by Opal Carew
"Who are you? And why am I here?" she demanded.
"I am Kadin and I am the one who will ask questions."
His voice was quiet, but filled with authority. The fact that he spoke English sent a wave of relief through her, followed immediately by frustration. She had a dozen or more questions to ask. She'd already missed her flight out of here, and her wallet, passport, and luggage had been stolen. She still had her purse, at least, she had until they'd brought her here and confiscated it, but she had no money.
Where would she stay tonight? How would she buy a ticket to get another flight home? And if she succeeded in getting a ticket, how would she get across the border without a passport?
Her frustration turned quickly to anger. "Look, I was dragged here against my will and I demand that—
"Silence." His eyes flared to a fiery black. "After what you have done, you have no right to demand anything."
"What I've done?" she shot back, ignoring the chill rushing down her spine at his intimidating tone. "I haven't done anything. You don't seem to understand—"
"I understand very well." His sharp glare fixed on her as he extended his arm toward her.
A large green pendant on a gold chain hung from his hand. An emerald. Actually, the largest emerald she'd ever seen. She reached out to touch it, but he snatched it into his fist.
"This is Dhiya's. As are the clothes you wear now," he stated flatly.
Her eyes widened. "So you know who robbed me." Relief washed through her. "I guess that means you've caught her. Great. I'd really like to get my things and ..."
His dark eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Don't play me for a fool. Why was my beloved Dhiya's pendant in your purse? Why was she seen boarding a plane wearing your clothes, traveling on your ticket, using your passport?"
Her jaw tightened. She didn't like the sound of this. This situation looked like trouble with a capital 'T.' She had to straighten this guy out right now.
"I already explained to the other men that I went into the washroom and this woman—"
He slammed his fist on the desk, the sharp sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot.
"Silence!"
She gulped back the rest of her explanation and stared at him. Quietly.
"That's better. Now, you will listen."
He stepped from behind the desk and paced, his hands folded behind his back. His white robes billowed as he strode back and forth.
"As I see it, there are two possibilities. One, you were involved in kidnapping Dhiya and transporting her out of the country. Two, you helped Dhiya at her request, taking her necklace as payment. Either way, you are in grave trouble. Both are an insult to me and my family."
She shook her head in disbelief, knowing she had to set him straight.
"She robbed me at gunpoint."
"Dhiya would never touch a gun."
"But—"
"—if you were a man, there would be many options open to me to exact justice."
He sat on the edge of his desk facing her, his arms crossed over his chest.
Her heart hammered loudly and the muscles in her chest tightened painfully. Just what did he intend to do to her? She'd heard of officials in these small countries throwing people into prison for years because of some inadvertent transgression. She pictured herself stuck in a grimy jail cell, sharing scraps of food with rats.
"But I cannot bring myself to be so harsh with a woman." He watched her with those coal-black eyes.
She let out a sigh of relief. She'd never wanted to use her gender as an advantage, but right now, she had no such qualms.
"What …?" Her voice came out choked, so she cleared her throat and tried again. "What do you intend to do with me?"
He stared at her for a long moment and his gaze slipped past her chin to her chest. She raised her hand to toy with the top button of the robe, at least the top button that was still fastened.
A drop of perspiration glided slowly down her neck. Like a breath of fire grazing her skin, his gaze seared her as he followed the progress of the drop as it forged a path down her chest, then disappeared between her breasts. He lingered on the swell of flesh peeking from the deep neckline. He might as well have been caressing her breasts physically for the affect he was having on her. Her nipples pebbled, hardening and peaking against the thin fabric.
Awareness shimmered through her, of his overwhelming masculinity, and of just how vulnerable she was.
His gaze shifted to her face.
"To repay the debt of dishonor, you will serve me."
"What do you mean 'serve you'? "
"You will warm my bed. Tonight, and for as many nights as I see fit."
She blinked at him.
"I … beg your pardon?"
"You may well do, but I will not pardon you. You have wronged me and you will pay with the only currency you have as a woman. Your body."
Her stomach clenched painfully and her hands started to shake. Oh, God. This couldn't really be happening.
"You can't mean …"
His hot gaze told her otherwise.
"But that's barbaric." Yet the thought of this man dragging her into his arms, his mouth devouring hers, sent shivers of excitement through her.
"Insults will not better your position."
"How long do you intend to … keep me here?"
"When Dhiya returns, I will have answers. If you merely helped her, then I will consider your debt of dishonor repaid and I will let you go. If it turns out you were involved in kidnapping her, then your situation will change, for the worse."
"And if she doesn't return?"
His expression turned dangerous.
"You had better hope that she does," he growled.
She bolted to her feet, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
"You don't seem to understand. I'm the victim here."
"Silence."
Obviously, he wasn't going to listen. Fear sliced through her, colliding with anger at the unfairness of it all. There had to be some way to straighten out this whole mess.
She glared at him.
"This is ridiculous. I have rights. I demand to see the Canadian ambassador at once," she said with as much authority as she could muster.
