The Sheik's Safety. Dana Marton

to fight for it if he tried to take it away.

      “We’re a few hours ride from camp, plenty of clean water there,” he said.

      Tempting, but no. She met his dagger-sharp gaze. She was definitely not going to some desert bandit camp with him.

      Chapter Two

      “I need to get to the nearest town.” She drank the grainy water to the last drop, smiled at him as she laced up her boots. “I’d like to get in touch with the American embassy. Do you think I could take the car?”

      “You’re not well enough to go anywhere alone.”

      “You could…escort me?”

      He waited a while before responding. “Tihrin is too far. I’ll take you to the camp, then when you’re better, I’ll take you to Tihrin.”

      “I’m really pretty good.” She stood, and prayed he didn’t notice the slight wobble. She had to get to a phone. She had to tell the Colonel what had happened to the team.

      “In a few days.” He whistled for the horse again, lower this time as the animal was nearby. “Right now, we’ll be safer at the camp.”

      Right. Because he looked safe. Not. “Why don’t you ride the horse and I’ll drive the car and follow you?”

      “We leave the car.”

      She needed some time to come up with a plan. “Mind if we rest a little before we go? I’m not sure I’m up for horseback riding yet.”

      He glanced at the bodies behind him then back at her. “A few minutes,” he said. “There might be more of them coming.”

      He was just full of good news. She wondered if the four dead men were in any way connected to whomever had shot down the plane. Where was an M4 when she needed one? “Can I have my knives back?”

      “No.”

      Not very accommodating, was he? “In case there’s another attack?”

      He shook his head. “I will protect you.”

      For a moment she considered reminding him who had saved whose life, but decided against it. No sense in appearing too contrary, no point in raising any suspicions.

      He took a few steps toward the bodies on the sand, stopped and turned back. “What is your name?”

      “I don’t remember.”

      “I’m Saeed,” he said, and left her.

      She watched him as he went from one body to the next, checking them over, coming up empty-handed as far as she could tell. It took all her strength to make her way to the horse a few short feet away.

      “Come on, boy.” She let the animal smell her, patted his head. “What a fine horse you are.”

      Purebred Arabian. She remembered her grandfather’s horses on the reservation, a couple of pintos and a half dozen wild mustangs he’d bought through the government program. They were all beautiful in their right. But this one—this one was a prince.

      “Here we go.” She moved to his side and checked to make sure the cinch was good and tight. When she tried to put her foot in the stirrups the animal danced away.

      “You’re not scared of me, are you?” She kept on talking, utter nonsense in a calming voice, as she tried again. Same result. Horses were supposed to be in her blood. Apparently, someone forgot to tell this one. The stallion had been trained, and trained well. Figured.

      “Tayib, hoah.”

      The deep voice coming from behind startled her, but seemed to calm the horse. Saeed stepped forward and grabbed the bridle.

      “You can get on now,” he said, four AK-47s slung over his shoulder.

      For a split second, she considered fighting him for the guns.

      His gaze was sharp on her face, steady. She could barely stand. If she didn’t succeed, what would he do? Kill her, leave her to die in the desert or tie her up and take her to his camp anyway? She had to face the truth—she could not overtake him. To try would accomplish nothing but tip her hand and make escape more difficult later.

      She mounted, and as soon as she was in the saddle, he vaulted up behind her. His arms, one on each side of her now, held onto the rein and set the horse going with a gentle flick.

      As if the moving animal had unbalanced her, she slid to the side, testing Saeed. His arm barely moved, although she’d leaned her full weight against it.

      He was strong and in control of his strength. In control of her, too, for the moment. As temporary as it was, she didn’t like the feeling. Dara straightened herself in the saddle. He was taking her, whether she wanted to go with him or not.

      Fine. She would ride to his camp, eat, get her hands on a few flasks of water, then sneak away at the first opportunity. Shouldn’t set her back more than a day.

      SAEED KEPT HIS EYES on the desert, constantly scanning the horizon, unsure when or from where the next ambush would come, knowing only that they weren’t done with him yet.

      The woman in front of him had made a valiant effort of staying upright when they’d first mounted, but was now sagging farther back in the saddle, losing her strength rapidly. Her back touched his chest and she jerked forward, but soon was slipping again.

      He let go of the rein with his left hand to pull her fully against him, leaving his arm around her waist to hold her in place, unsure how much longer she could do it on her own. “Rest.”

      “I’m fine,” she said, but didn’t pull away.

      She felt frail in his arms, but he knew better. She had survived several days in the open desert, taken out an armed assassin with a knife from forty meters. Helpless she was not.

      And yet, despite knowing she was probably part of whatever band of thieves had robbed his tribe, he could not quench the surge of protective feelings inside him. Probably because she was a woman, in his arms.

      It had been a while since he’d held anyone. Although her head was covered with her makeshift headdress once again, it would be some time before he would forget her face and the way she had looked at him. Her eyes shone like jewels—black onyx with freckles of gold.

      She felt soft in all the right places, all sinuous muscle in others. Her shapely behind wedged between his thighs moved against him slightly to the rhythm of the horse, bringing thoughts to his mind the likes of which he had been too busy to think for far too long.

      He brought his focus back to more pressing issues. “Where are the rest of your people?”

      She stiffened. “I don’t remember anyone.”

      Hard to say if she was lying or not. He would have expected a foreign woman who found herself in the desert in the middle of a gunfight with no idea of how she’d gotten there to be a little more frazzled. Maybe she was in shock, too numb for hysterics. No. Not shock. She had thrown that knife with precision, good and steady. And she appeared fine, save her weakness from exposure and lack of food and water. And of course lack of memory—if she wasn’t faking that.

      With his attackers dead, once again she was the only possible source of information he had. As much as she wanted to reach Tihrin, he could not let her go until he found out for whom she worked and what her purpose was here.

      She shivered in his arms.

      “Here.” He slipped off his kaffiyeh, wrapped it around her head, neck and shoulders as best as he could. “Before today you don’t remember anything?” He tried again.

      Her response came slower than before. “Nothing. I think maybe I got lost.”

      He chewed on that for a while.

      She wasn’t an assassin. She could have let that man shoot him or, for that matter, she could have buried that