The girl nodded. ‘Yes.’
Yes. Yes. Sam knew she was being held prisoner, but he hadn’t yet arranged for her release…
‘I will take away the things I have brought, since you do not wish to—’
‘No!’ Joanna shook her head and put her hand on Rachelle’s arm. ‘No, leave them. On second thought, I don’t want to go on wearing this—this bathrobe of Khalil’s another minute.’ She reached towards the bed, then stopped abruptly. ‘What,’ she said disdainfully, ‘is this?’
‘A skirt.’ The girl smiled hesitantly. ‘And a blouse to go with it. If they please you, I will bring you other—’
‘I have no intention of wearing anything like that!’
Rachelle looked bewildered. ‘Are the sizes wrong? You are so slender, Joanna, that I was not certain—’
‘I’m sure the size is fine.’
‘The colours, then. I thought the shade of blue was very pretty, but perhaps you would prefer—’
‘A skirt that length is a mark of subservience,’ Joanna said, blithely ignoring the fact that New York women were probably that minute strolling Fifth Avenue in skirts even longer than the one that lay across the bed. Her eyes flashed to Rachelle’s face. ‘I mean no insult,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s only that in my country, women don’t dress that way.’
‘Then you will go on wearing the jellaba?’
Suddenly, the weight of the jellaba seemed unbearable against her naked skin.
‘No,’ Joanna said quickly.
Rachelle looked bewildered. ‘Then what will you wear?’
What, indeed? Joanna gave the first answer that came into her head.
‘Trousers,’ she said, taking an almost perverse delight in the shock she saw in Rachelle’s eyes.
‘Trousers? But—’
‘I know. Women don’t wear them in Jandara.’ Her chin lifted. ‘But I am not Jandaran, Rachelle. Be sure and give that message to your high and mighty Prince.’
It was a pointless gesture, Joanna knew. Even if, by some miracle, women’s trousers could be found in Jandara, surely Khalil would never agree to permitting his hostage to wear something so Western.
An hour later, Rachelle appeared at the door carrying another armload of clothing.
‘I hope these things suit you better,’ she said, dumping everything on the bed.
Joanna waited until the girl left, and then she walked to the bed and poked at the garments lying across it. A smile curved across her lips. There were two pairs of trousers—soft, cotton ones—and a stack of shirts, as well.
She picked one up. This was men’s clothing, not women’s. Everything would be too large, but what did that matter? She wasn’t trying to be a fashion plate and besides, getting such things past Khalil seemed like a victory. Perhaps Rachelle had taken pity on her; perhaps she’d got the items on her own, without seeking his permission.
Quickly, Joanna stripped off the jellaba. She pulled on a pair of trousers, then slipped a navy cotton T-shirt over her head.
It was Khalil’s, she thought instantly, as the soft fabric brushed past her nose. The T-shirt, the trousers—they were all his. The garments were all clean and fresh, but they bore a scent compounded of the mountains and the wind and the stallion he rode… His scent.
A tremor went through her and she closed her eyes, remembering the endless ride to this mountain stronghold, remembering the feel of Khalil’s arms as he’d held her before him on the saddle.
Joanna gave herself a little shake. Impatiently, she yanked the shirt down hard over her breasts. His scent, indeed! The T-shirt smelled of the soap it had been washed with and the sunshine that had dried it, nothing more. Honestly, if she didn’t get out of this prison soon…
There was a light rap at the door. She spun towards it.
‘Rachelle? Thanks for bringing me this stuff. It’s just too bad it belongs to your almighty Prince, but—’
‘I assure you, Joanna,’ Khalil said with a cool smile, ‘none of it is contaminated.’
Joanna’s cheeks flamed. ‘I thought you were Rachelle.’
He nodded as he shut the door after him. ‘Obviously,’ he said drily. His gaze flickered over her slowly, and then a smile curved across his lips. ‘I am sorry I had nothing more to your liking.’
‘This is fine,’ she said stiffly.
His eyes darkened. ‘I agree,’ he said softly. ‘That shirt has never looked quite as good on my body as it looks on yours.’
