Guarding the Princess by Loreth Anne White Page A

deeper. Then he felt the rock on her hand, the diamond. Christ, what were they doing!
    He jerked back, shocked.
    She stared into his eyes, just as stunned. Silence—heavy, loaded with crackling tension—filled the space between them. Words defied Brandt.
    Sorry didn’t cut it. Because he wasn’t sorry. He’d do it again in a heartbeat.
    And that’s when fear plunged its blade really deep into his heart—this woman scared him. She made him want. In a way that was raw and deep and very dangerous. A way that he hadn’t wanted in years, not since a time when life still held possibilities and dreams. She’d reawakened a part of himself he thought long dead. Dalilah really was too hot for him to handle. And for the next few days, it was going to be his job—to handle her.
    “Brandt,” she said.
    “Don’t,” he said. “Please, don’t say anything, Dalilah. It... Nothing happened.”
    Her mouth went tight, and he saw something heavy and sad in her eyes. He also saw her complexion was suddenly wan, and she was starting to shiver again.
    He cursed himself, resenting the erection still hard and hot in his pants—a mocking reminder he was a damn fool. He was supposed to be taking care of her, not satisfying his own lust.
    Self-recrimination slicing like ice through him, he flung open his door. “Let’s find you some dry clothes, take a look at that injury, get some food into you.”
    He put the Petzl headlamp back onto his head, clicked it on, and rummaged around in the back for a second headlamp, which he’d taken from the bush camp. He looped the strap of the second lamp over the roll bar, under the jeep’s canvas roof, so that it cast its light down into the interior of the vehicle.
    Survival lust. That’s all it was, he told himself as he tossed things out of the backpack. It was normal. Survivors could become euphoric in the face of cheating death. Humans were hormonally primed to jump each other’s bones after times of war. This ensured propagation of the species, survival of the tribe. There was a design to nature, and that’s all this was. Humans, at the base level, were programmed no less than other mammals.
    Focus. Get over it.
    But Brandt knew he was fruitlessly trying to justify his actions. Actions that were inexcusable, the same kind of actions that had gotten Carla tortured, raped and murdered while he’d been forced to watch helplessly.
    He tossed a pile of clothes into the front seat beside Dalilah. “Put those on.” His words were brusque, and he knew it. He saw a glimmer of hurt in her eyes, but he didn’t care—couldn’t afford to. It was best this way. She gathered up the clothes, and her gaze held his for several beats.
    “What?” he snapped.
    “Nothing.” Her words were just as terse.
    “Dalilah,” he said, then hesitated. “It was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”
    She bit her lip and turned away from him.
    Brandt cursed again to himself as he dug a kikoi out of the backpack. He held up the woven African sarong. It looked brand-new—those poor German tourists must have bought it at some market recently. He draped it over the roll bars that divided the front from the backseats, making a curtain to afford Dalilah some privacy while she changed.
    From behind the curtain he said curtly, “If you need help changing, tell me.”
    “I won’t,” she said crisply. “I’m fine.”
    Silence.
    Brandt scrubbed his brow and blew out a chestful of air. He’d crossed the line, but she was just as guilty. She was engaged to another man, and Brandt held on to that. Women could not be trusted. They broke promises.
    Especially women like her.

Chapter 6
    D alilah tried to sort one-handed through the jumble of clothing Brandt had thrust onto the seat beside her, but she was shivering badly now. Temperatures had dropped, but she knew the kiss had shaken her more than the cold. She didn’t want to articulate what that really meant to her, or her future. But she sensed a seismic shift