Hidden In The Sheikh's Harem. Michelle Conder

that something was amiss. Other than a cursory glance, they didn’t question her. They trusted her. Trusted her, and she was about to let them down. A well of emotion rose up in her throat and self-pitying tears filled her eyes.

      ‘Stop here.’

      The prince’s words were low and with a start Farah realised they had already reached the horses. As if sensing her presence, her big stallion trotted over.

      ‘By Allah, he’s a monster,’ the prince murmured appreciatively.

      One of the men had put him in a halter and blanket to ward off the cold and as soon as he reached them he stretched his nose out to her, as if seeking a treat.

      ‘Yours?’

      She knew from the tone of his voice that he was going to steal him and she shoved at Moonbeam’s muzzle to try and push him away.

      At the same time a cry went up from across the camp. It was Amir calling her name; the prince tensed. Relief flooded Farah and she pushed harder at Moonbeam to get him to go. Typically male, he didn’t listen so she yelled at him.

      More shouts rung out around them and Farah could hear the heavy sound of feet pounding the sand as her father’s men rallied. Giving up all pretence that he was still captured, the prince shoved her through the gate, her scream lost on the driving wind. Then suddenly hard hands spanned her waist and her eyes snapped back to the prince’s. She saw a moment of indecision cross his face, then she was being lifted, and she instinctively raised her leg to swing it over Moonbeam’s neck before she thought better of it.

      Seconds later the prince vaulted on behind her and kicked her stallion into action. Being herd animals, the remaining horses fretted and the prince used this to his advantage, wheeling around behind them and forcing them out of the gate.

      Before she knew it they were in full flight and all Farah could do was grab Moonbeam’s mane as the prince reached around her for the halter and raced them straight into the dark heart of the incoming storm.

      Hours later, wet, filthy and exhausted, the prince stopped the now plodding horse. Farah would have slipped from Moonbeam’s back if the man behind her hadn’t tightened his arm around her waist, the steel-like muscles bunching beneath her breasts as they had so often done over the past few hours.

      Some time ago, when the storm had hit hard, he had stopped and pulled off his shirt to tie around Moonbeam’s eyes and nose to shield him from the worst of the swirling dust. He’d then cut the bottom of her tunic to make two coverings to keep as much of the sand off their faces, as well.

      Feeling wretched, with sand coating every part of her cold, wet body, Farah could have cried with relief when she glanced up to see a rocky incline in front of them.

      Jumping down from the stallion’s back, the prince reached up and tugged her off, unceremoniously dragging her and her horse under the shelter. It wasn’t much, just a narrow crevice really, but it was facing away from the wind. When he released her arm, she swayed and he held her while her legs worked to keep her upright.

      Carefully she unwrapped her makeshift headdress and shook it out. She tried to brush some of the sand from her body but she was so wet it only made her cold fingers sting. Instead, she used the torn fabric to brush over Moonbeam’s legs to offer him some relief. She could hear the prince shaking out fabric and presumed he had taken his shirt from around the stallion’s head. She knew his skin must be sore from where he’d been pelted by the storm.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly.

      ‘For what?’ His deep voice sounded beside her and she jumped because she hadn’t heard him move and couldn’t see a thing in the blackness.

      ‘For protecting my horse.’

      ‘If he had died, so would we,’ he bit out.

      Okay, so that cleared up any notions she’d had about him being thoughtful. About to move as far away from him as possible she let out a shriek when he put his hands on her shoulders and worked them down to her waist.

      Incensed at the invasion of her person, Farah slapped his hands away. ‘I told you I don’t have any more weapons.’

      ‘Where’s your mobile phone?’

      Feeling small and helpless compared to his size and strength, she shoved at his wide chest, thankful that it was now covered in fabric. ‘Why would I have a mobile phone when our village doesn’t have coverage?’

      He cursed and moved away from her. Farah let out a pent-up breath and gave a hollow laugh, her arms coming around her body to ward off the chill. ‘Swearing won’t help, and you only have yourself to blame, because your father refused to spend money on anyone but himself.’

      He ignored the jab and once again she heard the rustle of fabric.

      ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded as he pulled Moonbeam’s blanket off.

      ‘We need this more than he does.’

      ‘You can’t just take it off. He’ll freeze.’

      ‘He will not freeze. He has a thick coat of hair and he’s mostly dry. We are not.’

      As if on cue, another huge shiver wracked her body and she rubbed her arms. The wind howled outside their rocky respite but at least it didn’t cut right through her any more. Too tired to argue, she dropped to her knees on the hard ground.

      ‘You’re too close to the opening there. Come here.’

      How he knew her location was beyond her. ‘I’m fine.’

      ‘That wasn’t a request,’ he growled so close to her she jumped again.

      ‘I’m too tired to argue with you’ she snapped. ‘Just let me be.’

      ‘The way your father let me be?’

      Farah closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about why they were in this predicament because she knew her father had been wrong to do what he’d done, even if he did think his reasoning was solid. ‘Did I not just say I was too tired to—hey! Put me down!’

      ‘I too am tired, I’m also hungry and angry, so I would advise you not to test the limits of my patience because that ran out three days ago when your father refused to release me. He hasn’t had the courage to face me since.’

      ‘My father is not a coward!’

      ‘No?’ He placed her on the ground more gently than she expected, given the roughness of his hold. ‘So you condone his actions? Or perhaps you assisted him.’ When he sat beside her Farah automatically scooted sideways to get away from him but he grabbed her arm and yanked her back. Then he anchored her with his forearm and pulled her backwards until she was lying on her side with him plastered along her back, his knees pressing into the backs of hers.

      ‘I’m not sleeping with you!’

      He tugged the horse blanket over the top of them. ‘No, you’re not. You’re sleeping next to me. There’s a big difference, habiba, and believe me you would not be invited to do the former.’

      Farah felt her blood boil at his arrogance.

      ‘But there is only one blanket,’ he continued, shifting her even closer. ‘And, given that you can’t stop shaking, we need to share body heat to warm up. Relax and this will go a lot easier.’

      Relax? Farah couldn’t have been more tense if he’d pointed a loaded gun at her head. It had been a long time since she had been physically close to anyone and all this bodily contact was messing with her head. ‘This isn’t right.’

      ‘But kidnapping your prince is fine.’

      ‘Must you always have the last word?’ she grumbled.

      ‘Must you?’

      Not wanting to find anything remotely amusing about him, Farah curled herself into a tight ball to try to put distance between them. Self-sufficiency