Desert captives for one night

Bound forever by their unexpected baby

When desert prince Ashraf was kidnapped alongside geologist Tori, the desperation of their life-threatening situation led to passionate oblivion. Rescued the next day, Ash never knew Tori’s fate...but this powerful sheikh never stopped looking for her. Now he’s finally found Tori—and discovered she’s had his son! To claim them, Ashraf’s prepared to make Tori his queen...but can he offer more than his royal name?

Enjoy this intense hidden heir story...

Growing up near the beach, ANNIE WEST spent lots of time observing tall, burnished lifeguards—early research! Now she spends her days fantasising about gorgeous men and their love lives. Annie has been a reader all her life. She also loves travel, long walks, good company and great food. You can contact her at annie@annie-west.com or via PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

Also by Annie West

Seducing His Enemy’s Daughter

A Vow to Secure His Legacy

The Flaw in Raffaele’s Revenge

The Desert King’s Secret Heir

The Desert King’s Captive Bride

Contracted for the Petrakis Heir

Inherited for the Royal Bed

Her Forgotten Lover’s Heir

The Greek’s Forbidden Innocent

Passion in Paradise collection

Wedding Night Reunion in Greece

The Princess Seductions miniseries

His Majesty’s Temporary Bride

The Greek’s Forbidden Princess

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Sheikh’s Royal Baby Revelation

Annie West

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08819-0

SHEIKH’S ROYAL BABY REVELATION

© 2019 Annie West

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Note to Readers

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For the late-night laughter and plotting

just when I needed it!

Thank you AA, Bron, Kandy, Shaz,

Denise, Rachel and Reeze.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

ASHRAF WOKE TO the sound of a door slamming and the taste of blood in his mouth. Blood and dust.

He lay facedown, head and ribs burning with pain, the rest of him merely battered. Slowly he forced his eyelids open. He was in a dark room, lightened only by a spill of moonlight through a small, high window.

Then came rough voices using an obscure local dialect. Three men, he counted, walking away. He strained to hear over the merciless hammering in his head.

They’d kill him tomorrow. After Qadri arrived to enjoy the spectacle and pay them for the successful kidnap.

Ashraf gritted his jaw, ignoring the spike of pain in the back of his skull.

Of course Qadri was behind this. Who else would dare? The bandit leader had even begun to style himself as a provincial chief in the last years of Ashraf’s father’s rule.

The old Sheikh had moved slowly when dealing with problems in this remote province, the poorest and most backward in the country. He’d left Qadri alone as long as the bandit preyed only on his own people.

But Ashraf wasn’t cut from the same cloth as his father. The old Sheikh was dead and Ashraf had introduced changes that would see Qadri dispossessed.

He could expect no mercy from his captors.

Ashraf wasn’t naïve enough to believe Qadri would negotiate his release. The man would fight for his fiefdom the only way he knew: with violence.

What better way to intimidate poor villagers than to execute the new Sheikh? To prove that modernisation and the rule of law had no place in the mountains that had only known Qadri’s authority for two decades?

Ashraf cursed his eagerness to see a new irrigation project, accepting the invitation to ride out with just a local guide and a single bodyguard into an area that was supposedly now completely safe.

Safe!

His belly clenched as he thought of his bodyguard, Basim, thrown from his horse by a tripwire rigged between two boulders.

Ashraf had vaulted from his horse to go to him, only to be felled by attackers. There was little satisfaction in knowing they hadn’t overpowered him easily.

Was Basim alive? Ashraf’s gut clenched at the thought of his faithful guard abandoned where he’d fallen.

Fury scoured his belly. But fury wouldn’t help now. Only cold calculation. He had to find a way out. Or a way to convey his location to those searching for him.

His father had always said he had the devil’s own luck. It had been a sneering accusation, not a fond appraisal, but for the first time Ashraf found himself hoping the old man had been right. He could do with some luck. And the energy to move.

A slight scuffling broke his train of thought.

He wasn’t alone.

Ashraf refused to lie there waiting for another knockout blow.

Ignoring the pain that exploded through him at the movement, he rolled over and up onto his feet, only to stop abruptly, his right arm yanked back.

Spinning round, Ashraf discovered he was chained to a wall. Another turn, so swift his bruised head swam and pain seared his ribs. But with his back to the wall, his feet wide, he was ready to take on any assailant.

‘Come on. Show yourself.’

Nothing. No movement. No sound.

Then, out of the darkness, something gleamed. Something pale that shone in the faint moonlight.

His guard was blond?

Ashraf blinked. It wasn’t an hallucination.

Whoever it was, he wasn’t local.

‘Who are you?’ He switched to French, then English, and heard an answering hiss of breath.

English, then.

The silence grew, ratcheting his tension higher.

‘You don’t know?’ It was a whisper, as if the speaker feared being overheard.

Ashraf frowned. Had the blow to his head damaged his hearing? It couldn’t be, yet it sounded like—

‘You’re a woman?’

‘You’re not one of them, then.’ Her voice was flat, yet taut, as if produced by vocal cords under stress.

Stress he could understand.

‘By “one of them” you mean...?’

‘The men who brought me here. The men who...’ Ashraf heard a shudder in her voice ‘...kidnapped me.’

‘Definitely not one of them. They kidnapped me too.’

For which they’d pay. Ashraf had no intention of dying in what he guessed was a shepherd’s hut, from the smell of livestock. Though the sturdy chain and handcuff indicated that the place was used for other, sinister purposes. He’d heard whispers that Qadri was involved in people-smuggling. That women in particular sometimes vanished without a trace, sold to unscrupulous buyers across the border.

The pale glow came closer. Ashraf saw her now. Silvery hair, pale skin and eyes that looked hollow in the shadows. She swallowed and he made out the convulsive movement of her throat. Calm overlying panic. At least she wasn’t hysterical.

‘Are you hurt?’ he asked.

A tiny huff of amusement greeted his question. ‘That’s my line. You’re the one who’s bleeding.’

Ashraf looked down. Parting his torn shirt, he discovered a long cut, no longer bleeding. A knife wound, he guessed, but not deep.

‘I’ll live.’

Despite the playboy reputation Ashraf had once acquired, he’d done his time in the army. A stint which his father had ensured was tougher and more dangerous than usual. Ashraf knew enough about wounds to be sure he’d be alive when his executioner arrived tomorrow.

‘How about you?’

* * *

Tori stared at him, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time.

Except tears wouldn’t help. And she feared if she laughed it would turn into hysteria.

‘Just scrapes and bruises.’ She was lucky and she knew it. Her jaw ached where she’d been backhanded across the face but that was the worst. Despite the hungry gleam she’d seen in her captors’ eyes as they’d inspected her, they hadn’t touched her except to subdue her and throw her in here.

Looking at this injured man, she trembled, thinking she’d got off lightly. So far.

