Maisey Yates - Forged in the Desert Heat

No matter how austere and frightening he was, he had saved her from her kidnappers.

“Oh...thank you,” she said, a tear sliding down her cheek. “Thank you so much.”

And something in her broke that she hadn’t even realize had been there. The dam on her emotions that had been keeping her strong, keeping her from falling apart since she’d been taken from the camp all those days ago. Or maybe the same dam that had been in place for years, holding back tears for ages, and unable to withstand this new onslaught of life’s little horrors.

And control was suddenly no longer an option.

A sob shook her body, emotion tightening her throat. And then she broke down completely. Great gasps of breath escaping, tears rolling down her face.

He didn’t move to comfort her; he didn’t move at all. He simply let her cry, her sobs echoing in the still night. She didn’t need his touch. She just needed this. This release after days of trying to be strong. Of trying not to show how scared and alone she felt.

And when she was done she felt weak, embarrassed and then angry again.

“Done?”

She looked up and saw him regarding her with an expression of total impassivity. Her outburst hadn’t moved him. Not at all. Not that she really wanted comfort from this big...beast man. But even so. A little reaction would have been nice. Sympathy. Offer of a cold compress or smelling salts or...something.

“Yes,” she said, her throat still tight, her voice croaky. “I am done. Thank you.”

“Ready to sleep?”

“Yes.” The word escaped on a gust of breath. She was completely ready to collapse where she was standing. She didn’t know how that had happened. How exhaustion had taken over so completely.

And then she realized she was shaking. Shivering. She couldn’t do this. She had to be strong and keep control. She had to hold it together.

“I don’t know why,” she said through chattering teeth.

He swore, at least she assumed it was a swearword, based on the tone, and took two long strides toward her, gripping her by the arms and drawing her into the warmth of his body. It wasn’t a hug. She knew that right away. This was no show of affection; it was just him trying to keep her from rattling apart.

She trembled violently, his strong arms, his chest, a wall of support. It was amazing that he smelled as good as he did. Yes, it was a weird thought, but it was simple, basic and one she could process.

All those layers in the heat and she would have imagined he might smell like body odor. Instead he smelled spicy, like fine dust and cloves. And he did smell of sweat, but it wasn’t offensive in any way. He smelled like a man who had been working, a man who had earned every drop of that sweat through honest effort.

That, somehow, made it seem different than other sweat.

Not that she could really claim to be an expert in the quality of sweat, male or otherwise, but for some reason, that was just how it seemed to her.

This current train of thought was probably a sign of a complete mental breakdown. Highly likely, in fact. Yes, very likely, because she was still shaking.

And adding to the signs of a breakdown, was the fact that part of her wanted to curl her fingers around his robe and hold him tightly to her. Cling to him. Beg him not to let her go.

“The nearest mobile medical unit is...not very near,” he said, his voice rough. “So please don’t do anything stupid like dying.”

“If I were dead, how much help would a mobile medical unit be anyway?” she asked, resting her head on his chest, something about the sound of his heartbeat making her feel more connected to the world. To living. She was so completely drained; it felt like it was the reminder of his life that kept her connected with hers. “Besides I don’t think I’m dying.”

“Does anyone ever think they’re dying?”

“I’m not hurt.”

“How long has it been since you had a drink?”

She thought back. “A while. I’m not even really sure how many days it’s been since I was kidnapped.”

“I’m going to put you in the tent.”

She nodded, and at the same time found her feet being swept off the ground, as her body was pulled up against his, his arms cradling her, surprisingly gentle for a man with his strength.

He carried her to the tent and set her down on a blanket inside. Then he left her, returning a moment later with a skin filled with water.

“Drink.”

She obeyed the command. And discovered she was so thirsty she didn’t think she could ever be satisfied.

She pulled the skin away from her lips and a drop ran down her chin. She mourned that drop.

“I hope you weren’t saving that,” she said.

“I have more. And we’ll stop midmorning at an oasis between here and the city.”

“Why didn’t we stop at the oasis tonight?”

“I’m tired. You’re tired.”

“I’m fine,” she said. His tenderness was threatening to undo her, if you could call the way he was speaking to her now tenderness.

“You must be realistic about your own limitations out here,” he said. “That is the first and most valuable lesson you can learn. The desert can make you feel strong and free, but it also makes you very conscious of the fact that you are mortal.”

She lay down on the blanket and curled her knees into her chest, her back to Zafar. She heard the blanket shift, felt it pull beneath her as he lay down, too.

“The wilderness is endless, and it makes you realize that you are small,” he said, his voice deep, accented, melting over her like butter. She felt like the ground was sinking beneath her, like she was falling. “But it also makes you realize how powerful you are. Because if you respect it, if you learn your limitations and work with them, rather than against them, you can live here. You will never master the desert...no man or woman can. But if you learn to respect her, she will allow you to live. And living here, surviving, thriving, that is true power.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, and the world upended. “I’m cold,” she said, a shiver racking her.

A strong arm came around her waist, and she was pulled into heat, warmth that pushed through to her soul. It was a strange comfort. It shouldn’t even be a comfort, and yet it was. Being held by him felt good. Human touch, his touch, soothed parts of her she hadn’t known had been burned raw by her nights in the desert.

His fingertip drifted briefly along the line of her bare arm. A soothing gesture. One that stopped the chill. One that made her feel like a small flame had been ignited beneath her skin.

Her last thought before losing consciousness was that she’d never slept with a man’s arm around her like this. And the vague sense that she should be saving this for the man she was marrying.

Except that didn’t make sense. This was just sleeping.

And she badly needed sleep.

So she moved more tightly into his body and gave in to the need she’d been fighting against ever since she’d been kidnapped.

And slept.

CHAPTER THREE

“YOU NEED TO wake up now.”

Zafar looked down at the sleeping woman, curled up on the floor of the tent like an infant.

The sun was starting to rise over the mountains, and in a moment, the air became heated. Enough that if you breathed too deeply it would scorch your lungs. And he didn’t relish riding through the heat of the day. He wanted to get to the oasis, wait it out, then continue on to the city.

He didn’t want to spend another night out here with this fragile, shivering creature. He needed to be able to sleep, and he could not sleep beside anyone.

Plus, she was far too delicate. Far too pale. Her skin an impractical shade of pink, her hair so blond it was nearly white, her eyes the same blue as the bleached sky.