A savage son of the Sahara who knows no law but his own…
When pride and passion vie for supremacy…
Blistering desert days are nothing compared to the sizzling Sahara
nights…
Excerpt
"S'il
vous plait." He waved me to a low Turkish divan. "Come and sit,
mademoiselle. I shall call for coffee and then you shall recount to me all that
is the cause of your great distress." He smiled and settled his girth into
a large leather-covered chair. "I wish to know precisely how such a
delicate English woman managed to survive alone for months in such inhospitable
conditions."
"I
am not so delicate, nor was I alone," I replied. "I was abducted and
held captive."
"Were
you indeed?" He lit a cigarette and then offered his case to me, but I
didn't care for the scent of the cheap Gauloises tobacco, having become accustomed
to the rich aroma of pure Turkish Murads.
"I
suppose these savages demanded a ransom for your release?" he asked and
took a long draw on his cigarette.
"No,
he did not."
"He?"
His brows rose as he blew a wispy cloud of grey smoke.
"Yes.
My captor wanted nothing monetarily."
"Is
that so?" He was silent for a long moment as his beady black gaze swept
over me. The unspoken implication and his lascivious sent a profusion of heat
to my face. Nevertheless, I forged on. "It is my belief, monsieur, that my
own brother may have intended to kill me."
"You
believe your own brother has intrigued against you? And where is he now, this
brother?"
"He
is in New York or perhaps Newport. He has a perfect alibi, of course, but I
have evidence to support my suspicions."
He
nodded slowly and then pursed his lips. "Then your abductor was an
accomplice in this nefarious plot?"
"No.
It is not as simple as that. As it turns out, my captor inadvertently saved my
life."
"Alors!
This is fascinating indeed. I wish to hear this tale en totalité, but first I
shall summon my scribe to record this
story. After which, I intend to send an urgent dispatch to the British Embassy
in Paris. I assure you, mademoiselle, justice will be served."
He
stubbed out his cigarette. "As to your abductor, I shall deal with this
heathen dog, this barbaric bâtard, personally." His gaze suddenly narrowed
on me with a disconcerting intensity. "You must tell me now, Mademoiselle
Mayo, who was the perpetrator of this…this… outrage to your person?"
And
in that moment I knew.
It was not the details of my intended murder
that had captured his interest. No, he didn't care at all about me. He desired
only to know what I knew—specifically, the name and location of the force
behind the simmering unrest—my captor and my lover— Sheik Ahmed Ben
Hassan.
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Author Victoria Vane
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Victoria Vane