He’d been unconscious when they’d dumped him on the dirt floor. Either he’d put up a mighty fight or they had a grudge against him to beat him up like that.

She hadn’t had time to investigate how badly he was injured. His shirt was torn and stained and his head was bloody on one side. Even so, he stood tall. His ragged shirt hung from wide, straight shoulders and his dusty trousers clung to a horseman’s thighs. He looked fit and powerful despite his injuries. Under the grime he had strong-boned features that she guessed might be handsome, or at least arresting.

Would she see him in daylight or would they come for her before that? Terror shuddered down her spine and turned her knees to jelly. Panic bit her insides as she imagined what was in store for her.

‘Where are we?’ Like her, the stranger kept his voice low, yet something about the smooth, deep note eased a fraction of the tension pinching her.

‘Somewhere in the foothills. I couldn’t see from the back of the van.’ She wrapped her arms around her middle, remembering that trip, facing a grim stranger with a knife in his hand.

‘There’s a road?’ The man before her pounced on that.

‘Part of the way. I walked the last part blindfolded.’ Which was why her knees were rubbed raw after she’d stumbled and fallen time and again over uneven ground.

‘Is there a guard at the door?’

‘I don’t think so.’

She’d heard the men talking as they walked away. Even so she crept to the door, peeking through the gap between it and the wall. No one. She moved along the wall but it was surprisingly solid, with no chinks to peer through.

As if it had been used as a prison before.

Tori thought of the heavy chain that secured her companion and her stomach curdled.

‘There’s a light further away. A campfire, I think. But no one here as far as I can tell.’

Why would they bother? The door was bolted. Her companion was chained and she didn’t have as much as a pocket knife to use as a tool.

What wouldn’t she give for her geologist’s hammer right now? Designed for cracking rocks, the sharp end might prise open the chain and it would make an effective weapon.

‘What are you doing?’ He’d turned his back on her and she heard the rattle of metal links.

‘Testing this chain.’ There was a grunt, then a muffled oath.

She crossed to stand behind him. ‘You won’t pull it out,’ she whispered. ‘It’s fixed securely. Believe me.’

‘You’ve checked?’ His hunched shoulders straightened as he lifted his head and turned around.

Suddenly he was closer than she’d expected, towering above her. Her hissed breath cut the thick silence.

Only hours ago she’d been grabbed by strangers: big men who’d overpowered her despite her frantic struggle. Fear curdled her belly anew and adrenaline pumped hard in her blood, freezing her to the spot.

Yet as she stiffened the man stepped back towards the wall. Giving her space.

Logic said he wasn’t the enemy. Her abductors had kidnapped him too.

Tori sucked in oxygen and tried to steady her breathing. In the gloom she met his eyes. It was too dark to be sure but she’d swear she read sympathy in his face. And something else. Pity?

Because the fate of a woman abducted by violent men would be truly pitiful.

Tori stiffened her knees against the images she’d tried so hard not to picture. She couldn’t afford to crack up now.

‘Of course I checked.’ She made herself concentrate on the conversation, not her fear. ‘I thought if I could pry it loose I might use it as a weapon when they came back.’

‘One against three?’

Despite their desperate situation, Tori felt a throb of satisfaction at surprising him. ‘I won’t go down without a fight.’

‘It would be safer if you don’t resist.’

Tori opened her mouth to protest but he went on.

‘Three to one aren’t good odds. Wait till you’re alone with one of them. Someone will probably transport you elsewhere tomorrow.’

‘How do you know? What did they say about me?’ Her voice was harsh with fear.

He shook his head, then winced. The soft whisper that followed might have been in a language she didn’t know, but she knew a curse when she heard one.

‘I didn’t hear them mention you,’ he said finally. ‘But their leader arrives tomorrow. They’re expecting payment for their efforts then. They’ll leave us be until he arrives.’

Tori sagged, her knees giving way suddenly. She stumbled to the wall, propping herself against it. For hours she’d been on tenterhooks, expecting at any moment—

‘Are you okay?’ He moved closer before stopping, as if recalling her earlier recoil.

She nodded. When she opened her mouth to reply a jagged, out-of-control laugh escaped. She clapped a hand to her lips, hating the hot tears behind her eyes and the sensation that she was on the verge of collapse.

It was ridiculous to feel relief, hearing she was safe for tonight. She was still in terrible danger. Even so, her exhausted body reacted to the news by slumping abruptly.

Firm hands caught her upper arms as she sank, taking her weight and easing her descent to the floor.

His hands were big and hard, yet surprisingly gentle. Tori heard the clank of metal as he withdrew, hunkering before her.

‘Sorry.’ The word wobbled and she tried again. ‘I just...’ She looked up into dark eyes. ‘What else did they say? What are they going to do with us?’

Did she imagine that his expression turned blank? In this light it was impossible to tell.

‘Nothing about you.’ He paused, then continued slowly. ‘I have no proof, but I suspect they’ll take you over the border.’

Like a smuggled commodity? Tori bit her bottom lip. She’d heard stories of the illegal slave trade, particularly in women. Nausea rose as she contemplated where she might end up.

‘If that’s so there might be a chance to escape. Maybe some of them will stay here.’ Tori knew she was grasping at straws but it was better than giving up hope.

‘I can guarantee it.’ His tone grabbed her attention.

‘Why? What else did you hear?’

He shrugged those wide shoulders and sank cross-legged before her. Despite the heavy chain and his injuries he looked at ease. Strange how his air of confidence reassured her.

‘Their leader is my enemy. I think it fair to assume he’ll be more focused on me than you.’ There was a note in that deep voice that sounded almost like wry humour. Grim lines bracketed his mouth.

Suddenly Tori remembered the gesture one of their captors had made as he’d chained this man to the wall. One man had asked a question and another had laughed, a sound that had sent a chill skittering down her backbone. He’d said something sharp and dragged his finger across his throat in a gesture that crossed all languages. Death.

They were going to kill this man.

She should warn him.

Except even as she thought it she realised he knew. Tori read it in that stern face, a chiaroscuro masterpiece of male strength, and knew he wouldn’t surrender to fate. Not with that pugnacious set to his jaw.

Instinctively she reached out, her hand fleetingly touching his, feeling living warmth flow into her chilled fingers. ‘What can we do?’

For long seconds he surveyed her. Then gave another infinitesimal shrug. ‘Check for a way out.’

‘I’ve done that. It’s all I’ve done for the last five hours or so.’ That and try not to panic.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a hairpin?’

‘For picking the lock on your handcuff?’ Tori shook her head. ‘I don’t need hairpins with a ponytail.’

He watched the swish of her hair around her shoulders and something unexpected zipped through her. Something other than fear and despair.

Tori stilled.

‘And I unfortunately didn’t think to bring bolt cutters for the chain.’

She choked down a laugh. It was only mildly amusing, but in her emotional state any humour was a welcome break from constant fear.

‘The windows are too small even for you.’ He paused. ‘The roof?’

