The door swung open. Amanda grabbed the sheet and dragged it up to her chin. “Excuse me. I didn’t…Abdul?”
The little man stood in the doorway, but he didn’t look quite so little now. He stood straight, arms folded, a look of disdain on his face. Two robed figures flanked him—two tall, muscular figures whose stance mimicked his.
A whisper of fear sighed along Amanda’s skin, but she spoke with cool authority. “Is it the custom to enter a bedroom before you’re given permission?”
“You are to come with me, Ms. Benning.”
“Come where? Has Lord Rashid sent for me?”
“I act on his command.”
That wasn’t the answer to her question. Amanda licked her lips. “Where is he? Where is the prince?”
The old man jerked his head and the robed figures advanced toward the bed.
“Dammit, Abdul! Did you hear what I said? When I tell Lord Rashid about this—”
“Lord Rashid has given orders that you are to be moved to different quarters. It is your choice if you come willingly or if you do not.”
Amanda’s heart banged into her throat. “Moved?”
“That is correct.”
“But where—where am I to be moved?”
The old man smiled. She had never seen him smile before.
“To the harem, Ms. Benning, where you will be kept in readiness for the pleasure of the Lion of the Desert for so long as he may wish it.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
AMANDA shrieked like a wild woman.
She cursed and kicked, and was rewarded by a grunt when her foot connected with a groin, but she was no match for the two burly men.
They subdued her easily, wrapped her in the sheet and carried her through the palace as if she were an oversize package, one man supporting her knees, the other holding her shoulders. Abdul headed the little procession up stairs and down, through endless corridors.
She kept screaming and kicking, but it did no good.
Her captors ignored her, and though they passed other people in the halls, nobody took notice. Nobody cared. As frightened as she’d been when Abdul’s henchmen grabbed her, that was the most terrifying realization of all.
Finally, the men came to a stop before a massive door. Abdul snapped out an order, the door groaned open, and Amanda’s captors stepped across the threshold and dumped her, unceremoniously, on the floor.
Abdul clapped his hands and the men backed from the room. The door swung shut. Amanda, shaking as much with rage as fear, kicked free of the sheet and sat up. She looked at Abdul, standing over her. He’d traded his shiny black suit for a long, heavily embroidered robe; his face was expressionless.
“You horrible old man!” Panting, weeping, she struggled to her feet, clutching the sheet around her. “You’ll rot in hell for this, Abdul, do you hear me? When I tell the sheikh what you’ve done to me…”
“I have done nothing to you, Ms. Benning. My orders to my men were very clear. They were not to hurt you, and they have not.”
“They trussed me up like a—a Christmas gift!”
An evil smile creased Abdul’s leathery face. “More like a birthday gift, I think.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“All will be explained in due time.”
“Listen, you miserable son of a—”
“Women do not use obscenities in Quidar,” the old man said sharply. “It is against our rules and customs.”
“Oh, no. No, that’s not the custom. Brutalizing women. Kidnapping them. That’s the custom.” She hung on to the sheet with one hand and pointed a trembling finger at Abdul. “You’re finished. I just hope you know that. When Lord Rashid hears what you’ve done—”
“There is food and drink in the next room, and clothing, as well.”
“I don’t care what’s in the next room!”
“That is your prerogative,” Abdul said calmly. “At any rate, Lord Rashid will be with you shortly.”
“You mean Lord Rashid will be with you, you bastard! And when he does, he’ll have your head.”
Abdul laughed. First a smile, now a laugh? Amanda knew that wasn’t good. She was more frightened than ever, but she’d have died rather than let the old bastard know it, so she drew herself up and glared at him.
“What’s so funny?”
“You are, Ms. Benning. You see, it was Lord Rashid who instructed me to have you brought here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Nick would never…”
Abdul turned his back to her, walked to the door and opened it. Amanda made a leap for it, but the door swung shut with a thud. She heard the lock click as the bolt slid home, but she grabbed the knob anyway, pulled, tugged…
The door didn’t move.
