'They come in search of the warmth,' he said gently. 'Sometimes they get into your blankets during the night. You have to search the ground before you get up. But there's no need to be afraid. I'm used to them.'
'Are they poisonous?'
'Very,' he said bluntly.
She raised her head, shuddering, but laughed helplessly. 'Oh, you're so damned honest! Why couldn't you lie to me?'
He pushed the hood back from her hair, his fingers lingering on the gleam of gold which framed her white face. 'I'll lie to you if you want me to, Miss Brinton…'
A slow, warm sweetness was spreading through her body. She hung in the shelter of his arms, relaxed to the point of physical collapse, aware in every nerve of the hardness of his body against hers, the muscled easy strength which had carried him through these last hours of hard riding across difficult terrain yet left him still unwearied at the end. Her own physical exhaustion, coupled with the recent shock and the insidious warmth of the firelight and his closeness, made her head swim.
She looked up into the enigmatic dark face, her smile wry. 'You'll lie anyway, no doubt. After all, what do I know about you? I don't even know your name. I only know you're some sort of kidnapper. You saved my life just then and I'm grateful, but it was you who put me in danger in the first place.'
'My dear Miss Brinton,' he murmured mockingly.
'Don't keep calling me that!'
'What shall I call you?' he asked at once. 'Marie…' He said the name with soft pleasure, dwelling on it in a musical voice which sent shivers down her spine.
'If you wish,' she shrugged with a pretence of indifference. 'What shall I call you?'
He looked into her eyes thoughtfully. 'The Arabs call me Khalid.'
Her curiosity was aroused. 'What do other people call you? Or wouldn't it be polite to ask?'
He grinned. 'The desert Bedouin have a saying… a woman stabs with her tongue or with her eyes… It fits you well, Marie.'
'If I had anything else to stab with I would use it,' she said tauntingly.
He laughed. 'I believe you.' He released her and moved a hand down his white clothes, producing a curved damascene dagger which glittered wickedly in the firelight. Offering it to her gravely, he bowed.
She took the weapon, feeling a helpless rage. He knew she would not use it. It was useless to her out here in the desert. If she did kill him she would never find her own way back to safety; she would die out here of exposure or be captured by nomad Bedouin.
She threw the weapon away, watching the bright arc of light as it fell. 'You know I can't use it. You were quite safe to give it to me.'
'True,' he agreed smoothly. 'Now find it and bring it here to me.'
'Find it yourself!'
He gripped her shoulders with two hard hands, staring down into her uplifted face with compelling eyes. 'Find it.'
Fear leapt up inside her. She knew that stony, commanding face. When he released her she angrily moved away to pick up the dagger and bring it back to him. He took it from her and slid it back into concealment among his clothes.
'Now, sleep,' he said calmly.
Marie lay down, facing the fire, and curled round to sleep again. Gradually her nerves stopped jumping and she felt a deep sleep dragging her down to oblivion. Just on the point of submersion, she became aware of him settling down beside her on the rug. Her eyes warily flicked open and found his face close beside hers, the dark eyes watching her.
'Go to sleep, Marie,' he ordered with dry amusement. 'I have no interest in a forced lovemaking.'
She felt hot colour run into her cheeks. Slowly her eyes closed again, but she lay listening to the regular sound of his breathing, aware of every move he made, every breath he drew. She wondered what it would feel like if… then she jerked herself away from that thought, hating herself for entertaining it for a second. Despite herself, she risked another look at him. He was still watching her as attentively as before.
'What now?' he demanded instantly. 'Are you disappointed that I've made no attack upon your virtue, Miss Brinton? Of course, if you insist…' The dark eyes mocked her. 'I can force myself to make love to you if you cannot sleep until I have…'
'Can't you sleep on the other side of the fire?' she demanded. 'You make me nervous.'
He rose suddenly and began to kick out the fire. She watched him, baffled and alarmed.
Then he turned and jerked her to her feet, pulled back the long golden strands of her hair until her face was exposed to him and bent his head. Marie gasped helplessly as the hard mouth silenced her, parting her lips and filling her with a totally new realisation of her own femininity. The hands holding her were fierce and remorselessly compelled her submission, bending her backward so that her head spun and she was dizzily forced to cling on to him or fall. The kiss deepened, grew hot and demanding. Her closed eyes seemed dazzled by an explosion of brilliant light. She knew she was kissing him back, she felt the hot response of her own senses, but she was too helpless to fight, overwhelmed by new sensations. No man had ever made her feel so weak, so female, so much at the mercy of a superior strength. One part of her was furiously angry, scornful at herself for weakly submitting, the other was almost rapturous, glorying in the way he made her feel.