His Queen by Desert Decree(16)

‘Smile...’ she urged helplessly.

‘Why?’ Azrael asked baldly. ‘There is nothing to smile about.’

Molly laughed, easy humour tilting her full lips into a helpless grin. ‘You can be such a misery. But look at us... I would have died out there if you hadn’t found me. And you rescued me, for which I shall be grateful for ever. I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re both safe...even cosy,’ she selected, indicating the leaping flames of the little fire with a playful gesture. ‘You’ve got plenty to smile about now.’

‘Are you grateful enough to drop the idea of prosecuting my brother?’ Azrael shot at her, fighting the disturbing truth that her easy grin was captivating and made her eyes sparkle while the reflection of the flames picked out amazing rich copper tones in her wonderful hair. He could not afford to be sidetracked by his natural male instincts.

Her grin immediately died. ‘I’m sorry, no...and that wasn’t a fair question. I thought we were talking off the record and I let my guard down... I was trying to be friendly,’ she extended uncomfortably.

‘I’m never off the record,’ Azrael admitted flatly, while on another level he was trying to suppress he was wondering exactly what ‘friendliness’ encompassed in her parlance.

During his six short months in London the year before, he had met women who offered him sex as casually as a handshake and as freely as if he were offering a workout at the gym. It had been a learning experience that had sent him from initially shocked to ecstatic and, finally and surprisingly, to a kind of repugnance he couldn’t adequately explain. He didn’t know whether it was his upbringing or some innate conservative streak somewhere inside him, but he had discovered that careless intimacy was a challenge for him. That was why he had considered getting married. But marriage would bring other difficulties and he thought he had enough to deal with without inviting more problems into his already very demanding life.

‘That’s unhealthy,’ Molly told him without hesitation.

‘No, it is a fact,’ Azrael shot back at her coolly. ‘I am who I am and I can’t change that or step back from it when it suits me. Everything I do reflects on my status and I will be judged for it.’

Molly tossed her head in dismissal. Her copper ringlets danced round her flushed cheeks, her temper beginning to spark in the face of his relentless gravity. ‘I’ll be honest too, then. I very much resent your continuing apprehension on your brother’s behalf. I didn’t ask to be in this situation. He put me in it and he planned the kidnapping, which is even worse,’ she argued.

Even before she had finished speaking, Azrael unfolded with angry speed from his seat on the sand. He moved so fast that she blinked, her attention unerringly caught by the seamless silent grace and tightly coiled energy that was so much a part of him. ‘We will not argue about that matter here and now,’ he stated, staring down at her with engrained arrogance.

But Molly refused to be diverted. She had to plant her hands on the sand to rise upright again and it felt clumsy because she was ridiculously conscious of how much less agile she was in comparison with him. ‘I will argue with you if I want to,’ she responded, wishing that statement didn’t sound slightly childish to her own ears even if it was what he needed to hear.

Azrael stalked down the length of the cave to grasp the lantern and carry it over the saddle bags resting by the wall. Molly was helplessly entranced by his fluid movements because he flowed like water without making a sound, while his perfect hawkish profile was etched in shadow against the wall.

‘Are you going to ignore me now?’ Molly prompted helplessly.

‘I am not in the mood for another...dispute,’ he framed impatiently. ‘Particularly not while we are stuck together in this cave for the duration of the storm.’

Her teeth gritted together. ‘I would prefer to clear the air.’

‘We cannot clear the air unless you are willing to compromise,’ Azrael fired back at her, stalking back towards her, all seething masculine energy and soundless grace, dark eyes glittering a warning in the subdued light.

‘Why should I be willing to compromise?’ Molly demanded stormily, for throughout her childhood and adolescence she had been forced to make continual compromises. Unpleasant realities had limited her and removed her choices. She hadn’t been able to change the truths that her mother was dead, her father was indifferent and her stepmother disliked and mistreated her. As soon as she had attained adulthood and independence she had sworn never to be forced into compromises again and to put her own wants and wishes first. These days only Maurice’s needs came before her own.