Desert Rogue (19 page)

But the stimulation of one sense suddenly unleashed others, and, just as every night in camp, it unsettled him to be so near her and helpless to claim her favors. Already his body was becoming uncomfortable with this proximity and he prayed not to embarrass himself. Despite his desperation, he could not avoid contact with her, so soft and yielding amid the furor of the hard-driven sand. He groaned against her graceful neck. If this wasn't a prelude to hell, to be so tempted and unable to respond, he couldn't imagine a worse one.

“Are you all right, Jed?” He was so rigid, Victoria found his presence more physically disturbing than comforting.

“I'm fine,” he muttered. “Hush until the storm passes.”

Well, she would have to take his word for it, she supposed, but
she
was
not
fine. It wasn't that Jed was heavy or that she couldn't support his weight, but rather that her body had softened and grown warmer at his touch. She had been tense and hot when she had waited for the storm to start, but now she felt as if her flesh was being scalded wherever Jed's body touched hers. Her nerves were screaming for release—and the only method that came to mind to effect satisfaction was to turn over and kiss the man above her. That notion, of course, was totally absurd considering the storm, and besides, she was engaged to Hayden.

Her current physical uneasiness was probably nothing more than extreme discomfort, Victoria assured herself, irritated at the dampness between her legs. It
had
to be the storm. She was, after all, facedown in sand, trapped beneath a six-foot male who must weigh at least thirteen stone, her
gallabiya
twisted awkwardly about her waist. Wouldn't any woman feel unnerved with the wind roaring, the waves of sand assaulting her and the length of a masculine body pressed against her?

No, responded her heart, only a woman who recognized the desirability of the male above her would forget to wish for an immediate end to the storm. One fearing for her life would not be concerned with thoughts of a kiss.

Suddenly, with a whimper, Victoria recognized the truth. She had lost all fear of Nature's fury, completely distracted by her body's craving for Jed Kincaid. He was more lethal than she had ever suspected. Without effort, he had laid careless siege to her heart and conquered it. The only question that remained was what she would do now that she understood the situation. Tears began to form at the absurdity of her predicament, but Victoria blinked them away, refusing to give in to her whirling emotions. So wrapped up was she in her inner debate, in fact, that she failed to realize Jed was about to rise until he spoke.

“Vicky, it's all right. You can get up now. The storm has passed,” he announced, reaching out a hand to help her to her feet. “Hey, there's no need to look so somber, we're safe.”

“Jed's quick thinking saved us again, Miss Victoria. He is a man among men,” praised the Egyptian. “Do not worry. He will deliver you safely home to your Hayden Reed. Never doubt that!”

There was absolutely no reason that Ali's reassurances should have released her tears so unexpectedly. She never cried. Never! But she did then—without inhibition.

“Ali, we'll rest awhile yet. Would you fetch the canteens? Vicky, take a drink, maybe splash a little water on your face,” suggested Jed. Uncertain how to handle her weeping, he walked away, leaving Ali to deal with her. On the one hand, Jed wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and ease her pain. On the other, he had promised himself not to take advantage. If he embraced her, he couldn't be responsible for what happened next.

Victoria Shaw had been through hell, but until now tears had never been her reaction to any of it. What was it Ali had said that upset her so? Jed wondered as he busied himself checking the camels.

The merchant had done nothing more than assure her she would be delivered safely to her beloved Hayden. Could she be having doubts about Reed? If so, it was about time she wised up. There were a million men who deserved a woman like Vicky more than Reed did. Still, it was strange for her to burst into tears when the man's name was mentioned. Just as peculiar was his own sudden cheerfulness. Usually he was completely undone when a woman began to cry.

“Kincaid, I am ready to go on,” Victoria called, anxious to flee the site of her self-discovery. Perhaps as she got closer to Cairo, her love for Hayden would resurface and the magnetism Kincaid exerted would lessen. At least, she could hope it would be so. “Can't we start?”

“Have you forgotten my name is Jed?” he reminded softly, pleased she had regained control so quickly. There would be time enough to consider the sandstorm and its consequences later.

