Hidden In the Sheikh's Harem Page 6

  ‘No thanks to you,’ he teased his big brother, as he used to when they were boys.

  ‘Ever heard of the boy who cried wolf?’ Nadir arched a brow. ‘That will teach you for playing so many tricks as a kid.’

  Zach grinned. ‘Come chat while I get cleaned up.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Why not? The wedding isn’t for hours yet.’

  ‘No, but...’ Nadir shook his head, clearly distracted by something. ‘Here, take your niece and get acquainted.’

  He handed the wide-eyed child to him and Zach took her easily. She immediately gazed up at him and he nestled her close. He caught his brother’s expression and grinned. ‘Hey, don’t look so surprised. I’m okay with babies. They’re like women and horses—handle them with the utmost care and don’t do anything to rub them up the wrong way. Isn’t that right, habibti?’

  Zach immediately thought about the woman he’d left in the harem. He hadn’t exactly handled her with care but then he hadn’t exactly been in the mood to. Then there was the fact she was more street urchin than woman—except for those breasts and that mouth.

  ‘Don’t let her cut herself on that, and if she cries take her to Maab.’

  Zach smiled down at his niece, who was patting the scruff on his face. Hell, he must smell terrible, as well.

  ‘Where will you be?’ he asked, but Nadir had already taken off up a flight of stairs and Zach had a feeling he knew precisely where he was headed. He was about to call out that it was bad luck to see the bride on his wedding day but let it go.

  The baby in his arms gurgled and looked a little uncertain now that her father had disappeared but he gave her a reassuring smile. It was true what he’d said, horses and women loved him, and he saw no reason why a baby would be any different. He bounced her gently in his arms and stared into her big eyes. ‘So, kid, your parents are getting married?’ She stared back and he laughed. ‘A big step. Are you happy about it?’

  She touched his face again and made a litany of garbled sounds.

  ‘Great. Then I am, too.’

  He wandered around with her for a bit longer and then sought out Maab when she started fussing.

  ‘I think she’s hungry,’ he told the elderly woman.

  She smiled and cooed at his niece. Then she wrinkled her nose at him.

  ‘I know, I know.’ He backed away, ‘I smell like death warmed up.’ He could also do with some more food.

  Heading back to his private apartment, he organised a light meal to be sent up for after his shower and wondered if the spitfire in the harem was hungry. Then he grimaced. He’d known immediately that Nadir wasn’t happy about the situation and neither was he. He really didn’t have a firm plan as to what he was going to do with her but involving the local police wasn’t something he intended to do on his brother’s wedding day.

  No, she would just have to wait, and perhaps that would be a good thing. His fight wasn’t with her but with her father. He had no doubt the old man would be furious that he’d taken Farah, but if Mohamed was prepared to trade himself for her, Zach would let her go.

  An eye for an eye.

  That was his father’s way, not his, yet he was so damned angry right now he didn’t care. Fury replacing rational thought. But then being kidnapped, riding through a sandstorm and driving for nearly twenty-four hours would do that to a man. As would wanting to put his hands all over Mohamed Hajjar’s spitfire of a daughter. He wondered if she had already completed her bath. Wondered how she would smell when the stink of camel was cleaned from her body. An X-rated fantasy started playing out in his head. A fantasy that entailed both of them wet and naked while he tasted every delicious inch of her.

  By Allah, she wasn’t even his type.

  He scrubbed a wet hand over his face, twisting the shower nozzle to full-on hot, and soaped the stink from his own body. Maybe he’d find a woman he could spend the night with at the wedding. Doubtful, he knew, since he had no idea whether there would be any European women invited, but maybe he’d get lucky. Maybe there would be someone there who was interested in a night of pleasure and relaxation. And Zach was not being immodest in knowing he could give it to her. He was thirty-two and he enjoyed a healthy libido. A healthy libido he’d unhealthily left unattended for too long if his earlier lust for Farah Hajjar was any indication.