He rose in a single fluid motion that revealed enviable core strength and left Tori gawping. A short time ago he’d been unconscious.

‘Come.’ He extended his hand.

She didn’t know if it was the command in his tone or not, but a second later her hand was in his and he was drawing her up. They stood so close that she identified the tang of cinnamon and male, and the comforting smell of horse, before he stepped away, surveying the roof.

‘Here.’ He turned and beckoned.

‘What do you have in mind?’

‘Hands on my shoulders. I’ll lift you so you can check for a way out.’

‘But you can’t get out.’ Her gaze dropped to the manacle on his wrist.

‘That’s no reason for you not to try.’

That voice, as smooth and rich as her favourite coffee, warmed her as his gaze captured hers. Tori’s racing thoughts stilled. She felt a moment of communion, as if this stranger understood the guilt that made her protest even as the idea of escape made her thrill with excitement.

‘What’s your name?’

The question made her pause. What would it be like to hear him ask that in different circumstances? There was something about this man...the resonance of his deep voice, his inner strength in the face of adversity, his sureness...that drew her.

Her heart beat hard against her ribs.

‘Tori. And you?’

‘You may call me Ash.’

Before she could wonder at his phrasing, he continued.

‘If you can get onto the roof and away, there’s a chance you can raise the alert before daybreak.’

He didn’t have to spell out what would happen when day came. That captor’s slicing gesture was vivid in her mind.

‘But I don’t know where I am. Or where to go.’

Long fingers folded around her hand, steadying her. ‘You don’t have to know. Get away from the hut and the campfire. Stay low. When you’re a safe distance out, circle the camp. You’ll eventually come across the trail where you entered. Keep out of sight and follow the trail.’

‘And hope to find the road or a village?’

‘You have a better idea?’

Tori shook her head. It was their best chance. Possibly Ash’s only chance.

‘Let’s do this.’ She planted her palms on his shoulders, then sucked in a breath as he bent, wrapped his big hands around her and lifted.

* * *

It was probably only fifteen minutes before they admitted defeat. To Ashraf it felt like hours.

Frustrating hours, with that cursed chain curtailing his movements. They had only been able to explore one end of the roof and it was disappointingly sturdy.

The slashing pain across his ribs had become a sear of agony. His head pounded. Stiff muscles ached from boosting his companion high, then holding her up while she strained and twisted, trying to find a weakness in the roof structure she could exploit.

Physical exertion compounded with frustration at his helplessness. But it was another sort of torture, holding Tori.

Trying to ignore her rounded breasts and buttocks. Standing solid, holding her high, his face pressed to her soft belly as she heaved and twisted, trying to force her way through the roof. Feeling the narrowness of her waist, inhaling her female essence, fresh and inviting, despite the overlay of dust and fear.

Beneath the loose trousers and long-sleeved shirt she was all woman. Firmly toned, supple and fragrantly feminine.

By the time he lowered her for the last time and sagged against the wall his body shook all over. From reaction to his wounds. From fury at himself for allowing Qadri to get the better of him.

And from arousal. Flagrant and flaming hot.

Ashraf told himself it was the adrenaline high—a response to life-or-death danger. Naturally his reactions were heightened. His need to fight his way free. His primal urge was to defy death in the same way generations had done since the dawn of time, by losing himself in the comfort of a warm, willing woman. Spilling his seed in the hope of ensuring survival, if not for himself, then for the next generation.

‘Are you all right?’

She was so close her breath was a puff of warm air against his face.

‘I knew it was too much with your wounds. We should have stopped earlier. Are you bleeding again?’

A gentle hand touched his chest just above his wound.

‘Don’t!’ Ashraf grabbed her hand, flattening it against his chest. His eyes snapped wide and he found her staring up at him, clearly concerned. This close, he saw her eyes were pale. Blue? Grey? Maybe amber?

Realisation slammed into him.

She feels it too.

The tug of need. The connection between two people trapped and desperate. The powerful urge to find comfort in the face of impending death. For, even if she wasn’t being executed in the morning, Tori’s fate was dark.

‘Don’t fuss. I’m fine.’ He pulled her palm away from his body. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to relinquish her hand.

Because her touch brought unexpected comfort?

He was furious with himself for getting captured. Frustrated that, after all that had happened, maybe his life would end tomorrow and his father would have been right. The old man had said he’d never amount to anything. If Ashraf died within the first six months of his reign, with none of his changes cemented in place...

He released Tori and turned from her searching stare.

‘I’m not fussing.’

She drew herself up so her head topped his chin. Her little sound of frustration reminded him of his favourite falcon, fluffing up her feathers in huffy disapproval when he didn’t immediately release her for flight.

‘I apologise.’ He paused, surprised as the unfamiliar words escaped. ‘I’m not bleeding again.’ Hopefully. ‘It was kind of you to be concerned.’

‘Kind?’ She choked on the word and it hit Ashraf that she 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.’

CHAPTER TWO

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 of a tear she hadn’t even felt fall.

‘Ah, habibti.’

She heard the clink of metal as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her up against him. Soft words fell into her ears as his lips moved against her eyelids, cheeks and hair. The ribbon of words was lilting and beautiful, like the unexpected sound of a spring, bubbling up clear and life-giving in a desert.

Greedily Tori drank in the sound as she absorbed his tender caresses. Blindly she tilted her head, seeking his lips, letting her leg fall across his thighs as she sought purchase to climb up his tall body.

‘You have my word, Tori. If there’s a way to save—’

Opening her eyes, she pressed her hand to his lips. ‘Don’t.’

She breathed deep, feeling her breasts push against him. Was she too heavy? But when she made to pull back the warm steel of his embrace held her.

‘Don’t talk about tomorrow. Please. I only want to think about tonight.’

She was so close that even in the gloom she saw the shift of muscles as he clenched his jaw. His face was strongly made, with bold lines against which the sensuous curve of his lips seemed shockingly desirable. Through the blood and dust she thought she imagined laughter lines near his eyes, but the grooves around his mouth spoke of weighty concerns.

The man’s injured. He’s likely to die tomorrow. Despite that, he’s done his best to stop you falling apart. Of course he has more on his mind than gratifying your selfish desires.

Tori’s heart contracted. He might be aroused, but that was a simple physical response to proximity and, perhaps, to danger. It didn’t mean he wanted her. Perhaps he had a woman. A wife, even.

Choking back an exclamation of self-loathing, she pulled back, determined to put distance between them.

But his arms stopped her. She wriggled, trying to escape, but couldn’t find purchase to resist his strength—not without elbowing his injured side.

‘Let me go,’ she whispered. ‘I need to—’

‘I know what you need, habibti. I need it too. So very badly.’

His voice ground low through her body, awakening those few dormant female nerve centres not already attuned to his closeness.

