Hidden in the Sheikh's Harem: Christmas at the Castello(15)

She scowled. 'I think they are meant to control women. Next you'll ask me to darn your socks.'

'I throw away my holey socks.'

'Rich and wasteful. It figures.'

She lifted her nose at him and he ground his teeth. 'That's some opinion you have of me, sweetheart.'

'Are you saying I'm wrong?'

'Yes, you're wrong.' She sniffed as if he was a servant who had just  offered her substandard fare. 'And not only that but you're prejudiced.'

That snapped her out of her holier-than-though repose. 'I am not,' she declared hotly.

The scent of jasmine and honey entwined together and invaded his  senses: his favourite. He sighed, not wanting to fight with her. 'Take  my arm.'

She cocked an eyebrow. 'Where would you like me to take it?' she asked sweetly. 'The garbage?'

He bit back a laugh and noticed her own lips twitching. So she had a  sense of humour. Who knew? 'As long as you don't take a sharp object to  it again, you can take it wherever you like.'

Surprise showed on her face at his rejoinder and then she laughed, a  dead sexy, full-on, throaty chuckle he thought he could listen to  forever.                       
       
           



       

Finally she stopped and he lifted his gaze to hers. 'You can lean your  weight on me until you get used to the heels,' he offered gruffly.

She hesitated before releasing a long breath and reluctantly placed her hand on his arm as if she were touching dynamite.

Zach lifted her hand off his forearm and placed it in the crook of his  elbow. When he felt her fingers curl into the fabric of his robe and  cling, he felt as if a heavy object had been placed on his chest. He  rubbed it but the sensation remained. So did the memory of the way she  had fit in his arms earlier; the heat of her response to his kisses.

He swore under his breath and she glanced at him from beneath  kohl-rimmed eyes, her long hair falling forward over one shoulder.  Whether she was dressed to the nines as she was now, or wearing combat  trousers and an old tunic with her hair matted against her head, she was  more beautiful than any woman he'd ever seen in his life. Which  couldn't be right. Surely Amy's classically cool beauty had touched him  more than Farah's exotic dark looks?

He knew bedding the woman at his side would probably put an end to the  hunger he felt for her but that wasn't an option. She was the daughter  of his enemy and wanting it to be otherwise was just a fool's errand.

'Why are you looking at me like that?'

The words could have come from a petulant teenager to a parent and he  shook his head. 'Because I didn't expect to find you so beautiful.'

A pink flush rose along her cheekbones and she dampened her lips. By Allah...

'You're just saying that to try and lull me so that I won't try to escape again,' she said.

No, he hadn't been, he thought grimly, but now he knew that she  intended to do so-even though he had trusted her when she'd agreed to  cooperate with him earlier-and he felt like an idiot. 'You know that  gold sash draped so artfully around your waist?' he asked.

She raised her pointy little chin at him. 'What of it?'

He leant in so close her scent filled him. 'You take one step in the  wrong direction tonight and I'll wrap it around your elegant throat and  use it as a leash.'

* * *

Oh! Farah felt like screaming. One minute she was enjoying his company  and the next she hated him again. But his comment had been a good  reminder that she was not, in fact, his guest at this wedding, but his  prisoner, and she had her own agenda: escape!

Smiling dutifully at the little group they had joined, she watched the  covetous glances the women-the very married women-gave the prince.  Instinct no doubt told them that the reason he was so completely at ease  in his own skin was because he was a man who had known pleasure-and had  given it.

A hot flush swept up her neck and she raised her hand to mask it. What  she wouldn't give to be back in her little hut and arguing with her  father about why she didn't want to get married. It seemed so much more  simple than parading around with a man who disturbed her on so many  levels.

'I said stop fidgeting.' He cupped her elbow as he directed her away  from the avid faces of their small group. 'How are your feet?'

'Hobbled. Yours?'

He chuckled. 'You're delightful.'

She scowled. 'I'm not trying to be.'

'I know. Dance with me.'