She stomped across the room toward the exit and flung open the door. Two very large, very scary looking guards turned and stared at her. Their expressions dared her to try and leave. She took one step forward and they tensed. She glanced at the long swords settled in scabbards at their waists. Of course, they wouldn't even need to unsheathe those things. All they'd have to do is pick her up bodily and put her where they wanted her.
"They won't let you leave unless I allow it."
She turned to face the man at the desk.
"And I will not allow you to leave my house, or my country, until you have paid your debt."
She swallowed the lump forming in her throat.
Virgin Wanted
by Amber Carew
Gillian is tired of her mother trying to push her on a date with her boss' son. She doesn't want to be hooked up with any guy—especially a rich one—let alone one who would put an ad in the paper looking for a virgin, no less.
Cade is tired of his father trying to hook him up with a bride. If he did want to find a wife, which is not tops on his priority list, he is perfectly capable of finding his own woman. In fact, he's quite intrigued by the sparky-eyed beauty storming out of his office building. She's spunky, determined—and sexy as hell. When she mistakes him for a blue collar worker, he decides this is the perfect opportunity to get to know a woman he's attracted to without worrying about whether she's after his money.
Gill is determined to put Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome out of her mind, even though his touch ignites her passion like a keg of jet fuel. Mom calls that kind of passion infatuation. Cade calls it chemistry. Gill just calls it dangerous.
Chapter 1
"Virgin Wanted
No experience necessary!"
>
Gillian's focus zeroed in on the phone number at the bottom of the personal ad and she gasped. Snatching up the phone, she jabbed out the sequence of numbers and drummed her fingers on the table top while listening to the electronic whir over the line.
When she heard the familiar voice on the other end she cried, "Mother. How could you?"
"How could I what, dear?"
Her calm voice didn't fool Gill for a minute. "I'm referring to the ad in the Citizen." Absently, she grabbed a red pen from the collection of writing utensils in the blue plastic cup beside the phone, then outlined the ad.
"Oh, you saw that, did you?" Mom's nonchalant manner perturbed Gill. Had she hoped Gill wouldn't see it?
"Do you know how many crazy people you'll get phoning you with an ad like that?"
"Yes, dear. I know. You're the first one."
Gillian's fingers splayed flat on the table top. "Mother!"
Why me? she asked herself. Why have I been cursed with a mother who gets involved in such crazy schemes?
"So, dear, are you calling to apply?" The hopeful note in her voice put Gill on guard.
"For what exactly?" she asked, warily.
"Why, to marry Jeremy Farraday, of course."
Oh, no. Not Jeremy again. Jeremy Farraday. Mother had been after her for the past two years to meet her employer's son and Gill had successfully avoided the event so far. Now it seemed Mom's goal had evolved to marriage. Gill suppressed a groan.
"What does this ad have to do with marrying Farraday's son?"
"Mr. Farraday has decided it's long past time for Jeremy to get married, so—you know how I've told you what a take charge kind of guy Mr. Farraday is—he's decided to search for a bride for his son. He asked me to help. Everyone's always talking about the power of personal ads so I thought I'd try one."
Gill folded the open section of the newspaper in half, then in half again, leaving the red-rimmed ad centered in front of her. "Isn't this going a bit beyond the call of duty? After all, you're the personnel manager for Farraday's company, not for his family's personal life."
Gill heard her mother sigh heavily. "Gill, Mr. Farraday sees getting a wife for his son as an important aspect of continuing the business."
Gill snorted. "He wants heirs, you mean?"
"Yes. He's an old-fashioned man. He feels this is part of the business and ... well, Gill, I just couldn't say no."
Gill clenched her jaw. Mom was too willing to be pushed around. When would she ever learn to push back? "Yes, you could. If he tried to fire you, you could sue him. He'd be laughed out of court when people found out he terminated you because you refused to be a matchmaker for his son."
Mom's soft sigh whispered over the line. "Gill, you know I don't like to make trouble."
Gill knew that only too well. When her stepfather had been busy ripping Gill to shreds, making her feel like the most incompetent fool on earth, Mom had held her silence. Afterwards, she'd picked up the pieces of Gill's self-esteem and helped patch it together again, but Gill had always wished she'd stepped in and actually spoken up for her.
Did this Farraday Junior's father berate him? Gill wondered. Probably not. He was probably spoiled rotten and living grand on his daddy's cash. He probably got anything he wanted. He wanted a wife, so Daddy just ordered his minion to stick an ad in the paper and get him one.
Her gaze flicked to the first line of the ad. Virgin wanted. It sounded like an ad for a human sacrifice. Probably marrying Farraday Jr. would be about as much fun as being thrown into a volcano.
Actually, it would probably be Dullsville in the extreme. After all, what kind of personality could the guy have if he needed his father to find a wife for him? She'd have thought that even if his attractions were minimal, he'd have been able to find someone willing to marry him with all his money. Of course, that's what they'd be flaunting with this ad. And it would probably work. Most women found wealth a great attraction, even if Gill didn't.
Gill found it hard to believe the son would actually go along with something like this. Would he just calmly let his father pick out a wife for him? And how would a father come up with an idea like this? She could just imagine Farraday calling a meeting of his staff and calmly discussing the steps for a bride hunt. Probably called for a statistical analysis to determine the percentage of virgins available in the population around Ottawa and a market report to decide what would attract the appropriate age group. Gill shook her head, suppressing a giggle.
