Desert Ice Daddy Marton, Dana (most motivational books .TXT) 📖

said they were on the right path. He wondered if they were being followed.

Doing a full-body search of Taylor last night, he had nearly lost control. Those kids on four-wheelers had reminded him at the last second just how easily it could have been someone else, how vigilant he needed to remain. Not allowing any distractions.

He was going to help her find Christopher. Then he was going to figure out who was responsible for the kidnapping and take care of him. For good. The darkness rose inside him, but for once, he didn’t care.

He would not stand for Taylor and her son being in danger. If necessary, he was going to put his own security in place to make sure something like this never happened again. And when she had settled back down to normal life, when she had some time to get over her divorce and all this, he would do his best to win her heart. His best friend’s little sister or not, he couldn’t let Taylor McKade slip away from him again. He was going to court her.

The notion sounded old-fashioned, but that was what he wanted. If he tried for a quick fling, Flint would kill him anyway. And he didn’t want a quick fling. He wanted to spend time with her, to protect her, to have her fall in love with him. He wanted marriage, brothers and/or sisters for Christopher. He wanted forever with Taylor McKade.

But he would be the worst kind of man if he pushed her now, before she was ready. So he had held her through the night, giving her the sense of security and comfort she needed and not making a move, not touching her in any other way beyond that, even if his body had been as hard as the boulders that littered the landscape.

And he needed to think about something else, or he’d soon be back in the same condition all over again.

“How is the foot?” he asked.

She’d been limping slightly for the past couple of miles. Looked like her shoes were beginning to rub.

“Fine.”

Of course, she would have said that no matter what. She had that stubborn look on her face. Nothing was going to stop Taylor McKade this time.

“Let’s take a break and have a drink.” The sun was nearing its zenith. No call so far.

She had worried that the kidnappers would delay too long and the battery might run out, leaving them without means to communicate. And truly lost in the desert. He’d checked the battery power the last time they had stopped. It had less than half of its life left.

“When we reach those boulders,” Taylor said.

He squinted at the dark mass she was indicating in the distance. Made sense. They needed shade. But he would have preferred if she rested sooner. “Let me take those.”

She was carrying the briefcases again. “I can handle it.” She wouldn’t even slow down.

The closer they got to the boulders, the more familiar they seemed, giving him some hope at last. “I think I’ve been here before.” A couple of years back.

“You know where we are?”

“Near the center.” He’d camped by these boulders.

From time to time, when a strange loneliness broke over him, he would come out here. He missed his mother; he missed Beharrain, even. He’d missed Taylor when she’d been married to another man, and had been biding his time, giving her some space to find sure footing since her divorce.

Not that he had lived like a monk all his life. Some of the same men who sneered at his heritage would have been only too happy to meld his auction house and millions into their own holdings through marriage. There had never been a shortage of introductions. But as a rule, he’d never gone for the not-so-innocent debutantes put in his path. For his rare affairs, he preferred women who knew the score. And from time to time, he was able to lose himself in them.

At other times, when he was sick of all that, he packed up some rations, vaulted his favorite black Arabian stallion and headed out to Hell’s Porch. Being alone with nature wasn’t the same as being lonely. The Arabian Desert and his uncles had taught him that.

And now he was here with Taylor. A damn strange turn of events.

An hour passed before they reached their destination.

“Let me see that.” He took her feet in hand as soon as she sat on the smallest of the boulders, a pickup-size rock that on one end was only waist high.

“Taylor.” He couldn’t help the growl from his voice as he pulled off her sneakers and saw the bloody sock. “Why didn’t you say something? I have bandages.” He reached for the first-aid kit that had somehow worked its way to the bottom of the duffel bag.

“Sorry. Forgot about that. I just—” She raised her gaze to his.

And he understood. Her mind had been elsewhere. On her son. And she’d been in a hurry to get to him. “Let’s see how bad it is.” He peeled the sock back.

Her heel was raw, her feet small and dainty in his palms. She shouldn’t be out in the middle of Hell’s Porch. His anger intensified against the kidnappers. He gritted his teeth, forcing his focus away from that. There would be time when he caught up with the bastards.

He turned her foot over. Pale skin, a pronounced arch, perfect round toenails done in gold. He had to shake his head at that. “I’ll do the best I can.” The kit was fully stocked. He hadn’t had occasion to use it much.

His first instinct was to wrap her up and take her to safety, away from all danger, to protect her, to take care of her. But he knew how much she hated it when Flint tried to do that.

“I am going to protect you,” he told her, just so there’d be no confusion about what she should expect.

“Fine and dandy,” she said, looking behind his back. Her