was fighting back tears.
For him? No, she couldn’t know that he faced death tomorrow. It was a reaction to her kidnap. She’d been courageous—more courageous than most men he knew—projecting a calm façade, persevering in trying to find a way out when many would have given up.
‘Thoughtful,’ he amended.
She shook her head and silvery hair flared out from her ponytail. Ashraf’s hands curled tight. He knew an urgent desire to see that shimmering hair loose, so he could tunnel his fingers through it.
Temptation was a cruel thing. He couldn’t take what he wanted. Or ask for it. Not from this proud woman who still fought panic.
‘You’d better get some rest,’ he murmured, his voice gruff as he ruthlessly harnessed his baser, selfish instincts. ‘That’s what I intend to do.’
Ashraf lowered himself to the floor. He felt every muscle, every movement. His wrist had rubbed raw against the manacle and there seemed little hope of escape.
Yet despite the pain he felt a sense of exultation. He was still alive. He had no intention of meekly submitting to execution for Qadri’s pleasure.
Ashraf had spent his life fighting for his place, proving himself, ignoring the jibes. Showing his father that his disdain meant nothing. Thumbing his nose at him by building a public profile as a pleasure-seeking playboy, delighting in scandals that he knew would rock the old man.
Now he was back in Za’daq and everything had changed. Especially given his brother’s recent sacrifice. Ashraf’s belly contracted at the thought of Karim.
‘I’d feel better if you’d let me examine your wounds.’
Tori knelt beside him. So close he barely had to move to touch her face, her rounded breast. Too close for a man so severely tempted.
‘There’s nothing you can do in this light. Unless you have a torch and a first aid kit hidden somewhere?’
She pursed her lips and looked away, that silvery mane sliding over one shoulder.
Instantly he regretted his harsh response. He felt ashamed. It wasn’t concern for Karim that had made him snap, but his visceral sexual response to her. He wanted things he shouldn’t.
‘I’m sorry.’ It was the second time he’d apologised. ‘That was uncalled-for. You’re right, there’s some pain, but it’s not as bad as it looks.’ What were bruises and cuts in comparison to what tomorrow held for him? ‘But there’s something you could do.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Rest. We need to conserve our strength.’ He stretched out, stifling a groan as abused muscles throbbed.
After a long silence she finally followed his example, lying down nearby.
Ashraf didn’t sleep. Instead he focused on tomorrow, wondering if his security detail would find him before it was too late. Wondering if Basim was alive.
Finally a tiny sound caught his attention. Were Tori’s teeth chattering? The desert night had turned chill.
‘Come here, Tori. We’ll be warmer together.’
She lifted her head. ‘But your injuries...’
He reached out his untethered arm. ‘Snuggle against this side.’
When she did Ashraf bit his tongue against a sigh of satisfaction.
‘Put your head on my shoulder.’ She complied and he felt the gentle whisper of her breath through his torn shirt. Soft curves cushioned his side, silky strands of hair tickled his neck and her hand rested warm at his waist.
Ashraf lifted his hand to stroke her hair. It was silken. Like the softest cushions in the royal harem, spun in the days when the Sheikhs of Za’daq had had a bevy of concubines devoted to their pleasure.
Pressed against him from shoulder to knee, she felt...
His breath clogged in his lungs and a tremor started low in his body, vibrating out.
‘Am I too heavy?’
She shifted as if to move away and Ashraf rolled a little towards her, capturing her knee between his.
‘Just relax. You’re not hurting me.’
It wasn’t strictly true. He was definitely in pain. But the ache of his wounds and the indignity of the chain were eclipsed by another sort of pain. The taut stretch of a body fighting luscious temptation.
Ashraf’s mouth stretched in a mirthless smile. He’d spent years giving in to temptation. He wished he had more experience at resisting it. Perhaps that was why the tension he felt was so acute, the tug of war between honour and desire so fierce.
But honour won.
Finally he felt her breathing slow. She shifted, shimmying her hips as if to get more comfortable, and the friction was exquisite torture. But it was a torture he willingly bore.
Till she moved her arm and her hand accidentally brushed the evidence of his arousal straining against his trousers.
She froze.
Everything inside him stilled.
Ashraf swore they both stopped breathing.
Then his blood pumped again—harder, more urgent. His groin tightened. He had to force himself not to tilt his pelvis, seeking the feel of her palm against him.
‘It’s okay. You’re safe with me, Tori.’ Could she tell he spoke through gritted teeth? ‘Nothing’s going to happen.’
Silence. He waited for her to scurry away.
Then he knew he was hearing things when she said, ‘Maybe I don’t want to be safe with you.’
TORI HEARD THE words spill out and then Ash’s swift intake of breath. But she refused to play coy. Not when this might be her last night alive.
All afternoon she’d fought not to imagine what awaited her at the mercy of her kidnappers. Pain. Forced sex. Slavery.
A few hours ago she’d have said experiencing desire in her current situation was impossible. But that was before Ash. Before they worked together. Before his matter-of-fact courage bolstered her own flagging determination to be strong. Before the touch of his hand and his understanding made her feel connected to him. Before the undeniable flare of arousal ignited in her belly and saturated her skin till she burned up with it.
She knew their excruciatingly intense circumstances created the connection. Yet it wasn’t quite so simple. There was something about this man that spoke to her at a primal, instinctive level. Tori knew with a resolute certainty that defied explanation that this was more than a simple response to danger.
She’d never known such a potent link. As if they’d weathered a lifetime’s emotions in a couple of hours.
Never felt such an urgent need for a man.
Never felt so reckless or so absolutely sure of what she wanted.
‘Tori?’
His voice was deep and gravelly, his smooth tone banished by shock. Or, she hoped, by matching desire.
She moved her hand tentatively across his flat abdomen, resisting the urge to slip it lower and explore him more intimately. Iron-hard muscles clenched at her touch and a tremor racked his big body.
Tori’s heart clenched in sympathy. He was so vibrantly, emphatically alive. She couldn’t bear the thought that tomorrow—
Long fingers brushed the hair back from her face, the gesture achingly tender. Then, to her horror, he stroked his thumb across her cheek and smeared the hot track