The Sheikh Who Blackmailed Her: Desert Prince, Blackmailed Bride / The Sheikh and the Bought Bride / At the Sheikh's Bidding

CHAPTER SIX

‘LET me ease your mind. There is no incentive you could offer that would make me come within five feet of you.’

He had always been drawn to cool goddesses, so in theory Rafiq knew that holding a wet, screaming, squirming, volatile virago should not have aroused him.

He dug his hands deep in his pockets in a vain attempt to disguise the fact that he was in fact deeply aroused. It was a case of theory losing out yet again when it collided with reality—especially wet, slippery reality.

Her smooth brow pleated in a deep frown as she tried to follow the sequence of events that had landed her naked in his arms. ‘How did I …?’

The last thing she remembered was soaking in the tub.

‘I was taking a bath …’ She shook her head and threw him an accusing glare. ‘Do you make a habit of sneaking up on women when they’re taking a bath?’

His nostrils flared. ‘I did not sneak.’

‘Well, you sure as hell didn’t knock!’

‘I did.’

This was getting childish—though there was nothing adolescent about his body in that suit, or presumably out of it—not that it was a subject that interested Gabby. She rolled her eyes, radiating a scorn she was far from feeling. She had lost time … how long?

Her thoughts were in a spiralling loop of bemusement. Had someone drugged her tea …? No, she hadn’t had any tea. Her dry throat reminded her of that. Or was it the result of the terror she had experienced when she’d found herself naked in a desert sheikh’s arms?

So he was now wearing a very western suit, and the tailor who had cut it to fit his frame must have been kissing the ground he walked on—but the desert sheikh thing still applied. It didn’t matter about the wrappings or the sophisticated, urbane demeanor. Deep down this man was a total barbarian—she had every right to feel terror.

Just terror …?

Gabby evaded his dark eyes and closed down that line of thought before it got going.

‘You were asleep.’

Gabby’s eyes lifted. She opened her mouth to refute the crazy claim, then closed it again. A few hazy memories came slipping back, but she ignored them and produced a disdainful sniff.

Asleep! Couldn’t the lecherous rat come up with a better story? Or was it possible that in some moment of insanity brought on by stress and emotion she had been responsible for ending up naked in his arms?

It seemed about as likely as him being overcome by lust and going Neanderthal. This man had control—iron control that it would take a lot to snap.

‘I might have dozed off for a moment,’ she conceded reluctantly. ‘But that doesn’t give you the right to—’

‘Save your life?’

This drew a laugh from Gabby. ‘My hero! Save my life? Pooh!’ she muttered, even as the realisation that he had seen her naked hit her again. The thought kept going around in her head, and every time it did she had to fight the urge to curl up into a mortified foetal ball and pretend this was all a dream—correction, nightmare!

‘You could have drowned.’ As he thought of how close she had been, he felt anger crowding in on him again.

About to pour scorn on this, Gabby closed her mouth with an audible click. She swallowed. ‘I only closed my eyes for a minute.’

Rafiq could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

His nasty smile was to Gabby’s mind unnecessarily smug.

‘When I got in the tub the water was stone-cold.’ His sweeping gesture drew her gaze downwards, and Gabby saw the bottoms of his beautifully tailored trousers were wet to above the knee. There were dark water stains on his shirt and jacket from where he had held her.

He had held her naked in his arms. She shook her head to dispel the image that was a distraction she did not need just now—though she knew she was going to be thinking about it later.

The colour flooded her face. ‘I fell asleep …? That was … I was …’

‘Stupid,’ he supplied helpfully.

She bit her lip, totally mortified. ‘I didn’t do it on purpose.’ She covered her face with her hands and groaned. ‘God, this is so embarrassing.’

He looked confused by her choice of words. ‘Why?’

She looked at him through her fingers. Was he dense, or what? ‘Because I was …’

‘Naked?’ he suggested, looking amused. ‘Better to be embarrassed, Gabby,’ he declared, ‘than dead. If it helps, I have seen naked women before.’ None of them were imprinted on his retina, though.

‘It doesn’t,’ she hissed, thinking of women with Hollywood gloss and perfect bodies he no doubt normally swept into his arms. She wanted badly for the floor to open up and swallow her. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get dressed.’ He didn’t move, so she added pointedly, ‘Without an audience.’

