Never Seduce a Sheikh (International Bad Boys Book 2)

by Jackie Ashenden

  How old had he been when his father had beaten him? Fifteen. Another man in a position of trust abusing that trust. A man in a position of power.

  Like you. When you pushed her against the wall. When you touched her without asking.

  A burst of self-loathing went through him. The knowledge of what had happened to her made his behaviour at the palace the night even more inexcusable.

  Why should that surprise you? You know what you’re capable of.

  Isma’il pushed the thought away. “Did he—”

  “Rape me?” she finished. The words sounded shocking in the night air. Clear and cold and utterly detached. “No. He was interrupted and I managed to get away.”

  That she’d been spared rape did nothing to lessen the rage pushing at the borders of his control, or dim the instinctive need to protect her. Because, people who were vulnerable needed protection. The way someone should have protected him.

  “I touched you,” he said roughly. “Last night. Is that why you were afraid?”

  “No, of course not.” Her dark eyes held no emotion whatsoever. “The assault was years ago, Sheikh. Obviously, some things are a little difficult to handle, but I can assure you, a repeat like this evening won’t happen again.” She stood there, shoulders back like a soldier. “Shall we go in? I have some apologies I need to make.”

  * * *

  Isma’il didn’t reply nor did he move. He stood in front of her, powerful in his desert robes, and the look on his face . . . Uncivilized and harsh, raw fury glittering in his blue eyes.

  Perhaps, she should have been afraid of him. Yet she wasn’t. She felt nothing at all.

  She’d never told another living soul about Dan, not even her father. She’d been too ashamed. Blaming herself for not protesting more, for not fighting more. And after the shame had worn off, she’d just wanted to forget. Never think of it again.

  For twelve years that had worked. Until she’d come to Dahar. Until she’d met Isma’il.

  Telling him had been like flinging down a gauntlet. As if the cold, hard facts of what had happened to her could reduce the intensity of the emotions that had overwhelmed her. Stripping the memories of their power. That way, she could pretend it had happened to some other person. Some other woman. But the anger burning in the depths of his eyes was not on some other woman’s behalf. It was for her.

  “Don’t,” she said curtly. “Don’t be angry. It’s got nothing to do with you. It was a long time ago and in another life.” If she said enough times it would be true.

  “Lily . . . ”

  “I would prefer it if we didn’t speak of this again, Sheikh.” She didn’t make it a request. “I didn’t tell you so I could discuss it in detail. I told you because you demanded an explanation. Because I don’t want to offend these people or put you in a difficult position. Or put the oil deal in doubt.” She met his gaze. “So, now that you have your explanation, could we please move on?”

  For a long moment she though he’d push it, but he remained silent, staring at her. Then he stood abruptly to one side, held out a hand towards the banquet tent, exquisitely formal. “Certainly. After you.”

  The rest of the banquet passed without incident.

  She buried the anger she felt. Anger at herself for letting Dan and what he’d done to her affect something as important as this oil deal. She put all her efforts into regaining the ground she’d lost by leaving so precipitously, making her personal apologies to each and every one of the chiefs present, including the dancers. She thought it made a difference.

  She would even have been satisfied with her progress if it hadn’t been for Isma’il.

  Because things had changed between them, she’d sensed it as soon as they’d returned to the tent. No longer charming and teasing, his manner became distant. Formal. The way he looked at her guarded. Watchful. Like a shepherd over a lamb.

  Whenever one of the dancers came close, he somehow managed to divert them away from her. And whenever one of the chiefs became too blunt in the questions directed to her, he would step in, smoothly changing the subject. Protecting her.

  She hated it, his behavior deepening her anger at herself for letting the past get to her once already this evening. She should never have told him. Should have kept it secret, kept it buried. Because only now could she see how much she’d appreciated the way he’d never pulled back with her. How he’d challenged her. Treated her as an equal. Even when he’d pushed her up against the wall back in the palace, touched her mouth, a part of her had revelled in it.

