The Lost Prince. Cindy Dees

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СКАЧАТЬ the same effect on him. On full alert, he watched as she drew close. Close enough for him to see that her eyelashes were light brown. A blonde, maybe? His nostrils flared. There were only a few tiny laugh wrinkles by her eyes. Definitely young, then. Those eyes of hers were extraordinary, as clear and bright as the sky on a summer day.

      Her hands settled lightly on his rib cage. They felt like an angel’s kiss against his skin; featherlight, exquisitely sweet. So incongruous in this cold, hard prison.

      Her gaze jerked up to meet his, surprised. For an instant, they looked directly into each other’s souls. A connection leaped between them. An almost psychic knowing that went far beyond sexual awareness. Synchronicity.

      Her gaze faltered, while he blinked in surprise. Who was this girl?

      Slowly she washed him, the intimacy of the act curling around them like strands of silk, drawing them into a web that bound them inexorably to one another. Almost painfully sharp electricity shot through him at the seduction of her hands soothing his bare flesh. She petted him as she might a magnificent lion. Her touch lacked the finesse of an experienced lover, but that didn’t stop it from arousing him to a stupidly feverish pitch. What the hell was wrong with him?

      He supposed it had to do with her offering him solace. She didn’t exactly know how to do it, but her naive sincerity made the gesture all the more appealing. He caught another tantalizing whiff of lavender and glimpsed a few strands of golden hair escaping her head scarf. An intense desire to see the face beneath the veil surged through him.

      Her compassion made him want to put his arms around her and hug her in gratitude. She was a priceless reminder of the sane, normal world that existed somewhere beyond the walls of his prison. He closed his eyes in sudden pain. He hadn’t realized just how isolated he felt until she had arrived.

      Her fingers lightly probed his ribs, looking for broken bones. “If you’ll lean forward,” she murmured, “I’ll check the ribs in your back.”

      He bent toward her, his arms coming up to surround her lightly. She jumped like a frightened doe in his arms.

      “Uh, not exactly what I had in mind, but I suppose it works,” she mumbled in consternation.

      It felt as if he’d captured a rainbow, all light and air and fragile color. He held her delicately while a powerful protective impulse slammed into him. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d reacted to a woman like this. It must have something to do with that whole business of being about to die.

      He didn’t go for fragile females. The women he generally ran with could take perfectly fine care of themselves, thank you very much. But then, given that this young woman was here in the middle of an ongoing war, she probably could, too.

      He smiled into the folds of her veil as her hands traced the ribs in his back, checking for broken bones. Her fingers trembled against his skin. And something inside him trembled in response.

      Surprise coursed through him. He didn’t know which one of them was more flustered at the moment.

      “Poking you like this hurts, doesn’t it? I’m sorry,” she breathed.

      He opened his eyes and gazed down at her intently. Her eyes had tiny flecks of silver within the palette of vivid blue. “Don’t be sorry,” he murmured. “It’s a nice change from guards pounding the hell out of me.”

      She met his gaze for several candid seconds. Their faces would be in kissing range were it not for the black silk covering her mouth and nose. She meant him no harm. Wanted to help him. He saw it in her eyes. The weird electricity surged anew between them.

      Was it possible? Was there a chance that help might reach him from the outside? If someone like this were to be sympathetic to him, maybe pass a message to a few supporters of his in the city—

      It could work.

      Maybe his death wasn’t so inevitable after all!

      But first he would have to convince her to help him.

      Alarmed at her totally inappropriate reaction to this anonymous Baraqi man, Katy slipped out of the loose circle of his arms to reach into her medical bag, relieved to be out of such proximity to the strangely attractive prisoner.

      She fumbled for her clipboard and placed it squarely between them, lest he get any frisky ideas in the meantime.

      “What’s your full name?” she asked in as businesslike a fashion as she could muster.

      He didn’t answer right away. She looked up, her pen poised over the right box on Larry’s spreadsheet.

      He was frowning at her. Intently.

      She commented lightly, “It’s not that hard a question. I just need to write your name down for our records. It’s required by the Geneva Convention for you to give your captors your name anyway.”

      Still no answer.

      “Are you having trouble remembering your name?”

      He sighed. “I’m trying to decide whether or not I should trust you.”

      She slid her pen into the top of the clipboard and set the whole thing down. She said pleasantly, “Well, I’ve been sent here to help you. If not me, who are you going to trust?”

      Another heavy sigh. “Therein lies my dilemma. You’re all I’ve got.”

      Maybe it was the constant browbeating she took over her unfortunate family connections that made his comment rub her the wrong way. But she said a little less pleasantly, “I am a fully trained humanitarian relief worker and I’m generally considered to be a reasonably intelligent human being who doesn’t lie, keeps her word and is classed as trustworthy.”

      And, unaccountably, he smiled. “Aah, there it is. A spine. Perhaps you are the person I need after all.”

      Huh?

      “Answer me this,” he continued. “Who’s going to see that spreadsheet of yours?”

      “My team will. General Sharaf’s people will. And I expect we’ll forward the list to the Red Cross.”

      He reached into his pocket and pulled out a vinyl-covered passport. “Then, in that case, my name is Akbar—” a pause while he read the document “—Mulwami.”

      She frowned. And didn’t bother to write it down. That so wasn’t his name.

      He glanced up at her. “Do you need me to spell that?”

      She snorted. “No. I need you to quit BSing me.”

      He laughed, back to his utterly charming self. “Aah, you and I are going to get along famously. I promise you that is my name as the Baraqi Army knows it to be.”

      “And what does your mother know it to be?” she retorted.

      He leaned back against the rock wall behind him. “I’ll answer that question if you wish. But first you must promise me something.”

      Man, his dimples were lethal. “What’s that?”

      “You must СКАЧАТЬ