A Bed of Broken Promises

by Clare Connelly

  Her eyes were wide with panic, confirming his worst suspicions. She was a journalist of some sort. The Amar’an media were famously respectful of their royals’ privacy. But foreign media did not have the same ethical approach to news reporting, in his experience. And Mansour, with his endless parade of parties and scandals, did not help the situation.

  “Why do you need to see my notebook?”

  Unused to being questioned, he shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

  “You do not ask me why. You simply do what I ask.”

  Her heart rate doubled as she stood, staring at him. With hands that weren’t quite steady, she passed the notebook to him. But as his fingers wrapped around the worn cover of her Moleskine, she found she didn’t let go. “Please,” she looked at him beseechingly. “It’s private.”

  Something in the way she looked at him so earnestly made him pause. “Are you a journalist?”

  “A journalist? Lord, no!” She exhaled slowly, trying to calm her buzzing insides. “I am a writer, though. Strictly fiction. I was just putting down some thoughts…” She didn’t want to elaborate. She tried to keep as much distance between herself and her best selling nom de plume. Emma Anderson had always run as far as possible from the lime light.

  His eyes bore into hers, brooding and assessing, and she felt that same slick of desire in her abdomen. Heat coursed through her as she stared up at him, noting the way the breeze ruffled his jet black hair. He really was spectacularly attractive, in that very macho kind of way.

  Finally, he released his hold on the notebook. “Fine.”

  He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Emma standing there, a puddle of sensation with a frantically churning heart. She wanted to scream at him, but there was something so naturally authoritative about him that, frankly, she was scared into silence whenever he was nearby. Oh, she felt like a traitor to her sister. She couldn’t have imagined that, when the opportunity presented itself, she still hadn’t spoken her mind to this big, muscled jerk. Every moment she didn’t confront him, and tell him what she thought of him, was one moment too late.

  “Emma!” Becky came bounding into their bedroom later that morning, her pretty face crinkled into a smile. Becky was the sort of person who should be working on a yacht like this. She was pure beach-girl beauty, with a deep tan, sun-bleached hair, eyes like a cat, and an athletic body that, when the Sheikh was not in residence, she displayed in just a bikini, day in, day out. Becky had hired Emma (after about a thousand security and background checks), and from that first day, she’d tried to get the other girl to lighten up, but Emma just couldn’t shake her bookish nature.

  “Emma, guess what?”

  Emma scanned the rest of the paragraph and then placed her finger in the page, lifting her eyes to Becky. “Mmmm?”

  Becky’s whisper was thick with excitement. “Em, His Royal Hotness wants to see you!”

  Immediately, that sense of dangerous attraction thudded through her, and she had to remind herself that this man was a total ass. The worst kind of bastard. She’d seen for herself just what he was capable of, and somehow, she was going to make him pay.

  “Do you know what for?” She asked, dog-earing her book and laying it aside.

  “I haven’t the foggiest, but I’d run right there, if I were you. Oh, he’s so yummy! I wish I could go in your place…”

  “So do I,” Emma said under her breath as she pushed up off the bed.

  She tried to regain the sense of purpose she’d brought with her to the boat. Her sister’s future and happiness lay in her hands and she just had to find a way to get over her nerves. Sure, he was impossibly gorgeous – her sister had an eye for men who could make you melt with one look – but Emma had always valued integrity and strength of character over more physical concerns.

  When she reached his room, the door was slightly open, but nonetheless, she knocked.

  “Come.” His voice was unmistakable. He had a regal authority at all times. As if she weren’t nervous enough. Summoning her fury and wearing it as a cloak of confidence, she took two steps into the room. And froze. He was lying on the bed, a newspaper in hand, wearing only a pair of jeans. The same jeans he’d been wearing on deck earlier that day.

  She gulped down the flood of desire and forced herself to square her shoulders. “You wanted me, sir?”

  He did want her, he realized with consternation. She was nothing like the women he usually went for, but there was a strange magnetism between them. He was half tempted to act on it. He probably would have, except there was an inherently dangerous quality to this woman. Something about her particular type of bewitching appeal that made him think she would be trouble. Besides, she really was not his type. He regarded her speculatively, thinking again, what a travesty it was the she chose to hide her body in a suit that was at least one size too big for her.

  “Emma, for God’s sake, come in. You have a habit of looking like I’m going to eat you alive and frankly, it’s getting on my nerves.”

