Bound To Her Desert Captor. Michelle Conder

together. They must have been snapped by one of the patrons in the hotel, the camera perfectly capturing the moment she had discovered he was the King: her eyes wide, lips softly parted, wild mane cascading down her back like a silken waterfall. The next was right before she’d fainted. Jag had tangled his fingers through her hair to cup the nape of her neck, his other hand tight around her waist. Her face had been upturned, her mouth inches from his own. Would those pink lips have tasted as pure and sweet as they looked? Would the skin of her abdomen feel as soft beneath his fingertips as the nape of her neck? Would—?

      Tarik cleared his throat. Jag inhaled deeply, uncomfortably aware that his trousers were fitting a little snugger than they were before. What the hell was wrong with him?

      ‘Fortunately they were taken down before any damage was done,’ Tarik informed him. ‘And the woman’s name was not discovered. But I thought you should be informed.’

      ‘Of course I should be informed.’ He glanced at the images again, an idea forming in his mind at rapid speed. If he was going to detain Regan James until her brother returned then by damned he would make her useful to him. ‘Republish the photos.’

      ‘Your Majesty?’

      ‘Make sure her name is attached and that the images are picked up by the international Press. If the sight of her in my arms doesn’t bring her brother out of the woodwork, I don’t know what will.’

      Tarik looked at him as if he wanted to protest but Jag wasn’t in the mood to listen. He wanted a hot meal, a cool shower and a peaceful night’s sleep. Since meeting her the American woman had interfered with the latter; now it seemed she would be interfering with the first two as well.

      * * *

      Regan’s stomach grumbled loudly in the silent room and she pressed her palm against her belly. ‘It’s been one day,’ she told her objectionable organ. ‘People can survive a lot longer than that without food, so stop complaining.’

      She didn’t know exactly how long a human being could survive without food, but she recalled various movies about survival and knew it was more than a day.

      Mind you she was starving and her errant brain advised her that food would help to keep her strength up. And that the arrogant ruler of Santara wouldn’t care about her eating habits anyway.

      But it wasn’t just the lack of food bothering her. It was the boredom and worry. She’d come to Santara to make sure Chad was okay. Not only was she not doing that but she wasn’t doing anything at all. She’d never had so much time on her hands and she was going crazy. The first day she had kept herself busy taking photos of the amazing garden suite she was imprisoned in; the arched Moorish windows, the Byzantine blues and greens that were used to colour the room and the amazing studded teak doors, the one keeping her locked in being the most beautiful of all, which she refused to see as ironic in any way.

      Then there was the garden with the swaying palm trees, and deep blue tiled pool. The whole place was stunning and she itched to download her images onto her laptop and play around with the lighting and composition. If she’d been in this magical place under any other circumstances she doubted she’d want to leave.

      But more than that she wanted to see the King again. Not because she wanted to see him per se, but because she wanted to know if he had an update on Chad. She hadn’t realised when she’d made the choice to leave her hotel room that she’d be swapping one prison for another. Perhaps if she hadn’t been so tired and strung-out, if he’d given her more time to consider her options, she would have made a different choice. She certainly wouldn’t have thought about what it would feel like to kiss him!