‘Of course.’ He inclined his head and turned to leave her.

‘And … thank you,’ she called, as he stood with his hand extended towards the door.

He swung back. ‘It was my pleasure.’

‘That’s what bothers me,’ she muttered as the door closed. He must have heard her because she heard him laugh, which just about made her humiliation complete.

Gabby was tempted to put her own clothes back on, but her shirt had just about disintegrated.

‘Damn,’ she muttered, shaking out the dress that had been left for her. The floor-length gown unfolded with a soft swish. Her eyes widened. ‘Wow!’

A dreamy expression drifted across Gabby’s face as she gazed at it. Layers of the finest silk in varying shades of blue, it was just about the loveliest thing she had ever seen. She had never in her life imagined wearing anything like it.

It probably wouldn’t fit.

It did.

It fitted perfectly. Gabby found herself smiling stupidly as she looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror. She swung her hips and the dress belled out from her knees, the silk swishing seductively against her skin.

‘My God, I almost have a cleavage!’

Not that the illusion was going to fool the man waiting for her in the next room. He already knew that she wasn’t exactly lushly endowed. Although she had read somewhere that when it came to the naked female form men did not demand the perfection that women imagined …

Her expression sobered abruptly and she took a step back. Paul was rotting in a prison cell and she was wondering what the Crown Prince of Zantara had thought about her naked—wondering what he would say when he saw she scrubbed up quite well. How shallow and selfish did that make her?

Not to mention delusional. An infant-school teacher from Cheshire would not even register on his radar.

She shook her head and refused to think about the heat she had seen in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, she walked into the salon. The first thing that hit her was the smell of food—she was ravenous—and then she turned, and the second thing hit her.

Rafiq Al Kamil was sitting on one of the sofas. He rose politely to his feet when he saw her. Ineffably elegant, he radiated a confidence that was totally unaffected—an integral part of him, as was the raw sexuality that hit an unprepared Gabby with the impact of a physical blow.

What a time to discover a weakness for tall, dark and brooding, Gabby thought as she struggled to mentally shift gear. She was ashamed that she had to struggle. Her brother’s dilemma should be the first thing on her mind—not some stranger who had made the whole brooding hero thing his own.

He didn’t speak, just stared at Gabby—who stared back. She felt his eyes as they slid down her body, and she lifted a self-conscious hand to the silk bodice of the dress.

‘My clothes were a write-off. This isn’t really my style, but thanks.’ She lowered her eyes. What was she doing thanking the man? It wasn’t as if he’d picked it out personally.

‘It is an improvement.’

The iridescent shades of blue in the gown she wore reflected but did not outshine the brilliance of her blue gaze. Her skin, scrubbed clean of make-up and dirt, was revealed as flawless and porcelain-pale, and her hair, freshly washed and still damp, fell down her back in soft rippling waves

‘Anything would be.’ She shrugged.

‘That is not what I meant,’ Rafiq said, as he struggled to erase the image in his head of her in the bathtub, her pale skin gleaming and wet. It wasn’t just his body that was weakened, it seemed, but also his brain.

Was he going to say what he meant?

She noticed that his glance had dropped to the creamy vee that hinted at her cleavage, and to hide the fact her heart had started hammering she let her hair fall forward to hide the flush on her cheeks.

‘It is true that what you are wearing is not suitable for travelling in the backs of delivery trucks. You appear uncomfortable … are you still embarrassed?’ He sounded mildly amused by the possibility. ‘Shall we agree to forget the … incident ever happened?’

‘It was a total non-incident as far as I’m concerned,’ she grunted. ‘So, tell me what this is about. What do you want?’ Not your body, Gabby, so stop fantasising.

Rafiq shook his head. ‘First you must eat something.’ He gestured towards the table. While she had been dressing the cold food had been removed, and fresh hot dishes were set in their place.

‘I’m not hungry.’ Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.

He looked smug and walked across and lifted the lid on one of the dishes. An aromatic spicy smell drifted across to Gabby, whose mouth immediately began to water.

‘Sit.’

Gabby thought about ignoring him, but decided the rebellion was pretty pointless. The sooner she humoured him the sooner she would find out what she had to do to secure Paul’s release.

‘And what are you going to do? Watch me eat?’ she asked as she sat down. If so, indigestion was assured.