  He shut off the shower and shook the water from his hair. There would be no reason for him to have to see Farah Hajjar again after this so it was time to put her from his mind altogether. Something he was very happy about, he mused as he pulled on a clean robe and turned his mind to his brother’s wedding.

  Dressed and ready to go, Zach was surprised to find Staph knocking on his door. The old man twisted his hands together, his face marred with concern. Immediately Zach wondered if something had happened to Farah. Had she hurt herself? Had someone hurt her?

  ‘What is it, man?’ he snapped, uncharacteristically curt. ‘Speak up.’

  ‘It’s your brother, Your Highness. He has called off the wedding and asked that I send all the guests home.’

  Zach shook his head. So much for relaxing once he got home.

  Not wasting any time on niceties when he found Nadir seated behind his father’s desk, he strode into the room. ‘What are you doing?’

  His brother looked up at him and smiled as if there was nothing wrong. Which told Zach that something was drastically wrong. ‘Working. You look better.’

  ‘It’s amazing what a shower and a shave will do.’ Zach parked himself in the chair opposite the desk. ‘Why are you working? You’re getting married in a few hours.’

  His brother tried to stare him down but Zach was a master communicator who had always been sensitive to the nuances of others. He was also doggedly determined to get to the bottom of the problem before Nadir completely closed off and made a hash of everything.

  Thirty minutes later he’d managed to talk his brother down from the ledge. ‘I know you think you’re pretty clever,’ Nadir said. ‘But frankly I wouldn’t wish this sick feeling in my gut on anyone.’

  Zach shook his head. ‘I would love to care for a woman as much as you do yours,’ Again he thought of Amy Anderson and again Farah’s face annoyingly intruded. Frustrated that he didn’t seemed to have any control over his thoughts, he gritted his teeth. ‘Instead,’ he began, forcing a lightness into his tone he didn’t feel, ‘I have to figure out how to stop myself from being shackled to a living, breathing fire-eater who would as soon run me through with a kanjhar than look at me.’

  ‘I doubt her father will push it. He hates our family.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ Zach waved away Nadir’s concern, hoping he’d given his brother the right advice. He could think of nothing worse than a man spilling his guts to a woman only to have her politely reject his advances.

  Of course there would be nothing polite about Farah Hajjar’s rejection...and why the hell was he still thinking about her? ‘I can deal with Farah and her insane old man,’ he assured his brother. ‘You just do us both a favour and go get your woman.’

  ‘Prince Zachim!’ At the sound of Staph’s breathless cry and harried appearance in the doorway, Zach frowned. Surely he wasn’t about to tell him that the sky had fallen in? ‘You need to come quick.’ Staph drew in another life-saving breath and Zach thought about reminding him that he was too old to be running around the palace like a man half his age. ‘The woman you put in the harem has disappeared.’

  Zach immediately stilled. ‘Disappeared?’ He frowned. ‘That’s impossible. I’ve put an experienced guard on the door.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ Staph panted. ‘He can’t find her.’

  Stunned, Zach let off a list of expletives that would have caused his delicate mother to faint if she’d heard him. Surely a slip of a woman like Farah couldn’t have bested him?

 
His brother made a comment but Zach didn’t hear it. Within minutes he had rounded up his most trusted guards and was halfway to the harem.

  CHAPTER SIX

  FARAH STOPPED INSIDE a shadowed doorway to collect herself and get her bearing amidst the labyrinth of busy city streets and buildings. Initially she’d thought there would be no chance of escaping the arrogant prince but in the end it had been remarkably easy.

  A workman’s forgotten extension ladder in the garden had provided the necessary equipment for her to scale the high wall, and the preparations for some big celebration at the palace had added the perfect cover. In her freshly laundered abaya, Farah had looked like any other servant going about her business, or ending her shift with a bunch of others as they headed out of the palace grounds.

  Now, standing on a busy street corner, her only goal was to get as far away from the prince as she could and back to her father. First, though, she had to navigate the hot, noisy, dusty city. Glancing at the position of the sun she decided to head north and started zigzagging her way through the moving sea of bodies around her.