  But now things would be different. Things would change. He would see her as weak. Vulnerable. A woman in need of protection. A victim.

  Damn Dan. She thought she was over this. She should be over this.

  The rest of the evening became a battle, as she struggled not to let her anger show, not wanting to jeopardize things even more. The past had threatened this deal a couple of times already and she couldn’t allow it to do so again.

  Eventually, after the banquet had officially ended, she finally excused herself, wanting to just get out. Get away from Isma’il and his chiefs and be alone for a time.

  Escaping the banquet tent into the cool night air, she began to walk in the direction of her own tent, only to hear a footstep behind her.

  She turned to find a tall figure in robes following her. “What is it? I thought I was allowed to go this time?”

  “I will see you to your tent.” He said it flatly, as an order, no hint of his usual charm.

  The cold anger inside her tightened and she had to force herself to keep her voice level. “Thank you, but I don’t need you to do that. It’s not as if the tent is very far away.”

  “I do not care whether you need me to or not. I will see you to your tent.”

  “Why? I don’t need a bodyguard. I’m not likely to get raped walking twenty meters.” She said it to shock. But he didn’t even flinch.

  “It is not a request.”

  “And I’m not one of your subjects to be ordered around.” She pulled at her tunic. “I don’t want or need your protection, Sheikh.”

  “I am not protecting you. I am being courteous.”

  Lily took a frustrated breath. “And I don’t suppose this sudden courtesy has got anything to do with what I told you earlier by any chance?”

  “Yes.” The expression on his face was like beaten bronze, cold and smooth and hard.

  “Why? It shouldn’t. The assault was a long time ago. It’s got nothing to do with the present.”

  “If it did not have anything to do with the present, then you would not have walked out on that dancer.”

  “That was an aberration.”

  “Was it?”

  Her nails dug into her palm and she realized she’d clenched her hands. With an effort, she relaxed them. “If I’d know you were going to start treating me differently, I wouldn’t have said anything.”

  “But you did. And I can’t help but treat you differently because of it.”

  “I don’t see why. It doesn’t change anything.”

  Isma’il stared at her for a long moment. “When I was fifteen my father beat me so hard I was nearly hospitalized.” He said it in a flat, detached way. “So I know what it is to be hurt by someone you should trust. And I know what it is to have no one to protect you.” In the light from the lanterns set outside the tents, his eyes glittered. “I still have those scars, Ms. Harkness. And they still ache, no matter how many years have passed.”

  Her anger abruptly drained away, leaving shock in its wake. She’d wondered what kind of mark his father had left on him. She hadn’t realized it would be physical. He’d been hurt, as she had been hurt.

  Sympathy lodged inside her, getting under her guard. She tried to ignore it because she didn’t want to feel sympathy for him. Didn’t want to feel anything for him.

  “You don’t have to tell me this,” she said stiffly. “I didn’t tell you about Dan so we could trade secrets with each other.”

&nb
sp; “I did not tell you because I wanted to trade.” A pause, the light flickering over his strong, handsome face. “I told you so you will know that you are not alone.”

  Her throat closed. Because the look in his eyes was full of understanding. The unspoken acknowledgement of the fear she was the only person on earth who’d experienced this terrible thing. That no one else had suffered it. That no one else would ever understand it.

  Yet she was wrong. Someone else did understand. And it was the very last person on earth she thought would ever do so. A man who seemed so strong and powerful. A man who looked like he’d never had a moment’s vulnerability in his life.

  Lily swallowed past the lump in her throat, a strange emotion uncurling in a dark, forgotten part of her. An emotion she didn’t understand. Almost like a sense of . . . kinship.

  No. She couldn’t afford to feel that way. Not about him. He got to her too much as it was and allowing him under her guard still further would only weaken her position.

