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

Rafiq shrugged in response and looked visibly taken aback by her reaction. ‘Why should it matter to you? We are strangers.’

The question and the shrug fanned the flames of the anger that held her in its grip. Hands on the arms of the chair, Gabby pulled herself to her feet.

She tilted her head back to look into his dark, impassive face, and as she studied the strong, cleanly sculpted lines and planes of his symmetrical features she thought, He can’t be dying! It simply wasn’t possible. It had to be a mistake. She had never seen anyone look less weak or more invulnerable.

Vitality seeped from every gorgeous pore—or was that nervous energy? she wondered, the indentation between her bows deepening as her glance lingered on the dark smudges beneath his spectacular eyes.

‘There must be something—’

He cut her off with a flat, ‘There is not.’ Looking irritated by her insistence, he added with horrid finality, ‘I am dying.’

Their eyes met, and her hand went to her mouth as a tiny cry was wrenched from her throat. ‘But you can’t be ill. You don’t look ill,’ Even as she spoke she was seeing the shadows under his eyes, the lines of strain bracketing his mouth.

‘I do not at present feel ill.’ The doctor had explained that this was the reason why so many people who presented with this disease were already beyond treatment. The onset was insidious, and the symptoms were often limited to general fatigue, night sweats, and weight loss—not specific.

‘But that’s a good sign, isn’t it? They are making advances in medical science every day of the week. Things that once seemed impossible—’

A muscle clenched in his jaw. ‘There is nothing that can be done beyond the occasional blood transfusion as a short-term fix later on, when my energy levels drop.’

‘How can you accept it this way?’ she reproached him incredulously. She looked at him—tall, vital-looking, the embodiment of masculine vigour—and shook her head in utter rejection.

Rafiq’s lashes dipped to hide the emotion that flared hotly in his hooded eyes. A nerve clenched in his jaw. Accept? Did she imagine he had any choice? Did she imagine he would not have preferred to yell and bellow?

He could not allow himself the indulgence. He needed to focus and do what had to be done for his country. His chest lifted as he expelled a deep breath and subdued the sudden irrational impulse he had to shake her or kiss her or both.

‘It is a path we are all on, Gabriella.’

‘Spare me the homespun philosophy, please,’ she begged, rolling her eyes. In the grip of emotions she didn’t even recognise, she was barely conscious that she had laid her hands flat against his chest. ‘I don’t call it brave—I call it defeatist and pathetic. Aren’t you angry? God, if it was me I’d be furious!’

Rafiq lifted his eyes from the small hands that lay against his chest. ‘You appear to be furious.’

His impassive manner further ignited her passion. ‘I am,’ she gritted.

‘There is little point railing against fate.’

‘I’m not mad at fate, I’m mad with you!’ she exploded. ‘You’re just so, so … passive. It’s feeble! You should be fighting! You’re acting like you’re dead already! But you’re not.’ Flexing the fingers pressed against his chest, she fixed him with a fierce sapphire stare. ‘I can feel your heart beating …’ She began to beat out the tattoo of the steady thud in his chest.

There was no conscious thought behind her action as she reached up impulsively, grabbing his head in her hands and dragging it down to her. Her eyes squeezed tight shut as she pressed her trembling lips to his warm firm mouth and kissed him hard. She felt a shudder pass through him, but he made no attempt to return the pressure.

She pulled clear after a moment. This wasn’t about kissing him, or even wanting him to kiss her back, she told herself. It was about proving a point. The method was crude, and heavy on the drama, but she had done it.

She fixed him with a shimmering blue stare and shook her head, pressing a hand to her heaving bosom.

‘Now do you believe you’re alive?’

‘You make an argument forcibly, Gabriella,’ he observed thickly.

There was nothing forcible about the pressure of his mouth as it covered hers. Soft and seductive, his lips moved sensuously over hers … As his tongue traced the soft trembling outline they parted. He accepted the mute invitation and his tongue slid deep into her mouth. She felt the groan in his chest as his big hands moved to her waist and dragged her up hard against him.

The erotic pressure of his erection as it pressed into her soft belly made Gabby weak with wild desire. Her hips moved against him instinctively as she met the deep, stabbing incursions of his tongue with her own, hesitantly at first, and then with more confidence and urgency.