“I'm sorry about my emotional outburst,
Jed,
but I fear the storm frightened me more than I expected. I've never witnessed anything of the kind,” the young woman explained. She came up next to him and placed her small hand on his arm in a gesture of reconciliation. “And I do want to thank you for saving me...again.”

Her voice was so tremulous, her eyes so wide and trusting, it was all Jed could do not to sweep Victoria into his arms and assure her that Jedediah Kincaid would always keep her safe. For the briefest of seconds, his overheated brain considered such an action, but Reed was expecting his fiancée. He would return her untouched, Jed vowed silently, as difficult as that was rapidly becoming.

“I—ah, you're welcome, Vicky,” he said, searching for words to break the mood springing up between them. “Actually, you provided a pleasant cushion, much softer and more yielding than the sand. In fact, you can cushion me again tonight...and we can create our own storm.”

“Oh! I should have known better than to expect anything but rudeness from you. You will never change.” She turned on her heel and marched to where the camels lay. As she grabbed her beast's halter, Ali approached and took it gently from her hand.

“Climb on first, Victoria, and then I will get him up,” the Egyptian suggested. “It will be easier for me than you.”

“I don't know. I think she does pretty well rousing males,” muttered Jed. “Besides, your shoulder isn't fully healed.”

“I am fine, Jed.”

“But
I
am in charge,” said the American, overriding him.

At Ali's glum nod, Jed replaced him in front of Victoria's camel and got the beast upright. After repeating the effort for Ali, he then mounted the lead camel and forced it to stand, as well. Then, once more they were plodding in single file across the seemingly endless sand, each rider caught in his or her own thoughts.

There was no sign that the storm had ever touched this part of the desert, mused Victoria. Though some might be closer to civilization than others, one rolling sand dune seemed much the same as another to her, unlike men, whose outward appearance varied greatly and didn't necessarily predict the inner man at all.

Jed Kincaid was rough and ragged in looks and manner, yet in treating Ali's wound he had been as gentle as a mother with a newborn. Reared in the backwoods of Kentucky, he was as ferocious as a bear and twice as nasty when crossed, but he possessed strength and passion enough for twenty men. Hayden, as poised and polished as he was after nearly six years in service to the Crown, could never possess Jed's exuberant zest for life. But would such a mercurial soul as Jed Kincaid ever settle down long enough to be loved?

Loved?
Where had that notion come from?
She
certainly did not love the man! True, her body recognized him as a male and reacted to him in unsettling ways, but impulses caused by physical cravings were not signs of love. They were but eccentricities of the moment. Or lust, she thought, surprised that her appetites would advertise their needs when Hayden was so far away. Still, with all she had been through lately, she supposed it only natural that the rigors of propriety would collapse, though she would never have expected a man like Jed to topple them. Regardless of her irrational urges, Victoria assured herself, she had absolutely no intention of letting Kincaid touch her again. It was too unhinging an occurrence. She had to start building a wall between them. Just one careless spark and the tinderbox of her heart would explode into flames, flames she feared she'd never control.

Four days more, Jed calculated, five if they were unfortunate enough to encounter another storm or catastrophe. He should be able to keep his hands off her that long. Then, in Cairo, there would be no stopping him in his pursuit of pleasure. Ali might relish the constancy of his Fatima, but Jed Kincaid would celebrate his return to civilization with a different woman every night. No, every few hours his first night, he amended with a grin, already envisioning the choices he would make. First there would be a small-breasted blonde....

“Jed, is it not time to stop for a while?” intruded Ali's voice. “It is well past noon and I'm feeling the sun.”

“All right,” the American agreed, signaling Victoria. Usually it was she who besieged him for the midday break, but perhaps the sandstorm had tired Ali more than he had let on. “We will not reach the next oasis until tomorrow evening, so be frugal with the water. We already used a good portion of the day's ration after the sandstorm.”

“We were filthy and thirsty,” explained Victoria. “How else were we to get the sand out of our mouths and eyes without water?”