"So, how did this all start?" she asked.
"Well, Mr. Farraday has been suggesting Jeremy get married for quite a while now, but Jeremy—like all children it seems—is resisting. I think it's as much to annoy his father as anything else."
"Mom, I'm sure this guy doesn't run his life just to annoy his father."
"Sometimes I wonder. Anyway, Jeremy just got back last week—remember I told you he went off to manage a project in Japan?—and his father tried to pin him down on when he'd find a wife. Well, maybe Jeremy's been thinking about things, you know, because a close friend of his lost a brother recently and sometimes that makes you think about where your own life is going. Anyway, to make a long story short—"
"Too late, Mom." Gill smiled, as Mom carried on, totally oblivious to her teasing comment.
"Jeremy told him he hasn't married yet because he's looking for a woman who's ... shall we say ... saved herself for marriage." Mom ignored Gill's snort of disapproval.
Saved herself? Good heavens. This guy must be straight out of the Dark Ages. "That explains why such an attractive catch is still unattached at thirty-one. He also wants a woman who's near his own age."
Gill traced her finger along the outline of the airplane depicted on her purple coffee mug. "I'll bet there aren't many women of that description floating around."
"Precisely my point. That's why you'd be so perfect."
Gill clamped her eyes shut. She should have seen this coming. "Why do you think I fit the bill?"
"Oh, don't be silly, dear."
Gill resented the fact Mom thought she knew her so well. But she didn't call her on it. Gill valued their closeness as much as Mom did. Mom had always believed in her, had always made her believe in herself. Unlike her stepfather.
"I think he'd be perfect for you."
"You think his bank book would be perfect for me, you mean."
"Darling, there's nothing wrong with marrying a wealthy man."
"There is if that's the only reason for marrying him." She took a sip of lukewarm coffee.
"So far, you haven't found a good reason for marrying anyone. Or even dating, for that matter," she grumbled. "But I think once you got to know Jeremy you wouldn't be marrying him for his money."
"So you've told me."
"And he's gorgeous." Mom's voice had slipped into her persuasive tone.
"Great. So I should marry him for his looks instead." She plunked her cup on the table.
"That's not what I meant."
"Mom, you know how I feel about rich men."
Her mother's voice softened. "Yes, I know, dear. But you've got to remember, your stepfather was only one man. Not all rich men are like Eric," Mother continued, "and I can personally guarantee that Jeremy isn't."
Oh, Mom. You and I just don't see the world the same way. All rich men are selfish and power-hungry. That's how they get to be rich.
"I don't want to talk about this."
Gill could hear a tapping sound from the other end of the line, probably her mother playing with a pen, as she tended to do while on the phone. "Gill, if you'd just meet Jeremy...."
"Don't start on that again! I don't want to meet him. And I definitely don't want to marry him."
Gill picked up the red pen lying in front of her and, as she reached across the table to drop it back in the cup, she accidentally knocked her mug and spilled a few drops of coffee on the newspaper. She snatched some tissues from the box on the side table and blotted up the blobs of dark liquid.
"Ho
w do you know if you don't—"
"Stop pushing. Why would you push your only daughter off on some stranger, anyway?"
"Jeremy's not a stranger."
"He is to me," Gillian shrilled.
"Okay, Gill. Calm down. Look, let's forget all this nonsense for now. We haven't seen each other for a while. Why don't you come downtown and we'll have lunch?"
"I don't have time, Mom. I have a lesson starting at one. I could come over tonight, though."
"Why don't you come for an early lunch, then?" Her voice switched back to that reasonable, persuasive tone she did so well. "If you got here around eleven thirty, we could be finished in time."
Why did Gill have the feeling Mom was up to something? "I don't know." She glanced at her watch. Ten thirty. "It'll be pretty tight."
"Look, I have to go now. I'm due at a meeting in five minutes. Meet me at eleven-thirty. Please?"
It had been over a week since they'd gotten together. Gill had canceled their dinner last Tuesday because she'd had to work late. She sighed. "Okay, Mom."
"Thanks, honey. And, Gill ... wear something nice, will you? Not the usual leather jacket and jeans. I like you to look presentable when you come to my office."
Gill started having second thoughts.
"And not too flashy. Your black suit with a nice white blouse would be appropriate."
"Mom—"
"Good-bye, dear. Got to go."
Mom hung up before Gill could finish her protest. How could someone Gill loved so much be so annoying? She called work to check her afternoon schedule, then went to shower and dress—in her scarlet suit—with a nice white blouse.
* * * *
Gill arrived at her mother's office building at quarter after eleven, checked in at reception in the lobby, and grabbed the first free elevator up. She patted her hair—coiled at the back of her head and held by a gold barrette—checking for loose tendrils. This hairdo, her only other concession to her mother's request to dress conservatively, caused a tugging weight at the back of her head, giving her a headache. Maybe she ought to take it down, she thought, just as the elevator doors swished open. Too late.