Chapter Two #2
He was beautiful enough to give Jamal a run for his money.
Broad shoulders, well-muscled arms. Sharp features, equally proportioned, and lightly tanned skin.
Short brown hair with a slight curl to the tips.
Piercing blue eyes that watched her with distrust. Firm jaw.
Perfect mouth. He straightened the ball cap that should have diminished the male model look yet somehow, did not.
Work boots with dried mud caked on the toes, and his work-roughened hands, strongly suggested he labored in fields.
He moved stiffly, with care, indicating her blow to his man parts had accomplished its mission.
The kidnapping and manhandling ruined the whole hot, rugged, male image for her.
No matter how pretty he was, he was someone Adeel had hired to help him force an unworthy marriage on her.
They rode in silence. Malika refused to speak first. Lesson number three was to pay as much attention as she could to her transportation. The van swayed ever so slightly, indicating a strong wind, but the tires hummed smoothly, without bumps, so they must be driving on asphalt.
“I take it Sheik Ali didn’t tell you we were coming to pick you up,” the stranger finally ventured.
Was Sheik Ali the name that he gave the kidnappers?
Really, Adeel. How ridiculous. Malika gifted the stranger with the imperious stare she’d learned from her brother, who used it quite often on her.
If he was trying to be friendly, he could forget it.
Lesson number four from her roommates was to not fall for the trick of a kidnapper who tried to make friends.
She could gain information from him, however. “Ad—” She caught herself. Don’t give away secrets. “Sheik Ali told me we’re supposed to attend a wedding.”
“That’s right. On Saturday.”
This was Thursday. She had less than two days to unwind this web of deceit Adeel had tangled her in.
Her brain raced. The man’s expression had changed when he spoke of the wedding.
Something about it displeased him, and she puzzled over what it might be.
Most Americans didn’t believe in arranged marriages.
Polygamy, either. Perhaps he didn’t care for the idea of someone as young and beautiful as she was being wed to an old man who was already married.
If so, she could turn him into an ally. Her roommates had said nothing as to whether she should try to make friends with a kidnapper.
“Sheik Ali never said where this wedding is to be held. Where are we going?” she asked.
“A Wild West theme park,” the man said, which was worse than she’d thought.
She knew Adeel had a fascination for the American West, but as a wedding venue, it was so tacky.
“My name is Jayce, by the way.” He smiled at her, and she forgot about tacky weddings.
Good heavens, but he was pretty.
“When Ali said he was bringing his little sister, I thought you’d be younger.”
Her resolve stiffened. If he was trying to befriend her, he was going about it all wrong.
Yes, in some of her country’s more traditional households—of which her family was one—she might be considered old for a bride, but it was impolite of him to draw attention to it.
Besides, Eli Chamas couldn’t possibly be the only man in Djitania who’d offered for her, even if the mahr Adeel requested for her was steep.
Calling him out on his rudeness, however, would not win him over.
Even though an escape from a Wild West theme park should be easy enough, at least based on the deserted ghost town she’d just seen, distance from civilization could be a problem.
The entire state of Montana was little more than grasslands and mountains.
She might need a ride, and hailing a cab wasn’t likely an option.
Friendly.
She could do friendly.
“Jayce,” she said, breathing it out in the same husky way that her sisters claimed men liked hearing their names. “What a lovely name. Mine is Malika.” She stretched the vowels out, trying to make it sound sexy, because she needed the practice. Mah-leeee-kah.
A bright-red flush began at his open shirt collar, then spread up his throat.
It engulfed his face, from chin to forehead, in flames.
His Adam’s apple couldn’t decide between up and down.
His eyes darted back and forth as if charting a path to escape, and the tiny muscles under them quivered and jerked.
Malika frowned. Good heavens. The man didn’t know how to flirt. He was worse than Adeel.
*
Jayce
Sheik Ali’s baby sister wasn’t at all what Jayce had been led to expect. For starters, he’d expected a child.
“Ali says his sister is spoiled and likely to change her mind at the last minute, and we’re not to worry about it if she does. That’s his problem, not ours. He says he’s tired of her behavior, and spending time in Burning Scrub will do her a world of good,” Adam had told him on the drive here.