“I was not criticizing, Vicky, merely cautioning,” clarified Jed. Forcing her camel to kneel, he helped her down, relishing the feel of her small-waisted figure between his hands, even as he cursed the increased heat flowing through his veins. He had but to touch the woman and he became aroused.

“I could have managed by myself,” she asserted, slipping from his grasp before disturbing sensations began to overtake her yet again. Determined not to let Jed dominate her thoughts as he had of late, she gathered the bag of foodstuffs and the blankets and moved off without another word.

Quickly Victoria took the travois poles from Ali, set up their canopy and spread a blanket beneath it. By the time Jed had settled the animals, she had their meager meal apportioned and was conversing with Ali in the man-made shade.

“You have talked about your shop and your family, but tell me more about Fatima. Clearly you love her very much.”

“More than a blind beggar loves the sound of each coin that falls into his cup. Fatima's love gives me life.”

“Oh, come now, Ali,” scoffed Jed. “Fatima's father's money gives you life—or a livelihood. You might be fond of her, but without that ready cash behind her, you cannot tell me that Fatima would be so appealing.” Jed, still smarting from the unfulfilled urges that had arisen during the sandstorm, didn't want to hear or think about love. If he desired anything at all, it was evidence that love didn't really exist.

“Ah, but I can,” argued Ali. “My dearest treasure is my beloved wife—and she still would be were her father penniless.”

“But it's mighty convenient you don't have to worry about that, isn't it?” pushed an aggravated Jed.

“Insult my integrity once more, American, and I will make you eat your words,” threatened the Cairene, jumping to his feet, his fists raised. “I have already said that I wed Fatima for love not money, and by Allah, it is so. Indeed, her father will not pay her promised dowry until she is happily wed for two years, an anniversary shortly approaching. With this unexpected journey from my business and her side, however, a journey that is your fault, Kincaid, I cannot be certain my bride will tell her father that she
is
happy. Perhaps I shall return home to an empty house.”

“Ali, I would never let that happen,” assured Victoria. “I will explain everything to Fatima. She will understand.”

“If Allah wills it,” conceded the Egyptian, settling back on the blanket. “I would not let her go without a fight.”

“If you hadn't fought back in Cairo, we wouldn't be here.”

“And Victoria would belong to Zobeir or who knows who. No, it is good that we saved her from such a fate, and I will tell Fatima so.”

“Fatima is lucky to have such a fine husband as you,” said Victoria, touched by his gentle words.

“Oh, he's a saint, to be sure,” muttered Jed, his pride stung. It did not help that it was his own ill temper that made Ali appear the better man. “And I am just the poor devil who led Ali to Khartoum, who set the explosives so Ali could ignite them, who ran along the beach to rescue Ali, who dragged Ali to safety—”

“Stop being such a child, Jed, and let us get some sleep,” admonished Victoria, turning away from him. “Undoubtedly you will be haunting us to move on all too soon.”

“Undoubtedly,” echoed Jed, doubly irritated because she had read his mood for the tantrum that it was. The desert sun had never affected him like this before, he thought, gulping a mouthful of
zabeeb.
At least the Egyptian liquor would soothe his humor. How long had he figured? Four or five days?

The thought of flinging forty-five hundred pounds of the ransom money—and Victoria—in Reed's face made Jed grin from ear to ear as he drifted off to sleep. That was one pleasure no one was going to cheat him out of.

* * *

“I'm sorry, Victoria, but my canteens are nearly empty as well,” apologized Ali later that night when they'd stopped to make camp. “I can offer you only a sip or two.”

“It will be enough, Ali, thank you. I kept tasting the sand all afternoon and drank more than I should have.”

“Splashing it on your face when you thought I wasn't looking wasted a good bit, too,” criticized Jed.

“My skin felt as though it was cracking open from the heat.”

“Whatever, it's too late to fret about it. Have some
zabeeb
and leave Ali's water for tomorrow.”

“I don't drink alcohol—”

“Neither did Ali until he teamed up with me.”

She hesitated, debating the issue with herself. She was thirsty and the liquor
was
a beverage.