Then it stopped.

He put her away from him so abruptly that Gabby almost fell over. Her head spinning, she blinked up at him, waiting for the world to slide back into focus. You couldn’t kiss a person that way and then act as though nothing had happened!

But he was. Could a man really turn it off that quickly? Other than the dark colour scoring his cheekbones there was nothing in his manner to suggest that moments earlier he had been fully aroused.

Maybe he still was? It was only by exerting every ounce of the will-power at her disposal that Gabby stopped her glance dropping. Unfortunately the blush she had no control over.

‘A man has the right to face his death however he wishes, Gabriella.’

‘Your rights! What about my rights?’ Gabby, still shaking after the sensual invasion, shook her spinning head. ‘It’s not my wish to marry your brother. Or to be kissed by you,’ she lied.

‘That will not happen again,’ he said with a formal inclination of his head. ‘As delightful as the diversion was.’

In order to make true his promise Rafiq knew he would have to take care to keep her literally at arm’s length in future. For some reason his brain ceased to function around her.

He was still shocked to the core that for the first time in his life he had permitted carnal need to overrule common sense and logic.

‘I think we should focus on the matter in hand. It is your wish to save your brother from a life behind bars?’

She gave an incredulous snort. ‘You were serious? You’re saying that if I agree to marry your brother the charges against Paul will go away?’

‘In essence, yes.’

‘You want me to marry your brother. So what was that?’ Her hand went to her lips. They still felt swollen and oversensitive. ‘A test run?’ she suggested bitterly. ‘The royal bedroom test? Did I pass?’

Gabby took an involuntary step back as fury flashed in his eyes, the pewter flecks disappearing as they darkened.

‘That was a mistake,’ he gritted through clenched teeth.

Mistake! This man was a master of understatement. ‘On that at least we are in total agreement.’

‘We will discuss it no more.’

Gabby, who hadn’t planned to discuss it all, stuck out her chin and tried to match his nonchalant uninterest in the subject. ‘Fine by me.’

‘I appreciate this is not a decision you can take lightly, and I would like to be able to give you more time, but the fact is time is the one luxury I do not have.’

Her anger fell away, to be replaced by the cold chill of dread. ‘Don’t say that,’ she begged in a stricken whisper.

This was the point where Rafiq could no longer pretend he was not playing dirty, so he stifled his natural sense of fair play and said, ‘When you are making your decision remember that although obviously I cannot anticipate the judicial process …’

The blatant hypocrisy made her smile ironically. If he wasn’t the law then he was definitely above it. ‘Of course not,’ she drawled.

‘It seems likely, given the zero tolerance stance we take on drugs, that your brother will spend the next twenty to twenty-five years behind bars.’

Gabby’s air of moral superiority evaporated. Her stomach churned sickly as an image of her sibling spending all those years incarcerated for a crime he didn’t commit rose up before her.

‘You’re actually asking me to …?’ She stopped and angled a bewildered look at his face. ‘But why me?’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not exactly queen material. I’m sure you have a little black book filled with high-born virgins who would stab each other in the back to wear a crown.’

‘Things have moved on since the little black book.’

‘You’re computerised? How progressive,’ she drawled sarcastically. ‘Then go open a file and look for another sacrificial lamb.’

‘If you decide to make the sacrifice you would be spending the next twenty-five years living in some luxury. You would be respected, and you would have a position of power and influence that most people can only dream of.’

‘I have never dreamt of power and influence.’

His perfect mouth twisted into an ironic smile. ‘Think about it now,’ he suggested.

‘What about your brother? Doesn’t he have a say?’

His nonplussed expression drew a frustrated groan of impatience from Gabby.

‘What,’ she asked, spelling it out slowly, ‘if he doesn’t want to marry me? He might hate me on sight. You cannot make him marry me,’ she added, when there was no corresponding glimmer of recognition in his unblinking regard. ‘Unless you plan to blackmail him too?’

‘My brother has lived the lifestyle of a playboy but he is aware of his responsibilities.’

‘So you do plan to blackmail him?’

