Hidden in the Sheikh's Harem: Christmas at the Castello(12)

       
           



       

As far as plans went, it wasn't much of one, but since giving up wasn't an option either she held her ground.

'Did you know,' he drawled, inspecting his fingernails as if every one  of his senses wasn't attuned to her slightest movement. 'There are at  least twenty-five ways to kill a person with your bare hands?'

No, she hadn't known that. 'Right now, I'd settle for just one.' She  held the sword tighter and waited for him to come at her. Instead he  threw his head back and laughed.

The sight and sound of his amusement disconcerted her because she'd been serious!

'Put the sword away, Farah,' he instructed softly, all pretence at relaxation over.

Farah's fingers flexed around the hilt. The way he said her name in  that rough, sexy voice sent a sharp, sweet ache straight to her pelvis  but she ignored it. 'No.'

His eyebrows climbed his forehead. 'I was starting to think that you  were smart, my little Zenobia. Are you about to prove me wrong?'

She had trained with a few of her father's respected bodyguards before  he had put a stop to it. They'd soon see who wasn't very smart. 'I  escaped, didn't I?' she taunted.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. Good. An angry man made more mistakes than a rational one.

'My guards found you.' His eyes fell to the glint of the sun shining off the sharp blade of her rapier.

Farah curled her lip. 'Your guards are incompetent. I doubt they could  find a particle of dust in a sandstorm. Perhaps they are poorly  trained.'

The muscle flickered again in his jaw and a small smile threatened to  curve her lips at how easily she got to him. He'd been lucky when he'd  grabbed her at her father's camp. He wouldn't be so lucky this time.

'It's not a good idea to prod an angry lion,' he drawled as he pushed away from the wall. 'They tend to bite.'

A shiver snaked down Farah's spine at the warning implicit in that  drawl; his voice was deep and melodious, as if he were paying her a  grand compliment. 'I think you got lucky coming upon me now,' she  challenged. 'If your men had truly found me, why didn't they take me?'

'They were ordered not to.'

'Why?' Farah tensed as he took another step toward her, the overhead sun highlighting his chiselled features.

The square behind her was deathly quiet but she didn't take her eyes  off the prince to find out why. Nothing was more dangerous to her right  now than this man. She raised her sword in preparation to strike, sweat  making her palms slippery. 'Were you afraid they'd get hurt?'

'No.' He circled to her right and she pivoted on her slippered feet to follow him. 'I was afraid you would.'

His black robes billowed as he prowled around her and she knew beneath  the soft trousers his strong thighs would be tensed to spring at her.

'Put the sword down. You won't win this battle.'

Farah didn't say anything but her keen eyes caught movement on the  rooftop above him so she knew that they weren't alone. She let her lip  curl into an insolent sneer. 'Need help to bring in one woman, Prince  Zachim?'

'Oh, I think I've already proven that I don't need help bringing you in, little cat.'

'Ha!' She was scornful. 'You got lucky the first time. You caught me by surprise.'

'Really?' His teeth sank into his fleshy bottom lip as his gaze dropped  to her mouth, telling her more than words that he knew exactly what had  distracted her the first time. 'Who's to say it won't happen again?'

'Me,' she snapped, humiliated by her own weakness where he was  concerned. Why, oh, why did her body find his so damned fascinating? It  made no sense at all.

The cumbersome abaya dragged around her legs as she shifted to keep him  in sight. If she got the chance she was going to have to toss modesty  to the wind and lift her skirts to try and outrun him. 'I know you have a  sword on you.' She lifted her chin. 'Draw it or get out of my way.'

'I'm not going to fight you.'

'Afraid?' she challenged.

He smiled. 'Give it up. We both know you have no chance of beating me.'

Farah stilled. His voice was so controlled, so knowing. He was calling  her bluff, damn him, and a deep desire to do the opposite, a deep desire  to show him, turned her muscles hard. For a brief moment she indulged  in the reckless fantasy of besting him, of being the one to bring the  mighty Prince of Bakaan and his monumental ego to his knees. Could she  do it?

