Heir To Danger. Valerie Parv
face paled. “Was Jamal in the vehicle?”
“No way to tell, so let’s assume the answer is yes.”
She crossed her arms. “I’m not running from him.”
“Oh, yes you are. I’m not risking him bundling you into a private plane and taking you back to Q’aresh against your will.” The prospect shook her, he saw, as well it should. From her description of Jamal, the man was capable of abduction—or worse.
Still, her head came up. “You can’t force me to do as you say.”
He got a glimpse of the royal princess in her determined stance and outthrust chin. She was magnificent. He could imagine her in a palace, giving orders to a bevy of servants. He slanted her a smile that his foster sister would have read as a warning and been off before he could blink. Not having Judy’s understanding of him, Shara foolishly stood her ground.
Not for long.
“Put me down, you peasant,” she yelled, drumming her fists against his back as he tossed her over his shoulder. “You’re hurting my injured leg.”
Hit right in the conscience, he almost complied until he remembered that she hadn’t so much as limped since he arrived. “Nice try,” he said.
“I’ll have you thrown in jail, publicly flogged, maybe both.”
Having her small, nicely rounded rear pressing against his cheek was punishment enough, since he couldn’t do anything about it. Except enjoy it, a not unreasonable benefit, considering he was trying to save her life. If his palm lingered on her firm flesh longer than strictly necessary, he could hardly be blamed.
With his free hand he restrained her flailing legs before her drumming feet bruised his ribs beyond repair. “Not in Australia you won’t. In my country we’re equals, Princess.”
“Never.” Like the female crocodile, her struggles weakened as her initial energy was spent, but Tom maintained his hold. Where was a wet sack when he needed one?
As he picked up the rifle, he diverted himself by imagining her trussed up on a carrying board and being delivered to him for what Blake had called a blind date. Bad idea, Tom decided when his internal temperature immediately soared.
Dismissing the fantasy, he also snagged a leather satchel from a table near the door. “Is everything you’re likely to need in here? Squirm once for yes, twice for no.”
Her violent lunge almost took out his eye. “Yes, damn you. What about the rest of my things?”
“They’ll have to wait until the coast is clear. It’s nearly an hour since Judy called. Jamal—if it is him—must be practically on the doorstep.”
“Then put me down and I’ll walk to the car.”
“No time.” Certainly not to argue with her over the proper time for heroism. He carried her outside, kicking the door shut behind them. Dumping her and the bag on the back seat of the Jeep, he closed the door and jumped into the driving seat, placing the rifle near his feet. Before she could react, he activated the central locking system and the tires spat gravel as he floored the accelerator.
Pinned down by the sudden acceleration, Shara struggled to right herself. Her eyes glared fire at him as she clung to the back of the seat.
“Fasten your seat belt,” he said over his shoulder. “This is going to be a rough ride.”
“Any more orders?” she snapped, but he heard a metallic click as she complied.
He ignored her murderous tone. “Not right now, but if Jamal shows up, be ready to duck out of sight when I tell you to.”
“Of course, Master,” she said, the words dripping sarcasm. “Anything you say, Master.”
He grinned. “Keep it up, I could get to like the sound of it.”
As he’d anticipated, her mouth snapped shut, but not for long. “You’re the most heartless, insensitive, uncivilized…”
“Peasant?” he reminded her helpfully.
“Barbarian. In my country, no one manhandles me without my permission and lives.”
He deliberately chose to misunderstand. “What does it take to get permission to manhandle you?”
The rabbit punch she delivered to the back of his neck almost ran them off the road. “Do that again and I’ll tie your hands,” he cautioned, fighting to keep the Jeep on the rutted surface. It wasn’t much smoother than the ditches on either side, but at least they wouldn’t get bogged in the talcum powder-like dust known locally as bulldust.
“What am I supposed to do, let you treat me however you will?” she demanded.
If he did that, she wouldn’t be alone in the back seat, he thought, feeling an instant, powerful surge of response. “You’re supposed to let me do my job,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Which includes getting women stabbed with spears, assaulting them and then carrying them off?”
The Jeep bounced off a tree root the thickness of his arm and he winced as her head lashed around. He didn’t dare slow down. “In some traditional cultures, a start like that would have us practically married.”
She’d stopped complaining about the rough treatment, fixated on their conversation, as he’d intended. “I don’t consider any of this amusing.”
“And you think I do? I’m not the one with a murderous fiancé on my tail.”
“You have only my word that he means to harm me,” she said. “For all you know, I could be shirking my royal obligations by avoiding this marriage.”
Seeing her pale face reflected in the mirror, he doubted it. “No one goes to this much trouble to avoid doing their duty.”
“Thank you,” she said simply.
“For what?”
“Trusting me. Believing me when my own father wouldn’t.”
“Maybe he would have been convinced if you’d had more evidence against Jamal.”
He saw her shake her head. “You and your family required no evidence before you were prepared to help me.”
“Code of the outback,” he said, wrenching the wheel to avoid another tree root snaking across the road.
She grabbed the back of the seat. “What?”
“Something my foster brothers and sister made up when we were kids. Under the code of the outback, you don’t back down, you don’t give up and you stand by your mates.” Blake had also insisted on a clause that said “no mushy stuff,” to keep Judy in line, but Tom didn’t think Shara would appreciate that. Besides, his attitude toward women had changed since then. He might not want a permanent relationship, but mushy stuff was definitely on the agenda.
He caught the first glimmer of a smile. “Do you consider me one of your—mates?”
The word sounded foreign on her tongue, but deliciously so. “Anyone who turns to us for help is a mate, so long as they’re innocent of any crime.”
“Is it a crime to want to live your life your own way?”
“Not in this country.”
“Then I’m innocent.”
She meant of any wrongdoing, but Tom had a feeling the description fitted her in every way. No amount of royal pigheadedness could completely disguise her fear of the fate Jamal had in store for her and her country. The ache in Tom’s bruised ribs was easier to tolerate suddenly. It was nothing compared to what she must be going through.
“Are we going to the homestead?” she asked.
“Too obvious.”
“Then where? Oh, no,