The colour in her face deepened. She was wearing no bra—she had none to wear—and she knew that he must be able to see the rounded outline of her breasts clearly beneath the soft cotton of the T-shirt, see the prominence of her nipples, which were hardening as he looked at her.
‘Clothing is clothing,’ she said, her voice chill. ‘Nothing more.’
His smile tilted. ‘Even when it belongs to the enemy?’
Joanna’s chin lifted. ‘If you’ve come here to taunt me—’
Khalil sighed. ‘I came because Rachelle says you are distressed.’
She stared at him. ‘Distressed? Distressed?’ Joanna laughed. ‘Don’t be absurd! Why should I be distressed? After all, here I am, the guest of the great Hawk of the North, having an absolutely wonderful time—’
‘I take it you are not pleased with out efforts at hospitality.’
‘I just told you, I love it here! Especially the security. Armed guards at the door—how much safer could a guest feel?’
Khalil put his hands on his hips. ‘Will you promise not to try and escape if I call off the guards?’ He laughed at the look on her face. ‘No. I didn’t think so.’
‘Would you really expect me to make such a promise?’
‘I have not come here to debate, Joanna. Rachelle says—’
‘Rachelle says! For God’s sake, if you want to know what I think, why don’t you ask me? I don’t need Rachelle as my interpreter!’
A smile twisted at his lips. ‘I agree. You have no difficulty speaking your mind.’
‘So, what do you want to know?’ She gave him a beaming smile. ‘Is Room Service treating me OK? Do I like the accommodation? The view?’ Her mouth narrowed. ‘The shackles on the walls?’
He laughed. ‘The only thing I see on the walls are paintings.’
‘You know what I mean, Khalil! When are you going to let me out of this prison?’
Khalil’s face darkened. ‘Your freedom is in your father’s hands, not mine.’
Joanna looked at him and tried to keep the sudden desperation she felt from showing in her eyes.
‘Well?’
‘Well, what?’
‘Well, when is he coming for me?’
He hesitated. ‘I do not know.’
‘You do not know?’ Joanna said, her voice mimicking his. ‘How could that be? You said you’d contacted him.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘And?’
‘And he has not replied to my message.’
She shot him a cold look. ‘That’s very hard to believe!’
Khalil’s mouth narrowed. ‘I am not a liar, Joanna.’
Wasn’t he? He had lied well enough to lure her into the desert and carry her here…
No. She’d lied the night they’d met, not he. He’d simply made the most of things. Besides, what would he gain by lying to her now? He had sent Sam a message and Sam—and Sam had not responded…
Sudden despair overwhelmed her. She felt the unwanted sting of tears in her eyes and she started to turn away, but before she could, Khalil stepped quickly forward and clasped her shoulders.
‘Joanna?’
She looked up. There was an unreadable expression on his face, something that might almost approach concern. It startled her—until she realised he would have to have some interest in her emotional condition. The last thing he’d want on his hands was an hysterical captive.
‘Don’t worry, Khalil,’ she said with a brittle smile. ‘I’ve no intention of making a scene. I was only thinking t
hat if you really did ask my father to withdraw from the mining deal, you have asked for a great deal.’
A muscle knotted in his cheek. ‘Perhaps. But I promise you, I have not asked him for more than you are worth, Joanna.’
She felt a flush rise over her body. How did he manage to do this to her? When he looked at her like this, everything seemed to fade into the background—everything but him, and the awareness of him that he made her feel. It was perverse. It was impossible. And yet—
He bent his head and touched his mouth to hers. The kiss was soft, almost tender, and yet she felt the heat of it race through her blood and confuse her senses.
‘Joanna,’ he whispered, and his lips took hers again.
She swayed unsteadily and his hands clasped her more tightly, lifting her on tiptoe, moulding her body to his while their mouths clung together. It was Khalil who finally ended the kiss. When he did, Joanna stared at him, her lips parted, her breathing swift. She wanted to say something clever and sharp, something that would put what had just happened into chill perspective—but it was Khalil who did it instead.