For a moment, for a lifetime, she stood absolutely still, not moving, not blinking, not even breathing.
“No,” she finally whispered, “no…”
Her voice rose to a terrified wail. She fell against the door, pounded it with her fists. The sheet she’d wrapped around herself fell, forgotten, to the floor.
“Abdul,” she shouted, “old man, you can’t do this!”
But he could. The silence on the other side of the door was confirmation of that. Her screams faded to sobs of despair. She gave the door one last jarring blow, then slid to the carpet.
God, what was happening? What was Abdul up to? What had he meant when he said Nick had told him to bring her here? It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. And that nonsense about taking her to the harem. Harems didn’t exist anymore, except in bad movies.
Okay. She had to calm down instead of panicking. Abdul had done this to frighten her, but she wouldn’t let that happen. She’d take deep breaths. Slow and easy. Breathe in, breathe out. Good. She could feel her pulse rate slowing. It was only a matter of time before Nick realized she was missing. He’d come looking for her. He’d find her—
“Ms. Benning?”
Amanda jerked her head up. A dark-haired woman stood over her, holding a pale green caftan over her arm.
“Would you like to put this on, Ms. Benning? Or would you prefer to choose something for yourself?”
“Thank God!” Amanda clutched at the sheet and shot to her feet. “Look, there’s been some horrible mistake. You have to get word to Nick—to Lord Rashid—”
“My name is Sara.”
Her name was Sara? Who cared about her name?
“Sara. Sara, you must find the sheikh and tell him—”
“Let me help you with this,” Sara said pleasantly. “Just let go of that…what is that anyway?” She gave Amanda a little smile. “It looks like a sheet.”
“It is a sheet! Two men came into my room—into Lord Rashid’s quarters—and—”
“Raise your arms, Ms. Benning. Now let me pull this over your head. That’s it. Oh, yes. The pale green is perfect for you.” Sara smoothed her hand over Amanda’s hair. “Such a lovely color,” she said, “but so short. Well, it will grow out, and when it does, I’ll plait it with flowers. Or perhaps Lord Rashid would prefer emeralds—”
Amanda slapped the woman’s hand away. “I’m not a doll! And I’m not going to be here long enough for you to plait my hair with anything.”
“I’m sure you will, Ms. Benning,” Sara said soothingly. “A favorite may be kept for months. Years, perhaps.”
“Dammit, I’ve no intention of becoming a ‘favorite’. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll find Lord Rashid and tell him—”
“Tell him what, Amanda?”
Amanda spun around. Nick stood in the doorway.
“Nick! Oh, thank God you’ve…”
Her words trailed to silence. It was Nick, wasn’t it? He looked so different. No jeans, no T-shirt. No carefully tailored suit and tie. Instead, he wore a flowing white robe trimmed in gold. He looked exactly as he’d looked in the Gossip photo. Tall. Proud. Magnificently masculine…
And heart-stoppingly dangerous.
He looked past her to Sara, who ha
d dropped to the floor at the sound of his voice. “Leave us,” he said brusquely.
Sara scrambled to her feet and backed quickly from the room.
Nick shut the door and folded his arms. “Well? What did you wish Sara to tell me?”
“Why—why, about this. About what Abdul did to me…”
Amanda fell silent. He was looking at her so strangely. She wanted his arms around her, his heart beating against hers. She wanted him to hold her close and tell her that this was all a terrible mistake or a bad joke gone wrong. She wanted anything but for him to stand as he was, unmoving, a stranger with a stern face and cold eyes.
“Nick?” Her voice was a dry whisper. “Nick, what’s going on?”
Nick almost laughed. This woman who had slept with him, who had stolen his heart and sold its contents to the world, wanted to know what was going on. She said it with such innocence, too—but then, why wouldn’t she?
She had no way of knowing that Abdul, with his usual efficiency, had managed to get a copy of the lead article in next week’s Gossip and that he’d brought it to Nick, trembling as he did, wringing his hands and whispering, “Lord Rashid, the American woman has betrayed you.”
