Claimed For The Desert Prince's Heir / A Shocking Proposal In Sicily. Heidi Rice
a chance to register, the stallion reared, its hooves pawing the air above her head. The bandit caught the horse’s reins before the animal could trample her into the desert floor, and she felt a rush of relief. Within seconds, though, he loomed over her again and the relief that she hadn’t killed him turned to panic. She scrambled back on her bottom, kicked out with her feet.
‘Get away from me.’
Where was the gun?
She searched for it frantically, but her vision was all but obscured by the swirling sands. He had become the only focus, the ominous outline bearing down on her.
Long fingers shot from the storm and gripped her arm. He hauled her up, bent down and hefted her onto his shoulder with such speed and strength she could barely grasp what was happening before she found herself straddling the huge black horse’s sweat-soaked back.
She lifted her leg, trying to dismount, but before she could get her knee over the pommel, he had mounted behind her.
He grasped the reins with one hand and banded his other arm around her midriff, pulling her into the unyielding strength of his body.
She let out an ‘Oomph…’ as the air was expelled from her lungs. The iron band of his forearm pressed into her breasts. Then suddenly they were flying, her bottom bouncing on the saddle—abandoning the Jeep, which was already half-buried in sand. Her body was forced to succumb to the will of his much bigger, much stronger one as he bent forward, his robes shielding her from the sand stinging her eyes. She tried to cry out, to fight the lethargy wrought by terror, the visceral heat coursing through her body making her too aware of every place their bodies touched.
He’s kidnapping you. You must fight. You must survive.
The words screamed in her head, but her breathing was so rapid now it was painful, her whole body confined, subdued, overwhelmed by his and the storm of sand and dust and darkness raging around them.
They seemed to ride for ever through the swirl of sand—until eventually her fear and panic stopped crushing her ribs and her body melted into exhaustion. The rhythm of the horse’s movements seeped into her bones, the man’s unyielding strength cocooning her against the elements.
Was this Stockholm syndrome? she wondered vaguely, her tired mind no longer capable of engaging with the terror as her body succumbed to the impenetrable darkness, the controlled purpose of her captor’s movements and the stultifying heat coursing through her.
As her eyes drifted shut and her bones turned to water, she dropped down through the years, until she became that little girl again. But this time she was no longer alone and defenceless, her mother gone without a backward glance, but sheltered in strong arms against the storm.
KASIA WOKE AGAIN in fits and starts. First the bristle of cold on her face, and the heavy weight at her back, both suffocating and warming her. As Kasia opened her eyes, her heart swelled into her throat.
Red light glowed on the horizon, starlight was sprinkled overhead. Shooting stars shot across the sky, illuminating the desert dunes. Her thighs trembled and she became aware of the large warm bulk between them.
A horse. She was on a horse.
His horse.
Memory flooded back.
Kidnapped!
She’d been kidnapped by the man whose muscular forearm banded around her waist. And whose body radiated heat as it cocooned hers.
All the inappropriate dreams she’d had about him returned, too. She shoved them to one side and tried to free her arms.
You’re not in Stockholm any more!
A grunt sounded next to her ear, making her aware of the unearthly quiet of the night, the chill of the evening breeze. The storm had passed.
And she was alone, in the middle of the desert, with the bandit who had captured her. And saved her. But why?
Whatever. Now it was time to save herself. From him.
The horse’s hooves thudded patiently against the rocky dunes as they rose over a hill. An oasis came into view in the valley below. The horse picked its way down the slope as sure-footed as a cat. The mirrored expanse of water reflected the dying red of the sunset, palm trees and plants grew in profusion around the water’s edge. The rasp of her kidnapper’s breathing echoed in her ears, making her heart thunder against her ribs.
Was that arousal she could hear in his rough breathing? How would she know? She’d never been in a man’s arms before when he was aroused.
Not the point, Kasia. Focus. For goodness’ sake.
The numbness in her fingers as she gripped the saddle horn tingled, her thighs quivered and burned, sore from what had to have been several hours on horseback. She became aware of the stinging pain where the sandstorm had abraded her exposed skin and got into her eyes.
She gulped, trying to force her tired mind to come up with a plan.
If he’d saved her from the storm, maybe he wasn’t planning to hurt her, now would be a good time to start talking to him.
‘Thank you for saving me from the sandstorm,’ she said, with as much authority as she could muster with her throat raw and her body brutally aware of the solid chest imprinted on her back. ‘I’m a close friend of the Queen. She will pay you handsomely for returning me to the palace now.’ The words flowed out, sounding impossibly loud in the quiet night.
But he didn’t reply, his body pressing heavily against her as the horse approached the water. She spotted a large tent erected in a copse of palm trees. The horse loped to a stop in front of the tent, and her heartbeat careered into her throat.
The scent of fresh water dispelled the fetid odour of horse and the salty scent of the man. She pushed his chest with her shoulder, freeing her arms from their confinement.
He grunted again, the sound trailing off into a moan, but strangely the panic from earlier didn’t return.
He was big and clearly very strong, having ridden for miles to escape the storm, but the way he was holding her didn’t feel threatening. It felt protective.
Unless that was just her cockeyed optimism taking another trip to Stockholm.
But he’d made no move to hurt her. So she clung onto her optimism—cockeyed or not—and repeated her promise of riches again in Narabian, but still got no response.
They sat together on the horse in silence, her whole body brutally aware of each subtle shift in his.
She could feel the thigh muscles that cupped her hips flex, sending a shaft of something hot and fluid through her. The wave of arousal shocked her. How could she be turned on? When she didn’t even know if this man was a good guy or not?
He shifted again, his moan shivering down her spine. But then the arm around her waist loosened. And his body began to slide to one side.
What the…? Was he dismounting?
She squeezed the horse’s sides with her knees and grasped the saddle horn. The rush of air at her back as his hot weight slid away was followed by a loud thud.
She gazed down to see the man lying on the ground beneath the horse.
‘Whoa, boy,’ she whispered frantically, scared the horse might bolt. But after stamping its hooves far too close to the man’s head, it settled, its tail swishing.
How could he have fallen off the horse? Was he asleep? Was that why he hadn’t replied? He had to be even more exhausted than she was after their ride.
The questions whipped around her brain. Relief and confusion tangled in her belly.
Leaning