Desire In The Desert. Ryshia Kennie
all he could do now was get them as far away as possible.
She was firing blindly through the partially opened window, but there was only a distant shot returned and that indicated that the shooter might be on foot.
“So much for sneaking in,” Emir said, his hands clenching the wheel as he realized what this could mean.
“We’ll work around it, Emir.” She looked at him with lips tight. She was perched on the seat as if poised to launch. They were over a mile from the first shot and, through the waves of sand and gusts of wind, he could see the rise of a hill to their right. The storm had intensified and was now driving sand so thick that there was no going much farther. They were as far away as the storm would allow.
They were so close to Tara and yet so far.
“There.” Kate pointed as a bank of low-rise cliffs appeared to their right.
“It should work,” he agreed as he fought to keep the Jeep moving in the right direction. The sand was beginning to act like water as it moved with the wind that churned it.
The visibility had rapidly decreased. Some storms could come out of nowhere, swallowing you in a sea of sand, while others were slower moving and, often, longer lasting. This one wasn’t hitting them out of nowhere but it was rapidly getting worse.
Within minutes he had the Jeep angled in the direction the wind was coming from, using it to act as a barrier.
“We’ll set up the tent beside the Jeep,” he said. “We could stay in the Jeep if I thought this thing was going to blow over quickly, but all signs look like it might run through the night.” A gust of wind hammered him from behind, pushing him forward. He looked at Kate, who was struggling to double her ponytail to keep it from whipping against her face. The scarf she’d been using had blown away minutes ago.
They wrestled with the tent to get the anchor lines secured.
Finally, inside the tent, Kate shivered, clutching her arms. “It’s getting cold.”
It was late afternoon but the temperature had plummeted and inside the tent it was only slightly less chilly than outside.
He tossed her a blanket. “Thanks,” she said as she wrapped it around her shoulders. “One night, not too bad,” she said. “Maybe the kidnappers will get in touch with Zafir by then. I don’t know why they’re waiting.”
“Any number of reasons, but thinking of any of them isn’t going to help us.”
“Maybe,” she said with doubt in her voice. “I don’t think that last attack was planned. I mean, they shot at us twice and the second was so distant. I think whoever it was, unlike the bikers, they were shooting blind.”
“As in we could have been anyone and not someone necessarily after them.”
“Exactly.”
“I suppose we’ll soon find out once the storm is over.” He knelt by the small, portable heater. “We’ll get this going and it should warm up fast.” He glanced at her with a smile. “Just like home.”
“Home with dehydrated stew for supper,” she said with a smile more poignant than humorous.
“Not even that,” he said. “We have no stove. Unless you want it cold, but I’m not sure how that will work with cold water...”
“Stop,” she said with a laugh.
The storm had intensified too fast and they had taken what they could from the Jeep. He’d managed to grab a bag with food supplies and she’d gotten blankets, but after that the storm had taken charge. The camp stove among a few other things had been left behind.
They had shelter and, more importantly, they were alive. They had lived and others had died.
She wasn’t sure how it happened but suddenly she was in his arms and his lips were on hers. Her heart beat wildly as he held her tight against him and she could feel him hard and ready against her belly. His lips were warm and oddly soft in a demanding, masculine way as they parted hers, and her heart pounded in time with his.
She wanted to hold him tighter and demand more. And yet it all seemed too soon and too much. For the first time she had thoughts that hadn’t occurred to her before. He was her boss. Her job mattered. Sex with the boss wasn’t the best career plan she’d ever had.
“No.” She shook her head. “I can’t.”
His knuckle ran along the edge of her cheek, caressing it, as his tongue tasted the edge of her lips. “What’s wrong?” he asked thickly, his desire still hard between them.
“No, Emir. Not now.” Why did she say that? Not ever was what she meant to say as the wind howled and the tent rocked and sand pelted against the canvas.
He caressed her breast.
She couldn’t have wanted him any more than she did in that moment. Instead she pulled back, forcing him to let her go.
“You’re my boss,” she muttered.
His dark eyes raked her face but he said nothing.
She moved away from him but the tent wasn’t large. She found herself next to the heater, a heat that was safer than the kind of heat he offered.
“We need to get some food, get some sleep and make a plan,” she said.
An awkward silence seemed to descend after those words. She looked at him from beneath her lashes. His back was to her and he was going through their supplies. Apparently he wasn’t fazed by rejection.
“Here’s one of your demands met,” he said, holding up a can. His expression was placid, like nothing had happened between them.
He tossed her a can of soup followed by a spoon and she peeled the metal lid back. Despite the fact that it was cold and, as a result, slightly congealed, it was exactly what she needed.
Ten minutes later she set the empty can aside. The storm was still going full force and as the wind pushed and pulled at the canvas, the noise was almost alarming. It was dark except for the occasional flicker of a flashlight they used to navigate the space. The wind rocked the tent and she wondered if it would hold.
“Ignore it,” he advised. “We’ll be fine.”
But there was pain in his eyes and she knew that he thought of Tara.
“We’ll all be fine,” she said. “Tara, too.”
He didn’t say anything. Instead he handed her a tin of rice pudding.
“No.” She laughed. “There’s something about rice in pudding—no.”
“Don’t know what you’re missing.”
He took a spoonful of pudding that some employee had thrown into the kit and grimaced as he swallowed. He held out his spoon. “You sure?” he asked with a smile.
“From the look on your face, yes,” she said with a laugh and then immediately turned serious. “We’re seven miles from the oasis. That’s what I got from what I saw of landmarks before the storm hit and from matching it on the map,” she said thoughtfully.
He put the tin down. “We could walk in once the storm...”
“A mile of that is going to be a fairly challenging climb through the cliffs that are backing the oasis. Not wise in the dark.” She paused. “I’ve been thinking about the kidnappers. They’ve been playing you, taking their time.”
“And?”
“I think we buy time, make them nervous. Play the game they’re playing right back at them. We put ourselves in position to move on them by nightfall.” She looked at her watch. It was now only seven. “Tomorrow.”