“I had you moved to new quarters,” Nick said with a tight smile. “Don’t you like them? This is the oldest part of the Ivory Palace. I thought it would appeal to you, considering your supposed interest in interior design.” He eased away from the door, strolled around the room, pausing at an intricately carved chair, then at a table inlaid with tiny blocks of colored woods. “These things are very old and valuable. There’s great interest in them at Christie’s, but I’ve no wish to sell—”
“Dammit!” Amanda strode after him, hands clenched, her terror rapidly giving way to anger. “I’m not interested in tables and chairs.”
“No. You most certainly are not.”
He’d tossed the words out like a barb, but she decided to ignore them. What she wanted were answers, and she wanted them fast.
“I want to know why you had me brought here. Why you let Abdul and his—his goons wrap me up like laundry, dump me in a heap and lock the door!”
Nick turned toward her. “They brought you here because it is the custom.”
“The custom. Well, damn the custom! If I hear that word one more time…” She took a breath and reminded herself to stay calm. “What custom?”
“The Quidaran custom, of course.”
God, he was infuriating. That insulting little smile. That I’m-so-clever glint in his eyes. Staying calm wasn’t going to be easy.
“Everything is a Quidaran custom,” she said coldly. “But if abusing women falls into that category, I’m out of here.”
Nick’s brows lifted. “No one has abused you, Amanda.”
“No? Well, what do you call it, then? Your thugs burst into my room, dragged me out of my bed—”
“It is my room,” he said softly. “And my bed.”
“I know that. I only meant—”
“And I no longer wanted you in either one.”
His words skewered her heart and put a stop to the anger raging through her.
“But you said…” Her voice trembled. She stopped and took a deep breath. “You said you wanted me to be yours forever.”
Yes. Oh, yes, he thought, he had. The memory was almost more painful than he could bear. He knew it would be years—a lifetime—before he managed to put it aside.
What a fool he’d been to want her. To call her his beloved. To have told his father he’d found the missing half of his heart, the part of himself each man searches for, without knowing it, from the moment he first draws breath….
“Nick.” Her voice was filled with pleading. “Nick, please, tell me this is all some awful joke.”
“Did I say I wanted you with me forever?” He smiled coolly, lifted his shoulders in an expressive shrug. “It was a figure of speech.”
Amanda stared at him. “A figure of speech?”
“Of course.” Nick forced a smile to his lips. “‘Forever’ is a poetic concept.” He walked slowly toward her, still smiling, and stopped when they were only inches apart. “Don’t look so worried,” he said softly. “It won’t be forever, but it will be a long time before I tire of you.”
“Please,” she said shakily, “stop this. You’re scaring me. I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Slowly, he wrapped his hand around the nape of her neck and tugged her to him. She stumbled, put out her hands and laid them against his chest.
“Don’t you?”
“No. I don’t understand why you had me brought here. I don’t even know where I am. The oldest part of the palace, you said.”
“Indeed.” Nick’s eyes dropped to her mouth. Her sweet, beautiful, lying mouth. “I had you brought here because it’s where you belong.” His gaze lifted, caught hers. “You were my birthday present, darling. Remember?”
She stared at him. “A birthday…? But that was just a joke. You misunderstood what Dawn meant—”
“Nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense. I explained everything. That I was a designer. That Dawn only wanted me to do your apartment.”
Nick laughed softly. “You’re a designer all right. Your ‘design’ was to worm your way into my life.” He reached out a finger, traced the outline of her mouth with its tip. “What you are is a man’s dream come true. And now you’re right where you belong.” His smile was slow and sexy. “Welcome to the harem, Amanda.”
She jerked back as if the touch of his hand had scorched her. “What?”
Nick smiled, bent his head, brushed his mouth over hers. She didn’t move, didn’t respond, didn’t so much as breathe.
“Didn’t Abdul tell you?”
“He said something about a harem, yes. But I thought…”
His hand cupped her throat, his thumb seeming to measure the fluttering race of her pulse.
