“Thank you,” Tally choked, tears streaming and she rubbed one cheek and then the other, her face streaked with tears and sand.
“You’re welcome.” He whistled again to the stallion and the horse trotted over. Swinging into his saddle, he leaned down, held an arm out to Tally. “Let’s go home.”
Tally froze. She didn’t put her hand in his. “But that’s the problem, Tair. It’s not my home.”
“Here we go again,” he muttered beneath his breath.
“It’s not.”
“I don’t want to do this now. The sand is still unstable from yesterday’s storm. There are probably more sand traps out here. If you really want me to leave you here, fine. But I’m going home.”
Tally sagged, exhausted, forlorn. “I don’t want to be left here.”
“Then you’re accepting my protection?”
Fresh tears burned her eyes but she wouldn’t let them fall. “No.” She turned, stared out across the desert that had become a treacherous prison and she wondered when and how this would end. Worn out, worn down she couldn’t keep running away but how to give up her world? Her life? Her dreams? Because she knew once she said yes, there would be no going back.
Tair swore softly and with a scoop of his arm lifted Tally up, settling her in his saddle in front of him. His arm was hard around her, holding her completely immobile. “This is getting familiar,” he said, dragging her even closer.
Tally shivered at the feel of his chest against her back, his body hard, solid, warm.
It wasn’t a particularly long ride back to camp and as they arrived, Tair’s men looked away, their heads turned, gazes respectfully fixed elsewhere as Tair wrestled with what they must think a truly demented woman. Well let them think she was mad. Because she wasn’t going to go back without a fight. She wasn’t going to just accept whatever sentence Tair handed out.
They were back. The men spilled from his camp, watching as Tair reined his horse to a stop but none actually looked at her.
Not a good sign, Tally thought, defensively. “You can’t keep me here,” she whispered. “I will take off first chance I can. I will continue to go—”
“You’ve nearly died in a sandstorm, spent a frightening afternoon in a sandpit. What do you want to happen now?”
“I don’t know, but I’m beginning to think being eaten by a snake is preferable to staying here with you.”
“Now come,” Tair said, sliding off the horse and yanking her down behind him, “that’s unfair. You haven’t even been bedded by me yet. You might actually like being my woman.”
“Never.”
He clucked disapprovingly, and walked toward his tent, strides long, determined, his hold on her wrist just as hard. “The least you could do is withhold judgment until I’ve had you.”
He tossed aside the curtainlike flap and pulled her inside. The flap snapped closed. “Which I intend to do—” he broke off as his gaze swept over her, up and down “—as soon as you bathe. You, my dear woman, reek.”
“Reek?” Her voice rose and yet she threw her shoulders back, puffed her chest out. “Well, that’s just lovely considering you’ve kept me in rank tents, eating tough goat meat and drinking warm goat’s milk for days. You’ve no proper bath, no shampoo, no lotions, no scented oils. Nothing. I thought sheikhs lived in beautiful palaces filled with sunken tiled baths and gorgeous mosaic arches. But no. I have to get kidnapped by a sheikh who lives like a peasant with nothing but a half dozen ancient tents to his name.”
Tair’s jaw jutted. “You’ve forgotten my horse.”
“I have.” Her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath. “But one horse doesn’t make a kingdom, Sheikh al Tayer—”
“It’s el-Tayer. You’re in NorthernAfrica not the Middle East.”
She gestured impatiently. “The point is, where’s Aladdin when you need him? Where’s my genie to make everything beautiful? Because you might be a sheikh,el -Tayer,but this isn’t my fantasy. Not even close.”
“Enough,” Tair ground out, dragging her toward him. “This may not be your idea of paradise, but I’ve had it with the running away, and pulling knives, and putting your life in danger. It’s stopping. Now. Understand me?”
But he didn’t give her a chance to answer. Instead he pulled her into his arms, fitting her against his body so that her softness curved against his hardness, her hips cradling his, her thighs caught between his own, her breasts crushed to his chest.