Tori felt herself quicken and soften, warmth spreading in a wave of anticipation for his big, hard body. Her legs splayed around his, her pelvis pressed needily against his hipbone.

Flame scorched her cheeks as one large hand slid down to cup her bottom and pull her closer. Thoughts splintered at the dazzle of carnal pleasure erupting through her.

‘I...’

She fought to find a coherent chain of thought when her body was already immersed in an intimate conversation with his. What did she want to say? The important thing?

He tilted her chin so she looked into hooded eyes. ‘Talk to me, Tori. Are you certain you want this?’

She wanted it, him, so badly she shook with the force of her desire.

‘Are you married?’ The words sounded strange, in a breathless voice she hardly recognised, but now the thought had entered her head she couldn’t ignore it. ‘Is there anyone—?’

‘No one.’ His tone was grave. ‘And you?’

Tori shook her head.

She felt his chest rise beneath her on a sighing breath.

Even so, what had seemed so natural, so easy, moments before, now felt difficult. She felt gauche, unsure how to proceed. Till his mouth curved slowly into a smile that stole her breath and set her heart fluttering up in her throat.

She’d had an impression of Ash as strong, ultra-masculine and handsome in a severe way. But when he bestowed that smile on her Tori discovered he was far, far more. Attractive didn’t cover it. Sexy was closer. Her befuddled brain grappled for a second to find a word that did him justice. Then she gave up and simply felt.

His hand rose to the back of her head, pulling her closer. She went eagerly, sinking into a kiss that was devastating for all its gentle persuasiveness. Fire sizzled and sparked from her toes to her ears. From her lips to her breasts and her womb.

Her mouth softened on his, opening automatically around his tongue. She didn’t even try to prevent the mew of delight as he delved deeper, inviting her to let go on the wave of wellbeing that swept her up.

The kiss went on and on, deliberate and slow, stoking the blaze between them. Till his hand cupped her breast and Tori seized up. Not in rejection, but because the sensation of that hard hand so gentle on her was exquisite.

She pulled her head back, sucking in a dizzying draught of air, meeting eyes that gleamed like obsidian in the shadowy light.

His hand froze. Clearly he’d misinterpreted her withdrawal.

Once more Tori felt a surge of respect for this man who even now let scruples override potent need.

In another place, another time, she’d want to discover everything she could about him. But they had so little time. The thought brought a desperate sob to her throat. She swallowed it and pressed his hand to her breast, revelling in the delicious sensations.

She leaned down so her lips grazed his ear. ‘I want you, Ash. But I’m afraid of hurting you.’ He’d stopped bleeding, but she didn’t want to reopen his wounds.

She felt a rumbling beneath her that, remarkably, she identified as laughter. ‘Let me worry about that.’

While she was still catching her breath he rolled her onto her back, only to freeze mid-movement. It took her a second to realise his arm was stretched out behind him, caught by the chain.

The reminder of their dire circumstances should have splintered the brief comfort of the moment. Except Ash sounded merely rueful as he murmured, ‘Not my smoothest move.’

His humour made this once more about them, not what lay beyond these walls, and Tori bit down a smile as together they shuffled awkwardly across the floor till Ash had the freedom to move both arms.

‘Better,’ he whispered, gathering her close. ‘Much better.’

Broad shoulders blocked out the moonlight as he bent and kissed her hard on the lips. Then, as everything in her clamoured for more, he pulled back, propping himself on his good arm as he fumbled for the zip of her trousers.

‘Let me. It will be quicker.’ Excitement fizzed in her blood.

When he moved back to deal with his own trousers Tori stripped off her boots, trousers and knickers. She’d never had a one-night stand but she felt no embarrassment, just an urgency that grew with every passing moment.

‘Leave your shirt.’ Ash’s hand on her shoulder pushed her gently down onto her back. ‘It will protect you from the floor.’

His own shirt hung open to reveal a wide expanse of muscled chest. Her hungry gaze began to rove him, only to stop at the dark line across a couple of ribs. Her stomach clenched.

Suddenly it wasn’t sex on her mind but the fate that awaited Ash tomorrow. The thought of what they’d do to him and what they might do to her—

‘Changed your mind?’

His voice held no inflection other than curiosity—as if he had no qualms about stopping. Yet even in the gloom there was no mistaking the tension in his tall frame or the sight of his arousal straining towards her.

He wanted this, needed it, as much as she.

The sight of him made her wet between the legs, her muscles tightening in anticipation. Tori drew a shuddery breath, shoving away all thoughts of tomorrow.

Live for the moment had never held such profound meaning.

‘Wouldn’t it be safer if I was on top? With your injuries?’

His chuckle was liquid chocolate, or perhaps a shot of malt whisky, heating her blood. ‘Probably. Call me a traditionalist, but I want to lie between your beautiful thighs and take us both to Paradise.’

His words ratcheted her level of arousal from fierce to ballistic. As did the nimble way he flicked open her shirt buttons, then made short work of her front-opening bra, pulling it wide to survey her in silence.

Tori’s heart battered her ribs as she felt the cold night air drift across her puckering nipples and waited for his next move. Then he smiled. Another of those charismatic smiles that drove a spike of sharp emotion straight through her rib cage and stopped her breath.

When he spoke again it was in a language she didn’t understand. A fluid ripple of sound that wrapped itself around her, caressing her as effectively as those callused hands stroking her breasts, waist and hips. Drawing her into a world of seductive urgency.

Then Ash lowered himself over her and she almost cried out at how right it felt. Strong, hair-roughened thighs between hers. The weight of him heavy against her. The jut of his hipbones. Broad shoulders above her and heat...heat everywhere.

Tori drew her knees up above his hips and heard a grunt of masculine pleasure. Then long fingers slid low, past her abdomen, down to her hot, slick, swollen centre. She jolted as a shock of pleasure raced through her. His fingers moved again, circling and teasing.

Her hand on his wrist stopped him. ‘No. Don’t. I just want you.’

She was strung so tight, on an unbearable edge of arousal, that she feared one more touch might fling her into rapture. But she needed something more profound than the touch of his hand. She craved the ultimate connection, the intimacy of their two bodies linked as one.

Tori sighed her relief when he nodded. Even so Ash took his time, surveying her face as if memorising it. Tori felt his gaze cross her cheeks, lips and forehead. And when his hand brushed the hair back from her face it was a gesture that spoke of tenderness and restraint, for she felt the tiniest tremor in those long fingers.

‘Your hair is like silk,’ he murmured.

Tori wanted to say something profound, to offer this strong, gentle man something to match the gift of his tenderness. But there were no easy words.

Instead she lifted her own hand, cupping the stubble-roughened jaw, hard and warm. She felt his slow pounding pulse, then skimmed her hand higher into dark hair that felt thick yet soft. His eyes closed as she massaged the uninjured side of his scalp.

