Bound to Her Desert Captor

by Michelle Conder

  He gave her a dismissive glance to say that he had every right and even if he didn’t there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it. ‘There isn’t anything I won’t do to get my sister back, Miss James. You’d better get used to that idea.’

  His sister?

  Regan frowned. ‘What has your sister got to do with anything?’

  Slowly his gaze returned to hers, the blue so clear and so cold she could have been staring into a glacier. ‘Your brother has my sister. And now I have his.’

  ‘That’s insane.’

  ‘For once we agree on something.’

  ‘No, I mean you’re insane. My brother isn’t with your sister. He would have told me.’

  ‘Really?’

  Maybe. Maybe not. ‘Are they in a relationship or something?’ If they were she was a bit hurt that he hadn’t told her. They had always shared everything in the past.

  ‘You’d better hope not. Now move. My patience is at an end. I need to return to the palace.’

  Wait? Was he really the King of Santara?

  ‘I’m... I’m not going anywhere with you.’

  ‘If you insist on going as you are I won’t stop you. But you’ll get far more looks than you did earlier, parading around in tight jeans and a flimsy shirt.’

  ‘My clothes were perfectly respectable, thank you very much.’

  ‘You have five minutes.’

  ‘I’m not going with you.’

  ‘That’s your choice, of course, but the alternative is that you remain in this room until your brother returns.’

  Regan frowned. ‘You mean as in locked in here?’

  ‘I can’t afford to have my sister’s disappearance become public knowledge. With you asking questions and wandering around on your own you’ll only draw attention to yourself. And, no doubt, get yourself into trouble in the process.’

  ‘I won’t say anything. I promise!’

  Regan knew she sounded desperate and she was. The thought of being locked in a hotel room for who knew how long was not acceptable. If what this man said was true she wanted freedom to find Chad and figure out what was going on. Preferably before this man found him.

  He shook his head. ‘Make your decision. I don’t have all night.’

  ‘I’m not staying here!’

  ‘Then get dressed.’

  Regan’s mind was spinning out of control. Her head, already fuzzy from lack of sleep, was struggling to keep pace with the rate at which things were moving. ‘I need more time to think about this.’

  ‘I gave you five minutes. You now have four.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met a more arrogant person than you. Actually, strike that: I know I haven’t.’

  He folded his hands across his chest, his muscular legs braced wide, his expression hard. Like this he looked as if he could take on fifty men blindfolded and win.

  ‘Your telephone service will be disconnected and I will have guards posted outside your door. I do not advise you to try to leave.’

  ‘But how do I know you are who you say you are?’ she said on a rush. ‘You could be an imposter for all I know. A murderer. I’d be crazy to go with you.’

  ‘I am not a murderer.’

  ‘I don’t know that!’

  ‘Get dressed and I’ll prove it to you.’

  ‘How?’

  He heaved an impatient sigh. ‘You can ask any member of the hotel staff downstairs. They will know who I am.’

  For the first time since he had barged into her room Regan saw a way out. If he was really going to take her downstairs then she had a chance of alerting someone as to what was going on.

  ‘Okay, just...’ She grabbed a clean pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt from her case. ‘Just give me a minute.’

  Locking herself in the bathroom, she very nearly didn’t come back out but decided that he’d most likely break the door down if she aggravated him too much. He had the arms for it.

  Concentrating more on his abundant negative qualities, she opened the door to find him propping up the opposite wall, looking at his watch. ‘One minute early. I’m impressed.’

  Arrogant jerk.

  Regan grabbed her handbag and walked ahead of him out the door. She waited as he stabbed the elevator button. ‘If you’re really a king, where are all your guards?’

  ‘I rarely take guards with me on unofficial business. I can take care of myself.’

  Convenient, she thought.

  ‘And why was it that no one in the shisha bar knew your identity? If you’re really the King I would have expected some bowing and scraping.’

  The slow smile he gave her told her he wouldn’t mind making her bow and scrape for him. ‘I’ve found that people rarely see what they’re least expecting.’

  Regan raised a brow. She couldn’t argue with that. She might have thought he looked dangerous when she had first seen him, but she hadn’t expected him to turn up at her door making outrageous accusations about her brother. Nor had she expected him to tell her he was the King. Though whether or not that was true still remained to be seen.

  ‘How’s the headache?’ he asked, watching her in the mirrored wall. Regan slid her gaze to his. ‘Don’t bother denying it,’ he continued. ‘You’re so pale you look like you’re about to pass out.’

  ‘My head is fine.’ She wasn’t about to admit that he was right. She wasn’t sure what he would do with the information. She wouldn’t put it past him to try to make it worse.

  When they arrived at the lobby Regan felt a surge of adrenaline race through her. Glancing around, she was disappointed to find that the large lobby was mostly empty. Before she could make a move in either direction her arm was gripped, vice-like, and she was towed along towards the reception desk.

  The smile on the young man’s face faltered as he took them in. They probably looked quite a sight, she thought grimly. Her with her fast-drying hair no doubt resembling a wavy cloud around her head, and her unwanted companion with a scowl as dark as his clothing.

