Modern Romance Collection: December 2017 Books 1 - 4. Эбби Грин

her earlier condition, she now felt astonishingly normal. She would have to thank Azrael. Had she thanked him? She wasn’t sure. But he deserved thanks for defying her worst expectations and coming out into the desert to find her and rescue her. So, where was he?

      She sat up, disconcerted to discover that her breasts were bare but relieved she was still wearing her knickers. She was lying on some sort of old rug that smelled a little musty and her dress had been laid over her like a sheet. In haste she pulled it on over her head and scrambled upright, extracting her hair and smoothing it down in an effort to control her curls. Only then when she turned her head did she see the flickering shadows at the far end of the cave where a small fire burned and a dark figure sat, his back turned to her. She hastened to shove her feet back into her sneakers.

      As she trod over the sandy floor of the cave she became aware of a low rumbling sound and her brow pleated. ‘What’s that noise?’ she asked.

      ‘The sandstorm is moving in.’ Azrael turned his head, his bold bronzed profile etched against the leaping flames. ‘I had to find you before it hit and we can’t return to the fortress until it’s over.’

      ‘Is a sandstorm that dangerous?’

      ‘Some of them.’ Azrael watched her move past him to head round the corner into the front section of the cavern, which was open to the elements. ‘Don’t try to go outside,’ he warned her.

      Molly nervously skirted the giant black stallion tethered there and headed for the dark entrance to stare out in consternation at the thick brown band on the skyline that was already blotting out the sun and making late afternoon dark as night. A strong wind plastered her dress back against her body and made it impossible to stand her ground and, even worse, there was dust on the wind. A horrible choking cloud of dust engulfed her, flying into her mouth and her eyes until she retreated hurriedly from her viewpoint.

      ‘Couldn’t you have warned me what it would be like out there?’ Molly complained, shaking her hair and dress out to free them of dust and then wiping at her gritty face in disgust, grateful when Azrael passed her a water bottle.

      Azrael, who had not put his head cloth back on, raised a satiric black brow at the question. ‘Would you have listened to me? I think you prefer to reach your own conclusions.’

      Molly pursed her lips in acknowledgement as she folded down on her knees on the other side of the fire. She knew she was stubborn, didn’t need reminding of the fact and was well aware that she would never have ended up in her current predicament had she been of a more malleable disposition. ‘I’ve had to rely on my own judgement for years,’ she said defensively. ‘I live alone.’

      ‘You have no family?’

      ‘No...well, I have my grandfather but he has dementia now and he’s in a care home because he can’t be left alone while I’m at work. My mother died when I was very young and my father, a few years ago,’ she told him. ‘And you? Any family apart from Tahir?’

      ‘No parents alive either. I have Tahir’s father, who was once my stepfather, but it is not a family relationship since my mother’s death. I try, however, to maintain good relations with him because his country is on our border,’ he admitted bluntly. ‘And sometimes it is a struggle to maintain even that because his outlook differs so much from mine.’

      ‘In what way?’ Molly questioned curiously.

      ‘Quarein has lately cracked down on the freedoms of their minorities and some of those affected have fled over the border to claim refugee status here in Djalia. Despite his many other sins, the former dictator did not persecute minorities,’ Azrael explained with a wry quirk of his sculpted lips. ‘Sadly, Tahir’s father, Prince Firuz, fiercely disapproves of Djalian tolerance, but it is what my people want, and when I took the throne I promised to protect the freedoms of all Djalian citizens. Our refugees fall into the same category.’

      ‘I think being all-inclusive is good,’ Molly said thoughtfully.

      ‘But that has costs as well,’ Azrael pointed out ruefully. ‘Every decision leads to a reaction, and not always the one I want or expect.’

      ‘So, being a king isn’t all rainbows and kittens?’ Molly quipped.

      ‘No, it’s hard work and no fun,’ Azrael admitted grimly. ‘And I worry constantly about making a mistake that could damage my country.’

      ‘And then Tahir kidnapped me and dropped you in it,’ Molly commented softly, strangely touched by his honesty about what it was really like to be a glorious leader.

      Looking very sombre, Azrael nodded. In the firelight, his black hair had the glossy, iridescent sheen of a raven’s wing, feathering round his shoulders, framing that beautiful face of his, his cheekbones smooth cut and sharp as bronzed blades. But he was so serious, so incredibly serious, Molly registered with intense frustration. If he had a lighter side to his nature, he never showed it and she had yet to see him smile.

      ‘Smile...’ she urged helplessly.

      ‘Why?’ Azrael asked baldly. ‘There is nothing to smile about.’

      Molly laughed, easy humour tilting her full lips into a helpless grin. ‘You can be such a misery. But look at us... I would have died out there if you hadn’t found me. And you rescued me, for which I shall be grateful for ever. I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re both safe...even cosy,’ she selected, indicating the leaping flames of the little fire with a playful gesture. ‘You’ve got plenty to smile about now.’

      ‘Are you grateful enough to drop the idea of prosecuting my brother?’ Azrael shot at her, fighting the disturbing truth that her easy grin was captivating and made her eyes sparkle while the reflection of the flames picked out amazing rich copper tones in her wonderful hair. He could not afford to be sidetracked by his natural male instincts.

      Her grin immediately died. ‘I’m sorry, no...and that wasn’t a fair question. I thought we were talking off the record and I let my guard down... I was trying to be friendly,’ she extended uncomfortably.

      ‘I’m never off the record,’ Azrael admitted flatly, while on another level he was trying to suppress he was wondering exactly what ‘friendliness’ encompassed in her parlance.

      During his six short months in London the year before, he had met women who offered him sex as casually as a handshake and as freely as if he were offering a workout at the gym. It had been a learning experience that had sent him from initially shocked to ecstatic and, finally and surprisingly, to a kind of repugnance he couldn’t adequately explain. He didn’t know whether it was his upbringing or some innate conservative streak somewhere inside him, but he had discovered that careless intimacy was a challenge for him. That was why he had considered getting married. But marriage would bring other difficulties and he thought he had enough to deal with without inviting more problems into his already very demanding life.

      ‘That’s unhealthy,’ Molly told him without hesitation.

      ‘No, it is a fact,’ Azrael shot back at her coolly. ‘I am who I am and I can’t change that or step back from it when it suits me. Everything I do reflects on my status and I will be judged for it.’

      Molly tossed her head in dismissal. Her copper ringlets danced round her flushed cheeks, her temper beginning to spark in the face of his relentless gravity. ‘I’ll be honest too, then. I very much resent your continuing apprehension on your brother’s behalf. I didn’t ask to be in this situation. He put me in it and he planned the kidnapping, which is even worse,’ she argued.

      Even before she had finished speaking, Azrael unfolded with angry speed from his seat on the sand. He moved so fast that she blinked, her attention unerringly caught by the seamless silent grace and tightly coiled energy that was so much a part of him. ‘We will not argue about that matter here and now,’ he stated, staring down at her with engrained arrogance.

      But Molly refused to be diverted. She had to plant her hands on the sand to rise upright again and it felt clumsy because she was ridiculously conscious of how much less agile