  Ignoring the feeling, Lily turned away from him, towards the entrance of her tent. “Yes, well, thank you for that, your Highness,” she said formally. “I believe I can manage the five steps to my tent alone. Goodnight.”

  Isma’il said nothing and as she walked away, she knew that he’d stopped following her. But she could still sense his gaze on her. Watching her.

  And it made her shiver. Though not from fear.

  Chapter Six

  The fierce midday heat was starting wane into early afternoon by the time the meeting broke up. As the chiefs began to rise from the table, Isma’il met Lily’s level gaze across the table. A fierce glow of triumph lit briefly in her dark eyes and he smiled in return, sharing in it.

  The meeting had gone very well indeed. Lily Harkness knew how to deal and she knew how to deal superbly. There had been no vague talk of income streams or trickle down effects. Or how the oil would benefit to the nation as a whole. The tribesmen didn’t care about the nation as a whole. They only cared about their people and how it would affect them specifically. And Lily had zeroed in on that with unerring instinct. Schooling. Health. Environmental concerns. Tribal land rights. She’d answered every question with specific examples of how Harkness would handle each particular issue.

  He’d known she would be impressive. He hadn’t counted on just how impressive she actually was. Or how sincere. Money had been the bottom line for the other oil CEOs, but he got the feeling that Lily genuinely cared about the people who would be affected by the oil sale.

  The chiefs had responded to that sincerity. Despite their suspicion and reservations, she’d got them to the point of giving Harkness decent and serious consideration.

  Lily’s attention became diverted by the approach of the headman, an old and greatly respected chief, and he watched as she answered him, her voice level and patient.

  Today, she was neat and business-like in a white shirt and loose camel-colored trousers. Her head was wrapped in her blue scarf, golden hair hidden away. Poised and cool, in control. Every inch the business woman. So different from the woman he’d seen the night before. A woman who burned with anger. Who still bore the scars of what had happened to her, no matter how much she denied it.

  The chief grabbed Lily’s hand and Isma’il found he’d tensed up, the need to go over and snatch away the old man’s hand from her, coiling low and vicious inside him. It wasn’t done to grab women in this way but Zayed was the headman and was only delivering one of his blessings, something he was known for and which the tribe respected.

  I don’t want or need your protection, Sheikh.

  He took a slow, silent breath, trying to get himself to relax. No, of course she didn’t need his protection. But, as he’d told her last night, her confession had changed things between them. After his experience with Khalid, his protective instincts were powerful and difficult to cage, especially when it came to violence against the vulnerable. And whether she liked it or not, Lily Harkness was vulnerable. He’d seen it in the blank look in her eyes as she’d told him what had happened to her. Heard it in the detachment of her voice. He knew. He used those same techniques himself.

  Lily smiled at the old chief as he delivered a pat to her hand, looking completely unfazed. Clearly, the man’s touches didn’t bother her. This should have made Isma’il relax and yet he didn’t. The memory of fixing her scarf before the banquet the night before replayed suddenly in his head. How she’d held herself so still as he’d touched her. So still, she may have been made out of wood.

  Why could she bear the old chief’s touch and yet not his? Was that fear? Did he think he would take advantage of her like her coach had?

  That had nothing to do with my assault . . .

  A strange, restless, edgy feeling went through him. He turned away, rising to his feet, as the chiefs began to file out of the tent.

  “So what’s going to happen now?” Lily asked, coming up beside him. “They didn’t seem to indicate whether they’re going to choose Harkness or not.”

  “They will meet privately to discuss the issue, then make a decision. Usually, that will take a couple of days.”

  Lily raised a pale eyebrow. “Days?”

  “Yes, days.” He glanced down at her. “Surely you have learned our ways by now, Ms. Harkness?”

  A flash of her usual impatience crossed her features then it was gone. “The meeting went well though, didn’t you think?”

  “Very well. You surprised them, then impressed them. It was well done. Very well done indeed.”

