She didn’t know if it was the command in his tone or not, but a second later her hand was in his and he was drawing her up. They stood so close that she identified the tang of cinnamon and male, and the comforting smell of horse, before he stepped away, surveying the roof.
‘Here.’ He turned and beckoned.
‘What do you have in mind?’
‘Hands on my shoulders. I’ll lift you so you can check for a way out.’
‘Butyoucan’t get out.’ Her gaze dropped to the manacle on his wrist.
‘That’s no reason for you not to try.’
That voice, as smooth and rich as her favourite coffee, warmed her as his gaze captured hers. Tori’s racing thoughts stilled. She felt a moment of communion, as if this stranger understood the guilt that made her protest even as the idea of escape made her thrill with excitement.
‘What’s your name?’
The question made her pause. What would it be like to hear him ask that in different circumstances? There was something about this man...the resonance of his deep voice, his inner strength in the face of adversity, his sureness...that drew her.
Her heart beat hard against her ribs.
‘Tori. And you?’
‘You may call me Ash.’
Before she could wonder at his phrasing, he continued.
‘If you can get onto the roof and away, there’s a chance you can raise the alert before daybreak.’
He didn’t have to spell out what would happen when day came. That captor’s slicing gesture was vivid in her mind.
‘But I don’t know where I am. Or where to go.’
Long fingers folded around her hand, steadying her. ‘You don’t have to know. Get away from the hut and the campfire. Stay low. When you’re a safe distance out, circle the camp. You’ll eventually come across the trail where you entered. Keep out of sight and follow the trail.’
‘And hope to find the road or a village?’
‘You have a better idea?’
Tori shook her head. It was their best chance. Possibly Ash’sonlychance.
‘Let’s do this.’ She planted her palms on his shoulders, then sucked in a breath as he bent, wrapped his big hands around her and lifted.
* * *
It was probably only fifteen minutes before they admitted defeat. To Ashraf it felt like hours.
Frustrating hours, with that cursed chain curtailing his movements. They had only been able to explore one end of the roof and it was disappointingly sturdy.
The slashing pain across his ribs had become a sear of agony. His head pounded. Stiff muscles ached from boosting his companion high, then holding her up while she strained and twisted, trying to find a weakness in the roof structure she could exploit.
Physical exertion compounded with frustration at his helplessness. But it was another sort of torture, holding Tori.
Trying to ignore her rounded breasts and buttocks. Standing solid, holding her high, his face pressed to her soft belly as she heaved and twisted, trying to force her way through the roof. Feeling the narrowness of her waist, inhaling her female essence, fresh and inviting, despite the overlay of dust and fear.
Beneath the loose trousers and long-sleeved shirt she was all woman. Firmly toned, supple and fragrantly feminine.
By the time he lowered her for the last time and sagged against the wall his body shook all over. From reaction to his wounds. From fury at himself for allowing Qadri to get the better of him.
And from arousal. Flagrant and flaming hot.