Hidden in the Sheikh's Harem: Christmas at the Castello(5)

She released a slow breath. 'Just give me five minutes here. I'll meet you in the dinner tent.'

Slightly mollified, the soldier nodded tersely. He sneered at Zach  before stalking out of the tent, letting the flap drop back loudly into  place.

She stared at it, brooding.

'Trouble in paradise, little cat?' Zach offered, as if they were old friends taking tea together.

His question snapped her out of her reverie and she marched back to him. 'Be quiet. And don't call me that.'

'I thought you wanted me to speak.'

She glanced down at the small metal bowl in her hand and frowned. 'What I want is for you to eat.'

Zach's stomach agreed with her. 'I'm not hungry.'

She scoffed. 'What is the point of starving yourself? You'll die.'

'So nice of you to care.'

'I don't.'

Her condescending attitude and lack of respect annoyed the hell out of  him and he was starting to get some inkling as to the reasoning behind  his ancestors' methods of subduing a woman. He wouldn't mind having this  one bow down at his feet and acknowledge his superior position to hers.  'You know, your father might want to send someone with better  interpersonal skills to plead for leniency next time,' he suggested  testily.

* * *

Damn, but the urge to have this man bow and scrape at her feet was so  strong Farah nearly pulled her small dagger out from inside the hidden  pocket in her tunic and made him do it. His attitude was truly  irritating.

As were those piercing golden eyes. Lion's eyes. They said so much and  nothing at all, just stared back at her as if he knew something that she  didn't. With the few days' worth of beard growth covering his angular  jaw, those implacable eyes made him seem harshly masculine and deeply  imposing even though he was sitting on the ground. The tightly coiled  energy he emanated made her think of a cobra about to strike. Or an  eagle about to take flight and rip its prey to shreds. He wore a dusty  black shirt that stretched across broad shoulders and jeans that hugged  what looked to be powerful thighs, the muscles bunching periodically  when he looked at her.                       
       
           



       

She'd known he was incredibly good-looking from the magazine pictures  she'd seen, but with his aristocratic features, wide mouth and  pitch-black, neatly cropped hair, he was something else in the flesh.  Not that she cared.

'I have not come to plead for leniency,' she assured him.

'Lucky.' His eyes trapped hers in a challenging stare. 'Because when I get out of here I have no intention of giving it.'

Her mouth twisted. 'Perhaps you need a little longer to think about  your position,' she suggested, glancing pointedly at his bound hands.

'Perhaps I do,' he drawled carelessly.

Oh, but he was getting under her skin! She stared him down for another  few minutes and then gave up. This wasn't a contest, even though he  seemed determined to turn it into one. 'Nevertheless...' she began,  pausing when his hands clenched in his lap yet again. She made a mental  note to check his bindings before she left. The last thing she needed  was to return him damaged. It would only fare worse for her father. 'You  are not going to die on my watch.'

'And there I was thinking that our plans weren't in alignment.' He  smiled and Farah felt an unfamiliar jolt of heat deep in her belly. His  teeth gleamed whitely against his dark stubble and she scowled to cover  her unexpected reaction. The man was dangerous; his cavalier attitude in  the face of his imprisonment was proof enough of that even before one  took in the breadth of those shoulders.

Determined not to be intimidated, Farah crouched down in front of the  high and mighty Prince of Bakaan. She watched as he blatantly worked his  gaze over her from head to toe and for a moment she couldn't move; a  horrible urge to arch her spine and thrust her breasts out for his  inspection making her nipples pull tight.

Rocked to her core by the inclination she noticed his eyelids had  lowered to half-mast making her feel both hot and cold all over, her  sense of danger heightened like never before.

The silence between them lengthened and Farah became aware that her  breathing was shallow and that her clothing felt rough against her skin.  She couldn't seem to drag her eyes away from his perfectly proportioned  mouth and, as if he sensed her inner turmoil, one corner of it tilted  knowingly. More annoyed than ever, she shifted her weight to the balls  of her feet, slowly raised the bowl between them and offered it to him.

