LITMIR.BIZ

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rose in her throat. His words cut to the bone and set her adrift. Funny how it really didn’t matter that Zafir’s kiss had been incidental, brought on by proximity and availability, nothing personal. She had done what females did around all alpha males: projected willingness. His reaction had been as biological as hers.

      She shouldn’t want him to do it again, but she did.

      Lust. Hormones. Whatever it was, they were very detrimental to a woman’s good sense. She ought to thank him for dismissing any possibility of giving in to it.

      But she was just hurt.

      He smiled and offered, “I’m only here because Tariq pled your case at lunch.”

      “My case?”

      “His own,” he answered with a tilt of his head. “Ra’id has asked you not to take the girls beyond the camp without him, but he has agreed with Tariq that I am an acceptable escort.”

      “I—” think, she urged herself “—don’t want to impose.”

      “We’re also facilitating for Ra’id and Amineh,” he said.

      “In what way?” She looked up from setting rocks on the children’s sketches so they wouldn’t blow away if the wind came up.

      Zafir’s dry lift of his brows made the wheels roll and click in her head. But he couldn’t really be saying what she thought he was saying. They were having sex?

      “You’re like one of those chameleons that switches color between one breath and the next.” His husky tone laughed at her flush.

      “Well, I can’t believe what you just implied! It’s rather personal, isn’t it? And she’s your sister. Did they actually ask you...?”

      “No. And I’m not going to dwell on whether that’s what they’re really doing. But the girls both have birthdays about nine months after past vacations here. Ra’id has had a killer travel schedule the last few years, but he told me last night they’re looking forward to a more settled life next year.” He shrugged. “And he loves his girls, but his successor is his brother. He’d like a son.”

      “What about your son?” she asked tartly. “Also an oasis baby?”

      He lost all hint of humor as his expression shuttered. “Wedding night.”

      Conversation closed, she heard loud and clear. It left her feeling as though she’d overstepped, but he started it.

      The children returned and they headed out. Twenty minutes later, they had followed a track through tall grass that crackled like green flames around them, then they climbed to a vantage point above the spring. Zafir explained the relay station that kept them in contact with the outside world and the girls waved at the servants in the camp below.

      No sign of Ra’id and Amineh. That shouldn’t make her feel envious, but Fern was. Greener than the oasis.

      We all have different paths, Miss Ivy would say. Bloom where you’re planted. She was full of those sorts of sayings. Most of the time Fern appreciated that encouraging, make-the-best-of-it quality in her friend. Today she just felt...single.

      Disregarded.

      Unloved and unlovable.

      * * *

      Zafir showed the children how to use his digital camera then stepped back to watch them stalk geckos in the rocks.

      Fern stood a few feet away, looking over the camp below. Her narrow waist was emphasized by the wide band of her beige skirt and her arms were covered by an equally dull-colored shirt, but his mind kept seeing her as she’d looked this morning: a water nymph sent to inflame him. She’d risen from the water, small breasts high and firm and topped by pebbled nipples he’d longed to tongue and suck. Her form was sleek, her femininity understated, but she’d been undeniably all woman when the fabric of her nightgown had painted her stomach and upper thighs, falling away into a frustrating veil that hid her most intimate flesh.

      He’d already been primed for her, having spent the night recalling those confusing moments in her tent. She’d been such a curious mixture of invitation and hesitation, baffling him. Experienced women could be notorious teases, but he hadn’t caught that vibe from her. More an alarmed hesitation that had stopped him as much as the knowledge that kissing her at all was reckless.

      He’d been so sure she was feeling the attraction as strongly as he was, but she’d tripped away like a frightened rabbit. He didn’t prey on women so her reaction had made him feel like a cad.

      Her faltering made sense now that he understood how inexperienced she was, but through the night he’d pulled his own insecurities into the equation and tortured himself by wondering whether she really wanted him. The idea that she didn’t, when he burned for her so strongly, had been painful. Really, truly agonizing.

      And then she’d stood before him in the pool and projected all those signals of yearning again, her body on display. He’d had to know.

      Her lips had latched to his as she surrendered to passion and that had been it. He couldn’t remember a time when a simple kiss had ignited him so thoroughly. They were a perfect match and only the knowledge that his and Ra’id’s men were watching over them had kept him from giving in to the barbarian ancestry that had raged to the fore. He’d trembled with the effort to keep from pressing her back onto the dry sand, lifting her night dress and filling her with the flesh that had thickened in powerful response to the sight of her.

      Getting her into his tent and under him had been imperative.

      And if she had agreed, he would have breached her maidenhead.

      That still confounded him. Her reluctant “of course I want to” had been ringing in his head since she’d said it, soothing his ego. It now offered bittersweet consolation as he faced that he really couldn’t seduce her. It would be the height of dishonor.

       Why couldn’t she be the sophisticate that most of her countrywomen were?

      “Tell me about yourself, Fern,” he commanded, still not fully believing what she’d revealed. “Have you never been curious?”

      She flashed him a startled, slightly harassed look, then glanced at the children working out a rotation system for the camera. Tariq’s guard had wandered farther up the path and beyond their hearing.

      “I’m highly curious,” she argued with small flags of pink on her cheekbones. “For instance, I wonder why Tariq’s guard came with us but none to watch the girls. What conclusion should I draw from that?”

      “My son’s guard is our best snake handler,” he replied with amusement, more than aware his culture was still quite sexist by Western standards, but in this case his reasons were purely practical. “I thought it wise to have him scout the area before letting the children poke around. Now stop evading my question. You know what I’m really asking. How old are you? If you were from this part of the world I wouldn’t be surprised, but how does an English girl remain untouched until she’s twenty-two?”

      “Three,” she countered with a little grimace and a defensive fold of her arms. She pushed her straw hat more firmly onto her head, no doubt trying to hide beneath its wide brim. “I had other priorities,” she said. “And it’s not something I want to throw away out of mere curiosity.”

      She sounded prudish and uptight, not like a typical product of the Western world. Male or female, most people her age were hooking up out of boredom if nothing else. He’d been a kid in a candy store at that age, having developed some skill by his early twenties and feeling the pressure to marry soon. He’d taken advantage of every opportunity while he’d had his freedom.

      Good thing he had, since his married years had been dry.

      “That wasn’t meant to sound like a challenge,” she added, sending him a look he supposed was intended as a rebuff, but as he held her gaze, her expression softened to yesterday’s absorption.

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