The Sheik and the Runaway Princess. Susan Mallery

      The desert kind, she told herself. Men like him didn’t see women as anything but chattel.

      “I would have been better off with the troll prince,” she muttered.

      Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to give in to them. She never showed weakness. What was the point? Instead she vowed to stay emotionally strong enough to survive, so that she could take her revenge. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself somewhere else.

      As the smell of the food continued to drift toward her and her stomach clenched painfully, she couldn’t help wishing she was still at the palace. Okay, so her father rarely noticed she was around and her brothers ignored her, except when they were teasing her, but was that so bad?

      She remembered her rage the previous day when her father, the king of Bahania, had announced that he’d betrothed her. Sabrina had been in shock.

      “You can’t be serious,” she’d told her father.

      “I am most serious. You are twenty-two. More than of an age to marry.”

      She’d glared at him. “I turned twenty-three last month. And this is the modern world. Not medieval Europe.”

      “I am aware of the time and the country. You are my daughter. You will marry the man of my choosing because you are a Bahanian princess and alliances must be made.”

      The man didn’t even know how old she was, so why on earth would she trust him to pick out a husband? She could only imagine the horrible old man with three wives and bad breath whom King Hassan would consider suitable.

      For the past twenty-three years her father had been content to ignore her. While she’d spent every summer in the palace, he’d rarely spoken with her. Although he took his sons on trips, she had been left behind. And when she spent the school year with her mother in California, he never phoned or wrote. So why would he think that she would do what he wanted now?

      Rather than stay and meet her troll prince, she’d escaped, hoping to find the City of Thieves. Instead she’d been captured by nomads. Maybe the troll prince wasn’t so bad.

      “What are you thinking?”

      The voice startled her. “That I need a vacation and this isn’t what I had in mind.”

      She opened her eyes and saw her captor standing in front of her. He’d removed his headdress and outer robes. Dressed only in cotton trousers and a tunic, he should have looked less formidable. Unfortunately he did not.

      He loomed like a deity, silhouetted by a beautiful, inky-black night sky. While she might not be completely comfortable in Bahania, she’d always admired the perfection of its stars. But tonight something other than twinkling lights captured her attention.

      The man was tall. His thick dark hair was short and layered. In the darkness of the evening, his features blurred, although she saw a flash of white teeth when he smiled.

      “You have the courage of a camel,” he told her.

      “Gee, thanks. Camels aren’t brave.”

      “Ah, so you know that much about the desert. Fine. How about the courage of a desert fox.”

      “Don’t they run away all the time?”

      He shrugged. “You see my point. Good.”

      She had the most childish urge to stick her tongue out at him. Instead she took a deep breath and smelled something wonderful. Her stomach growled loudly as she realized he held a plate in one hand and a cup in the other.

      “Dinner?” she asked cautiously, trying to keep the hope out of her voice.

      “Yes.” He crouched in front of her and set the plate and cup on the sand before helping her into a sitting position. “But can I trust you enough to untie you?”

      It was all Sabrina could do not to throw herself at the food and start eating directly from the plate. Her mouth watered so much she had to swallow twice, and her throat ached at the thought of water.

      “I swear I won’t try to run away.”

      He settled next to her on the sand. “Why would I trust you? I don’t know anything about you except you have the sense of a flea.”

      Her gaze narrowed. “I really hate all these animal comparisons. If you’re discussing the fact that I misplaced my horse and my camel, it’s not my fault. I tried to tether them when the sandstorm approached. I covered myself with a thick cloak and stayed low to the ground. I would say the fact that I survived the storm at all is a testament to my good sense.”

      He did not appear the least bit impressed by her argument. “What about the fact that you’re in the desert by yourself?” He picked up the cup. “Or would you rather discuss the fact that you lost both your horse and your camel?”

      “Not really,” she muttered, then leaned forward to sip from the cup he held out to her.

      The water was cool and clean. She swallowed greedily, taking in the life-giving moisture. Never had anything tasted so sweet, so perfect.

      When she finished the cup, he put it on the ground and picked up the plate.

      She looked from the strips of meat and pieces of vegetables to his hands. “You aren’t seriously considering feeding me, are you?” She held up her bound wrists. “If you don’t want to untie me, at least let me feed myself.”

      The thought of him touching her food was too weird. Although she was pretty hungry and he looked clean enough. Despite the heavy robes and the heat of the desert, the man in front of her didn’t smell.

      “Allow me the privilege,” he said mockingly, and picked up a piece of meat.

      She probably should have been brave and stubborn and refused. But her stomach was so very empty. Instead she leaned forward and took the meat from him, making sure her mouth never touched his fingers.

      “I am Kardal,” he said as she chewed. “What is your name?”

      She took her time in replying. After she’d swallowed, she licked her lips and stared eagerly at the plate. For reasons that weren’t completely clear to her, she didn’t want to tell him who she was.

      “Sabrina,” she answered, hoping he wouldn’t connect that name with Princess Sabra of Bahania. “You don’t sound like a nomad,” she said in an effort to distract him.

      “Yet I am.” He offered her another piece of meat.

      “You must have gone to school somewhere else. England? America?”

      “Why do you say that?”

      “The way you speak. Your word choices and syntax.”

      One corner of his mouth lifted. “What do you know of syntax?”

      She chewed and swallowed. “Despite what you think, I’m not an idiot. I’ve studied. I know things.”

      His dark eyes seemed to take possession of her soul. “What things, my desert bird?”

      “I, ah—”

      She was saved from having to answer by him feeding her a grilled bit of vegetable. This time, however, she wasn’t so very cautious and the side of his index finger touched her lower lip. At the moment of contact, something odd shifted inside of her. Food poisoning, she told herself. No doubt he’d laced the food with something horrible.

      But she was hungry enough not to care. She continued eating until the plate was empty, then drank the second glass of water Kardal gave her. When they were finished, she expected him to return to the men sitting around the small fire. Instead he continued to sit across from her, studying her.

      She wondered how bad she looked. Her hair was a tangled mess and she was sure she had smudges of dirt on her face from the sandstorm. Not that she wanted to be attractive for her captor. This was generic female vanity—nothing specific about the man