Not expecting that request, she wasn't ready when he slid a hand to her  lower back, his gaze hot on hers when she glanced up at him. 'I don't  dance.'

He considered her for a long moment. 'Don't or can't?' he asked shrewdly.

Farah felt another flush heat her cheeks. 'I...' she began, only to stop as he cast her a crooked grin.

'Can't, then,' he concluded, turning her towards him. 'Don't look so outraged, habiba, I will teach you.'

A shiver went through Farah as he moved in closer, his warmth hitting  her like a wall. Then his spicy scent made her head foggy. This was so  not a good idea. Especially when he was right: she couldn't dance. She'd  never thought about learning before, preferring to watch from the  sidelines. She hadn't thought about sex much, either, but since meeting  the prince it was the single most dominating thought that occupied her  time. If he'd been an ordinary man in her village or a neighbouring one,  who was considerate of her needs, she might have thought about  exploring the chemistry that made her stomach flutter and her insides  feel liquid, but he was Zachim, Prince of Bakaan, and he was cut from  the same controlling cloth as their fathers.

'Not interested,' she said, trying to ignore the little voice in her  head that said dancing with him would be fun. Riding Moonbeam full pelt  through the desert was fun. Sitting by the fireside dreaming up  impossible adventures with her friends was fun. Dancing with Prince  Zachim would not be fun. It would be out-and-out dangerous.                       
       
           



       

As if reading her mind, he gave her a devastating half smile. 'Come on. You know you want to.'

And there was that innate arrogance of his popping up at the right moment to remind her why she disliked him so much. 'No.'

'Just follow my lead.'

His grin widened as she flashed him a look. 'Do you even understand the word no?'

'You never know, Farah, you might enjoy it.'

And wasn't that half the problem? She knew that maybe she would enjoy it. Too much.

Before she could rally her defences against him, he raised his left hand. 'Right hand in mine.'

Farah froze so he reached down and clasped her hand in his. 'Now, left hand on my shoulder.'

Again she froze and again he took control and did it for her.

'Now what?' she asked, her whole body taut as she tried to remain impervious to this nearness.

'Now I put my hand here.' He placed his left hand lightly against her  hip and Farah's spine lengthened as she registered the heat of his  touch.

Her lips felt dry and she mashed them together. He watched her like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. 'And now?'

'Now we move together.' He smiled, clearly amused by her stoicism.  'It's called a waltz. When I lead with my right leg, you move your left  leg back. No, not like that-smaller steps, remember, and slower. My leg  is supposed to slide against yours so that it looks like we're moving as  one.'

A lone sitar player filled the dance floor with a gentle, teasing  ballad and Farah desperately focused on the music as the prince's  muscular body lightly brushed her own.

'Close your eyes.'

Her eyes flew to his and she moved her face back when she realised how close they were. 'Why? What are you going to do to me?'

'Nothing you don't want me to.'

Time seemed to grind to a halt as those gravelly words grazed along her  nerve endings. She felt her pulse race. Those blasted magazine images  wove into her consciousness and heat made her dizzy. Then she realised  she was holding her breath and let it out.

'Closing your eyes might help you feel the music,' he suggested, watching her closely.

It might help her forget about how devastatingly handsome he was as  well, so she did. On some level it made her awareness of him even more  intense, but on another it did help, and before she knew it she could  feel herself moving much more gracefully than she would have thought  possible.

'You're a quick study,' he murmured against her ear. 'How are the feet now?'

Farah shivered and opened her eyes. She'd forgotten all about her feet  but now she could feel the balls of them throbbing. 'Not great.'

He pulled her indecently close. 'Lean against me,' he said roughly.

She wanted to say no, she wanted to move away, but gremlins had invaded  her body and suddenly her lids drooped closed and she entered some  dreamy realm where her body took over. She wouldn't have said exactly  that she was dancing because they were barely moving but it felt lovely.  She could feel him against her, hard and so solid. His body was so  different from her own and it amazed her how they fit together-as if  they were made for each other.