we in Tarakhar any more?’
‘No. We’re no longer in my country but in the neighbouring state of Bhutran. It’s Mustafa’s tribal territory and he rules with an iron fist.’
Cassie’s heart plunged. She’d already experienced the iron fist. But she’d hoped, prayed, they were still in Tarakhar, where help might reach her. Where Sheikh Amir had authority. Bhutran was a lawless state—notoriously so.
Despair threatened to swamp her but she fought it. Her only hope lay in not giving up. She still had to find a way out of here.
Cassie forced herself to reach for the fruit platter. She needed energy to escape.
Amir watched her devour the fruit with delicate greed. The combination of feisty opponent, all flashing eyes and quick tongue, with soft femininity intrigued him. More than he could remember being intrigued in a long, long time.
In repose her lips were a soft pout of invitation, glistening with fruit juice. The tip of her pink tongue appeared now and then to swipe the excess moisture. Amir realised her sensuality was innate, not contrived.
Yet it wasn’t anything as simple as sexual magnetism alone that intrigued him.
The moment Mustafa had presented her in a flourish of generosity her sparking gaze had sizzled across the space between them, piercing Amir’s boredom at the gathering’s false bonhomie and crude revelry.
Later, through his fury at her attack, he’d still registered her pliant body cushioning him and her delicate scent: desert rose and warm woman.
He’d known women, had women in all sorts of circumstances. It had become rare for one to quicken his pulse.
She reached for a date and her cloak slipped enough to reveal the smooth, pale skin of her collarbone, her cleavage. The cloak slid again to show straining midnight blue silk. The material scooped indecently low, revealing far too much of one full, perfect breast.
He recalled how she’d looked in the skimpy dancing costume. She was all lush curves, with a slender waist accentuated by what he’d thought at the time was merely a decorative chain.
Amir yanked his gaze away. He needed to focus!
‘Why were you travelling in this region?’ The border country wasn’t a sightseeing area.
Violet eyes clashed with his before she looked away, hurriedly securing the gaping front of her cloak.
‘I’ve been accepted on to a volunteer programme, teaching English to adults for a couple of months.’
‘You’re a teacher?’ He tried not to let his surprise show. Obviously these weren’t her normal clothes. Look at the way she’d just covered up. Yet still he found it difficult, imagining her in a classroom.
‘It’s not my field back home in Australia, but they were eager for volunteers and it sounded … fulfilling.’
This woman grew more interesting by the moment. He could picture her at home in a bustling, lively city. She was so full of energy and opinions. Teaching in a provincial school was the last place he’d imagine her. ‘How did you get here?’
One neat hand clutched the coarse fabric of her cloak and her jaw hardened.
‘The bus broke down in the foothills near the border. Apparently it was a major mechanical problem, something that couldn’t be fixed quickly. All the passengers headed off across country to their own homes. There was just me and the driver left, and then.’ She shrugged, a jerky little movement that belied her show of casualness. ‘Then we heard a sound like thunder.’
She flashed a look at him. Behind the defiance he detected a shadow that might have been fear.
Instinctively Amir leaned towards her, only to straighten abruptly when she recoiled.
It wasn’t a reaction to which he was accustomed.
‘Horsemen came galloping down from the mountains. They grabbed me.’ Her voice flattened to an emotionless pitch that anyone less observant might mistake for insouciance. ‘I lost sight of the driver in all the dust and milling horses.’ She paused. ‘He’d been kind to me. I … don’t know what happened to him.’
‘You needn’t fear for him. A report of the raid came through as I travelled here. The driver is recovering from concussion in hospital.’
Anger ignited in Amir’s belly. For Mustafa to have led a violent raid and the abduction of a foreign national inside Tarakhan’s borders the day before Amir’s visit was little short of a direct insult.
Yet it wasn’t Mustafa’s arrogance that rankled. It was what had been done to this remarkable woman. Terrified, abducted and abused, she still managed to hold her own, challenging him and giving no ground even when it was patently clear she was dependent on his goodwill.
Was it her vulnerability or her courage that sliced straight through the diffidence he wore like a second skin?
Long dormant emotions stirred uneasily.
It was understandable he’d feel pity. Yet when had he truly cared on a personal level about anyone? Cared for anything but work or his own pleasure?
His lips twisted. He hadn’t.
Amir was self-sufficient and glad of it. He’d never experienced love, even as a child. Nor had friendship been permitted with the other boys who, with him, had learned the ways of a Tarakhan warrior under his uncle’s stern eye.
With the ease of long practice Amir turned his mind to more important matters.
Tonight he’d been the polite guest, playing the game of diplomacy and courtesy to the hilt. He’d allowed Mustafa to bask in the honour of hosting a man far more powerful than he could ever hope to be. Tomorrow his host would find a change in his revered guest.
Mustafa might live in a chaotic nation where the rule of law barely existed, but he’d soon discover the Sheikh of Tarakhar was no pushover. Earlier Amir had been impatient at the need for slow negotiations when an all-important personal arrangement required his attention at home. Now he looked forward to making Mustafa squirm.
‘The driver’s really OK?’
Amir saw concern on her pale features and felt a stab of admiration. Despite her own situation she was worried for the driver.
‘He’ll be fine. He was knocked unconscious, which would be why he didn’t raise the alarm about your kidnap.’
A tide of impatience rose that he was sitting talking when every nerve screamed for action. Amir was about to surge to his feet when her expression caught his notice.
She pretended strength and insouciance, yet her posture was a little too perfect. Instead of lounging on the comfortable cushions she sat erect, as if ready for anything, even sudden attack. She’d flinched earlier at his exclamations of outrage. Obviously she still didn’t trust him. How could she?
Amir subsided onto the banked cushions.
‘You’ve been with Mustafa’s men since the abduction?’
She
