Bound To Her Desert Captor. Michelle Conder

      ‘Yes. Look, I’m not answering any more of your questions until you answer mine.’ She planted her hands on her hips, inadvertently widening the neck of her robe. ‘Why are you so interested in my brother?’

      Dragging his gaze up from her shadowy cleavage, he savagely tamped down on his persistent libido. ‘He has something of mine.’ His jaw clenched as he wondered how Milena was. Whether she was okay, or if she was in trouble. If she needed him.

      ‘He stole from you?’

      The shock in her voice pulled his mouth into a grim slash. ‘You could say that.’

      * * *

      Regan noted the subtle shift in his muscles when he answered her, the coiled tension that clenched his jaw and his fists at the same time. Again she thought of a mountain lion ready to spring. Whatever her brother had taken it was important to this man. And that, at least, explained his interest in Chad. But, while her brother had gone through a couple of rough years after their parents died, he wasn’t a bad person. He was smart, much smarter than her, which was why she had worked so hard to make sure he finished high school, finally fulfilling his potential with a university degree in AI at the top of his class. An achievement that had brought him to this country that was, from the little she had seen, both untamed and beautiful.

      Much like the stranger in front of her who left her breathless whenever he trained his blue gaze on her as if he was trying to see inside her. Possibly she hated that most of all; the way her body responded to his with just a look.

      He was watching her now and it took all her concentration to ignore the sensations spiralling through her. If he hadn’t touched her before, grabbed her and held her hard against him it might have been easier.

      Regan’s nipples tightened at the memory of his arm brushing over her. He was built like a rock, all hard dips and plains that had been a perfect foil for her own curves. And she was in a hotel room alone with him. A man who outweighed her by about a hundred pounds.

      ‘It wasn’t Chad,’ she said fiercely, forcing her mind back on track.

      ‘It was.’

      ‘My brother isn’t a thief,’ she said with conviction. ‘You’ve made a mistake.’

      ‘I don’t have the luxury of making mistakes in my line of work. Which I have to get back to. Where’s your phone?’

      ‘Why do you want my phone?’

      Thick black lashes narrowed so that the blue of his eyes was almost completely concealed. ‘I’ve humoured you enough, Miss James. Where is it?’

      He uncoiled from the sofa, all latent, angry male energy, and she instinctively stepped back. He noticed, causing her temper to override her anxiety. ‘First tell me who you are. You owe me at least that for scaring the life out of me before.’

      ‘Actually I don’t owe you anything, America.’ His gaze travelled over her with blatant male appraisal. ‘I am the King of Santara, Sheikh Jaeger Salim al-Hadrid.’

      ‘The King?’ Regan clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. The man might have an expensive-looking haircut, now that she could see it without the headdress he’d worn earlier, but with his dark clothing and scuffed boots he looked more like a mercenary than a king. And then another thought struck. Had he been hired to kill Chad? Did he think she would inadvertently lead him to her brother? ‘I doubt that. Who are you really?’

      She saw instantly that laughing at this man was the wrong thing to do. His blue gaze pinned her to the spot, his body going hunting-still. ‘I am the King,’ he said coldly, taking a step towards her.

      ‘Okay, okay.’ Regan held her hand out to ward him off. ‘I believe you.’ She didn’t but he didn’t need to know that. As long as he left—and soon—that was all she needed him to do.

      She forced her brain to forget about the perfect symmetry of his face and start thinking more about surviving. He was clearly a madman—or a potential killer—and she was alone with him in her room.

      Fresh fear spiked along her spine. She tried to remember that everyone said she had a gift for communicating but this was no recalcitrant seven-year-old with a smartphone hidden beneath his desk.

      ‘You think I’m lying?’ he said softly.

      ‘No, no.’ Regan rushed to assure him, only to have him bark out a harsh sound that was possibly laughter.

      ‘Unbelievable.’

      He shook his head and Regan briefly measured the distance from her to the door.

      ‘Too far,’ he murmured, as if reading her mind. Probably not difficult, since she was staring at the door as if she was willing it to open by itself. Which she was.

      ‘Look—’

      He moved so quickly she barely got one word out before he was in front of her. ‘No more questions. No more games. Give me your phone or I’ll tear everything apart until I find it.’

      ‘Bathroom.’

      His eyes narrowed.

      ‘I was taking a shower when you turned up,’ she said. ‘I like to play music while I’m in there.’

      ‘Get it.’

      Nearly demanding that he say ‘please’, Regan decided that the best thing she could do was to stay quiet. The sooner he got what he was looking for, the sooner he would leave.

      Moving on wooden legs, she walked towards the bathroom, coming up short when he followed her. Staring back at him in the bathroom mirror, she saw just how big he was, his wide shoulders filling the doorway and completely blocking out the view of the room behind him.

      Their eyes connected and for a brief moment awareness charged the air between them, turning her hot. Flustered, she dropped her eyes and picked up her phone. She handed it to him, crossing her arms over her chest in a purely protective gesture.

      ‘Password?’

      Heat radiated from his body, surrounding her, and she wished he’d move back. ‘Trudyjack,’ she said grudgingly.

      ‘Your parents’ names?’ He gave her a bemused look. ‘You might as well have used ABC.’

      Regan’s eyes flashed to his. How did he know they were her parents’ names? How did he know so much about her?

      ‘Who are you?’ she whispered, frightened all over again.

      ‘I told you. I am the King of Santara. I knew everything about you less than an hour after your plane landed in my country.’

      Regan swallowed hard and pressed herself against the basin behind her. Could he really be who he said he was? It didn’t seem possible, and yet he did have an unmistakable aura of power and authority about him. But then so did killers, she imagined.

      She watched him scroll through her contact list and emails, his scowl darkening in the lengthening silence.

      ‘Chad’s phone is switched off,’ she said, unable to keep her vow of silence from moments ago. She couldn’t help it. She’d never been good with silences and when she was nervous that only became worse. ‘I know because I’ve tried to call him daily.’

      ‘He doesn’t have his phone with him.’

      ‘Then what are you searching for on my phone?’

      ‘A burner number. An email from an unknown source.’

      ‘How do you know he doesn’t have it with him?’

      Ignoring her question, he asked another one of his own. ‘Does he have a second phone?’

      Regan frowned. Why would Chad not take his phone with him? His phone was his lifeline. ‘No. But I wouldn’t tell you even if he did.’

      His blue eyes melded with hers, a zing of heat landing low in her