He positioned himself against her. Instinctively she lifted her pelvis, feeling that velvet weight nudge her. Tori held her breath as he pushed, long and slow and further, surely, than any previous possession. Her eyes widened and his grew more heavy-lidded as they held their breaths at the perfection of their joining. The moment went on and on till finally Ash was lodged deep within, vital and impossibly, lavishly male.

A quiver ran through Tori, starting at the muscles surrounding him and spreading till she trembled all over. A matching shiver rippled across his wide shoulders and muscled arms.

Then he withdrew, and the movement was so exquisitely arousing that Tori had to bite her lip to stop from crying out. Ash’s lips pulled back in a grimace that looked like pain, but she knew it was a sign of pleasure and his battle for control.

The sight of him fighting for restraint and the generous pleasure of his returning thrust sent Tori spiralling over the edge.

‘Please.’ Her hands dug into his shoulders as she struggled to keep her voice to a whisper. ‘I need you now.’

Ash’s mouth covered hers, blotting out the scream rising within. Strong arms held her close as he abandoned restraint and pounded fast, hard and satisfying, filling her so that it seemed there was no longer Tori and Ash but only one being, straining after pleasure. Rapture exploded in a shuddering conflagration so powerful that the very air vibrated with it.

Together they rocked and shuddered. She was overwhelmed by sensations so intense they defied description. Except that at their heart was a delight so profound Tori half expected to die from it.

The world shook. Senses swam. Blood roared in her ears loud as a helicopter coming in to land. And through it all they stayed locked together, mouths and bodies fused.

Finally, when sanity began to creep back in, Ash rolled onto his side and then his back, taking Tori with him. Aftershocks ripped through her as overloaded pleasure receptors reacted again and again.

A rough gasp of pain reminded her of Ash’s wounds. Instantly she tried to shift from his grasp. He didn’t need her weight on his injuries.

‘Stay.’ His voice was hoarse, a rough wisp of sound that Tori found it impossible to resist.

She kissed him open-mouthed in the hot, male-scented curve where his shoulder met his neck. He shivered, hauling her closer.

Never had Tori felt this profound oneness. It was shared physical pleasure but surely something more. Something inexplicable that had swept them up and cradled them together.

Tori gave in to the protective urge to spread her arms as wide as she could around his brawny shoulders. She rested her head on his chest, absorbing the reassuring heavy thud of his heartbeat. She’d wait till she caught her breath. Then she’d try to define the change she sensed with every cell yet couldn’t name.

It was her last cogent thought for hours.

* * *

‘Tori.’

The luscious deep voice was warm and seductive in her ear. Ash’s hands moved over her body and she stretched sinuously, arching to meet them.

She frowned, for he wasn’t caressing her, he was—

‘It’s time to wake up.’ His hands were deftly doing up her shirt buttons, right to the collar.

‘Ash?’ She opened her eyes to discover pale light filtering through the small windows.

He was dressed, she realised, his torn shirt buttoned and tucked into dusty trousers. Then she recalled him insisting in the night that they dress again. For warmth, he’d said.

Now she felt a chill that was only partly due to the temperature. Grey dawn light revealed a clearer view of Ash than she’d had so far. His features were starkly sculpted and compelling. His face would turn any woman’s head. But now she saw clearly the blood caked in his hair. His torn clothes were liberally marked with dark stains and the chain securing him looked brutally heavy.

Tori’s stomach turned as dread reality hit her full-force. Nausea rose. Her pulse accelerated to a panicky rhythm. Impossibly, in Ash’s arms the peril they were in had been pushed to the back of her mind. Now realisation slammed into her.

She clutched his hands and he paused. His eyes met hers and something passed between them. Then Ash took hold of her hands. In this light she still couldn’t make out the colour of his eyes, yet the warmth she read in them counteracted the chill crackling across her bones.

Slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, he raised her left hand and kissed her palm, his warm lips soft on her flesh. He repeated the gesture with her other hand, sending a squiggle of heat from her palms to her breasts and lower, arrowing to her core.

He murmured something against her palm that she couldn’t catch. But his eyes as they met hers glowed with a message that made her chest clamp.

‘Thank you, habibti.’ He inclined his head, sketching a quick, graceful movement with his hand that spoke of respect and admiration. ‘You did me great honour last night. Your gift is one I’ll carry with me.’

Tori was about to respond when Ash’s expression changed. His head whipped towards the door, his features intent, as if he heard something she couldn’t.

‘Quickly.’ He grabbed her boots and shoved her feet into them.

‘What is it?’

But she guessed the cause of his urgency. Someone was coming.

The thought of their captors made her fingers shake, and she watched Ash push her hands aside to do up the laces with swift efficiency.

‘Remember what I said.’ His voice was urgent and low. ‘Don’t fight back till you’re alone with one of them. You’ll stand a better chance.’

Tori looked into that stern, handsome face and nodded. She swallowed hard. ‘You—?’

‘I’ll be fine. Now the sun’s rising the search party will find it easier to locate the camp.’

Neither admitted that the search party might be too late for him.

His hands tightened on hers as they heard voices outside. Leaning in, he whispered, ‘When you escape—’ when, not if... Tori’s heart leapt with hope ‘—keep low and—’

His words were cut off by the door banging open to rattle against the wall. Tori blinked against the light, realising belatedly that Ash no longer held her hands but was on his feet, facing the three men who had entered.

What came next was the stuff of nightmares. Brutal, pawing hands and leering faces. A slap that made her head ring as she struggled to free herself. But far worse was the sight of Ash, pulling one of the men off her and then being set upon by two of them. Hampered by the chain, he was eventually overwhelmed by vicious blows to his injured head and ribs.

The last she saw of him he’d crumpled to his knees and then pitched sideways, a scarlet bloom spilling from his wounds across the dirt floor.

The rusty tang of fresh blood was sharp in Tori’s nostrils as she was shoved, stumbling, into the chill morning.

CHAPTER THREE

TORI STARED AT the data before her, wishing she could blame her lack of concentration on a post-lunch slump. Stretching, she leaned back in her chair and took in the view of Perth’s Swan River, sparkling in the sunlight.

It had been tough, moving from Sydney to Western Australia. She’d had to find a new home, start a new job, create a new life, all on top of the trauma that still haunted her.

If her father had been at all supportive she’d have settled in Sydney. Family was supposed to be there for you during difficult times, after all.

Tori shuddered, remembering the last time she and her father had spoken. It was pointless wishing for the impossible—like a caring father—but his icy disapproval on top of recent events had made Tori miss her mother more than ever. She’d been warm, practical and supportive. Tori could have done with the unconditional love that had died years before, with her mother.

Yet it wasn’t any of those things distracting her now. Or even last night’s broken sleep. She was used now to perennial tiredness.

It was the date. Fifteen months to the day since she’d been kidnapped in Za’daq.

She’d been about to leave Assara, her geological survey complete and her companions already gone. She’d spent her final afternoon investigating an outcrop that hadn’t been in her survey zone but had looked promising.

