Hidden in the Sheikh's Harem: Christmas at the Castello(11)

An eye for an eye.

That was his father's way, not his, yet he was so damned angry right  now he didn't care. Fury replacing rational thought. But then being  kidnapped, riding through a sandstorm and driving for nearly twenty-four  hours would do that to a man. As would wanting to put his hands all  over Mohamed Hajjar's spitfire of a daughter. He wondered if she had  already completed her bath. Wondered how she would smell when the stink  of camel was cleaned from her body. An X-rated fantasy started playing  out in his head. A fantasy that entailed both of them wet and naked  while he tasted every delicious inch of her.

By Allah, she wasn't even his type.

He scrubbed a wet hand over his face, twisting the shower nozzle to  full-on hot, and soaped the stink from his own body. Maybe he'd find a  woman he could spend the night with at the wedding. Doubtful, he knew,  since he had no idea whether there would be any European women invited,  but maybe he'd get lucky. Maybe there would be someone there who was  interested in a night of pleasure and relaxation. And Zach was not being  immodest in knowing he could give it to her. He was thirty-two and he  enjoyed a healthy libido. A healthy libido he'd unhealthily left  unattended for too long if his earlier lust for Farah Hajjar was any  indication.

He shut off the shower and shook the water from his hair. There would  be no reason for him to have to see Farah Hajjar again after this so it  was time to put her from his mind altogether. Something he was very  happy about, he mused as he pulled on a clean robe and turned his mind  to his brother's wedding.

Dressed and ready to go, Zach was surprised to find Staph knocking on  his door. The old man twisted his hands together, his face marred with  concern. Immediately Zach wondered if something had happened to Farah.  Had she hurt herself? Had someone hurt her?

'What is it, man?' he snapped, uncharacteristically curt. 'Speak up.'

'It's your brother, Your Highness. He has called off the wedding and asked that I send all the guests home.'

Zach shook his head. So much for relaxing once he got home.

Not wasting any time on niceties when he found Nadir seated behind his  father's desk, he strode into the room. 'What are you doing?'

His brother looked up at him and smiled as if there was nothing wrong.  Which told Zach that something was drastically wrong. 'Working. You look  better.'

'It's amazing what a shower and a shave will do.' Zach parked himself  in the chair opposite the desk. 'Why are you working? You're getting  married in a few hours.'

His brother tried to stare him down but Zach was a master communicator  who had always been sensitive to the nuances of others. He was also  doggedly determined to get to the bottom of the problem before Nadir  completely closed off and made a hash of everything.

Thirty minutes later he'd managed to talk his brother down from the  ledge. 'I know you think you're pretty clever,' Nadir said. 'But frankly  I wouldn't wish this sick feeling in my gut on anyone.'

Zach shook his head. 'I would love to care for a woman as much as you  do yours,' Again he thought of Amy Anderson and again Farah's face  annoyingly intruded. Frustrated that he didn't seemed to have any  control over his thoughts, he gritted his teeth. 'Instead,' he began,  forcing a lightness into his tone he didn't feel, 'I have to figure out  how to stop myself from being shackled to a living, breathing fire-eater  who would as soon run me through with a kanjhar than look at me.'

'I doubt her father will push it. He hates our family.'

'It's fine.' Zach waved away Nadir's concern, hoping he'd given his  brother the right advice. He could think of nothing worse than a man  spilling his guts to a woman only to have her politely reject his  advances.

Of course there would be nothing polite about Farah Hajjar's  rejection...and why the hell was he still thinking about her? 'I can  deal with Farah and her insane old man,' he assured his brother. 'You  just do us both a favour and go get your woman.'                       
       
           



       

'Prince Zachim!' At the sound of Staph's breathless cry and harried  appearance in the doorway, Zach frowned. Surely he wasn't about to tell  him that the sky had fallen in? 'You need to come quick.' Staph drew in  another life-saving breath and Zach thought about reminding him that he  was too old to be running around the palace like a man half his age.  'The woman you put in the harem has disappeared.'