His bared his teeth in a white wolfish grin that to Gabby seemed utterly ruthless.

‘I am hoping it will not be necessary.’

‘Because he’ll take one look at me and fall passionately in love?’

Instead of laughing, he swept his eyes from her feet to the top of her silky head.

‘It is a possibility.’ One that ought to fill him if not with joy then certainly satisfaction. But instead Rafiq was conscious of a vague sense of discontent.

Her lips twisted into a grimace. ‘Right!’ Now she knew he was being sarcastic, and his fixed, unblinking regard began to make her feel uncomfortable.

‘You should not bite your nails.’

‘I do not—’ She stopped and realised that her finger was in her mouth. ‘See—I’m a social liability.’

‘I’m sure you can be very charming when you want to be.’ The idea of her being charming to his brother caused Rafiq’s vague discontent to escalate into strong displeasure.

‘My brother, Gabriella, is not only a much nicer person than me—’

‘Not exactly a big ask.’

‘—he is quite … malleable.’

‘You mean if you tell him to marry me he will?’

‘I would not be that unsubtle. And I think you underestimate yourself …’ he chided.

‘You do know you have the moral scruples of a snake, don’t you?’

His taunting smile died, and the expression that replaced it was implacable. ‘I have no time for scruples, Gabriella. You and I, we both understand what few do in this world.’

‘What is that?’

‘Duty. How many sisters would have done what you have to save their brother from the consequences of his own foolish actions? You are a woman of resources, resolve and inner strength. You could never marry a man who is strong.’

‘You mean a man like you?’

He looked startled by the suggestion. ‘You and I?’ he echoed, his eyes slowly tracing the wilful curve of her full upper lip. He released a scornful laugh and shook his head. ‘It would be a total disaster.’

While his incredulous response irritated her, Gabby could not disagree with his scathing analysis. ‘It would be a head-on collision,’ she said, thinking of that kiss. That had been quite a collision.

‘The modern way is to speak of marriage as a partnerships of equals.’

‘And it isn’t?’ Gabby prompted, thinking that everything he was saying showed that at heart the ‘modernising’ Prince was nothing but a barbarian.

‘One partner needs to take the lead.’

‘You mean a leader and a follower?’ No prizes for guessing which one he would be, but she wasn’t exactly flattered that he tarred her with the same brush.

‘I mean someone who is capable of making decisions and living with the consequences—someone who is capable of putting duty ahead of their personal desires and needs.’

Despite herself Gabby was fascinated by this insight into his belief system. ‘Is that what you’ve done?’ What, she wondered, were the desires this man had denied for the sake of duty? A woman?

She shook her head and gave a hard laugh. ‘Sorry—stupid question. It’s what you’re still doing. You don’t have a clue what I’m talking about, do you?’ she added studying his face. ‘Most people who knew they only had weeks to live would want to cram all the things they wanted to do but never had an opportunity to into that space of time.’

‘I have led a privileged life and enjoyed opportunities beyond those that most people can dream of.’

She knew her heart ought to be aching for herself, for the choice he was forcing her to make, but instead she felt that irrational organ ache for him.

‘The sort of life that you want me to embrace?’ she suggested, tears thickening her voice to a husky whisper as helplessness swelled like a lump of lead in her chest.

Rafiq refused to acknowledge the misery in her voice, and reminded himself he was offering her a life that many would envy. His first duty was to secure the future and security of his country.

‘It is your choice.’

Anger like blue flame flared in her eyes as she shook her head emphatically from side to side, fixing him with a sparkling sapphire stare.

‘You know I don’t have any choice.’

Rafiq refused to acknowledge the surge of guilt he felt as their eyes connected. ‘There is always a choice, Gabriella. I am not forcing you to do anything.’ It might be wise if he kept not just a physical distance between them but an emotional one too. Empathy could cause problems.

‘Amazing, isn’t it? But I’m not mad about this entire sacrificial lamb thing. I’m not thanking my lucky stars I met you either. But why are you even wasting your time with this obsession?’

‘You call it obsession and I call it duty, Gabriella.’

She threw up her hands and covered her ears. ‘Will you stop calling me that?’ she yelled.