“You don’t…Harems don’t exist,” she said quickly. “Not anymore. That’s all changed.”
“This is the kingdom of Quidar. Nothing changes here unless the king—or his heir—wishes it.”
“Do you really expect me to believe you—you have a harem? A bunch of women you keep as—as sexual slaves?” She gave a weak laugh. “Honestly, Nick—”
“Do you recall what I told you about your use of that word, ‘slaves’?” Nick cupped her shoulders, drew her stiff body to his. “I assure you, it’s an honor to warm my bed.”
“This isn’t funny, dammit. Surely you can’t think I’d—”
She gasped as his mouth covered hers in a long, drugging kiss.
“I must admit, I found you enjoyable,” he said calmly, when he finally lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “You have a beautiful body. A lovely face. And you’ve proven an apt pupil in the ways to pleasure a man.”
Her face whitened. She tried to pull free of him, but his hands dug into her flesh.
“So, I’ve decided to keep you. For a while, at any rate.” She cried out as he thrust his hand into her hair and tugged her head back so that her face was raised to his. “Don’t look so shocked, darling. You’ll enjoy it, I promise. And think of the excellent material you’ll have to sell when I finally tire of you and send you home.”
“Sell? What ‘material’? What are you—”
“Damn you!” Nick’s smile vanished. “Don’t pull that wide-eyed look on me! You were too impetuous. If only you’d waited…but I suppose you thought you’d be back in New York, safe and sound, before the next issue of that rag hit the streets.”
“What rag? I have no idea what—”
“‘My Days and Nights with Nicholas al Rashid’,” Nick said coldly. He thrust her from him hard enough so she stumbled. “Such a trite title, Amanda. Or does Gossip write its own headlines?”
Amanda stared at him in disbelief. “What has Gossip to do with this?”
Nick’s mouth thinned. He reached inside his robe, took out a sheet of paper and shoved it at her
. She gave it a bewildered glance.
“What is this?”
“Take it,” he said grimly. “Go on.”
She looked down at the paper he’d pushed into her hand. It was a copy of what appeared to be an article bylined, “Special to Gossip, from Amanda Benning.”
‘“My Days and Nights with…’” she read in a shaky whisper. Her face paled, and she looked up. “Nick, for God’s sake, this is a hoax. Surely you don’t think I’d write something like this.”
“Read it.”
His voice flicked over her like a whip. Amanda looked at the paper and moistened her lips. “‘My Days and Nights with…”’ Color rushed into her face. “‘With the sexy sheikh…”’ She looked at him again. “Whoever wrote this is talking about—about—”
“About what it’s like to make love to…” Nick’s jaw tightened. “What was the phrase? Ah, yes. I remember now. “To ‘an elegant, exciting savage’.” His mouth twisted. “I’ve been called a lot of things, Ms. Benning, but never that.”
“Nick. Listen to me. I’d never do this. Never! How could you even think…? Someone else did it. Wrote this—this thing and used my—”
“Read the final paragraph,” he commanded. “Aloud.”
She drew a shaky breath. “‘As it turns out, the Lion of the Desert is…’” She stopped and lifted imploring eyes to his. “No,” she whispered. “Nick, I can’t—”
“‘As it turns out,’” he said coldly, calling up the ugly words that had been forever burned into his brain, “‘the Lion of the Desert is more than a stud. He also has a talent for three-card monte. The sexy sheikh has a souvenir from that time, a two-headed coin that’s a reminder of the days when he hustled his school chums…”’ Nick looked directly into Amanda’s eyes. “I never told that story to anyone,” he said softly. “Not to anyone but you.”
“And you think…” The paper fell from her hand. She reached out to Nick, her fingers curling into his sleeve. “I swear to you, I didn’t write this!”
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me. No one knows about that coin except you.”
“Someone knows. Someone wrote this, put my name on it. Don’t you see? This is a lie. I’d never—”
Mistress of the Sheikh Page 16