Until she’d found herself surrounded by armed men.

Fifteen months since she’d last seen Ash.

Fifteen months since the sharp rattle of gunfire had echoed across the arid landscape, raising the hairs on her arms and neck and devastating her.

She’d never forget that sound.

Or the gloating chuckle of the leader of the small party that had left the bandit camp to make its way across the foothills.

He was the one Ash had knocked aside after the man had grabbed her, his hands insinuating themselves under her shirt. When gunfire had sounded from the camp the man had leered, slicing his hand across his throat in a violent gesture. He’d spat out words she hadn’t understood but his meaning had been clear. Ash was dead.

Even now the nightmare reality was almost too much to take in.

The fruit smoothie she’d had for lunch curdled in Tori’s stomach and she swallowed hard, trying to keep it down.

Traumatic memories were normal, her counsellor said. And, what with having been up half the night, it was no surprise that Tori was susceptible today to distressing flashes of memory.

They’d pass. They always did.

Meanwhile she had a report to sort out.

Breathing deep, she turned back to her computer.

She was frowning over an anomaly when a waft of pungent aftershave reached her.

‘Head down, Victoria? Good to see you making the most of the time you’re actually in the office.’

Tori repressed a sigh. It would be Steve Bates—leader of the other team on this floor. He always carped about her part-time hours, implying that she took advantage of the company instead of actually working harder than some of her full-time colleagues. And that never stopped him staring at her as if he could see through her clothes.

She needed to tackle him about his attitude. But not today, when she felt so low. Besides, she’d survived far worse than Steve could dish out.

The thought steadied her.

Tori swung around in her chair to meet his stare. Naturally it wasn’t her face he was looking at. She sat straighter and his eyes lifted.

‘This new survey data is intriguing. Is that why you’re here? I’ll have the report ready by—’

He stopped her with a dismissive wave. ‘I’m not here for that.’ He paused, his X-ray stare focused on her face, his gaze sharply assessing. ‘You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?’

Tori frowned. ‘Sorry?’

Steve smiled, but instead of putting her at ease his calculating expression made disquiet flicker.

‘I had no idea you had such...connections. No wonder the bosses were eager to snap you up. But then it’s always who you know, isn’t it? Not how good your work is.’

‘Now, look here!’ She shot to her feet, fury rising. She had no patience for people who thought she’d got where she was through her father’s influence. ‘I won this job on merit. Simple as that.’

The idea of her father interfering on her behalf wasn’t just wrong, it was risible. Despite what he said in public, Jack Nilsson didn’t approve of her career. As for exerting himself on her behalf... Not unless it would win him positive publicity.

‘If you say so.’ Steve raised his hands but his knowing smirk lingered. ‘Don’t be so touchy and emotional.’

Tori raised one eyebrow at the typical putdown. When she spoke again she used the clear, carrying tones she’d learned when her father had insisted she take up debating at school. ‘Was there a work matter you wanted to discuss? Or did you just interrupt me to shoot the breeze?’

Steve slanted a glance towards the open-plan office behind him. His expression grew ugly. ‘You’re wanted in the boardroom.’ His tone was as hard as the diamonds the company mined. ‘Immediately.’

He turned on his heel and disappeared, leaving Tori relieved and confused. She hated Steve’s snarky sexism. He deserved far more than the mild rebuke she’d given him. But she had no idea who wanted to see her and why. She knew where the boardroom was, but she wasn’t significant enough in the company to be invited to meetings there.

She tried to remember if she’d heard anything about an executive meeting today but nothing registered.

Tori smoothed her hair then reached for her phone, her tablet and the not yet finished survey report. Taking a deep breath, she marched across the office, feeling curious glances as she pushed the lift button for the executive level.

Minutes later she stepped into the rarefied atmosphere of extreme wealth. The company was one of the most successful of its type and the executive suite was all plush carpet, expensive artworks and bespoke wood panelling. The views up here were dizzyingly spectacular.

Tori was staring about her when a young man in a pinstriped suit approached.

‘Ms Nilsson?’

His manner was friendly, but there was no mistaking his curiosity. She resisted the urge to check her hair or straighten her collar. She’d learned never to fidget in public. Her father hated it because it spoiled the perfect press shot.

‘Yes. I understand I’m wanted in the boardroom?’ She let her voice rise at the end of the sentence, hinting at a question. But he didn’t offer an explanation.

‘That’s right. This way, please.’

He led the way past a beautifully appointed lounge with panoramic windows. As they approached a set of double doors Tori noticed a man in a dark suit nearby. His feet were planted wide and his hands clasped.

A bodyguard. She’d seen enough of them to recognise the demeanour.

This one met her eyes calmly, no doubt sizing her up. He looked sturdy and, despite his impassive expression, intimidating.

Tori gripped her belongings tighter. Unusual that one of the company’s executives should bring a bodyguard into the building. Then she remembered Steve’s snide challenge. ‘It’s always who you know.’

Which meant it was her father in the boardroom. Though why he’d brought a bodyguard... And why he’d chosen to meet her at work... He hadn’t mentioned coming to Western Australia and he never made paternal visits.

‘Here you are, Ms Nilsson.’ Her guide pushed open one of the doors.

She stepped in to find the room empty. There was no meeting. The long polished table was bare.

Tori blinked and hesitated. She was about to go out again and ask what was going on when a shadow at the far end of the room detached itself from the wall.

A man. A tall man, spine straight and shoulders wide. He was silhouetted against a wall of glass. For an instant all she had was an impression of strength and the loose-limbed saunter of an athlete as he approached. She didn’t recognise the walk, but there was something familiar about him.

Tori’s skin tightened as premonition swept through her. A split-second certainty that she knew him.

She opened her mouth to say hello, but then he drew close enough that she could make out his features instead of just the shape of his head.

Tori heard a hissed breath. Her hands slackened. Something hard grazed her shin as it dropped with a thud onto the carpeted floor. But her gaze was glued to the man who had stopped just an arm’s length away.

Bronzed skin pulled tight over a bone structure that would have made Michelangelo weep. A sensual mouth set above a determined jaw. Eyes that even from here looked black rather than dark brown. Black eyebrows. A forceful nose that transformed his face from an ideal of masculine beauty to one of power. Black hair that Tori knew was soft to the touch.

Her nerveless hands twitched as memory flooded through her. Of channelling her fingers through hair so soft and thick it felt like a pelt. Of being careful to avoid the clotted blood of his head injury.

The twitch in her hands became a tremor. A shudder thundered through her as her heart crashed into her ribs.

Heat suffused her as she met gleaming eyes. Then a wash of icy cold as other memories battered her brain.

Kidnappers. Gunfire.

Her eyes prickled and she blinked rapidly. Tears came easily now—another thing her counsellor said was normal. Yet instinctively Tori tried to dam them.

