as his father.

He would
never
allow his judgement to be clouded by his feelings for a woman.

It wasn't even as if she was his type of woman. She showed neither respect nor modesty. Accustomed to women who were usually over whelmed to meet him in person, Zafiq found her vitality and lack of deference disconcerting to say the least.

Today he would urge her to remain inside the tent, away from the harsh desert sun. And he'd make sure she didn't remove her robe again during their time in the desert. If she had to stay, then she had to learn to behave, he thought savagely, shielding his eyes against the sun as he focused on the horizon.

Having formulated what he believed to be a workable solution to the problem, Zafiq rode back to the desert camp, confident that he had his emotions well in hand.

Suddenly Batal gave a shriek of anger and rose on his hind legs, sawing at the air with his hooves. Welded to the back of the plunging animal, Zafiq spoke to the horse quietly, using all his strength to hold the powerful stallion in check.

Only when he'd calmed Batal did he look to see what had spooked him.

She stood in the shadow of the tent, her hair damp from another cooling dip in the oasis.

‘Sorry, I didn't know you were out on the horse. You
startled me.' The redness of her skin had calmed over night and her beautiful face now had a healthy glow.

But what really caught his attention was the way she was dressed.

For the first time in his life Zafiq found it difficult to speak. ‘What have you done to the robe?'

‘I altered it a bit.' She glanced down at herself, her blonde hair sliding forward in a silken mass of temptation. ‘It was too long.'

‘It was a perfect length,' Zafiq ground out, and she looked up at him with a stunning smile, her eyes challenging him to a fight.

‘If this is offending you, you could always take me to the city.'

So that was her plan.

She was trying to drive him mad.

And she was succeeding.

Rigid in the saddle, Zafiq scanned her outfit in silent disbelief.

Somehow she'd turned a modest, shapeless robe into a high-fashion item.

She'd ripped the fabric with her hands, tearing a metre off the bottom so that it now skimmed her thighs, exposing her incredible legs. And, as if that wasn't bad enough, she'd taken some of the leaves from a date palm and woven them into a belt, accentuating her tiny waist.

Suffering from an explosive blast of sexual arousal, Zafiq took a deep breath and acknowledged that his plan to cover her up had failed spectacularly.

She looked like a temptress straight from a Greek myth.

Frustrated by his own response, he raked his brain for an alternative solution to concealing her. ‘You will stay in the tent today,' he commanded, and she raised her eyebrows, a hint of humour in her gorgeous blue eyes.

‘Am I supposed to say, “Yes, Your Highness”?'

‘“Yes, Your Highness” would be fine.'

Her smile was apologetic. ‘Trouble is, I've never been much good at doing what people want me to do. I was brought up to challenge and question. I have a tendency to do the opposite of what I'm asked.'

Zafiq's gaze didn't shift. ‘In that case, I order you to stay out of the tent and to walk around half naked until we leave this place.'

She collapsed into a fit of giggles, her laughter so infectious that he felt the corners of his mouth twitch.

‘You see?' She was still grinning, a tiny dimple flickering at the corner of her full mouth. ‘You
do
have a sense of humour. You're smiling.'

Was he?
Zafiq vaulted from the horse, removed the animal's bridle and urged him towards the oasis to drink, reminding himself that there was
nothing
amusing about this situation. But he had to admit that there was something incredibly refreshing about being with someone who didn't automatically say what they thought he wanted to hear. ‘How is your headache?'

‘Gone, thanks. Did you get any sleep on the floor? Must have been pretty uncomfortable.'

‘I slept,' he lied, unwilling to admit even to himself that this woman would cause him a moment of unbroken sleep. ‘Are you ready for break fast?'

‘Definitely. I'm starving. Then I think I might go for a swim—naked, of course—and then a long ride in the desert—'

‘You are being intentionally provoking—'

‘No, I'm being me. And you don't like me, so why don't you just take me to the city? Then you can have a few days' peace and quiet. I'm nothing but trouble.'

‘The ability to handle trouble is the true test of a man's character,' Zafiq purred, and watched with satisfaction as
a flicker of surprise touched her beautiful face. ‘And I love being tested.'

He had no intention of revealing that he'd never been tested like this before.

Never before had he felt such a powerful urge to forget who he was and just lose himself with a beautiful woman.

Irritated by his own thoughts, Zafiq scanned her slender frame. ‘You don't look like a woman who eats break fast.'

‘I burn off a lot of calories.' She sounded defensive, as if he wasn't the first person to say that to her. ‘There's nothing wrong with me, OK? I don't have an eating disorder and I'm not on any stupid diet—'

‘Is that what people say about you?'

‘No.' Her denial was a little too fast. ‘Anyway, I don't care what people say. I'm slender because I'm a very physical person.'

Zafiq closed his eyes briefly, trying to dispel the image her words created. everything about her was bold, physical and athletic, from the long limbs clearly displayed under the remodelled robe to the strength in her slender arms. She was vibrant, energetic and
alive.

‘I'm hot after my ride. I'm going to bathe.' His jaw clenched, Zafiq strode towards the tent and then paused and delivered a warning glare. ‘And I
don't
want an audience.'

