lustre. It felt soft to her touch and the brush of it against her cheek had never felt so sensuous. Even the way it fell into natural waves when it had been washed, which had always annoyed her in the past, seemed suddenly an advantage. She had never thought of herself as beautiful before.
Abbas made her feel beautiful, Zara realised, wrinkling her brow in confusion. She was relieved when he turned away at last. It gave her a chance to study him covertly. But now the glow she had felt moments before raged into an inferno. Heavily shaded with dark stubble, his face was the hardest face she had ever seen…and she just knew that his body, concealed beneath the flowing folds of his robe, would be the body of a fighting man, hard and beautiful.
‘I’m going to shave,’ he said, picking up a knife. ‘Why don’t you sit by the brazier and dry your hair while I’m gone?’
‘Gone?’ She didn’t want him gone…not with a storm threatening outside.
‘I won’t be long—’
‘Fine…’ She tilted her chin at a confident angle, but something in her voice made him turn to reassure her.
‘I’ll secure the tent before I leave. You’ll be quite safe.’
A fierce gust of wind made the decision for her. ‘I’m coming with you.’ She grabbed her camera.
‘No, stay here and dry your hair—’
‘I like to dry my hair outside.’
‘Where the air is full of sand? And you don’t want sand in your camera, do you?’
Clean out of reasonable excuses, Zara sank down on the cushions again. It was getting progressively darker inside the tent—another indicator that forces were at work over which she had no control. According to Abbas, she wasn’t safe outside and she didn’t feel safe inside. She was his prisoner as surely as if she were locked inside a cell. And somehow she had to subdue the frisson of excitement that provoked.
‘Stay here—where you’ll be safe,’ he repeated as a parting shot.
Did she want to be safe with Abbas?
Reduced to drumming her fingers on the hide couch, Zara was longing to pick up her camera. But she had given Abbas her word. She would ask his permission before taking any more photographs. It was only fair when he was sheltering her from the storm. She couldn’t betray his trust. Her heart lurched when he walked back inside the tent and she saw his gaze flick to the camera. It was still in its case just as she had left it. The approval in his eyes sent fire racing through her veins, but even a shave couldn’t soften the hard planes of his rugged face. His cheekbones seemed more pronounced than ever, his jaw stronger.
‘What are you worrying about?’ His brow creased.
‘Worried? I’m not worried.’ She met his gaze levelly, but the expression in Abbas’s eyes added a dangerous spark to the scent of hard, clean man.
She watched him seal the entrance with strong, capable hands. A few robust tugs and he appeared to be satisfied that everything was secure. He moved on around the tent, checking the supports and ignoring her. She should be pleased about that, Zara told herself. The wind had picked up and sand was hitting the sides with an ominous hissing sound. When the tent poles groaned beneath the pressure she began to get worried.
‘Are you sure it’s safe?’ She had to yell to make herself heard above the noise.
‘I’m sure—’
‘And Aban? Do you think he will have reached safety by now?’
Abbas looked pleased that she had remembered. ‘Yes, I checked on him while I was out.’ Pulling a satellite phone out of his pocket, he tossed it on to the bed.
She could have rung for help. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? ‘Could I borrow your phone?’ Her mobile was still in the Jeep.
‘There’s too much static for a call to get through now.’
She hid her disappointment. ‘How about the trader?’
‘He’s safe too—’
And then, before Abbas could say any more to her, a juddering blast made her exclaim with fright.
‘Don’t worry.’ Abbas ran his hand down the ballooning sides of the pavilion. ‘This dense fabric is made from camel hair. There’s nothing better for keeping out the weather. And these supporting poles may look flimsy, but they flex to accommodate the force of the gale just like the trunk of a palm tree.’ Wrapping his fist around one, he caressed it.
‘How long do you think we’ll be here?’
‘It’s impossible to know, so you might as well relax and get used to your confinement…’
Relax? That was easy for Abbas to say—her bones were turning to liquid fire at the thought of being secured inside the tent with him and her heart was vibrating frantically, though not from fear.
‘Well, I’m going to relax even if you won’t…’
‘What are you doing?’ Zara stared, unbelieving, as Abbas calmly began shrugging off his robe.
‘Getting undressed…’ His voice was casual.
‘Put your clothes back on again. Now,’ Zara ordered hoarsely. Abbas stalked about naked when he was relaxed? Beneath his Zaddaran dignity Abbas possessed an elemental quality that both frightened and excited her. She hadn’t got the measure of him and that frightened her too. And now he was testing her she was sure of it. She could lose her mask, tell him the truth—that she was more innocent than she seemed, that life had made her act a lot older than her age, or she could play it cool.
She was relieved when she didn’t have to make that choice. Having loosened his robe, Abbas stretched out on a bed of hides and closed his eyes. All she could see now was a glimpse of hard, tanned flesh above the topmost folds of his robe, though where it fell away she could see the loose-fitting trousers he wore beneath…trousers slung low enough to do more than hint at the toned athletic body underneath.
Sucking in a deep, shuddering breath, Zara was almost ready to believe she could feel the warmth of Abbas’s naked flesh reaching out to her—warm, fragrant, sandalwood-scented flesh that she longed to feel pressed up hard against her own. Shifting awkwardly on the couch, she knew she was slipping into an even deeper state of arousal. The thought of easing that frustration had crossed her mind…Everything was so unreal—like a day out of time…A day when she could allow herself to be seduced by a man for whom she felt an overwhelming attraction…To have Abbas make love to her…One night of passion with the lion of the desert…And who would know? She was sure Abbas would know everything there was to know about pleasing a woman.
Zara’s breathing grew more ragged as she developed her fantasy…A man she didn’t know—an older man, an experienced man, a man whose eyes promised exotic pleasures beyond her understanding, a man whose lips she longed to feel all over her body, even those secret places no other man had seen…
But Abbas was a man of principle. He had already proved that by his care for Aban and the trader. There was no way he would touch her while he was treating her as an honoured guest. The best thing to do was to act calmly and normally, as he was doing,