‘Is it not your name?’

‘Not the way you say it! Gabriella!’ she spat in disgust, trying and failing to imitate his rich, resonant tone. ‘I’m Gabby—plain Gabby. Not Queen of the May or Queen of anywhere else. When I marry I don’t want to be some man’s keeper.’

He quirked a dark brow. ‘You have some fantasy of being dominated?’

The suggestion caused angry colour to rush to her face—or was that anger more closely connected with the graphic erotic mental image she blinked so hard to clear?

‘No, I have some fantasy of being loved and cherished!’ she yelled back, her voice shaking with the strength of her feelings. Despite that brief mental lapse, she had never had fantasies about lying naked beneath a man with a body that gleamed like oiled silk.

If she hadn’t known he was totally incapable of it, she might have called the flicker of emotion that crossed his face guilt.

‘My brother is a basically good man.’

‘If he’s nothing like you that’s a head start,’ she agreed, keeping her emotions and her imagination in check as she regarded him with cold disdain. ‘So what’s the plan? Are you going to use blackmail with him too?’ she wondered, pretending great interest as she watched his lean face darken with annoyance. ‘Are you going to play the “dying wish” card?’

The moment the words left her lips she wished them unsaid, and when she saw him flinch she felt even worse.

As she struggled to cling to her antagonism her stomach took a sickly lurching dive in utter rejection of the thought of this vital man being prematurely robbed of his life. Gabby had never met anyone who embodied life and vitality more. It was impossible for her to look at him and believe that he was dying.

Tears welled in Gabby’s eyes and began to roll down her cheeks as she bit her lip.

Misinterpreting her silent misery, his undertaking to keep his distance forgotten, Rafiq started forward, his hand extended.

Gabby blew her nose and backed away, fending him off with one hand.

‘I really don’t want a shoulder to cry on—least of all yours,’ she spat. ‘Let’s face it—you’re not sorry. If any of your remorse or sympathy was genuine—if you gave a damn for anything but your duty and your country—you wouldn’t be doing this … Oh, and have a I mentioned it is a totally crazy idea?’

‘We are both in a position we don’t want to be, Gabriella. I ask this: meet my brother. He is at present out of the country, but I expect him back in two days’ time.’

She regarded him warily. ‘Just meet?’

‘Think of it as a first date.’

‘But you expect there to be a second?’

‘It is no secret, Gabriella. I have made it clear what my wishes are. My brother needs support; you are a strong, resourceful woman.’

If she really was as resourceful as he imagined she would be able to think of another way to gain Paul’s freedom. ‘And you’ll let Paul go home?’

He nodded. ‘There are formalities to be—’

‘How long?’ she cut in.

‘Thirty-six, forty-eight hours … and then he will be on a plane back to England.’

Gabby released a shuddering breath. The sooner the better, as far as she was concerned—before Rafiq woke up to the insanity of his scheme. And she had no doubt he would. This was just his way of trying to cope with what was happening to him. Playing along and humouring him felt almost like cheating.

‘I’ll meet your brother.’

She could tell from his satisfied smile that he had never doubted her agreement.

‘Fine. Until then I suggest we put the time at our disposal to good use.’ His dark gaze drifted down her body, and he felt the lustful kick of his libido. Had the circumstances been different, that ‘good use’ would have involved a bed.

He inhaled and reminded himself that circumstances were not different, and it was not a good idea for a man to undress—even mentally—the woman destined to be his brother’s bride.

‘What sort of good use?’

Her frown, he reflected, would have been even more suspicious had she known of the carnal mental images he struggled to banish from his head.

‘There are things about my country—the formalities that a princess must—’

Her jaw dropped. ‘You want me to learn which fork to use?’

Her interruption brought an impatient frown to his face. ‘There are customs, ceremonies …’

She rolled her eyes. ‘I suddenly feel like Eliza Doolittle.’

His heavy-lidded eyes narrowed at her flippant insertion. ‘One of the first things you might like to learn is that it is not generally considered good manners to interrupt a member of the royal family. I will see you tomorrow.’

‘I can hardly wait.’

The worrying part was that her sarcastic parting shot as he left the room had an element of truth to it.