He didn't look at the food. Instead his golden eyes held hers in such a  way that made her discomfort levels hit an all-time high. 'If you're so  interested in getting me to eat, then you feed me, my feral little  cat.'

Feral little cat? The shock of those soft words had Farah rocking back  on her heels as feminine pride kicked in. She might not look her best  but she was hardly feral! And as for feeding him... She felt steam  rising out of her ears. Even tied up and at her mercy he assumed the  superior position. 'I have no intention of feeding you,' she snapped.

He gave a soft, deep chuckle that took up residence in the pit of her stomach. 'Well, there goes that fantasy.'

Farah's mouth tightened at the taunt. He'd already made it clear he  thought she was lacking in the female department so his comments could  only be to try and throw her off. Though to what end, other than to rile  her, she didn't know.

It was obvious he didn't believe she would take him up on his challenge  to feed him-and normally she wouldn't even think of doing so, but there  was something about this insolent prince that rubbed her up the wrong  way. Plus, she'd dealt with dusty, stubborn camels her whole life so one  dirty, scruffy male would be no different. Involuntarily her eyes  dropped to his body. It was difficult to see the full extent of his  physique in his current position but there was no doubt he emanated a  masculine power she hadn't come across before. Or had never noticed.

She glanced at his hands and the rope around his waist that kept him  tethered to the post. The sense of menace and danger that cloaked him  made her think twice about her next actions while the wicked glint in  his eyes goaded her on. But it wasn't as if he could actually do  anything to her, tied as he was.

A shiver went through her anyway and she lifted her chin. 'If I feed you, will you eat?'

One dark eyebrow lifted lazily and dense ebony lashes lowered slowly to  shield his eyes. 'You'll need to get closer to find out.'

Farah ignored the sudden leap of her pulse at his words. Better just to  get this over and done with and she'd have one thing accomplished. And  wasn't it true that a man with a full stomach had a better disposition  than one with an empty one? Maybe then he'd be more amenable to seeing  reason.                       
       
           



       

Besides, she had something to prove. This was nothing more than a  classic power play and she would not let him see that he intimidated  her. Not that he did, exactly; it was just that any animal handler knew  that you approached an unknown beast with caution. Particularly a large,  predatory one.

Deciding that, like cleaning the privy, thinking about the deed was  worse than actually doing it, Farah clenched her jaw and dug the tips of  her fingers into the fragrant meat dish. She had to shuffle even closer  to him and his male scent rose to mingle with the food. Logically he  should have smelt like a pair of damp old socks. He didn't. He smelt of  man and sweat and heat.

Heat?

What did heat even smell like?

That was about as relevant to her current objective as the shape of his  mouth. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she scooped out a  portion of meat and rice, careful to keep the bowl close to catch any  drips, and leaned forward onto the balls of her feet before raising her  fingers to his mouth.

In this position she was almost straddling him and she flushed hotly as  unexpected images of the two of them naked and entwined came into her  head. A year ago she'd seen a sexy magazine spread of a man and a woman  pretending to make love. She'd felt a momentary jolt of curiosity at  seeing them but it was nothing compared to the jolt she was feeling now.  She'd always viewed sex as a means of procreation, not pleasure. So why  had her mind transplanted the skimpily clad models in the magazine with  the two of them? It was so clear she could almost picture the prince's  powerful body lying beneath her own; she could almost see herself  sitting astride him; could almost feel the press of his ribs against her  inner thighs. She squeezed them together unconsciously and heat bloomed  there, catching her off guard.

The walls of the tent seemed to draw in around her as she fought to  contain her body's visceral reaction to her thoughts and she frowned as  the prince's firm lips remained resolutely closed. Exasperated, she  lifted her eyes to his, the angry tirade she was about to unleash on him  dying on her tongue as he chose that moment to lean forward and draw  the rice and meat-and her fingers-inside his warm mouth.