‘I think I will join you,’ he said, gracefully lowering himself with the ease of long practice onto one of the very low divan seats around the circular table.

‘How cosy—a date, almost.’ She piled some food onto a plate and forked some into her mouth—it was delicious.

She swallowed and felt a large pang of guilt. She was living in the lap of luxury, albeit temporarily, and Paul was probably on a diet of bread and water.

‘I don’t know about you, but I can eat and talk.’

But not look at him and think straight. So she didn’t. She kept her eyes trained on her plate as she adopted a brisk, business-like tone.

‘They’re talking about putting my brother behind bars for twenty-five years, so as far as I’m concerned no price is too steep. Stop being so damned mysterious and tell me what you want. My soul?’ She laughed at the suggestion, but he didn’t join in—which did not seem like a good sign to Gabby.

‘What do you think of my country?’

Gabby’s impatience showed as she snapped back, ‘I’ve not actually had a lot of time for sightseeing.’

‘I will call you Gabriella.’

‘And what will I call you?’ She could think of several things, but most of them would probably get her arrested for treason.

‘My name,’ he said, laying a hand lightly on his chest, ‘is Rafiq.’

‘I can’t call you that!’

He looked mildly surprised by her appalled denial. ‘Why not?’

Gabby, who couldn’t think of a single reason beyond the uncomfortable implied intimacy of using his name, ignored the question.

‘Look, why have you brought me here? What is this about? The food, the dress, the …’ She stopped, suddenly realising that there wasn’t a soul in the world who knew where she was. The fork stopped halfway to her mouth. She had lost her appetite. She’d practically been kidnapped and she hadn’t even noticed.

‘I told the man at the embassy …’ She scoured her memory and triumphantly produced his name. ‘I told Mr Park I would telephone him at six. If I don’t he will come and collect me.’

‘Really? He did not mention it when I spoke to him.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You spoke to the man at the embassy? You told him I’m here?’ Gabby grimaced. When she had left the bespectacled diplomat she had promised she wouldn’t do anything rash. Her eyes suddenly widened ‘Did you make a complaint about me?’

‘I spoke to Mr Parker,’ Rafiq confirmed. ‘And I made no complaint.’

Gabby expelled a relieved sigh. She didn’t want to alienate one of the few people who might be on Paul’s side, even if he was hopeless.

‘When I told him you were here it was news that caused him some alarm,’ he informed her. ‘He was under the impression that you were happy to let him act on your behalf.’

Gabby wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, the man was about as much use as a wet lettuce leaf. All he could talk about were diplomatic channels and how these things take time. I couldn’t wait.’

Something flickered in the back of his deepset eyes. Gabby was struggling to interpret it when he said, surprisingly, ‘It so happens that I share your sense of urgency.’

She regarded him with a wary frown. ‘You do?’

‘I do, and for the record I am not trying to kidnap you, Gabriella.’

Mortified colour flew to her cheeks. ‘I didn’t say that.’

‘But you thought it. The door is open.’ He gestured towards the double doors. ‘Or at least it will be if you decide to leave. You are quite at liberty to do so whenever you wish. There are no locks, no guards … But I feel I should remind you that it was you who sought me out—or at least my father. Which was a prime example of optimism winning out over common sense.’

Gabby gritted her teeth in frustration and didn’t move. ‘Are you just playing with me? Is this some sort of game for you or are you actually going to help my brother?’

‘That is up to you.’

‘Rafiq, what do you want?’

‘You are a kindergarten teacher.’

Her feathery brows shot up. ‘How on earth did you know that?’ she gasped.

Ignoring the indignant question, he continued. ‘And you are not emotionally entangled at present. In fact you have never been seriously involved. I find this hard to believe,’ he admitted. However, if his information was accurate, it did remove one impediment that might have been an obstacle to his plan.

Of course the perfect bride for a future king would be a virgin, but even his father, who attached a great deal of importance to such things, recognised that modern morality made this desirable rather than essential.

The colour climbed to Gabby’s cheeks. ‘Look, where are you getting this information? How—?’

‘Do not be naive, Gabby. I have used the time while you were resting to make myself familiar with your brother’s case.’

She gave a sigh of relief. ‘So you know he’s innocent?’

‘I do not know this.’

She laid down her fork and fixed him with a narrow-eyed glare. ‘Well, I do know it.’