She swayed. The floor seemed to ripple and the walls appeared to close around the man watching her so intently. Tori grabbed the back of a leather conference chair for support, fingers clawing.

There was no scarring on his face. Nothing to indicate he’d ever been brutalised or shot at. He wore a dark grey suit tailored by an expert. It rivalled anything in her father’s expensive wardrobe, and on this man’s rangy, powerful frame looked spectacular. A white shirt complemented his burnished skin and a perfectly knotted silk tie completed the image of urbane sophistication.

It couldn’t be. It was impossible. And yet...

‘I thought you were dead.’

It didn’t sound like her voice, so husky and uneven. Yet he understood. His eyes widened and something passed across his face.

‘Ah, that explains a lot.’

That voice! That deep, rich voice. She’d only heard him whisper before. They’d both kept their voices low so as not to attract the guards’ attention. His whispers had threaded through her dreams for over a year. How often had she woken from a nightmare or the occasional erotic dream with the sound of his voice in her head?

‘It is you?’

Tori wanted to touch him, to check for herself he was no mirage. But her limbs felt like blocks of basalt. All she could do was stand and stare.

‘It’s me, Tori.’

* * *

Ashraf stared down into her oval face and felt a wave of emotion tumble through him.

He’d searched for her so long, against impossible odds, when even the best investigators had advised him to give up. He recalled the moment he’d received news that she was alive. Alive and safe. Relief had been so intense, so powerful, that for a moment he’d found it difficult to breathe.

He’d been fully prepared for this meeting, and still reality was nothing like his expectation.

Seeing Tori in the flesh unsettled him profoundly.

Maybe it was her eyes. He’d wondered about their colour. Now he knew. Soft blue. The colour of the dainty yet hardy forget-me-nots that grew in Za’daq’s mountain valleys. Her gaze held his and he felt the bite of need, of hunger, of regret and a hundred emotions he wasn’t in the habit of feeling. Those lovely eyes shone over-bright and her lip quivered.

Deep inside something responded with an intensity that rocked him back on his heels. As if his feelings were engaged in a way that was totally unfamiliar.

He’d admired her in Za’daq. She’d been courageous and strong, hiding her fears. He’d found comfort and welcome oblivion in her lithe body.

But he hadn’t expected such a visceral reaction after all this time. He’d told himself danger had heightened their responses.

Ashraf registered the thunder of his pulse and the tingling in his blood that betrayed a surge of adrenaline. He wanted to touch her. More than touch her. He wanted—

He slammed a door on such thoughts. His reason for being here was too important for distraction. Despite other unexpected urges. To comfort and assure her. To protect her as he hadn’t been able to fifteen months ago.

Guilt sliced at the memory. But it was blunted by other emotions. Desire. Possessiveness, rampant and untrammelled.

Ashraf tunnelled his fists into his pockets and forced himself to stand his ground rather than close the space between them.

‘You need to sit. You’ve had a shock.’

She blinked up, eyes round and lips open as if she couldn’t get enough oxygen.

He knew the feeling. His lungs were labouring as if he were the one surprised. He hadn’t expected to feel—

Ashraf leaned past her, pulling out a high-backed chair from the table, and gestured for her to sit. She did, and he saw that even in extremity there was a familiar grace about her movements. He’d thought he’d imagined that, embellished his recollections of this woman with qualities she hadn’t actually possessed. He’d told himself guilt and regret had turned her in his mind into someone more remarkable than she really was.

Striving for emotional distance, he catalogued what he saw. She was the same as in the photos his investigators had sent. Yet she was more.

Regular features in a face that was long rather than round. Fine lips. Even finer eyes. Eyes that watched his every move with an intensity he felt as a sizzle in his veins. Even the faint shadows of tiredness didn’t mar her attractiveness. The hair he’d remembered as pale was platinum-blonde, pulled back and up in a chignon that left her face clear. But why would she hide those cheekbones? She wasn’t classically beautiful, yet he defied any man not to take a second look.

Even in a plain white blouse and black trousers Tori Nilsson drew the eye.

That explained his racing pulse. That and the intimate secret they shared.

For a second his attention lingered on those breasts, quickly rising and falling against her blouse. They seemed plumper than he remembered—

‘Can you sit, instead of towering over me?’

Ashraf huffed back laughter. There was the woman he remembered. Indomitable and practical. How lucky he’d been not to be stuck with a hysterical companion that night.

He pulled out a chair and sat knee to knee with her.

‘You’re really real.’

Slim fingers skimmed shakily over his cheek, down his freshly shaved jaw, and two things struck him.

First, no one these days ever touched him. He’d been busy in the last two years and it had been a long time since he’d had a lover. Plus his position meant that casual touching was out of the question.

Second, her hand shook. Perhaps he’d been unfair, confronting her like this with no warning. But he hadn’t known she’d believed him dead. If he’d realised...

No, even if he’d known he’d still have wanted to see her in person.

‘Yes. I’m real.’

He captured her hand, feeling the quick pulse throb at her wrist. At the same time he registered a hint of scent. Something sweet and enticing, slightly citrusy. It transported him to that night they’d been captives together. He couldn’t recall noticing it then, but at some subliminal level he must have. It both enticed and disturbed him, reminding him of how close they’d come to death, and how he’d allowed himself to weaken in this woman’s arms.

He released her hand and brushed her cheek with his knuckles. Satiny skin trembled at his touch and made his blood fizz.

He’d assumed his physical response to Tori had been fuelled by danger, by the knowledge that he might die. Was this just a hangover from that night? That had to be it.

But he wasn’t here for sex.

Ashraf dropped his hand and sat back.

* * *

‘How did you get away? I heard gunfire. I thought—’

Tori bit her lip, hearing the wobble in her voice. Clearly she’d thought wrong—so why was she upset? Seeing Ash again was a miracle. One she’d never dared hope for. Her reaction had to be due to shock.

‘You thought they’d shot me?’ His eyebrows rose and then he nodded. ‘I’m sure they wish they had. You heard security forces storming the camp. Qadri, the bandits’ leader, had just arrived. He was killed in the raid with several of his followers. The rest are serving time for various offences—including kidnap.’

The words sounded matter-of-fact. Like a news report of some distant, almost unreal incident. But the sound of those guns had been brutal reality for Tori for too long. She strove to absorb Ash’s news but couldn’t prevent a tremor of reaction.

‘I thought you were dead. I—’ She searched his face, even now finding it hard to believe he was there and whole. ‘What are you doing here? It’s an incredible coincidence.’

‘No coincidence, Tori. I’ve been looking for you.’ His voice was deep and assured.

‘You have?’

Ash sat straighter. ‘Of course! Did you imagine I’d forget about you? That I’d leave you to the mercy of people-smugglers?’

‘But it’s been fifteen months!’

His dark eyes flashed. ‘I’m not in the habit of forgetting my friends.’

Was that what they’d been? Friends? Allies, for sure. Lovers too. And now...?

