Escape from Cabriz. Linda Lael Miller

of his hand and sat up so rapidly that the sleeping bag nearly slipped down to reveal her bare breasts. She held on to her virtue with one hand and used her teeth to tear open the little bag.

      Inside were roasted peanuts, and Kristin gobbled them down, thinking sadly of the spicy, scrumptious meals that were served at the palace.

      When she was finished she lay down again. “I wish I could floss.”

      “Thank you for sharing that,” Zachary replied in a sleepy voice.

      She resisted a fundamental urge to nestle close to him, not for love but for protection. Her voice was small. “Zachary?”

      “Hmm?”

      “Are there wild animals in the woods?”

      “Umm-hmm.”

      “Suppose they come after us? I mean, since we don’t have a fire or anything—”

      Zachary yawned. “Between the two of us, princess, we ought to be able fend off a squirrel attack. Now quit talking and go to sleep—tomorrow’s going to be a hard day.”

      Kristin wriggled farther inside the bag. It was made of some kind of space-age material; although it was thin and light, she was perfectly warm. The ground was a little hard, though. “What do you suppose Jascha’s doing right now?”

      “Planning our executions. Go to sleep, Kristin.”

      She closed her eyes, but sleep was elusive. Every sound in the woods seemed to be magnified. “I left my camera at the palace,” she said with real despair.

      Zachary rolled onto his side, turning his back to her. She saw the familiar mole between his shoulder blades and barely resisted the urge to touch it with the tip of one finger.

      “Next time I carry you out of a prince’s bedroom,” he said between yawns, “I’ll give you a chance to pack a few things first.”

      The urge to touch Zachary’s mole was replaced by one to give him a kidney punch. “I had taken some very important pictures,” she told him, struggling to keep her voice even.

      His reply was a theatrical snore.

      Kristin rolled onto her stomach in a vain effort to get comfortable, and burrowed down deep into the bag. She fully intended to cry, feeling she had every right after the day she’d put in, but she was too tired. In five seconds she was asleep.

      She awakened hours later, in the depths of the night, to find herself cuddled close to Zachary, enfolded in his strong arms. For just a few moments she thought she was back in their apartment, that their breakup had never taken place.

      She sighed softly and ran one hand along his muscular thigh; he stirred in his sleep and spread one hand over her bottom, fitting her against him. The size and power of him jolted her back to reality and she jerked away, reaching blindly for her clothes, ready to spend the night sitting bolt upright if it came to that.

      But Zachary caught hold of her wrist and stayed her efforts. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said clearly.

      Kristin knew she couldn’t fight him; her strength didn’t begin to compare with his. If he were to imprison her under his weight and take her, there wouldn’t be a thing she could do to stop him.

      She was horrified when a thrill of pure lust moved through her, leaving her to shudder in its wake. The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Make love to me, Zachary.”

      His reply was like a slap in the face. “Not in a million years, princess. I don’t travel in your social circles.”

      Kristin didn’t know who she hated more—Zachary for cutting her to emotional ribbons or herself for inviting the intolerable, crushing pain of his rejection. To make her humiliation complete, she began to cry.

      “Oh, damn,” she sobbed miserably. “Damn!”

      To her utter surprise, Zachary took her into his arms and held her close. “Go ahead and cry,” he said raggedly, his lips moving against her temple. “If anybody’s earned the right, it’s you.”

      “I’m not crying because you wouldn’t make love to me!” Kristin wailed, clinging to her pride even in the depths of indignity. “Don’t you dare think that I am!”

      He chuckled and laid a light kiss on her hair. “Whatever you say, princess.”

      She cried until her grief was spent, her head resting on Zachary’s shoulder. Then she hiccuped. “Is there somebody—are you—?”

      “No,” Zachary answered. “I’m not involved with any particular woman.” He patted her bare bottom lightly.

      She swallowed. She didn’t know why it was important to tell Zachary, but it was. “I never slept with Jascha,” she said softly. “In fact, there was never anybody but you.”

      He didn’t reply, and Kristin couldn’t decide whether he didn’t believe her or he’d fallen asleep again. And she was afraid to find out.

      Pure exhaustion rendered her unconscious in the next few moments, and she awakened, hours later, to find herself alone in the sleeping bag. Zachary was up and dressed, and he tossed her another packet the moment she sat up.

      “Here’s your breakfast,” he said cheerfully.

      Kristin looked at the packaged food with a baleful expression. “What is it?”

      “Dried fruit. Keep your chin up, princess. Tonight we sleep in a cabin, with a real fire on the hearth.” He threw Kristin her clothes and calmly led the horses toward the stream.