‘Shall we leave the matter of your brother’s innocence out of this discussion?’

She regarded him in disgust. ‘You’re not the least bit interested in justice, are you?’

‘I do not make a habit of interfering with the judicial system of my country. However, in this instance I am willing to make an exception.’

Gabby’s lip curled. ‘Yes, you’re an opportunist—I get that,’ she inserted impatiently. ‘But what do you want?’

She saw the jolt of shock that stiffened his body at her less than deferential attitude. Sticking out her chin, she folded her arms across her chest and met his dark implacable gaze. She wasn’t going to pretend a respect she didn’t feel.

‘You want your brother released from prison, his name cleared and the slate wiped clean. I want my brother married.’

Gabby struggled and failed to make the connection between the two. She shook her head and pushed away a silky skein of fair hair that had drifted across her face.

‘What does that have to do with me?’

‘I will help you achieve your objective if you help me achieve mine, Miss Barton.’

‘But how can I help? Do you want me to talk to your brother’s girlfriend?’

‘My brother does not have a girlfriend. Well, actually he has several, but none would make a suitable consort for the future King of Zantara.’

Gabby was struggling to follow, but immediately identified a discrepancy. ‘But aren’t you the future King?’

He appeared to tense, but ignored the question and successfully diverted her attention by declaring, ‘I have decided that you would be a suitable bride for my brother.’

Gabby blinked. ‘Is that meant to be some sort of twisted joke? My God, you never had any intention of helping Paul, did you?’ Throwing him a look of disgust, she folded her napkin with slow deliberation and got to her feet. ‘What do you and your friends do for after-dinner entertainment? Watch traffic accidents?’

Rafiq rose to his feet and stood there towering over her. ‘You asked me about the succession. You are correct. I am next in line, but I will not be King, Miss Barton.’

An expression of overt suspicion in her narrowed eyes, she folded her arms across her chest. What was this? she wondered. Another example of his warped sense of humour?

‘Why not?’

A man born to be King, he looked the part—which was pretty rare in royal circles. He was regal down to his fingertips, and on the evidence so far he’d have no major problem with the ordering-people-around element of the job.

Before she had finished reflecting on his princely attributes, he had covered the space between them in two easy strides. Planting a hand on the wall behind her head, he leaned over her.

His sheer physical presence was incredibly intimidating, but Gabby was determined not to give him the satisfaction of showing him how painfully aware of him she was.

‘I need your word that what I am about to tell you will not leave this room.’

The intensity of his manner unnerved Gabby even more.

‘Or what?’ she squeaked.

He arched a brow and gave her a look of mock surprise. ‘You are in a position to threaten me?’

Gabby, who was in a position to fall in a shaking heap at his feet, shook her head and gulped. Barely audibly, she forced her response past her frozen vocal cords.

‘No.’

‘I am next in line of succession. My father was not young when I was born, and five years ago he had two heart attacks. The second was fairly major and he had surgery. He could live for a long time or he might not.’

Gabby was unsure how to respond to this information. She ducked under his arm and put some distance between them. ‘The same could be said of everyone.’

‘Not of me.’

‘Why? Are you going to live for ever?’ She gave a scornful laugh and began to turn. ‘I am dying, Gabby.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

HIS words made her swing back. ‘You’re sick, all right—sick in the sense of humour department.’ She pointed at her face. ‘Does it look like I’m laughing?’ She stopped.

He wasn’t laughing either. Conscious of a knot of something close to panic building in her chest, she scanned his face, her unease growing.

‘My God!’ The colour drained from her face and her hand came up to cover her trembling lips. ‘You’re telling the truth!’

‘I have perhaps six months to live. I have that time to prepare my brother for the role which will be his.’

Gabby shook her head in a negative motion and staggered backwards, until the back of her knees hit a chair. She slid into it. ‘But there must be something?’

‘No.’ His closed expression made it clear that he found the subject uncomfortable.

‘But you’re young and fit …’ she protested, her eyes travelling the long, lean length of him. She had never actually seen anyone who looked more alive.

‘This is not something we need to discuss. The facts are clear—not to accept them would lack … dignity.’

She was utterly bemused by his attitude. ‘Dignity?’

‘There is nothing that can be done.’

She felt something snap inside her. Suddenly Gabby was so angry that for several heartbeats she couldn’t speak. ‘How can you be so calm about it?’