‘I regret it took so long. I’d imagined...’

He shook his head, as if his imaginings weren’t important, but the grim set of his mouth told its own story. If she’d been tormented by the thought of him dead, he’d had the burden of thinking her at the mercy of men like those who’d kidnapped her.

Tori closed her hand over his fist where it rested on his thigh. ‘I’m not blaming you, Ash. That wasn’t a rebuke. I’m just...surprised.’ Make that astounded. She’d never in her wildest dreams believed she’d see him again. ‘How did you locate me?’

He shrugged. ‘A team of top investigators, persistence and in the end one lucky break.’

Investigators working for fifteen months? That must have cost a fortune.

Tori’s gaze skittered across that beautifully made suit. Ash wasn’t ostentatiously dressed but he projected an aura of authority and wealth, like a man used to wielding power. A little like her father, except in Ash it seemed innate, less cultivated for public consumption. Her father revelled in the importance his position gave him. Ash, on the other hand, wasn’t showy or obvious.

‘You’re a determined man.’

If there’d been an easy trail to follow he’d have found her ages ago. The fact that he’d persevered all this time spoke of a doggedness she could only admire. If she’d still been at the mercy of people-smugglers she was sure he’d have found a way to free her. The knowledge made her heart lurch.

‘How did you get away? Month after month my people scoured Za’daq and the border territory for you. They found nothing.’

My people. He made it sound as if he had his own personal army.

Belatedly Tori realised she still held his hand. She forced her fingers open and sat back, folding her hands together and telling herself the throb of heat she felt had nothing to do with touching Ash.

But hearing he’d made it his quest to find her unravelled something she’d kept locked up tight since the horror of the kidnap. And looking into those dark eyes was messing with her head. She squeezed her eyes closed and drew a breath.

This was so complicated. So profoundly difficult. What on earth was she going to do?

‘Tori?’

She snapped her eyes open. ‘Sorry. I’m still a little stunned.’

The implications of Ash being here were only just seeping into her whirling brain. There was so much to consider. So many variables and, yes, worries. Her skin prickled with anxiety and it wasn’t from reliving the past.

But for now she owed him her story.

‘Three of us rode away from the camp. Me, the guard you knocked down and a boy—barely a teenager. When we heard the gunshots the older man was happy. He thought you were dead.’ Tori snatched a fortifying breath, remembering the sour tang of fear and horror she’d felt at his gleeful triumph. ‘But after the first couple of shots he said something to the boy and then headed back the way we’d come.’

‘Probably realised there was too much gunfire for an execution.’

Slowly Tori nodded. She hadn’t considered that. She’d thought the firing squad had been overly enthusiastic, or perhaps celebrating.

‘The pair of us kept riding, but the boy wasn’t happy. He began to look scared. Maybe he understood some English, because I told him what would happen to him when he was caught. I might have exaggerated...’

‘Good for you!’ Ash looked admiring and Tori was amazed at how good that felt.

‘What did I have to lose? Besides, I was upset.’

An understatement for the raw rage and fear that had consumed her as they’d trekked through the wilderness. Hearing that gunfire and believing Ash dead had been a living nightmare. Even remembering that moment—

‘Go on.’

Tori spread her hands. ‘It wasn’t really hard to get away. I realised later he let me escape.’

Ash nodded. ‘He must have realised something had gone wrong and he’d be in trouble if he was found with you.’

‘I ran away during a rest stop. The rope was a little loose and I eventually got it undone. I was terrified he’d come after me but I never saw him again.’

Tori flexed her hands, remembering the burn of dust against red raw flesh.

‘Hours later I stumbled into the path of a four-wheel drive. A couple of foreigners were returning to their private yacht after a trip inland.’

Foreigners who had been sympathetic but, for reasons of their own, avoiding the authorities. She’d wondered if they were smuggling contraband.

‘They were on their way to the Maldives and took me with them. Once there I made contact with the Australian authorities.’

‘You crossed the border from Za’daq into Assara,’ Ash said. ‘We made enquiries in neighbouring countries, but using official channels it was a slow process with no leads. It was only recently that a witness came forward. A driver passing through on his way to a family wedding. Recently he returned to visit his village again and heard about the search for you. He remembered three foreigners boarding a yacht in a deserted cove.’

Tori digested that. ‘And from something so vague you located me?’ It was remarkable! She could barely imagine the resources, or sheer luck, required to find her.

‘Eventually. Fortunately the yacht was distinctive, so it could be tracked. Your trail was easy from the Maldives, after I knew you’d escaped and where you were headed.’ His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘If we’d exchanged full names and addresses it would have saved time.’

Heat tickled Tori’s throat. Despite their physical intimacy they’d never got past first names. It seemed strange now.

‘Well, you found me. I’m glad.’ She smiled up at him. Despite the complications she’d now have to face, it was wonderful to know he’d survived. ‘It’s good to see you alive.’

‘And you, Tori.’

His look seared her and she shifted in her seat. It wasn’t just relief she felt. Her emotions were complex and she found herself growing nervous all over again.

The longer she sat with him, the more she realised how little she knew about Ash, despite the way her body hummed with awareness. He seemed light-years away from the stoic man with whom she’d shared intimacies in the desert.

She couldn’t imagine—

No, that was wrong. She could imagine all too easily the urge to be with him again. The realisation sent heat spiralling through her middle and surging up her throat to scald her cheeks.

Yet it wasn’t sexual awareness stretching her nerves tight. It was apprehension. For she knew next to nothing about him. His life, hopes, expectations. How he’d react when faced with what she had to tell him.

For a craven moment she wondered if she could avoid that. It would be taking a giant step into the unknown. But it had to be done.

She moistened her lips, ready to speak, but he was too fast for her.

‘So, Tori. Or should I call you Victoria?’ He leaned closer, his black-as-night gaze pinioning her to the seat. ‘Are you going to tell me about my son?’

CHAPTER FOUR

IF ASHRAF HAD had any doubts about the child being his, they were banished by Tori’s reaction.

The flush colouring her face disappeared completely, leaving those high-cut cheeks blanched like porcelain. Her gasp filled the silent room.

His investigators had provided a photo—part of a slim dossier on Victoria Miranda Nilsson. A photo of a tiny child with dark hair and what might be dark eyes, though the shot had been taken from too far away to be sure.

Now he was sure. She’d had his baby.

Another surge of adrenaline shot into his blood, catapulting around his body. It took everything he had to sit there, holding her gaze, instead of erupting to his feet and pacing the length of the room.

But Ashraf had learned in childhood to control his impulses, even if later he’d made his name by giving in to them. No, that wasn’t quite right. Even when he’d gone out of his way to provoke with scandal and headlines his actions hadn’t been impulsive, even if they’d seemed so. They’d been carefully considered for maximum impact.

But now wasn’t the time to think of his father and how they’d always been on opposing sides. Now he

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