  Something flickered in her eyes then gold-tipped lashes came down, veiling her gaze. “Thank you,” she replied. “So, no more banquets tonight then?”

  “No, not tonight.”

  “Good.” She turned her head, looking out of the tent’s entrance, over the tops of the palm trees. “I thought I might take the chance to do a bit of exploring.”

  “Exploring?”

  “Yes. One of the chiefs offered his son to take me out to see the dunes. I heard they were quite spectacular.”

  The dunes . . .

  Rough, dry sand on his skin. The heat like a hammer blow. The pain . . .

  A fragment of memory caught at him like a thorn, still sharp, even after all these years.

  It annoyed him. “I will take you, if you wish to go.” The desert held no fears for him, not any more. And besides, he didn’t want Lily making the trip with anyone who didn’t have her best interests at heart.

  As if she knew exactly what he was thinking, she gave him a narrow look. “I do hope this isn’t ‘courtesy’ again, Sheikh?”

  He didn’t miss the emphasis on the word. “Think of it more along the lines of a sightseeing opportunity. One you can either accept or refuse.”

  Lily’s gaze slid away, back out over the oasis outside the tent. “And if I prefer to take this sightseeing opportunity with the chief’s son?”

  “Then, I am afraid you may have to postpone your trip till a later date.”

  A small, tense silence fell, her anger and frustration filling the silence. But he did not take back what he’d said.

  “I’m not a victim you need to protect.” Her voice was low, forceful. “Don’t you dare start treating me like one.”

  “I know you are not. But here in the desert, you are my responsibility nevertheless.”

  “And what about your people? You don’t trust them to take me?”

  A thread of irritation wound through him. Of course he trusted his people, but Lily was different. Special. Vulnerable . . . But no, he couldn’t say that. Not to her. “Perhaps it is merely that I wish to have the pleasure of your company all to myself. Have you considered that?”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “No. To be honest, I haven’t.”

  “In that case, you could view it as some time to get to know one another. It might be a good idea if we are to do business together in the future.”

  Lily’s pale brows drew together as she studied him, the anger fading from her expression. “I�
��m not sure I need to get to know you in order to do business with you.”

  “No, of course you do not need to. The question is, do you want to?”

  She blinked, as if taken by surprise. “I . . . ” She looked away.

  Another silence filled the space between them and he found himself almost dreading her answer. Because he hadn’t realized quite how much he wanted her to say yes until now.

  The silence stretched tight. Then Lily let out a soft breath. “All right, Sheikh. I’ll come with you.”

  * * *

  Lily kept her gaze firmly out of the window as Isma’il drove them along the rocky, desert road that led to the dunes, conscious of the fact that for the first time they were completely alone together. He’d refused to allow a couple of his security team to accompany them, so it was just him and her in the four wheel drive.

  Him and her, and the crackling tension that filled up the space inside the car.

  Without the distraction of the meeting or other people around, it felt suffocating, the weight of the confessions of the night before lying heavy between them.

  She still didn’t know why she’d accepted his invitation. She’d been interested to see the dunes, but the way he’d left her no option but to accompany him to do so had angered her. She wasn’t a victim, but he was certainly treating her like one.

  You are not alone . . .

  Lily gripped on tight to the handle above the window, staring hard out into the blinding heat of the desert.

  Last night, he’d offered her a piece of himself and despite what she’d told him about not wanting to trade stories and what she told herself about not letting him get to her, she had to admit she’d liked that he’d given her something in return. And it had further ignited her curiosity about him. A dangerous prospect. Being curious about him only served to heighten her awareness of him. An awareness on every level, including physical.

  Lily held the handle tighter, trying not to notice the way he gripped the steering wheel in long, strong fingers. Or how he’d rolled up the sleeves of the white cotton shirt he wore, revealing lean, powerful forearms, the white in stark contrast to his bronze skin. Or how the way he sat revealed the tension in his shoulders; the lines around his mouth and the distant look in his blue eyes also telling a story.