‘OK, Your Highness.' The dimple was back. ‘I promise not to peep.'

Growling deep in his throat, Zafiq took refuge in the tent.

She was slowly driving him mad.

 

Reviewing the success of her plan with delight, Bella sat in the shade of a large date palm, fanning herself with a giant leaf. At this rate she'd be back in the city by lunch time.

Lying there in the oppressive heat, she realised that the knot of tension in her stomach had eased and that she actually felt
rested for the first time in two weeks. Last night she'd slept. No bad dreams.

Brushing an insect off her arm, Bella wondered why. She was still in the desert. She still had all the problems that had been with her when she'd arrived two weeks earlier. What had changed?

Hearing a splash, she stopped fanning herself and watched as the Sheikh powered through the water with rhythmic strokes, the muscles across his shoulders rippling as he swam.

He was fit, she thought dreamily, in more ways than one.

And he was going to go mad when he saw her sitting here.

Whether he'd be angry enough to banish her somewhere civilised remained to be seen.

How long would it take her to get her own way? Hopefully after a morning in her company, he'd be calling the cavalry and expelling her to civilisation.

In the meantime, she was going to enjoy herself. How often did she get the chance to admire a physique like his?

He was, without doubt, the sexiest man she'd ever encountered.

Bella rested her chin on her hands, her eyes following every movement of his bronzed, hard body as he put himself through a punishing physical workout. He was the polar opposite of the pale, artistic society types she mixed with. Not just in looks, but in personality and behaviour.

And then there was the fact that he was so serious.

Bella gave a little frown.

Not her type.

So why was she sitting here watching him?

What she should really be doing was making the best of herself, but it was hard to make the best of yourself without a mirror.

She stared at his discarded robe and suddenly she had an idea.

Glancing across the water to check he still had his back to her, she leant across and picked up the robe, retrieving the knife gingerly.

The deadly blade glinted in the harsh overhead sun and Bella smiled as she tilted it to find the right angle.

‘What are you doing there?'

Caught out, Bella glanced up guiltily and saw the anger flash across his face. Ignoring her thundering pulse rate, she smiled sweetly, raising her voice so that he could hear. ‘Er, fiddling with your dagger and watching you?'

Instead of replying he swam back towards her, each stroke a study in controlled, masculine power.

Remembering that kiss, her heart started to thud and she felt an almost ridiculous urge to make a run for it. But her limbs wouldn't move so she stayed as she was, sitting in the dust, her eyes on the man, the dagger clutched in her hand.

He emerged from the pool like some glorious vision of athletic perfection, water pouring off his muscular frame, his abdomen flat and strong, his chest and legs shaded by dark hairs.

Bella tried to say something flippant but discovered she wasn't capable of saying anything at all when confronted by such raw masculinity.

Raking his dripping hair away from his face, he stared at her angrily. ‘You were
not
supposed to be watching me.'

‘There's nothing else to do. I don't have a laptop, a cell-phone or an iPod.'

‘And without those you cannot occupy yourself? You rely on technology for entertainment?'

‘Yes, I do. It's how I keep in touch with my friends. I can't do that, so I thought I'd watch you instead.'

‘I am not your friend.'

‘No, but you're a living creature, which is a start. And
you're pretty good to look at.' She knew she was playing a dangerous game, but she was desperate for him to take her back to the city and she was pretty sure that he'd crack eventually.

‘You are intentionally provocative.' Without waiting for her response, he removed the knife from her hand and hauled her to her feet, his furious dark eyes only centimetres from hers as he yanked her against him. ‘What were you planning to do with the knife?'

‘Calm down, will you?' Bella bit back a gasp as her thigh brushed against his. ‘I was going to use it as a mirror.'

‘A
mirror
?'

‘Yes, the blade is shiny…metal—I've been trapped without a mirror for two weeks! I just wanted to know whether the damage can ever be repaired.'

He glanced down at the lethal blade in his hand in astonishment as if its alternative properties had never occurred to him before. ‘A mirror—'

‘Look,' Bella snapped, ‘the desert may be heaven to you, but to me it's the opposite, OK? I can't do any of the things I normally do!'

‘You spend your day looking in the mirror?'

Feeling shallow, Bella shrank slightly. ‘Try being me before you pass judgement,' she muttered. ‘If I leave the house without make-up, everyone is suddenly asking whether I'm ill, or on drugs, or about to be admitted to a clinic. Whatever I wear is scrutinised—people are
mean
.'

‘
Who
is mean?'

Recovering from the shocking fact that she'd actually admitted to someone how much the negative press coverage actually hurt her feelings, Bella back tracked. ‘Friends,' she said vaguely, ‘and family—'

‘Your friends and family scrutinise everything you wear? They're mean?'

‘Oh, whatever—' Realising that she was digging a hole
for herself, Bella shrugged. ‘It doesn't matter. I'm just saying it's second nature for me to look in a mirror and just check I haven't woken up with a huge spot on my nose.'

‘And what do you do if you have?'

‘I stay indoors.'

‘Your life is truly bizarre.'

Bella frowned. She'd lived that life for so long she no longer even questioned it.
Was it bizarre?