Ali had understated the situation.
She’d thrown herself at him as if she truly believed she was being kidnapped. The crippling pain in his gonads had settled down to a dull throb, but he was going to have a bruise in the shape of her heel on his arm once the numbness wore off.
Now she eyed him like a dessert at a Christmas buffet. He’d once owned a mare that seemed sweet on the surface but liked to bite when he turned his back. Mah-leeee-kah gave off the same unpredictable vibe.
Jayce didn’t like unpredictable. Not in his horses, and not in his women.
Noticing her as a woman hit the wrong way.
She wasn’t beautiful. Not the way Belle was, loyalty to the love of his life compelled him to note.
Belle looked like an angel, and angelic was not the word that came to mind when describing Ali’s baby sister.
Mah-leeee-kah was pretty in a different way.
One that made men look twice. And keep sneaking peeks.
That thought was less loyal.
Dark, heavy curls fell a few inches shy of her hips.
Her skin carried the warm, earthy tone of someone who spent a great deal of time in the sun, although it looked natural, not tanned.
Her eyes, by contrast, were light, made more so by the thick fringe of dark lashes.
He couldn’t tell their exact color from where he sat, but he guessed either a pale hazel or green.
Bold eyebrows arched expressively above them.
Full red lips, and a pert, narrow nose, were equally bold.
She had curves, above and below a slender waist, and long legs that were tightly packaged in denim.
A long-sleeved white T-shirt stretched across a firm pair of breasts that he struggled to keep his eyes off.
Gold bangle bracelets and those deadly, high-heeled boots offset any simplicity her jeans and T-shirt implied.
She looked expensive, high maintenance, and more dangerous than her footwear.
She’d gone from attempting to kill him to boldly examining him as if he were a prize stallion stud at auction.
He didn’t know what she was up to, and he wasn’t anxious to find out.
Why Ali thought it was a good idea to bring his exotic, clearly spoiled, younger sister to Burning Scrub for Beau and Belle’s Wild West-themed wedding was anyone’s guess.
He didn’t envy Pearl Lovett the task of outfitting her for a costume.
Neither did he envy the person about to be handed the responsibility of overseeing her while she was here, because it wouldn’t be him. Judging by how badly she hadn’t wanted to join her brother on this excursion, however, her day wasn’t going well, either.
“Well, Miss … Ali,” he said. “I hope you enjoy your stay in Burning Scrub. There’s fishing, hiking, and horseback riding, for starters.
” He couldn’t imagine any of those activities appealing to her.
“Meals are served at the boarding house, although they can be catered for you in the guest lodge upon request.”
She crossed her long legs at the ankle and made herself comfortable, bracing her back against the side wall of the van. “Tell me more about this Wild West theme park of yours. Why would a bride choose such a venue for a wedding?”
Her judgy tone raised the fine hairs on Jayce’s neck. Burning Scrub might have its quirks, but he’d grown up with it in his backyard, and it was as much his home as the ranch.
“Her great-grandfather established the town, then the family turned it into a theme park. People live there year-round. She’s the town doctor.”
Malika rolled that information around in her head and reached a conclusion. “And you’re one of her family’s servants.”
“I’m not”—he began, then thought yes, he probably was. Depending, of course, on one’s definition. “What makes you think I’m a servant?”
She raised an eyebrow. Her steady gaze slid down her trim nose. “You speak as if you’re not a part of this town or its founding family, and yet here you are, running an errand for them. Can I also assume you were paid to abduct me?”
“You weren’t ab—” he began, then decided he’d better leave that one alone. “I wasn’t paid to—” Okay, again yes, he probably was. “I’m a partner.” Of sorts. His armpits grew damp. “My family owns the valley with the only road into the town.”
Malika tipped her head back and stared intently through the skylight as if memorizing the clouds. It took him a moment to figure out that he’d been dismissed by Her Royal Highness, or whatever her status in her own country was.
No longer inclined to speak either, he tipped his ball cap over his eyes and pretended to sleep, although he didn’t let his guard down for a second.