Master of the Desert. Susan Stephens

her thoughts had been solely concerned with survival. She hadn’t even paused to think who the yacht might belong to. Food, drink and a fast ticket back to the mainland had been her only concern. And if she had to steal a sleek, sexy racing yacht to get there, so be it.

      ‘I don’t have all day,’ he warned. ‘The least you can do is tell me why you’re here.’

      Even if she had been prepared to tell him the truth it was hard to think straight with his sexuality overwhelming her. Command was instinctive for him, while she was a girl used to getting her own way; theirs could be an explosive partnership.

      In the realms of fantasy only, Antonia cautioned herself firmly. She had been so absorbed in sleuthing it took her a moment to realise that he was holding out the most deliciouslooking baguette. Slathered in butter, it had a wedge of cheese inside it so thick it would normally have fed her for a week. And she hadn’t eaten for…She couldn’t remember.

      ‘Is that for me?’ She granted him the first smile of the day as she reached for it.

      He held it out of reach. ‘Talk first,’ he said brusquely. ‘You’ve had enough time to collect your thoughts. And if you can’t remember your own name…’ A quirk of his eyebrow was all it took to call her a liar. ‘Why don’t you start with your parents’ names?’

      ‘Both my parents are dead.’

      ‘And they had no name either, I suppose?’

      Had she expected sympathy? Antonia’s skin prickled at this evidence of a man who was cold and remote. It underscored what she had already sensed about him, that you wouldn’t want him as an enemy, and as she stared into his eyes she wondered if she had never met anyone so removed from human feeling. He unnerved her to the point that she felt like voicing her mother’s name, almost as if it were a talisman that could protect her. But her mother’s name was too precious for that, and so she attempted a little sob instead. ‘Please, let me eat first. I’m s-so hungry…’

      There was a moment of silence between them, and then, as if she had planned it, her stomach growled in anguish. ‘Please…’

      She must have paled or swayed, or gasped for breath; all three were possible when the man was so close to her. ‘Eat, then talk,’ he conceded brusquely, handing over the baguette.

      She dropped her gaze to hide her relief as she crammed the delicious roll into her mouth, going to heaven and back in the space of a couple of gargantuan bites.

      ‘Steady—drink something.’

      He took the top off a bottle of water, which she grabbed from him gracelessly and gulped down.

      ‘Take a few minutes to let the food settle.’

      His words might have seemed considerate, but the look on his face was not. He was telling her she had better not take longer than he expected to pull herself round. Brusque or not, his manner thrilled her. Why did it always have to be the pretty boys who wanted her, when what she wanted was a real man who could stare her in the eyes—a man like this man, who made her body tremble?

      Clearly, his thoughts were not running in tandem with her. Far from returning her interest, he simply dumped another blanket on top of her in passing. He couldn’t have been more unromantic if he’d tried, while her head was full of him touching her in quite a different way.

      ‘You need to sleep,’ he said brusquely. ‘You’re still in shock. We’ll talk later.’

      Sleep? Was he serious? He obviously thought he only had to issue a command and her eyes would close immediately. ‘Sleep here?’ She stared dubiously at the narrow bunk.

      ‘Yes, of course here,’ he rapped with a frown that would have sent grown men scurrying for cover.

      ‘I’m not sure I can sleep,’ she said honestly.

      ‘You can try,’ he insisted.

      She reluctantly dragged the blanket close. Like the man, it held the fresh tang of the ocean, and like him it felt wonderful against her skin. But as she curled up on the bunk all her bravado fell away, leaving just longing and loneliness. However formidable he seemed, and however much of a threat he posed, he had made her feel safe. And that was such a good feeling, Antonia reflected, biting back tears.

      She was physically and mentally exhausted, Antonia reasoned, impatient with herself for the weakness. Her emotions were in tatters, and no wonder, when in the short space of time she’d known him this brute of a man had turned her life plan on its head. She’d carried a mental image with her of returning to Rome in triumph after opening branches of Rigo’s charity across the Middle East. Eventually, she would return home and settle down—probably with some nice, safe man her brother had chosen for her. After which, life would go on pretty much as it always had, with lots of pats on the head for Antonia and not too many problems to worry her. And of course, her husband, like her brother, would adore her.

      But now…

      How was she supposed to lose her innocence to some lesser man now? The man had ruined her prospects of a nice, cosy future. And as for sex…

      ‘Relax,’ he insisted as she squirmed beneath the blanket. ‘No one’s going to touch you while I’m around.’

      Especially not him, she gathered.

      Throwing herself down on the bunk, she stretched out. Why had fate chosen to bring her to the attention of a man who had turned her world upside down with one contemptuous stare when he wasn’t even interested in her?

      Tugging the blanket over her head, she determined that out of sight would mean out of mind—but how was that supposed to happen when she could hear him moving about, and when even the sound of his steady pacing was starting to soothe her? Then incredibly, thanks to the man’s strangely reassuring presence and the gentle rocking of the boat, her eyes drifted shut and she fell asleep.

      His voice was muted, so he didn’t wake her as he issued orders to his Chief of Staff. The girl was sleeping soundly now, her blonde hair drifting in a curtain of gold to the floor. He turned away from that distraction to relay every detail his unexpected guest had been able to recall. When he ended the call, he went up on deck where a technicolour sky would soon darken to the impenetrable mantle of a desert night.

      Time had passed rapidly since the girl’s arrival, and as he paced the deck he realised that just the thought of her was enough to unsettle him. It was as if the two of them had created some unusual energy, almost as if together they possessed the power to forge some new force. Having been only too glad to turn his back on her, he now found he was impatient for her to wake up. He wanted to test that energy to see if she would be like all the rest—outwardly intriguing, but ultimately shallow.

      He remained alert while he paced, and realised now he was listening for her soft footfall, but all he could hear was the sigh of a restless sea and the rhythmical chirrup of the cicadas on shore. Leaning back against the mast, he allowed his thoughts to drift. They returned at once to the mystery girl—her clear, blue-green eyes hazed over with passion and the sight of her begging him for more…

      He pulled away from the mast, shaking his head like an angry wolf, as if that could dislodge her from his thoughts. He had already decided she was too young for him.

      But she was intriguing.

      The trill of the satellite phone provided a welcome distraction, until he learned the purpose of the call. He had ordered that all his late father’s palaces be aired and cleaned before being redecorated and opened to the public, and it appeared they had found a locked room today. When his comptroller of palaces went on to advise him that they hadn’t been able to locate a key to the room, a thought occurred to him. Was it possible the room had belonged to his father’s mistress? There were so many secrets where that woman was concerned.

      He commanded that they remove the door from its hinges—or break it down if they had to. Once they had gained access, if it proved to have been her lair, everything she had owned must be taken out and destroyed.

      She