  She knew that asking for help wasn’t an option. She had a feeling if she tried to hitch a ride from a passing motorist he’d probably take her to the police. And what would she tell them—that the Prince of Bakaan planned to use her as bait to bring her father out to charge him with kidnapping? Not going to happen.

  Glancing left and right, Farah hurried down a narrow walkway with high buildings on either side and found herself in a large, quiet square that gave off a bad vibe. She kept the scarf on her head pulled firmly forward and moved with purpose in case anyone tried to stop her.

  ‘Hot afternoon for a stroll, Miss Hajjar.’ That deep, taunting voice she had grown to hate had her swinging round towards a nearby alley. Squinting into the shadows she could just make out the prince’s imposing shoulders before he stepped into the sunshine. ‘I have to confess I usually prefer to stay indoors when it’s this hot.’

  Farah’s body temperature just grew a little hotter. He’d found her! How was that possible? She was sure no one had noticed her leave and as far as the maid was concerned she was planning to have a sleep. Frustration zinged through her as he leant one shoulder lazily against the sandstone wall of a building, as if they were two friends meeting at a planned rendezvous. But they weren’t. They were sworn enemies and this time she was ready for him. This time she would not be caught off guard by the shape of his horrible mouth that looked even more sinfully seductive in his cleanly shaven jaw.

  Oh, dear Allah, but he was attractive!

  Her lower body clenched alarmingly, her breathing erratic, and she knew it wasn’t just from the adrenaline speeding through her body at the presence of danger. It was him. He did things to her, stirred things up inside her, she didn’t want to think about.

  Pushing that aside, she forced her attention away from her body and back to the tautly honed male that she knew was tensed to strike despite his relaxed stance. He was dressed in a black dishdasha, his freshly shaven jaw doing nothing to make him look more civilised than the unshaven version. In fact he looked even more ruggedly handsome, every inch the powerful male in control of his surroundings. He drew her like the devil himself and a frisson of helpless fear went through her as he silently surveyed her.

  The feeling made her so angry she drew the sword she gripped tightly in the folds of her dress before she could think better of it. ‘If you take another step, you’ll regret it,’ she warned.

  He glanced at her weapon and raised an amused eyebrow. ‘Is that so?’

  By Allah, his insolence was insulting and she unconsciously shifted into a purely combative stance. She wasn’t stupid enough to think that she could win a real contest with him—he dwarfed her in height and breadth—but maybe, just maybe, she could take him by surprise and land him on his backside long enough to dash through the maze of streets that led back to the busy souk. There she could blend with everyone else and disappear in the sheer volume of human bodies.

  As far as plans went, it wasn’t much of one, but since giving up wasn’t an option either she held her ground.

  ‘Did you know,’ he drawled, inspecting his fingernails as if every one of his senses wasn’t attuned to her slightest movement. ‘There are at least twenty-five ways to kill a person with your bare hands?’

  No, she hadn’t known that. ‘Right now, I’d settle for just one.’ She held the sword tighter and waited for him to come at her. Instead he threw his head back and laughed.

  The sight and sound of his amusement disconcerted her because she’d been serious!

  ‘Put the sword away, Farah,’ he instructed softly, all pretence at relaxation over.

  Farah’s fingers flexed around the hilt. The way he said her name in that rough, sexy voice sent a sharp, sweet ache straight to her pelvis but she ignored it. ‘No.’

  His eyebrows climbed his forehead. ‘I was starting to think that you were smart, my little Zenobia. Are you about to prove me wrong?’

  She had trained with a few of her father’s respected bodyguards before he had put a stop to it. They’d soon see who wasn’t very smart. ‘I escaped, didn’t I?’ she taunted.

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. Good. An angry man made more mistakes than a rational one.

  ‘My guards found you.’ His eyes fell to the glint of the sun shining off the sharp blade of her rapier.

  Farah curled her lip. ‘Your guards are incompetent. I doubt they could find a particle of dust in a sandstorm. Perhaps they are poorly trained.’