  ‘Ah, Your Majesty, it is an honour.’ The man bowed towards the desk, his expression one of eternal deference. Then he said something in Santarian that her companion answered. The younger man’s eyes went as big and as round as a harvest moon.

  ‘But...’ He gave her a panicked look. ‘Miss James, this is His Majesty the King of Santara.’ The words almost came out in a stutter, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was saying them.

  Frankly, nor could Regan. ‘How do I know you haven’t just set this up?’ she said with disdain. ‘One man’s opinion is hardly folk law.’ Turning back to the concierge, Regan said, ‘Actually, I’d like to report—’

  She didn’t get any further as the stranger beside her growled something low under his breath and then towed her further into the lobby, veering off towards the sound of a pianist playing a soulful song. Through French windows Regan saw a room full of people.

  Stopping just inside the entrance, they stood waiting until finally most of the room grew silent, staring at the two of them. Then half of the occupants stood and bowed low towards the man still holding her arm.

  Regan shook her head, her brain refusing to compute the evidence that he really was the King of Santara. Which meant that if he was right then maybe her brother was with his sister, Princess Milena, his new research assistant. She swallowed, swaying on her feet.

  Clearly worried she was about to do something girly, like swoon in his presence, the King snaked a hand around her waist, pulling her up against him. Regan set her hand flat against his chest to stop their bodies colliding. Her head fell back on the stem of her neck as the heat from his body sapped the last of her strength. She could feel his heart pounding a steady rhythm to match her own but all she could focus on was the blue of his eyes, indigo in the soft light. Time seemed to disappear as he looked back at her with su
ch heat Regan’s thoughts ceased to exist. It didn’t matter who she was or what he was. All that mattered was that he kiss her. Kiss her so that the ache building inside her subsided.

  A soft growl left his throat, his eyes devouring her lips, and for a brief moment she thought he would kiss her.

  But then his eyes turned as sharp as chipped jewels and his hand tightened on her hip. ‘Satisfied?’ he murmured, throwing her earlier question back at her.

  Regan shook her head, her balance precarious despite his firm hold. She heard the word ‘no’ coming from a long, dark tunnel right before she did something she’d never done before. She fainted.

  CHAPTER THREE

  TWO NIGHTS LATER Jag sat behind his large desk brooding over the voice message he had received from Milena.

  ‘Hi Jag. I know you’re worried—you’re you—and I’m sorry I can’t tell you where I am, or what I’m doing, but I want you to know that I’m with a friend and I’m fine. I’ll explain everything when I return. I love you.’

  ‘Any idea where the call originated from?’ he asked Tarik.

  ‘Unfortunately not. It was likely made from a burner phone and it was sent through several different carriers. Whoever scrambled the transmission is good.’

  Chad had scrambled the transmission, of that Jag was one hundred percent certain; he’d hired the kid in the first place because he was a borderline genius with technology. Anger coursed through him, a hot and welcome replacement for the impotence he’d felt since she’d gone.

  He turned to stare outside the window, brooding. On the one hand he was happy that his sister was safe and well, but the reality was that she could have been forced into making that phone call. Not that she’d sounded forced. She’d sounded full of vigour. Almost buoyant. A state he hadn’t seen her in for quite a while. A state he would welcome if the memory of what had transpired three years ago wasn’t like a smoking gun in his mind.

  Then there was the obvious assumption that if she hadn’t been forced to leave Santara then she’d gone somewhere with Chad James of her own free will, and that raised a whole host of ugly questions Jag didn’t want to consider. Questions like, what were they doing together that Milena wasn’t able to tell him about? Like maybe she was considering not going through with the marriage to the Crown Prince of Toran? Questions like, was she unhappy, and, if so, why hadn’t she come to him the way she used to when she was a child?

  He rubbed his fingers hard across his forehead. Well, of course she’d been coerced. There was no other way to look at this. Just as he had coerced Regan James into coming to the palace. He recalled the moment she had fainted when she had discovered that he was actually the King, the dead weight of her body as she’d slumped in his arms. He’d had a lot of reactions from women in the past when they’d found out he was royalty—everything from obsequious preening to outright manipulation—but he’d never had a woman faint on him before. Which had been a good thing because right before that he’d nearly given in to an urge he’d been fighting all night and leant down and kissed her. In public! He didn’t know what bothered him about that the most: the fact that his inimitable self-control had taken a long hike, or that he would have shocked the hell out of those watching.

  Shocked himself, he’d quickly scooped her into his arms and taken her out to his waiting SUV. She’d come to fairly quickly in the car, demanding that he return her to her hotel, but he had calmly reminded her that it had been her choice to come with him and that she was now out of options.

  Well aware that his behaviour had been less than stellar with regard to the American woman, he pushed thoughts of her, and his sister, from his head and picked up the raft of reports he needed to sign off. ‘These can go to Helen to have the corrections worked up, these can go back to Finance, and this one I still have to read. Tell Ryan I’ll get to it later tonight.’

  ‘Very good.’

  He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘For once I hope that’s it for the night.’ He gave Tarik a faint smile and saw the old man hesitate. It was only the slightest of movements but Jag knew him too well to miss it. His body immediately shifted into combat mode. ‘What is it? And please tell me it has nothing to do with the American.’