‘Your father is not a fool,’ he said, with a little smile. ‘He will do what any man in his right mind would do for you.’
Of course. Any man would meet the ransom demands of his daughter’s kidnappers, and Sam was no exception.
Joanna forced a thin smile to her lips. ‘You don’t have to tell me that, Khalil. I know it. My father will pay what you ask—but you’ll never have time to enjoy it. Not when you’re going to be rotting in one of Abu’s prisons.’
His hands fell away from her. ‘Ah, Joanna, Joanna. Whenever I begin to wonder if your spirits are sagging, you say something sweet and loving and reassure me that you’re the same soft-hearted creature you’ve always been!’
‘That’s the difference between us,’ she said. ‘You need reminding—but I never for a moment forget what an impossible bastard you are!’
His eyes went dark. ‘You play with fire, Joanna.’
‘What’s the matter? Can’t you handle the truth? Or do you expect me to bow and scrape and worship you adoringly, the way Rachelle does?’
To her surprise, he burst out laughing. ‘You? Bowing and scraping? It is an interesting thought, Joanna, but I think the only things you will ever scrape will be the chicken coops.’
‘What?’ She moved after him as he turned and started for the door. ‘Never,’ she said, ‘not in this lifetime…’ the door opened ‘…or any other,’ she finished, but it was too late. Khalil was gone.
After a moment, she sighed and walked to the window. Why had she wasted time letting him bait her? There were things she’d meant to ask him, things that would make whatever time she had to spend here more bearable.
There was an enclosed garden just outside, a handsome one, from what she could see of it. Would he permit her to walk in it? Surely, he didn’t intend to keep her locked up in—?
A flash of colour caught her eye. Joanna leaned forward. A little girl dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a pale blue polo shirt was playing with a puppy. Despite her own worries, Joanna began to smile. There was something about children and small animals that never failed to move her.
The child laughed as she held out a bright yellow ball, then tossed it across the grass. The puppy wagged its tail furiously, charged after the ball, and brought it back. Joanna’s smile broadened. The two were having a wonderful time, judging by the way the girl was laughing. The puppy looked as if it were laughing, too, with its pink tongue hanging out of its mouth.
Joanna tucked her hip on to the window sill and watched, chuckling softly as the game continued, until the ball bounced crazily on the cobblestoned pathway, tumbled into the dark green hedge that bordered it, and vanished.
The puppy searched, as did the little girl, but neither had seen where the ball had gone.
Joanna tapped the window pane. ‘There,’ she said, ‘in the hedge.’
Neither the child nor the dog could hear her.
She tapped the window again. If the girl would just look up…
The child’s face puckered. She plopped down in the grass, snatched the puppy to her breast, and began to sob. The puppy licked her face but the child only cried harder as she rocked the animal in her arms.
Joanna turned from the window, hurried to the door, and flung it open. The guard standing outside looked up, startled.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, brushing past him.
He called out after her, his equivalent, she was certain, of ‘Hey, where do you think you’re going?’ but she was already halfway down the hall, heading towards an arched doorway that she knew must open on to the garden. She went straight through it, pausing only long enough to be sure the child was still sitting in the same place, holding her dog and weeping.
‘Don’t cry,’ Joanna said when she reached her. The little girl looked up, her eyes widening with surprise. Joanna smiled and squatted down beside her. ‘Do you understand me? You mustn’t cry so hard. You’ll make yourself sick.’
The child raised a tear-stained face. ‘Who are you?’ she said, in perfect English.
‘My name is Joanna. And who are you?’
‘I am Lilia.’ The tears began rolling down her plump cheeks again. ‘And I’ve lost my ball!’
Joanna took the girl’s hands in hers. ‘It’s not the end of the world,’ she said softly.
‘It was a special ball. My father gave it to me, and—’ The tears came faster and faster. ‘And he’s never coming back!’
Joanna rose to her feet. ‘In that case,’ she said, ‘we’ll just have to get that ball, won’t we?’