Zach immediately stilled. 'Disappeared?' He frowned. 'That's impossible. I've put an experienced guard on the door.'

'Yes, my lord,' Staph panted. 'He can't find her.'

Stunned, Zach let off a list of expletives that would have caused his  delicate mother to faint if she'd heard him. Surely a slip of a woman  like Farah couldn't have bested him?

His brother made a comment but Zach didn't hear it. Within minutes he  had rounded up his most trusted guards and was halfway to the harem.





      CHAPTER SIX

FARAH STOPPED INSIDE a shadowed doorway to collect herself and get her  bearing amidst the labyrinth of busy city streets and buildings.  Initially she'd thought there would be no chance of escaping the  arrogant prince but in the end it had been remarkably easy.

A workman's forgotten extension ladder in the garden had provided the  necessary equipment for her to scale the high wall, and the preparations  for some big celebration at the palace had added the perfect cover. In  her freshly laundered abaya, Farah had looked like any other servant  going about her business, or ending her shift with a bunch of others as  they headed out of the palace grounds.

Now, standing on a busy street corner, her only goal was to get as far  away from the prince as she could and back to her father. First, though,  she had to navigate the hot, noisy, dusty city. Glancing at the  position of the sun she decided to head north and started zigzagging her  way through the moving sea of bodies around her.

She knew that asking for help wasn't an option. She had a feeling if  she tried to hitch a ride from a passing motorist he'd probably take her  to the police. And what would she tell them-that the Prince of Bakaan  planned to use her as bait to bring her father out to charge him with  kidnapping? Not going to happen.

Glancing left and right, Farah hurried down a narrow walkway with high  buildings on either side and found herself in a large, quiet square that  gave off a bad vibe. She kept the scarf on her head pulled firmly  forward and moved with purpose in case anyone tried to stop her.

'Hot afternoon for a stroll, Miss Hajjar.' That deep, taunting voice  she had grown to hate had her swinging round towards a nearby alley.  Squinting into the shadows she could just make out the prince's imposing  shoulders before he stepped into the sunshine. 'I have to confess I  usually prefer to stay indoors when it's this hot.'

Farah's body temperature just grew a little hotter. He'd found her! How  was that possible? She was sure no one had noticed her leave and as far  as the maid was concerned she was planning to have a sleep. Frustration  zinged through her as he leant one shoulder lazily against the  sandstone wall of a building, as if they were two friends meeting at a  planned rendezvous. But they weren't. They were sworn enemies and this  time she was ready for him. This time she would not be caught off guard  by the shape of his horrible mouth that looked even more sinfully  seductive in his cleanly shaven jaw.

Oh, dear Allah, but he was attractive!

Her lower body clenched alarmingly, her breathing erratic, and she knew  it wasn't just from the adrenaline speeding through her body at the  presence of danger. It was him. He did things to her, stirred things up  inside her, she didn't want to think about.

Pushing that aside, she forced her attention away from her body and  back to the tautly honed male that she knew was tensed to strike despite  his relaxed stance. He was dressed in a black dishdasha, his freshly  shaven jaw doing nothing to make him look more civilised than the  unshaven version. In fact he looked even more ruggedly handsome, every  inch the powerful male in control of his surroundings. He drew her like  the devil himself and a frisson of helpless fear went through her as he  silently surveyed her.

The feeling made her so angry she drew the sword she gripped tightly in  the folds of her dress before she could think better of it. 'If you  take another step, you'll regret it,' she warned.

He glanced at her weapon and raised an amused eyebrow. 'Is that so?'

By Allah, his insolence was insulting and she unconsciously shifted  into a purely combative stance. She wasn't stupid enough to think that  she could win a real contest with him-he dwarfed her in height and  breadth-but maybe, just maybe, she could take him by surprise and land  him on his backside long enough to dash through the maze of streets that  led back to the busy souk. There she could blend with everyone else and  disappear in the sheer volume of human bodies.