She had clearly lost her mind.

CHAPTER EIGHT

GABBY did not actually see Rafiq until almost the following afternoon.

Her morning had been spent with someone called Sayed. She had no idea what his specific role was in the royal household—he had introduced himself simply as a member of the Prince’s personal staff—but it was clear from the level of respect given him by others that he was a man of some influence.

Sayed had given her a tour of the palace—or at least as much as could be covered in a morning. It was impossible to tell from the man’s manner towards her what he had been told about her, if anything. He was obviously too polite to express anything as vulgar as curiosity.

They had now reached the library—a room of such dazzling magnificence that even after all the splendour she had been exposed to that morning Gabby was stunned into awed silence. Then Rafiq finally appeared, and Gabby was struck dumb with awe for the second time.

She watched as he walked up the wooden steps that led to the upper mezzanine level of the room. Her breath snagged in her throat.

The man really was magnificent!

Her gaze swept in an arc from his toes to his dark bare head. He was wearing what seemed to be the norm for him—riding breeches, boots, and a white flowing desert robe, above which his burnished skin glowed golden. She gave her head a tiny shake of denial, still unable to reconcile his vitality with what she knew of his illness.

He nodded quite curtly to her, and then turned to Sayed.

The two men spoke in their own tongue for several minutes, and Gabby was left to twiddle her thumbs before the older man bowed low to her and excused himself.

Gabby turned to the tall Prince. ‘So what’s next?’ she asked arching a brow. ‘Cutlery lessons?’

‘I will assess the need for those at lunch.’

Gabby’s wrathful glare met his steady, sardonic gaze, and her expression melted into a reluctant grin. ‘If you’re serious,’ she warned, ‘I will slurp my soup.’

His dry response disconcerted her. ‘I sense you will be a charming dinner companion.’

The humour in his eyes disconcerted her some more—and she struggled not to respond to his dry humour. ‘Dinner and lunch?’ she said, trying not to analyse her quickened heart-rate too closely. ‘I do feel honoured.’

‘I would have been here earlier, but a problem required by attention. I hope Sayed was an adequate deputy.’

‘He was a preferable deputy.’ He hadn’t shaken loose odd, uncomfortable feelings inside her. ‘Infinitely preferable,’ she added, dragging her eyes from his mouth. ‘How did you explain to him …?’

He shook his head and looked baffled. ‘Explain?’

Gabby laid a hand flat on her chest. ‘Me! How did you explain me being here?’

There was no answering flicker of comprehension in his face as he placed his hand on the back of a leather chair. Gabby’s eyes were drawn to the dark red ring on his finger. He had lovely hands … strong and sensitive … and …

‘Why would I explain anything?’

Gabby’s eyes lifted to his face. Her distracted study of his hands had brought a flush to her cheeks. It remained there as she studied his lean, patrician features.

After a few seconds she laughed. ‘Sorry—silly question.’

‘Sayed tells me that you have asked a good many intelligent questions.’

‘He does?’ Gabby doused her smile and frowned, because she didn’t want to make it seem as if she was eager to please. ‘It was the novelty of receiving straight answers,’ she observed crankily.

‘I will try to be direct.’ He extended his arm in invitation. ‘Would you like to have lunch?’

Gabby gave a take-it-or-leave-it shrug and turned in the direction he indicated. As she did so she came face to face with a portrait that had caught her attention when she had first walked into the library. This close, the subject’s beauty was even more startling.

‘Her eyes really do follow you,’ she murmured, studying the dark-haired beauty. Her skin seemed to glow and her eyes were as blue as the string of sapphires that hung around her slender throat. ‘Who is she—or was she?’

‘Was. Queen Sadira.’

Gabby’s eyes left the painting as she tilted her head up to Rafiq. She found he was looking at her and not the portrait. ‘Your mother?’

‘No, she was my father’s first wife. She was the love of his life.’

Gabby, who wasn’t sure she would have enjoyed having the love of her husband’s life looking down at her from such a prominent position, turned back to the portrait.

‘But he loved your mother too?’

‘No. I think he was fond of her, and he respected her, but a man only experiences that sort of … insanity once in his life.’