Forged in the Desert Heat. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
“You expect me to sleep in a tent with you?”
“I do. The alternative is for one of us to sleep without any sort of protection and I’m not going to do that. I assume you won’t, either. You should see all the bugs that come out at night.”
Ana shuddered. The idea of sleeping in the vast openness of the desert with no walls around her at all was completely freaky, and she didn’t want any part of it. But the thought of sleeping next to this man...this stranger...was hardly any better.
Her one and constant comfort was the fact that he didn’t want to start a war.
Maybe she should tell him she was a virgin. And that Tariq knew it. So if he tried anything he shouldn’t there would be no getting out of it. War would be upon him.
A war over her hymen. Yuck. But potentially true.
And if it would help protect her, well, she wasn’t above using it as an excuse. But she would save it. Because...yuck.
“How long do you intend to keep me with you?” she asked, watching as he began to work at setting up what looked to be a far-too-small tent.
“Until I no longer need to.” He was wearing so many layers, robes to keep him protected from the sun, that it was hard to tell just how his body was shaped, and yet, because of the ease of his movements and the grace in them, she got a sense that he was a man in superior physical condition.
Not that she should notice or care.
“That’s not very informative.”
“Because I have no more information to give. I will have to evaluate the situation upon arrival at the palace, and until then, we are stuck with each other.”
He continued to work, his movements quick and agile, practiced.
“So...you do this a lot?”
“Nearly every night.”
“You buy kidnapped women and then carry them off on your horse every night?”
“I was just referring to the tent.”
“I know,” she said, looking up at the sky, vast and dotted with stars. “Just trying to lighten the mood.” Otherwise she really would cry. She didn’t have enough energy for anger anymore. Lame jokes were her last line of defense.
And she couldn’t fall apart. Not now. Her father would need her to keep it together, to make sure she made it back to him. Back to Tariq. She’d done everything right, had spent so many years doing her best to be helpful. To not be a burden.
Falling down in the home stretch like this was devastating.
“Technically,” he said, tying a knot in a rope at the top of the tent. “I didn’t buy you. I ransomed you.”
“That does sound nicer.”
“Think of it that way then. If it helps.”
“A small comfort, all things considered, but I’ll take it.”
“There, it is done. Are you ready to sleep?”
No and yes. She didn’t want to get into the tent with him and sleep on the ground. It was demoralizing. More than that, it was scary. The idea of being so close to him made her heart pound, made her feel dizzy. But she was also ready to collapse with exhaustion. No matter that Zafar was a stranger, he wasn’t her kidnapper. He wasn’t the same as the men who’d been holding her these past few days.
No matter how austere and frightening he was, he had saved her from her kidnappers.
“Oh...thank you,” she said, a tear sliding down her cheek. “Thank you so much.”
And something in her broke that she hadn’t even realize had been there. The dam on her emotions that had been keeping her strong, keeping her from falling apart since she’d been taken from the camp all those days ago. Or maybe the same dam that had been in place for years, holding back tears for ages, and unable to withstand this new onslaught of life’s little horrors.
And control was suddenly no longer an option.
A sob shook her body, emotion tightening her throat. And then she broke down completely. Great gasps of breath escaping, tears rolling down her face.
He didn’t move to comfort her; he didn’t move at all. He simply let her cry, her sobs echoing in the still night. She didn’t need his touch. She just needed this. This release after days of trying to be strong. Of trying not to show how scared and alone she felt.
And when she was done she felt weak, embarrassed and then angry again.
“Done?”
She looked up and saw him regarding her with an expression of total impassivity. Her outburst hadn’t moved him. Not at all. Not that she really wanted comfort from this big...beast man. But even so. A little reaction would have been nice. Sympathy. Offer of a cold compress or smelling salts or...something.
“Yes,” she said, her throat still tight, her voice croaky. “I am done. Thank you.”
“Ready to sleep?”
“Yes.” The word escaped on a gust of breath. She was completely ready to collapse where she was standing. She didn’t know how that had happened. How exhaustion had taken over so completely.
And then she realized she was shaking. Shivering. She couldn’t do this. She had to be strong and keep control. She had to hold it together.
“I don’t know why,” she said through chattering teeth.
He swore, at least she assumed it was a swearword, based on the tone, and took two long strides toward her, gripping her by the arms and drawing her into the warmth of his body. It wasn’t a hug. She knew that right away. This was no show of affection; it was just him trying to keep her from rattling apart.
She trembled violently, his strong arms, his chest, a wall of support. It was amazing that he smelled as good as he did. Yes, it was a weird thought, but it was simple, basic and one she could process.
All those layers in the heat and she would have imagined he might smell like body odor. Instead he smelled spicy, like fine dust and cloves. And he did smell of sweat, but it wasn’t offensive in any way. He smelled like a man who had been working, a man who had earned every drop of that sweat through honest effort.
That, somehow, made it seem different than other sweat.
Not that she could really claim to be an expert in the quality of sweat, male or otherwise, but for some reason, that was just how it seemed to her.
This current train of thought was probably a sign of a complete mental breakdown. Highly likely, in fact. Yes, very likely, because she was still shaking.
And adding to the signs of a breakdown, was the fact that part of her wanted to curl her fingers around his robe and hold him tightly to her. Cling to him. Beg him not to let her go.
“The nearest mobile medical unit is...not very near,” he said, his voice rough. “So please don’t do anything stupid like dying.”
“If I were dead, how much help would a mobile medical unit be anyway?” she asked, resting her head on his chest, something about the sound of his heartbeat making her feel more connected to the world. To living. She was so completely drained; it felt like it was the reminder of his life that kept her connected with hers. “Besides I don’t think I’m dying.”
“Does anyone ever think they’re dying?”
“I’m not hurt.”
“How long has it been since you had a drink?”
She thought back. “A while. I’m not even really sure how many days it’s been since I was kidnapped.”
“I’m going to put you in the tent.”
She nodded, and at the