'I can take you,' she said, twisting the sword in a few expert loops,  testing it for weight and balance. It wasn't a great piece of  craftsmanship but it was better than nothing.                       
       
           



       

A slow smile spread across his face. 'Now, that I'd like to see.'

Oh! She caught the not so subtle innuendo in his tone and lunged at  him, hoping to catch him off guard, realising too late that that was  exactly what he'd wanted her to do.

Moving with impressive speed for a man his size, he dodged her blade  and she heard the hiss of metal against leather as he unsheathed his  own. Adrenaline raced through her veins and charged her body. This was  what she needed-a good bout of sparring to rid her of all the tension,  fear and worry that threatened to swallow her whole.

She charged him again and brought her sword crashing down against his  as hard as she could. She didn't let up and the clash of steel was the  only sound ringing in the small empty square around them. Although, as  to that, a thousand spectators could have been watching and she wouldn't  have noticed.

The adrenaline seemed to give her added strength, but even so she  couldn't detect any weakness in him that would give her an advantage.

'Cease this, Farah,' he ordered, using his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow.

Distracted by the sight of his muscular forearm it was she who was  caught off guard when his sword unexpectedly came down over hers with so  much force her teeth rattled.

It was as if he'd only been using half his strength before, and  irritation that he would go easy on her gave her a burst of energy and  she rushed him, both exhilarated and appalled when she heard the rip of  fabric.

Absolute shock held them both immobile and, horrified, Farah watched as  bright red blood bloomed from the dark sleeve of his robe.

Oh, dear Allah... She hadn't really meant to hurt him... Her appalled  gaze rose to his. Instinct finally kicked in at his ferocious expression  and she dropped the sword before taking off towards a nearby alley.

Sweat and fear made her more clumsy than usual and she screamed when  she felt a hand grab hold of her headscarf. Fortunately the fabric gave  and Farah shot into the alleyway.

The pounding of his footsteps behind her alerted her as to how close he  was right before his arm reached around her and yanked her back against  him.

Incited by real terror, Farah fought him with all her might but it  seemed to take him only seconds to subdue her and have her pinned face  first against a rough wooden door, her hands stretched above her head  and his hip angled sideways as he forced her legs apart to hold her  lower body still.

Completely powerless, Farah leaned her hot face against the rough cool  wood and listened to her heart hammering inside her chest.

* * *

Zach steadied his uneven breathing as he held the little wild cat hard  against the door, his eyes shifting to the cut on his arm. It stung but  he knew it wasn't deep because he'd felt her pull back at the last  second. Really he should have disarmed her straight away but he'd been  enjoying sparring with her too much. She was good-no match for his  strength, but she was nimble and he'd felt that same exhilarating spark  he had felt riding with her in the desert. It had been a long time since  he'd felt this energised, this alive, and he wondered how much of it  was the sense of danger or the woman before him.

As if sensing his distracted thoughts, she suddenly bucked against him  to try and dislodge him and Zach pressed her harder against the wood. It  occurred to him that she might have more weapons on her and that he'd  need to pat her down before he released her. The thought brought an  image of his hands drifting over her lithe body, shedding her of her  clothes as he went, and he hardened in anticipation. He cursed silently.  For some reason her body acted like a lure for his and he was fast  running out of plausible explanations to justify it. As far as sex went,  he usually had to like a woman to want her.

He eased back slightly and barely fought the urge to shift his stance  so that his erection could nestle against her rounded backside. By  Allah, that would feel good, soft and warm, and if he bent his knees a  little he could push himself against the apex of her thighs. With his  attention so acutely consumed by her femininity, he thickened even more,  aching with a need he was hard-pressed to remember feeling before.

He unconsciously breathed in her sweet scent from the oils used in her  bath and he felt a sharp sting against his shin for his efforts. The  little wild cat had kicked him and even managed to get a hand free as  his hold had unconsciously slackened. By Allah, he needed to get a grip.