as if his guard came down, and she felt she connected with this guy, felt that they shared a bond. Then it was as if he flicked a switch.
“It’s got everything to do with me,” she snapped. “You said as much yourself—that rescuing me forced you to kill a man back there at the lodge. You said I made you break a vow not to kill another man, or woman. Did you kill a woman, Brandt? What woman?”
Any hint of congeniality vaporized instantly as a cold hard anger altered his features and his hands fisted around the wheel. Right away Dalilah knew she’d hit the nerve in Brandt Stryker. He had killed a woman.
Part of her brain screamed to drop the subject right here. But she couldn’t.
“Who was she, Brandt? What happened ten years ago?”
“Dalilah,” he said very quietly, “I’m not looking to make friends, nor tell my life story. My mission is to get you to a safe place, and to call your brother. He will either come fetch you, or send someone to take you off my hands.”
“So I’m just a package to be picked up and dropped off.”
“Yes,” he said. Then, as if he couldn’t stop himself, either, he said, “And then you can be nicely handed over to King Haram.”
“Haroun!”
“Whatever.”
She glared at him, her blood starting to boil, her face going hot. “Where do you know my brother from, anyway?” she demanded.
“I told you, Omair and I used to work together.” His voice was going tighter, lower, even quieter. Warning flushed through her. But she was like a runaway train now, unable to pull the brakes, heading downhill no matter the cost.
“And you said you owe him—why?”
Brandt flashed her a fierce look, his wolf eyes like slits, warning her to back down. “I told you already. Omair saved my life. So let’s drop it.”
“How did he save your life—what happened?”
He fixed his gaze dead ahead, fists clenched on the wheel, as he negotiated a particularly rocky section. “Look, Princess,” he said, the jeep swaying, “save your energy, because you’re going to need it. This is not a social trip. You don’t need to know me, and I don’t need to know you. Let’s just get this over with.”
She muttered in Arabic, repressing the urge rising in her to punch him, to beat out the information, make him drop the damn barriers. One trait she’d never managed to outgrow was curiosity and dogged determination to ferret out the truth, especially if someone tried to thwart her from doing so.
He swerved sharply as the jeep cut too close to another acacia tree and the branches raked down the side of the vehicle, slapping inside. She ducked back, but not in time. A thorn ripped through her sleeve, splitting open her skin. Blood welled. Dalilah’s eyes burned with pain and frustration.
“I told you to keep your hands in!” he snapped.
“I did! You’re doing this on purpose. You’re a pig!”
“Yup.”
“I know you care—I felt you care!”
His gaze shot to her, eyes crackling. She was getting to him, rattling his cage. Things were shaking loose inside—she could see it in his eyes, in the set of his features, the tension in his neck.
“You know nothing, Dalilah, and it’s none of your goddamn business what happened in my past. I don’t know what you hope to achieve by pressing me like this.”
“I’m pressing because I want to know what happened to the nice guy who rescued me last night. The guy who fixed my arm and helped me through the darkest hours of dawn. Who...” Her voice cracked. “Who kept my morale up. Who...who kissed me.”
Angrily she swiped the tears pooling in her eyes.
“You want to know why I kissed you, Dalilah? Is that what this is about? I’m a red-blooded male, that’s why. And you looked pretty damn hot in that body-hugging cocktail gown. I carried you on my back, and it felt good—it gave me an itch I needed to scratch.”
“Damn you,” she spat at him.
“You did a bloody good job of kissing me back,” he countered crisply.
Her cheeks went hotter, a fire burning into her stomach, embarrassment twisting through her chest.
“Why did you do that?” he said.
But as Dalilah opened her mouth, she realized the stupidity of what she was trying to say—that she’d kissed him because he...what? Had awakened something in her? Lust? A need she didn’t know she even had? Because in spite of his overbearing attitude she’d been drawn to the tenderness underneath all that brawn,