  As much as he had been trying to keep her presence in the palace under wraps, she had been trying to stop him. Banging on the door of her suite, demanding that she be given her phone and her computer, demanding that she be released, demanding that he come to her. But Jag didn’t want to go to her. Already her voice and the memory of her scent had imprinted themselves on his brain. He couldn’t imagine that seeing her was going to make that any better.

  ‘Unfortunately it does. She is refusing to eat,’ Tarik said.

  ‘Refusing to eat?’ Jaeger felt his stomach knot. ‘Since when?’

  ‘Since last night, sir. She did not eat her evening meal and today she has rejected all food.’

  Jag’s jaw hardened. If Regan thought she was going to make herself ill by not eating she had another thing coming.

  Trying not to overreact, he pushed himself to his feet. ‘What time is her evening meal due to be delivered?’

  ‘It has been delivered. She sent it away.’

  Jaeger scowled. ‘Have my dinner taken to her suite in half an hour.’

  He made to leave but again Tarik hesitated.

  ‘Please tell me you’ve left the best to last,’ Jag drawled.

  Tarik grimaced. ‘Not exactly, Your Majesty, but I have it in hand.’ He passed Jaeger a printout from a local news website. On it were two photos of himself and Regan standing close together. They must have been snapped by one of the patrons in the hotel, the camera perfectly capturing the moment she had discovered he was the King: her eyes wide, lips softly parted, wild mane cascading down her back like a silken waterfall. The next was right before she’d fainted. Jag had tangled his fingers through her hair to cup the nape of her neck, his other hand tight around her waist. Her face had been upturned, her mouth inches from his own. Would those pink lips have tasted as pure and sweet as they looked? Would the skin of her abdomen feel as soft beneath his fingertips as the nape of her neck? Would—?

  Tarik cleared his throat. Jag inhaled deeply, uncomfortably aware that his trousers were fitting a little snugger than they were before. What the hell was wrong with him?

  ‘Fortunately they were taken down before any damage was done,’ Tarik informed him. ‘And the woman’s name was not discovered. But I thought you should be informed.’

  ‘Of course I should be informed.’ He glanced at the images again, an idea forming in his mind at rapid speed. If he was going to detain Regan James until her brother returned then by damned he would make her useful to him. ‘Republish the photos.’

  ‘Your Majesty?’

  ‘Make sure her name is attached and that the images are picked up by the international Press. If the sight of her in my arms doesn’t bring her brother out of the woodwork, I don’t know what will.’

  Tarik looked at him as if he wanted to protest but Jag wasn’t in the mood to listen. He wanted a hot meal, a cool shower and a peaceful night’s sleep. Since meeting her the American woman had interfered with the latter; now it seemed she would be interfering with the first two as well.

  * * *

  Regan’s stomach grumbled loudly in the silent room and she pressed her palm against her belly. ‘It’s been one day,’ she told her objectionable organ. ‘People can survive a lot longer than that without food, so stop complaining.’

  She didn’t know exactly how long a human being could survive without food, but she recalled various movies about survival and knew it was more than a day.

  Mind you she was starving and her errant brain advised her that food would help to keep her strength up. And that the arrogant ruler of Santara wouldn’t care about her eating habits anyway.

  But it wasn’t just the lack of food bothering her. I
t was the boredom and worry. She’d come to Santara to make sure Chad was okay. Not only was she not doing that but she wasn’t doing anything at all. She’d never had so much time on her hands and she was going crazy. The first day she had kept herself busy taking photos of the amazing garden suite she was imprisoned in; the arched Moorish windows, the Byzantine blues and greens that were used to colour the room and the amazing studded teak doors, the one keeping her locked in being the most beautiful of all, which she refused to see as ironic in any way.

  Then there was the garden with the swaying palm trees, and deep blue tiled pool. The whole place was stunning and she itched to download her images onto her laptop and play around with the lighting and composition. If she’d been in this magical place under any other circumstances she doubted she’d want to leave.

  But more than that she wanted to see the King again. Not because she wanted to see him per se, but because she wanted to know if he had an update on Chad. She hadn’t realised when she’d made the choice to leave her hotel room that she’d be swapping one prison for another. Perhaps if she hadn’t been so tired and strung-out, if he’d given her more time to consider her options, she would have made a different choice. She certainly wouldn’t have thought about what it would feel like to kiss him!

  She groaned softly in mortification as she recalled the moment he’d held her against him in the hotel lobby, the moment he’d held her inside her hotel room, his hot eyes on her cleavage, their bodies melded together so tightly she was convinced she’d felt... Don’t go there, she warned herself. Bad enough that she’d recounted those times second by second in her dreams. The man might be stunningly attractive, but he was holding her against her will and accusing her brother of a terrible crime.

  A crime she was even more convinced, now that she’d had some sleep, that he would never commit. If only that blasted King would give her the time of day so she could explain that to him. Explain what a gentle soul her brother was. Explain that Chad was the type to save baby birds in their back garden, not stomp on them.