Hot Sahara Wind

by Jinger Heaston (Illustrator), Giovanna Lagana (Editor), Emma Wildes

Overview

Dazzled by the dream of exploring an ancient city steeped in centuries of exotic tradition, Lady Sarah Stewart instead finds herself facing death for a crime she never intended to commit. Luckily, she has a connection to the royal family that just might save her life. Prince Ahmed has never gotten over his sexual infatuation with the sister of his English friend, William Stewart. When the beauteous Sarah needs rescue, he offers a solution that will both solve her dilemma and slake his undeniable lust. Marrying an Englishwoman is an unorthodox step, but the satisfaction he finds when she is in his bed is well-worth it, for his lovely bride proves as passionate as she is spirited. Delighted in their unexpected union, Ahmed and Sarah find paradise in each other's arms...and darkness on the horizon. For an enemy plots diabolical revenge under the breath of a Hot Sahara Wind...

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781593746711
Publisher:	Whiskey Creek Press
Publication date:	04/25/2016
Pages:	116
Product dimensions:	8.80(w) x 5.50(h) x 0.30(d)

About the Author

Emma Wildes is the author of thirteen novels and numerous erotic short stories. She loves to write, read, and cook, in that order. Living in rural Indiana, she delights in those rainy days, sultry days, snowy days, sunny days...all are good for sitting down in front of the computer. Please visit her at www.emmawildes.com, and if you like regular romance or mystery, www.katherinesmith.net.

Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1

The walls of the dusty, dark cell fairly radiated the despair of those unfortunates who had occupied it in the past. Tiny, with nothing but one high slit for ventilation that let in a little light, it had a dirty stone floor and a small pallet with a very questionable-looking blanket.

Feeling rather unfortunate herself, Lady Sarah Stewart attempted to pace, though the space was actually too small to do much other than take a few steps and turn around, her silken skirts brushing the filthy floor. This morning, she thought in disbelief over her current circumstances, she had eaten breakfast in bed, bathed in scented water, and had a maid to wait on her hand and foot as she selected a gown and dressed for her outing in the teeming, exotic city. The contrast between her luxurious hotel room and the appalling quarters she was incarcerated in now was almost overwhelming, especially since she had no idea why she had been brought there in the first place. It was difficult to tell how much time had passed, but there was no doubt the horrid interior was growing dimmer, which meant she'd been there for hours and hours.

Please God, she prayed, a warm tear trickling down her cheek, her throat tight, do not let me have to spend the night in this place.

As if in answer, the scrape of a key made her whirl gratefully, the hinges squealing as the protesting door swung open. A guard stood there, looking completely impassive, his gleaming sword nearly touching the floor. At any other time, she would have thought his colorful uniform of tunic and turban to be fascinating, another indication she was in a completely different part of the world than her nativeEngland, but right now, it simply terrified her. He indicated she should step out, and she did so gladly, guessing from his gesture that he wanted her to precede him down the narrow, dank hallway. Since anything seemed better than being locked away, Sarah complied, making fists of her trembling hands as she walked down the uneven corridor and climbed the stairs at the end.

After a veritable maze of similar hallways, she was taken to a large square room that actually had a series of high windows letting in the brilliance of the dying sunset. There were at least ten people in the room, all of which turned to stare at her upon her entrance. Most of them were like the men who had seized her while she toured an ancient mosque, robed, dark, and bearded, their openly hostile expressions making her catch her breath. Seated in chairs by a long low table, they appeared to be waiting for something.

"Lady Sarah." The only person in the room dressed in a more western style was a slender, fine-boned elderly man who came toward her at once and gave her a courtly bow. "I am Robert Tulane, the English Consul here."

"Where is my aunt?" she asked, that agonizing question foremost in her mind.

"Here, also being held." Grave pale blue eyes surveyed her undoubtedly disheveled appearance. "Prince Ahmed sent word of your plight as soon as he was contacted. I have been here for hours, trying to help you both. But there are ... difficulties."

To say she was grateful that her captors had understood her pleading insistence of a friendship with their exalted royal family was such a relief that her knees nearly buckled. Her grasp of the local dialect was poor and she wasn't sure they had paid the least attention. "Thank you," she whispered, fighting the need to collapse in a weeping fit on the floor. "But what exactly is my plight? I don't understand what happened. One moment my aunt and I were with a hired guide, exploring the city, and the next, they were dragging us away. We did nothing."

Mr. Tulane shook his head slightly. "That was not a guide, my Lady. This is a different world, in some ways very civilized, but in others not at all. He is a wanted man, a trader in human flesh, a predator that steals young women and sells them, no doubt drawn by your unusual blond beauty. I suspect when he realized the guards had spotted him, he took you into the sacred temple on purpose, to distract them." His smile was brief. "Unfortunately, it worked and he escaped."

"He wanted to kidnap me?" The day had been too much and she felt ill, remembering the way he had looked at her now in a different light.

"And instead, he condemned you. No one but the royal family is allowed in the temple. On the penalty, I'm afraid, of death."

Not quite certain she had heard correctly, Sarah stared.

The consul didn't flinch, but there was a certain chilling resignation in his eyes. "The fact you didn't know your crime does not matter to these men." He inclined his head toward the group behind them, who conversed in their native language in low tones. "Most of the officials I spoke with are not inclined to any leniency in this matter, I'm afraid. I have explained that you are of the nobility in your own country, but here, of course, that means little. Religious zeal accounts for a good number of executions. The guard who was supposed to be at his post to keep anyone from entering the temple has already been killed."