Forged in the Desert Heat. Maisey Yates

tent and set her down on a blanket inside. Then he left her, returning a moment later with a skin filled with water.

      “Drink.”

      She obeyed the command. And discovered she was so thirsty she didn’t think she could ever be satisfied.

      She pulled the skin away from her lips and a drop ran down her chin. She mourned that drop.

      “I hope you weren’t saving that,” she said.

      “I have more. And we’ll stop midmorning at an oasis between here and the city.”

      “Why didn’t we stop at the oasis tonight?”

      “I’m tired. You’re tired.”

      “I’m fine,” she said. His tenderness was threatening to undo her, if you could call the way he was speaking to her now tenderness.

      “You must be realistic about your own limitations out here,” he said. “That is the first and most valuable lesson you can learn. The desert can make you feel strong and free, but it also makes you very conscious of the fact that you are mortal.”

      She lay down on the blanket and curled her knees into her chest, her back to Zafar. She heard the blanket shift, felt it pull beneath her as he lay down, too.

      “The wilderness is endless, and it makes you realize that you are small,” he said, his voice deep, accented, melting over her like butter. She felt like the ground was sinking beneath her, like she was falling. “But it also makes you realize how powerful you are. Because if you respect it, if you learn your limitations and work with them, rather than against them, you can live here. You will never master the desert...no man or woman can. But if you learn to respect her, she will allow you to live. And living here, surviving, thriving, that is true power.”

      Her eyes fluttered closed, and the world upended. “I’m cold,” she said, a shiver racking her.

      A strong arm came around her waist, and she was pulled into heat, warmth that pushed through to her soul. It was a strange comfort. It shouldn’t even be a comfort, and yet it was. Being held by him felt good. Human touch, his touch, soothed parts of her she hadn’t known had been burned raw by her nights in the desert.

      His fingertip drifted briefly along the line of her bare arm. A soothing gesture. One that stopped the chill. One that made her feel like a small flame had been ignited beneath her skin.

      Her last thought before losing consciousness was that she’d never slept with a man’s arm around her like this. And the vague sense that she should be saving this for the man she was marrying.

      Except that didn’t make sense. This was just sleeping.

      And she badly needed sleep.

      So she moved more tightly into his body and gave in to the need she’d been fighting against ever since she’d been kidnapped.

      And slept.

      CHAPTER THREE

      “YOU NEED TO wake up now.”

      Zafar looked down at the sleeping woman, curled up on the floor of the tent like an infant.

      The sun was starting to rise over the mountains, and in a moment, the air became heated. Enough that if you breathed too deeply it would scorch your lungs. And he didn’t relish riding through the heat of the day. He wanted to get to the oasis, wait it out, then continue on to the city.

      He didn’t want to spend another night out here with this fragile, shivering creature. He needed to be able to sleep, and he could not sleep beside anyone.

      Plus, she was far too delicate. Far too pale. Her skin an impractical shade of pink, her hair so blond it was nearly white, her eyes the same blue as the bleached sky.

      She would burn out here in the desert.

      She stirred and blinked, looking up at him. “I...” She pushed into a sitting position. “Oh, no. It wasn’t a dream.”

      “No. Sorry. And are you referring to me or the kidnapping? Because I should think I am preferable to a band of thieves.”

      “The kidnapping in general. This entire experience. Ugh. My whole body hurts. This ground is hard.”

      “I’m sorry. Perhaps you should talk to the Creator about softening it for you.”

      “Oh, I see, you think I’m silly. And wimpy and whatever.” She pushed a hand through her hair, and he noticed her fingers got hung up in it. He wondered how long it had been since she’d been able to brush her hair. He imagined she hadn’t been given the opportunity to bathe or take care of any necessities really.

      And he wondered if they had gone with her when she’d had to take care of certain biological needs. If they had stood guard. If they had made her feel humiliated. It heated the blood in his veins. Made him feel hungry for revenge. But he couldn’t follow the feeling. Emotion didn’t reign in his life. Not now. Emotion lied. Purpose did not.

      And it was purpose he had to follow now, no matter the cost.

      “I think very little about you, actually. At least, about you as a person. Right now, you are an obstacle. And one that is making me late.” He’d been contacted by one of his men. There was an ambassador Rycroft, a crony of his uncle’s who was anxious for a meeting. Zafar was about as anxious for it as he was for a snakebite, but he supposed that was his life now.

      Meetings. Politics.

      “Excuse me?” She stood now, her legs shaky, awkward like a newborn fawn’s. “I’m making you late? I didn’t ask to be kidnapped. I didn’t ask for you to buy me.”

      “Ransomed. I ransomed you.”

      “Whatever, I didn’t ask you to.”

      “Be that as it may, here we are. Now get out, I need to take the tent down.”

      She shot him a deadly glare and walked out of the tent, her chin held high, her expression haughty. She looked like a little sheikha. A pale little sheikha who would likely wither out here in the heat.

      “I have jerky in my saddlebags,” he said.

      “Mmm. Yay for dry salted meat in the heat,” she said, clearly not satisfied to look at him with venom in her eyes. She had to spit it, too.

      For all her attitude, she went digging through the bags, and as soon as she found the jerky she was eating it with enthusiasm. “More water?” she asked.

      “In the skin.”

      He continued deconstructing the tent while she drank more water and ate more food. For a woman who was so tiny, she didn’t eat delicately.

      “Did they feed you?”

      “Some,” she said, between gulps of water. “Not enough, and I was skeptical of it. So I only ate when I couldn’t stop myself.”

      “Poisoning you, or drugging you would have served no purpose.”

      “Probably not, but I was feeling paranoid.”

      “Fair enough.”

      “But you won’t hurt me, will you?” she asked, almost more a statement than a question, pale eyes trained on him.

      “You have my word on that.”

      He would not harm a woman. No matter her sins. Even he had his limits. Though he might see a woman thrown in jail for the rest of her life, but that was an entirely different woman. A different matter.

      “I didn’t think you would. That’s why I slept.”

      “How many days?”

      She shook her head. “I don’t know. I was afraid to close my eyes because who knew what might happen. But it only makes things worse. It makes you...think things that aren’t real, makes it all blur together and then...it’s all scary enough without the added