Free The Ice Maiden's Sheikh by Alexandra Sellers Page B

was right now—dependent on him for her survival, and hoping against hope that he would crack and make love to her before she cracked and promised him whatever price he asked.
    â€œWhy won’t you make love to me?” she asked, before she could stop herself, as they picked their way past the boulders strewn in the road.
    Latif glanced at her without surprise, so he must have felt that deep connection, too. “I will,” he said.
    â€œOh!” She couldn’t stop the smile that played over her mouth, nor the delighted surge of anticipation in her blood, and as if he were powerless in the face of such evidence of her desire, his arms went around her and he pulled her against him.
    Fire burned up around her, and with a gasp she parted her lips and tilted her chin to invite his kiss.
    â€œWhen you have my ring on your finger insteadof the one you now wear,” he continued, and then his lips came down on hers with a power of masculine demand that sent sensation whipping into every nerve.
    Her arms wrapped him, her body fitted against his as he bent her back over his arm, twined his fingers into her hair, and the hard, pushing response of his arousal pressed against her to produce a fierce melting that buckled her knees like butter on a stove.
    Her head was caught in the crook of one arm, his other hand was hot and hard against the back of her waist, and she felt how easy it would be for him to overwhelm her, because he was strong, much stronger than she had guessed, and her blood soared with the knowledge.
    He lifted his mouth and stared at her from green eyes almost black with need. She had never seen so deep a green, and she could have stayed there all day just exploring the magic of that emerald pitch, that glinting hunger, feeling her danger and her safety in his hold, feeling how the world held its breath.
    â€œIt will be difficult,” he admitted, with a hoarse exhalation. “Which of us will be the winner?”
    Jalia took a deep, calming breath. It was impossible to make love here on the road, but she had lost track of time and place while his mouth was on hers.
    Around the next mound of fallen rock they met a team working to mend the road. With only manpower and a couple of donkeys they were gathering up the rocks that had come down from the ridge above and were packing them into the gullies that the rains had gouged: backbreaking, dangerous work, but the men and boys seemed cheerful enough.
    When Latif and Jalia appeared suddenly on theroad they all looked up and gave the Bagestani greeting of a fist to the heart. A moment later someone recognized Latif.
    â€œYou come in a good time, Lord!” they cried in formal greeting.
    â€œMay your shadow never grow less!”
    â€œYou come to sit on the council, Lord?” said another anxiously. “I have a petition….”
    No one kowtowed to him, Jalia saw, though he was the man they called their Shahin : they had too much self-respect, it seemed. Between Latif and the men there was a mutual exchange of respect. And yet it was clear they would accept his judgement.
    After a few moments Latif said, “I escort the Princess Jalia on a search for her cousin, Princess Noor,” and explained about the downed plane for the fiftieth time since they had begun this quest.
    She exchanged nods with the men. In her jeans and desert boots and shirt, she must have been a somewhat unusual sight, but none of them stared at her, a fact she was getting used to after so many days in the mountains.
    As her father had told her in endless stories during her childhood, the mountain people of Bagestan were a ferociously proud people, but they were also hospitable and polite, and they would never stare at a strange woman.
    Some of the conversation that now ensued was too quick for her to follow, more so since several people were talking at once, but she understood that no one had seen or heard anything resembling a plane in trouble or