Guarding the Princess(50)

She nodded, mouth tight, trying to tamp down the wild fear rampaging through her, blinding her focus, narrowing her vision. She didn’t know how much more of this she could take.

“Did I mention,” she whispered against his neck, “that I really do hate heights?”

“And did I mention,” he whispered in return, his breath feathering her cheek, “that you never cease to surprise me, Princess?”

“I hope you mean that in a good way.”

She felt him smile. It made her feel better. Calmer. As if she had a partner.

“We’re a team, remember? No man left behind.”

She nodded, and it felt good to know that this guy had her back—the kind of guy who could be hard on her when she needed to push herself, but tender when she needed a soft touch. A man who’d push her to follow her passion and be the best woman she could be.

And as Dalilah held on to this scarred lion of a man, she realized that’s what she wanted out of a marriage. And it sunk like a cold knife deep into her chest—she’d never get that with Haroun.

I’m not seeing a clear picture here...

Neither was she. Not anymore.

He held her steady until her heart rate lowered, until she could focus and think properly again. Then he cupped the side of her face and made her look up into his eyes.

“Remember,” he said firmly, “looking backward serves zero purpose, understand? Only think of the future.”

“Is that what you do, Brandt?” she whispered. “Never look back?”

Surprise flickered through his eyes. Then his lips twisted into a slow, wry smile. “Touché, Princess. But let’s keep this about the cliff, all right? We’ll save my past for later.”

She held his gaze, his lips so close, his arms so strong. A team suspended between sky and earth, and for an upside-down moment Dalilah was oddly grateful to be here right now, with him, to have been afforded this tiny window of reprieve, even under these circumstances. A chance to rethink her future before she made a terrible mistake from which she could never turn back.

* * *

An hour later, wet through and caked with red clay, muscles screaming with exertion, Brandt reached down his hand and hauled Dalilah over a big slab and onto a wide ledge of rock that ran almost fifty yards along the cliff face. Dalilah caught her breath as she heard water and felt a waft of cooler air kissing her cheeks. They were almost at the top of the cliff, and through a crevice above, cascading into a pool carved by time and pressure into rock, was a fall of gloriously clear water. Thirst rose fierce and sharp. She shot a look at Brandt. A grin split his rugged face, his teeth stark white against skin that had turned an even darker bronze from a full day under the baking sun. The dancing light in his eyes reminded her of a summer swimming pool with its surface recently broken by a swimmer—sunlight refracting off the surface. Cool, welcoming.

And she’d never seen anything more beautiful.

“You should do it more often,” she said.

“Climb cliffs with you?”

She laughed as she pushed past him and dropped to her knees, dipping her hand in the clear, coppery-colored water.

“No, silly. Smile. I like your smile.”

His smile faded, his gaze darkening, becoming unreadable.

She cupped water in her hands—it was the color of clear Ceylon tea. “It’s cool, Brandt!” Dalilah took off her hat and bent forward, splashing it over her face, feeling like a child. Laughing.

“God, this is heaven.” She shot him a look over her shoulder. “Is it okay to drink, do you think?”

He was staring at her, and she felt suddenly aware, self-conscious, then that gorgeous broad grin crept over his face again, splitting it into facets and crinkles, making his blue-sky eyes dance again like a summer pool in sunlight. Then he braced his hands on his hips and laughed. “And what’s so funny?”

“You! You look like a female warrior with war paint out to do battle—and you’re still all trussed up in the harness and trailing rope.”

She peered into the surface of the water. In the rippling reflection she could see her face was now streaked with dark mud. She grinned. “I really must look a prize.”

“A hell of a lot cuter than you did in that cocktail outfit when—” He caught himself.

“When what?”

“It’s nothing.” Brandt came forward, untied the rope around her and swung off his pack. He dropped it to the slab with a thud, kettle clunking against rock. Crouching, he moved the rifle strapped across his torso to one side, then cupped his hands, tasted the water. “No cleaner in the world—just colored by minerals.”

“Still could have parasites, bacteria—”