  The muscle flickered again in his jaw and a small smile threatened to curve her lips at how easily she got to him. He’d been lucky when he’d grabbed her at her father’s camp. He wouldn’t be so lucky this time.

  ‘It’s not a good idea to prod an angry lion,’ he drawled as he pushed away from the wall. ‘They tend to bite.’

  A shiver snaked down Farah’s spine at the warning implicit in that drawl; his voice was deep and melodious, as if he were paying her a grand compliment. ‘I think you got lucky coming upon me now,’ she challenged. ‘If your men had truly found me, why didn’t they take me?’

  ‘They were ordered not to.’

  ‘Why?’ Farah tensed as he took another step toward her, the overhead sun highlighting his chiselled features.

  The square behind her was deathly quiet but she didn’t take her eyes off the prince to find out why. Nothing was more dangerous to her right now than this man. She raised her sword in preparation to strike, sweat making her palms slippery. ‘Were you afraid they’d get hurt?’

  ‘No.’ He circled to her right and she pivoted on her slippered feet to follow him. ‘I was afraid you would.’

  His black robes billowed as he prowled around her and she knew beneath the soft trousers his strong thighs would be tensed to spring at her.

  ‘Put the sword down. You won’t win this battle.’

  Farah didn’t say anything but her keen eyes caught movement on the rooftop above him so she knew that they weren’t alone. She let her lip curl into an insolent sneer. ‘Need help to bring in one woman, Prince Zachim?’

  ‘Oh, I think I’ve already proven that I don’t need help bringing you in, little cat.’

  ‘Ha!’ She was scornful. ‘You got lucky the first time. You caught me by surprise.’

  ‘Really?’ His teeth sank into his fleshy bottom lip as his gaze dropped to her mouth, telling her more than words that he knew exactly what had distracted her the first time. ‘Who’s to say it won’t happen again?’

  ‘Me,’ she snapped, humiliated by her own weakness where he was concerned. Why, oh, why did her body find his so damned fascinating? It made no sense at all.

  The cumbersome abaya dragged around her legs as she shifted to keep him in sight. If she got the chance she was going to have to toss modesty to the wind
and lift her skirts to try and outrun him. ‘I know you have a sword on you.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Draw it or get out of my way.’

  ‘I’m not going to fight you.’

  ‘Afraid?’ she challenged.

  He smiled. ‘Give it up. We both know you have no chance of beating me.’

  Farah stilled. His voice was so controlled, so knowing. He was calling her bluff, damn him, and a deep desire to do the opposite, a deep desire to show him, turned her muscles hard. For a brief moment she indulged in the reckless fantasy of besting him, of being the one to bring the mighty Prince of Bakaan and his monumental ego to his knees. Could she do it?

  ‘I can take you,’ she said, twisting the sword in a few expert loops, testing it for weight and balance. It wasn’t a great piece of craftsmanship but it was better than nothing.

  A slow smile spread across his face. ‘Now, that I’d like to see.’

  Oh! She caught the not so subtle innuendo in his tone and lunged at him, hoping to catch him off guard, realising too late that that was exactly what he’d wanted her to do.

  Moving with impressive speed for a man his size, he dodged her blade and she heard the hiss of metal against leather as he unsheathed his own. Adrenaline raced through her veins and charged her body. This was what she needed—a good bout of sparring to rid her of all the tension, fear and worry that threatened to swallow her whole.

  She charged him again and brought her sword crashing down against his as hard as she could. She didn’t let up and the clash of steel was the only sound ringing in the small empty square around them. Although, as to that, a thousand spectators could have been watching and she wouldn’t have noticed.

  The adrenaline seemed to give her added strength, but even so she couldn’t detect any weakness in him that would give her an advantage.

  ‘Cease this, Farah,’ he ordered, using his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow.

  Distracted by the sight of his muscular forearm it was she who was caught off guard when his sword unexpectedly came down over hers with so much force her teeth rattled.