  And because his words sparked more of that strange fire inside of her, she gritted her teeth. “Sir, I was in the middle of something. Was there a particular reason you summoned me?”

  And just like that, rational thought fled from his brain.

  He stood and walked, with a panther-like grace, to shut the door. He moved, so that he was standing directly in front of her, so close that they were almost touching.

  He could feel the way her breath was labored. The way it made her breasts rise and fall in a steady rhythm. And the last modicum of common sense he possessed evaporated. She had the largest eyes he’d ever seen in real life. Huge and round, with thick black lashes. If he’d been presented with a photograph of them, he would have said they’d been computer generated.

  Unable to restrain himself, he lifted his hand to her face. Her skin was warm and soft, he noticed, as he ran his finger over her cheek. Her eyes flew open, and he saw for the first time that they were a shade of blue almost akin to turquoise.

  “You are unusually confrontational. And I find it strangely attractive.” He murmured quietly, his accent thicker than usual, as he struggled with what he wanted, and what was right.

  She was incapable of moving, even though every inch of her body was screaming at her how very, very wrong this was. Cass loved the Sheikh. He’d left her heartbroken. Emma couldn’t – wouldn’t – let herself feel attracted to him. But the truth was, of every man she’d ever met, none had inspired a fraction of the aching need she felt for Rafiq.

  “You are unusually annoying. And I don’t find you at all attractive,” she retorted breathlessly, wondering bleakly if Amar’a was one of those Middle Eastern principalities where the death sentence was still in effect. She threw up a silent prayer of thanks that they were still in the ocean off the coast of Greece, and that he had no real legal power over her.

  She’d anticipated anger, but instead, his lips tilted into a sexy smile. It was almost her undoing, but she closed her eyes and brought her sister’s face to her mind. The last time she’d seen Cass, she’d been miserable. Characteristically stunning despite her suffering, but totally, obviously heartbroken. And it was all this man’s fault.

  “Please, whatever you do, don’t touch me,” she said, and she underscored her words by stepping back, out of his reach. The palm that had been curved around her cheek dropped to his side. She didn’t acknowledge the way her insides immediately clenched painfully at the removal of his physical contact.

  He was hardly the bachelor the press made out, but he was experienced enough with women, and he hadn’t ever known a member of the opposite sex to reject his advances. Particularly not with such an obvious level of antipathy.

  “You do not like me to touch you?” He asked silkily, watching the way her cheeks bloomed with pretty color and feeling an answering tension in his jeans.

  She lowered her eyes to her feet. “No.”

  “Little liar.” His chuckle was low, and it sent sharp arrows of h
eat through her body.

  What are you waiting for? A written invitation? Tell him!

  “You disgust me,” she said, lifting her head and boring into him with eyes that were clouded with emotional intensity. “You think women are your own personal play thing. Well, we aren’t! You don’t get to touch me, just because you’ve decided on a whim that you want me.”

  “Emma, you want me too, unless I’m very much mistaken; which I rarely am.”

  She closed her eyes. There was no sense lying to him. “Physical attraction is one body’s unconscious reaction to another. It’s all chemical. We have brains to give us the ability to control those impulses.”

  His eyes flared with grudging appreciation. How often had he expressed that sentiment to his brother Mansour? “My brain is not listening to common sense now.”

  And he leaned forward and took possession of her lips. Briefly, he wondered what the hell had got into him. She was a young woman in his employ. He knew nothing about her, except that she’d tormented his dreams from the first time he’d seen her. As his lips savored the feeling of hers, he knew he’d been wanting this. She was sweet and warm, and he felt the way her body immediately softened, pliant against the hard planes of his. Her hands came up to wind around his neck and he growled low in his throat. “Emma, you are… heaven…”

  He felt her freeze in his arms. “No!” She was almost screaming. She pushed him away. It was not a hard push but her vehement rejection had caught him off balance, so he stepped backwards, watching the way she was shaking, like a leaf. “How dare you! How dare you of all people!”

  “And who, pray tell, am I, of all people?” He was immediately in control of his emotions and she hated him even more for it.

  “You are the man who left my sister, heartbroken and alone, before she could tell you that she’s pregnant! You disgust me!”

  Continue reading by purchasing THE SHEIKH’S VIRGIN HOSTAGE by CLARE CONNELLY from the Amazon kindle store.