She spotted not one guard but several hurrying towards her. Too bad, she thought defiantly, as she hurried towards the hedge that had swallowed the child’s toy. When she reached it, she saw that the foliage was denser than it had seemed from her window. She hesitated, then shook her head over her foolishness. It was only a hedge, and the guards were almost upon her. Quickly, she plunged her hand deep into the bush’s green heart.
‘Joanna!’
The ball was here somewhere, dammit. If she could just—
‘Joanna! Stop it! Do you hear me?’
There! She had it now. She winced as she felt something needle-sharp hit her hand, but what did it matter? Face flushed with triumph, she pulled the yellow ball from the tangle of branches and looked up into the dark, angry face of Khalil.
‘Relax, Your Highness,’ she said coolly. ‘I’d love to escape, but I doubt if burrowing through some shrubbery will get me very far.’
‘You fool.’ He barked something at Lilia, who had followed after Joanna. The little girl wiped her eyes, dropped a curtsy, and ran off with the puppy at her heels.
Joanna’s eyes flashed. ‘You see? Everyone bows and scrapes to you, even a slip of a child who—’
Khalil grabbed the ball from her and tossed it aside. ‘Would you risk everything for something as stupid as a child’s toy?’
‘I know a little girl’s tears mean nothing to you, oh great one, but then, you’re not exactly known for having a heart, are you?’ Her chin tilted. ‘What now? Do I get flogged? Put on bread and water?’
Khalil snatched her wrist. ‘Look,’ he growled, lifting her hand.
She looked. There was a single puncture mark in the flesh between her thumb and forefinger.
‘So?’ Joanna’s mouth narrowed. ‘Don’t tell me all this rage is over my getting scratched by a thorn.’
‘No thorn did that, you little idiot! Do you see any thorns on that bush?’
‘So what? It’s nothing but a little cut. What’s the matter, Khalil? Are you afraid I’ll sue you?’
‘Damn you, Joanna.’ He caught hold of her shoulders and shook her. ‘Someone should teach you that a smart answer isn’t always a wise answer!’
‘It won’t kill me,’ she said coldly. ‘I assure you, I’ve survived worse.’
‘You fool,’ he said sharply. ‘When will you learn to shut up long enough
to listen?’
‘If you’re finished, I’d like to return to my room.’ Her teeth flashed in a tight smile. ‘Even being locked inside those miserable four walls is preferable to standing here and dealing with you!’
A muscle knotted in Khalil’s jaw. ‘I couldn’t agree more.’
‘Well, then,’ she said, and turned away from him. But she hadn’t taken a step before he caught hold of her and swept her up in his arms.
‘Put me down!’ Joanna pounded her fist against his shoulder as he strode through the garden and into the coolness of the house. ‘Are you deaf, Khalil? I said, put me down!’
‘With pleasure,’ he growled through his teeth. ‘The instant I am done with you, I will do just that.’
‘What do you mean?’ She pounded on his shoulder again as he swept down the corridor past her room. ‘Dammit, where are you taking me?’
He glanced down at her, his eyes shimmering like the heat waves on the desert.
‘To my rooms,’ he said, with a smile as cold as any she had ever imagined.
Before she could answer, he shouldered open a huge wooden door, then kicked it closed behind him.
Joanna glimpsed a high ceiling, a tapestried wall, and a massive, canopied bed—and then Khalil dumped her on to the mattress, put his hands on his hips, and glared down at her.
‘Now, Joanna,’ he said, ‘let’s get down to business.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
KHALIL was angry, angrier than he should have been, considering the circumstances, but what man wouldn’t be angry when an educated, intelligent woman insisted on making a damned fool of herself?
‘The woman is trying to escape, Highness,’ one of his people had cried out, bursting into the library just as he’d begun a strategy session with his ministers.
His men had let her run when they’d realised she had made for the enclosed garden from which there was no escape.
‘I’ll get her,’ Khalil had said, tight-lipped, but instead of chasing down a fleeing Joanna Bennett, he’d stumbled upon a foolish one, up to her silken elbows in a shrub she should have known better than to touch in the first place.
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