Kim Lawrence - A Cinderella For The Desert King

* * *

The girl looked up at him with glazed green eyes—shock, he diagnosed, stifling a stab of sympathy. He pushed it away; empathy was not going to get them out of here. Clear thinking was. There was nothing like the danger of a life and death situation to focus a man, Zain thought with a smile. A bit of luck thrown in would also help.

In the periphery of his vision he was aware of the argument that was escalating, fast becoming a brawl...others were drifting towards it and sides were being taken.

‘Come on,’ he said through clenched teeth.

As his fingers curved around her elbow he could feel the tremors that were shaking her body. He pushed away a fresh stab of sympathy. His priority right now was getting out of this camp before someone recognised him and realised that he was worth more money than any girl, even one with flaming hair, curves and legs... He cut short his inventory and lifted his gaze from the shapely limbs in question.

‘Can you walk?’ There wasn’t a trace of sympathy in the question.

Ignoring the fact her knees were shaking, the woman lifted her chin and responded to what he could admit had been a cold, vaguely accusing question.

‘Of course I can walk.’ She was unsteady but she fell into step beside him. It was clear that he was still a danger in her eyes but she clearly saw he represented her way out of this awful place.

‘We don’t have all day.’ Behind his impassive expression he was impressed that she was still walking, and she wasn’t having hysterics... This was going to be easier if she was not having hysterics.

‘Keep up.’

Clearly unused to looking up at many people, the woman tilted her chin to lob a look of resentment at his patrician profile. ‘I’m trying,’ she muttered between clenched teeth.

‘Then try harder before they realise they could attempt to retake you despite the bride price I paid.’ His glance travelled from the top of her flaming head to her feet and all the lush curves in between before trailing to his own hand, which looked oddly bare without the ring he had worn since his eighteenth birthday. ‘Or me,’ he added softly.

Luckily, he was the spare and not the heir.

Through the dark screen of his lashes he calculated how many people could get between them and the waiting horse. It was encouraging to see that most had moved to join in the fracas they were swiftly moving away from. Zain was content for the men to fight amongst themselves. It was the possibility of their stopping long enough to unite against a common foe—namely himself and the redhead—that bothered him.

None of the thoughts passing through his head showed in his body language, however, as he had learnt a long time ago that appearances did matter. It wasn’t about a macho reluctance to show weakness; it was common sense. Weakness would always be exploited by enemies, and that went pretty much double when the enemies in question were carrying weapons.

A spasm of impatience flickered across his lean features as the girl slowed and came to a nervous halt when they got within a few feet of the stallion.

‘He won’t bite...unless you annoy him.’

* * *

Abby’s experience of equines had until this point in her life been restricted to a donkey ride on the beach. Even at eleven, her long legs had almost touched the floor as she straddled the little donkey, who had plodded along and looked at her with sad eyes. This animal, with his stamping feet, looked about ten feet tall and his rolling eyes were not kind.

‘I don’t think he likes me.’

The mysterious stranger ignored the comment and vaulted into the saddle before reaching down and casually hauling her up before him.

Landing breathlessly, Abby clutched at the first thing that came to hand, which was the horseman, seizing on cloth. His body was hard as rock with zero excess flesh.

It wasn’t until the horse had stopped dancing like a temperamental ballerina and she had not fallen off that the comment hit her. ‘Bride price...?’

‘Can you do something with that hair? I can’t see a damned thing...’ Holding the reins in one hand, he pushed a skein of her copper hair away from his face and urged the horse into a canter. ‘Yes, we just got married.’

She turned her head to stare in wide-eyed alarm as he urged all several hundred pounds of quivering, high-bred horse flesh underneath them into action, and the animal hit full gallop in seconds.

Her shriek was carried away by the warm air that hit her face. Abby tightened her white-knuckled grip and closed her eyes, sending up a silent prayer...or maybe not so silent. She felt rather than heard his heartless laugh as the sting of sand hitting her face made her turn it protectively into his broad shoulder.

‘Just hang on.’

She had no intention of letting go or, for that matter, opening her eyes again as her stomach lurched sickly. She couldn’t see a thing anyway as they left the lights of the encampment behind. It was pitch-black. How on earth could he see where they were going?

Where were they going?

And were they really married ?

The horse’s thundering stride didn’t falter. In fact, after a short time, the rhythm of its hoof beats seemed to have a soothing effect on her. Although perhaps that was too strong a word to describe the calm, almost hypnotic sensation allowing the rigidity of terror to slip from her body by degrees, allowing her to even lift her face from the man’s shoulder.

‘Are they following us?’

‘Maybe. I only managed to disable half the engines before—’ He cut off abruptly as he felt an echo of the swell of rage that had consumed him when he saw the guy raise his hand. ‘Did they...hurt you?’

‘Not in the way you mean.’ She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn. It wasn’t fear that kept her eyes closed now but the fact that the mere effort of lifting her eyelids was a struggle.

But she had to try—there were questions she needed to ask. Not deep, meaningful stuff, just the basics, like who was he and where were they going?

‘This is mad,’ she said as another yawn escaped her. She felt weirdly numb and even her bitten arm seemed to have stopped hurting. Eyes closed, hurtling along like this felt strangely like flying, the hand that was looped casually around her ribs keeping her safe.

* * *

‘No, it’s physiology. Shock releases chemicals.’

And never underestimate the power of chemicals, he thought, the memory of the burst of raw rage that had hit him like a tsunami when he had seen the redhead paraded like a piece of meat for the benefit of the pack of rabid scum still fresh in his mind.

For a man who had always taken his ability to approach problems from the vantage point of cool detachment, the knowledge that his struggle to control the initial primal instinct, the rush of visceral hatred, to rush in without considering the consequences when it could have gone either way was disturbing.

‘I’m not in shock,’ she told him, a hint of challenge in her voice as she prised her eyelids apart and gave her head a tiny shake.

He flashed a look downwards at the woman who sat in front of him. The angle meant her face was hidden from him and he could only see the top of her glossy head and the angle of her jaw. It was a stubborn angle, but it had taken more than stubbornness to stand there and throw a punch. It was stupid, yes, but also just about the gutsiest thing he had ever seen.

‘The danger is over and your adrenaline levels are dipping.’

Abby gave a tiny choking laugh, as if she thought the idea she was out of danger was funny.

‘You’ve found something to laugh about in this situation?’

‘I can have hysterics if you prefer,’ she said with annoyance, a strange look coming over her face. Then, ‘I feel sick,’ she warned him suddenly.