she would be all right.
Azrael was less confident because the storm was moving in fast in a threatening dark smudge, which he could already see on the horizon. The high winds had brought down the mast and his phone had not worked since his last call when he had phoned in to share that he had identified Molly’s tracks. Now they were too far from the fortress to make it back ahead of the storm. How the hell had she got so far before he found her? She had travelled miles into the desert, through mile after mile of the most blazingly unwelcoming landscape on earth. And she had done it without adequate clothing or footwear and any of the many pieces of equipment that would have kept her comfortable and safe. She was crazy but she was also strong, Azrael acknowledged, squatting down to hand her a water bottle and grab it off her again before she made herself sick.
‘Hands off, Mr Grumpy,’ she told him with a giggle.
She was delirious from heat and thirst, Azrael interpreted in frustration. He lifted her and bundled her into a cloak, noting the red tip of her nose with a groan.
‘What’s wrong?’ she slurred.
‘You have burned your nose.’
‘Do I look like Rudolph?’
‘Who’s Rudolph?’ Azrael lifted her and draped her over his horse like a folded carpet. She was safe: he had found her. A little of the tension holding his powerful frame taut dissipated. He would take her to the cave and plunge her in the pool to cool her off. Hopefully by that stage the storm would have passed and they could be picked up. No aircraft could take off in such weather because it was too dangerous.
‘Santa’s reindeer,’ Molly responded thickly, struggling to vocalise and think at the same time. ‘ I don’t like you.’
‘Keep quiet,’ Azrael intoned flatly. ‘Save your strength.’
What strength? Molly would have asked had she the power because she felt as floppy and as weak as a newborn and she hated the smell of horse. ‘Horses stink.’
Azrael rolled his eyes and tugged on Spice’s reins to head for the cave where he had hidden as a child with his mother from Hashem’s soldiers. ‘You didn’t do too badly for a city girl,’ he heard himself pronounce. ‘It was an outstandingly stupid move, of course, but you travelled a great distance—’
‘Shut up,’ Molly moaned.
Azrael grinned. ‘There’s nothing I enjoy more than a trapped audience.’
‘Butrus thinks you walk on water, O Glorious Leader,’ she mumbled.
‘I am an ordinary man,’ Azrael countered with crushing calm.
Molly’s eyes closed. Ordinary? Somehow she didn’t think so. Mr Gorgeous had come after her and saved her and she was grateful even if he did annoy the hell out of her. She didn’t mind that he had become Mr Grumpy again by the time he found her. ‘Thanks,’ she framed hoarsely.
And that was the last thing Molly remembered before she recovered consciousness in what felt like a freezing cold bath. Her eyes were heavy and gritty and opening them took as much effort as trying to lift her arms out of the water.
‘No,’ a familiar voice declared. ‘You must stay in the water to cool your body down.’
She let her eyes stay closed because she thought she was dreaming. They had been in the desert where there was no water, certainly none he could submerge her entire body in. Her mind wandered off again and she drifted, only minimally aware of being roughly towelled, something catching at her ribcage and a yanking sensation before she was laid down somewhere, fabric of some kind lying lightly on her skin. She felt cool, wonderfully, blessedly cool for the first time in hours and she made no protest when she was lifted up and a bottle was put to her lips to drink. She gulped back the water and lay down again, her senses beginning to return to her. Her lashes lifted only a little because her eyes were so heavy and she had a blurred glimpse then of a man undressing.
She shouldn’t look, a bossy little inner voice told her brain. She shut her eyes and breathed in deep, stifling that prissy voice, and she looked. And what she saw was a sight she was persuaded even at that moment that she would never forget... Azrael naked and an absolute symphony of bronzed, muscular male perfection from his wide, smooth brown shoulders, down the long, graceful golden line of his spine to his small, taut, masculine buttocks and his powerful hair-roughened thighs. A thick blue-black mane of hair brushed those amazing shoulders as well. She closed her eyes again fast, feeling like a shameless voyeur. She was perving on him when he thought himself unobserved, having assumed that she was asleep, and she should be ashamed of herself. She had never thought a man could be beautiful before and now she had learned different because, stripped of clothes, Azrael was magnificent.
Azrael slumped down into the chill of the cave pool with intense relief. His body had betrayed him as his mind could not. He was so turned on he literally hurt from the pounding pulse of his arousal. A man without ready access to sex should never, ever be forced to undress a woman, he reasoned in exasperation. He had removed only the dress, submerging her in the bra and panties she still wore, determined not to give Molly any reason to accuse him of overfamiliarity.
And then the blasted towel had caught on the bra hook and ripped the heavy-duty bra half off, a garment more surely suited to an old and very sensible lady rather than a young and beautiful one. So, having partially detached and damaged the wretched thing, he had had to remove the bra, revealing the sort of bountiful pale curves topped by the most succulent nipples that any man would have... Azrael gritted his teeth, killing his thoughts stone dead, perspiration breaking on his brow. He was being thoroughly punished for his lack of physical control. But he had done what he had to do and she was safe and unharmed, he reminded himself soothingly. Now he should be able to relax...but relaxation had never been more of a challenge for him.
Molly wakened to a shadowed darkness that startled her as she gazed up at the craggy stone roof far above and realised that she was not in a building but in a very large cave. And then she saw the rusty old lantern glowing on the edge of the rock pool that she now appreciated must have illuminated that glimpse she’d had of Azrael naked. A small waterfall emerged directly from the rocks behind the pool and flowed down to break the still surface of the clear water. She blinked and sat up, remembering her experience in the desert with a shudder and acknowledging that, considering her earlier condition, she now felt astonishingly normal. She would have to thank Azrael. Had she thanked him? She wasn’t sure. But he deserved thanks for defying her worst expectations and coming out into the desert to find her and rescue her. So, where was he?
She sat up, disconcerted to discover that her breasts were bare but relieved she was still wearing her knickers. She was lying on some sort of old rug that smelled a little musty and her dress had been laid over her like a sheet. In haste she pulled it on over her head and scrambled upright, extracting her hair and smoothing it down in an effort to control her curls. Only then when she turned her head did she see the flickering shadows at the far end of the cave where a small fire burned and a dark figure sat, his back turned to her. She hastened to shove her feet back into her sneakers.
As she trod over the sandy floor of the cave she became aware of a low rumbling sound and her brow pleated. ‘What’s that noise?’ she asked.
‘The sandstorm is moving in.’ Azrael turned his head, his bold bronzed profile etched against the leaping flames. ‘I had to find you before it hit and we can’t return to the fortress until it’s over.’
‘Is a sandstorm that dangerous?’
‘Some
