Read Online The Sheik's Safety by Dana Marton - Free Book Online Page B

then leaving for good when she was twelve. She was glad Salah had his aunts.
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    His gaze was steady on her face. “Your apology is not necessary.”
    But the light mood disappeared from between them. She wanted to say something to make up for her ill-spoken words, but for once, couldn’t come up with anything. What did she know about loving and losing? Nothing. She had never allowed herself to risk falling in love.
    When he moved forward, she followed him to a door made of hammered copper, bit her lip to keep from gasping when he opened it.
    If it wasn’t a harem, she didn’t know what was.
    The room had the look of a luxury spa, unreal in its sumptuousness like a movie set. Her two-bedroom condo in Baltimore, the place she called home in between assignments, was at least a couple of hundred square feet smaller.
    Tiled columns reached to the fifteen-foot or so tall ceiling that was painted with a small geometric pattern in teal and gold. She gaped at the two separate sitting areas, one with an entertainment center, one surrounded by books—a corner library.
    The canopy bed in the back was freckled with jewel-toned pillows, the carpet it stood on having the look of a priceless antique. Enough open space stretched between the sleeping and living areas to hold a dance party. Through an archway she could see into a smaller room, every surface tiled, a round pool sunk into the floor, a good ten feet in diameter.
    The place was overwhelming. She lifted a hand to rub her temple, then winced at the pain in her arm. Fresh blood stained her sleeve.
    She heard his sharp intake of breath. The next thing she knew, she was in his arms and they were on their way to the bed.
    â€œYou said it was a minor injury,” he said in a tight voice as he laid her gently on the brocade cover, a thunderstorm brewing in his eyes.
    â€œIt is, I’ve—”
    He hooked two long fingers into the hole the bullet had ripped and tore the material open. Her breath caught in her throat.
    Somebody was knocking on the door. When Saeed called out, two women came in. He sent them away.
    â€œLie down,” he said, his face hard set.
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong with me.”
    She wasn’t used to seeing him off balance. He had kept his cool during the fight, both at the oasis and in the wadi, fought off the assassin in the tent without breaking a sweat. She was starting to get the idea that he’d had considerable practice at skirmishes.
    And yet, the sight of a single injured woman rattled him. Not that strange, she thought after a moment. In his culture, men were supposed to keep women protected.
    â€œI’m okay. It wasn’t your fault,” she said.
    â€œFine. At least don’t move.” He went off to the bathroom and came back with a wet towel, dabbed off the dried blood from her skin.
    The wound wasn’t terribly bad, barely oozing now. She didn’t see what the big deal was. “I thought the servants were going to help me clean up.”
    â€œI changed my mind. You’re not well enough to clean up. We wait for the doctor.”
    Too bad. Her gaze skipped to the bathroom and she nearly moaned aloud at the thought of sinking chin deep into bubbles. She’d had few luxuries in her life. The tub in the other room was calling her name.
    â€œWhen I ask you a question, I expect you to tell me the truth.” He was still looking at the torn flesh, his eyes dark with disapproval.
    â€œI did. It’s nothing. Believe me, I’ve been in worse shape.” And that was the truth.
    His hand moved higher on her arm, his thumb skimming over an old bullet wound two to three inches below her shoulder. Pleasure skittered across her skin and she bit her lower lip to make it go away. It didn’t quite work. He hesitated on the spot, making a circle around it before running his fingers back to her current injury.
    â€œIt’s a hell of a lot more than