Hostage of the Hawk

by Sandra Marton

  ‘How should I know?’ she cried angrily. ‘Raid the camp. Harass the workers. Disrupt things any way you can. Does it matter?’

  ‘And if I told you that you’re wrong...?’

  ‘Listen, Khalil, I’m not going to play this silly game! You want to pretend you’re Lawrence of Arabia? Fine. Wear that foolish outfit. Ride that ridiculous horse. Stand around and look fierce while your people prostrate themselves before you. As for me, all I want—’

  She cried out as he caught hold of her shoulders.

  ‘All you want,’ he said through his teeth, ‘is to categorise me. And if I don’t fit, you’ll poke, prod, shove and squeeze until I do!’

  ‘All I want,’ Joanna said, her eyes snapping defiance, ‘is to go back to Casablanca.’

  ‘Nothing would suit me better! A scorpion would make a better guest than you!’

  ‘I am not your guest!’

  ‘Indeed you are not.’ His lip curled with distaste. ‘You are an unwelcome visitor.’

  ‘Fine! Then put me on your plane and send me back!’

  ‘I shall, the instant your father agrees to my conditions.’

  ‘Well, then,’ she said, tossing her head, ‘tell your pilot to rev up those engines. Your money should be on its way.’

  A furrow appeared between his dark eyebrows. ‘Your father has yet to answer me, Joanna.’

  She stared at him. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘It is quite simple. He knows what I want for your return, but he has not offered a reply.’

  Joanna’s eyes searched his face. ‘You mean, your messenger didn’t wait for one.’

  Khalil shook his head. ‘I mean what I said.’ His words were clipped and cold. ‘Your father has not responded.’

  ‘Well, how could he? If you asked some unholy sum of money, a million billion dollars or whatever, he’d have to find a way to—’

  He gave her a thin smile. ‘Is that what you think you’re worth?’

  ‘The question isn’t what I think I’m worth,’ she said coldly. ‘It’s what you think you can get for me.’

  ‘I have asked a great deal,’ he said, his eyes on her face.

  Why did his answer make her heartbeat quicken? The words were simple, yet they seemed to hold a complexity of meaning. Joanna gave him what she hoped was an easygoing smile.

  ‘Really.’

  ‘A great, great deal,’ he said softly.

  ‘All right, tell me. How many dollars am I worth?’

  ‘I didn’t ask for dollars.’

  ‘Swiss francs, then. Or Deutschmarks. Or—’

  ‘I told you before, I want no money for you.’

  Joanna’s attempted nonchalance vanished. ‘For God’s sake,’ she snapped, ‘what did you ask from my father, then? Diamonds? Gold?’

  Khalil’s eyes met hers. ‘I have demanded that your father withdraw from the contract with Abu Al Zouad.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said—’

  ‘I heard you—but I don’t believe you. All this talk about how you love your people and how they love you, and now you’re trying to blackmail Bennettco into pulling out of a million-dollar deal that would pump money and jobs into your country?’

  Khalil’s eyes darkened. ‘He is to withdraw from it and restructure it, so that the people benefit, not Abu.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, of course. You want him to rewrite the contract—’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘—to rewrite it according to your dictates.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Joanna laughed. ‘You’re good at this, you know that? I mean, if I didn’t know better, I’d almost believe you! Come on, Khalil. The only benefit you have in mind is for yourself.’

  His expression hardened. ‘Think what you will, Joanna. I have sent your father the terms of your release. Now, it is up to him to reply.’

  ‘He will. He definitely will. And when he does—’

  But Sam should have replied already, she thought with a start. He should have said, OK, I’ll do whatever you want, just set my daughter free.

  No. No, he couldn’t do that. She wasn’t looking at things clearly. Sam wasn’t about to cave in, not without being certain Khalil would live up to his end of the deal. Kidnappers were not known for honouring their agreements; her father would want to do everything in his power to satisfy himself that he could trust Khalil to let her go before he said yes, otherwise he might put her in even greater jeopardy.

  She looked up. Khalil was watching her closely. His expression was unreadable, but the little smile of triumph that had been on his lips moments ago was gone. In its place was a look that might almost have been sympathy.

  ‘I cannot imagine your father will have trouble deciding which he prefers,’ he said softly, ‘his daughter or his contract with the sultan.’

  Joanna flushed. The bastard wasn’t feeling sympathy, he was just worried that her father might not give him what he’d asked for!

  ‘My father’s an astute businessman,’ she said. ‘Why should he trust you? He’ll want some guarantee that you won’t hurt me after he agrees to your demands.’

  ‘My message made no mention of hurting you,’ he said stiffly.

  ‘Ah. I see. You simply told him you’d keep me as your guest forever if he didn’t do what you wanted.’

  Khalil began to grin. ‘Something like that.’

  Joanna’s jaunty smile faded. ‘What do you mean?’

  He shrugged lazily. ‘I suggested that if he did not want you back, we would accommodate you here.’

  ‘Accommodate me?’

  ‘You would learn to live among my people.’ Still smiling, he strolled across the room to where her green silk dress lay across the chair. ‘It will not be the life you know,’ he said, picking up the dress. It slipped through his fingers, incongruously delicate and insubstantial, and fell back to the chair. ‘But at least it would stop your complaining.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Our women lead busy lives. Only idle women have time to complain. You would start simply, tending the chickens and the goats, but if you showed you were interested in learning they would teach you to cook, to spin—’

  ‘Never!’ The word exploded from her lips. ‘Never, do you hear me? I’d sooner—I’d sooner—’

  ‘What would you sooner do?’ He looked across the room at her, his eyes dark. ‘Surely, you would have to do something. We are all productive here, everyone but the sick, the elderly, and the children.’

  He started slowly towards her. Joanna’s heart skipped a beat. She wanted to step back, to put as much distance as the confines of the room permitted between herself and the man pacing towards her, but she was determined to stand her ground.

  ‘You fit none of those categories,’ he said, stopping inches from her. He gave her a long, slow look, one that left a trail of heat across her skin and she thought suddenly that it was a good thing she hadn’t fought him about giving her his robe, for if she had—if she had, he would surely see the quickening of her breath, the flush that she felt rising over her entire body, the terrible, hateful way her breasts were lifting and hardening as he looked at her.

  ‘You are not elderly, or ill, or a child, Joanna,’ he said softly. He reached his hand out to her and caught a strand of auburn hair between his fingers. ‘I would have to find some other use for you, I’m afraid.’

  ‘My father will come for me,’ she said fiercely. ‘And—and when he does—’ Her breath caught as he put his arms around her.

  ‘I think,’ he said, his voice husky, ‘I think I would not waste you on the goats, even if you wished it.’

  ‘I would rather—’ He put his lips to her hair and she swallowed hard. ‘I would rather tend the goats than—than—’

  ‘One of the laws we live by is that every person should do what he or she is best suited for.’ He lowered his head and nuzzled the robe from the juncture of shoulder and throat. His mouth moved lightly against her skin. ‘And you,’ he said, his
voice dropping to a whisper, ‘you are surely best suited to be with a man, to sigh his name, and drive him to the point where his bones begin to melt.’

  His teeth closed lightly on her flesh. Joanna gasped, and he touched his tongue to the pinpoint of pain, soothing it away.

  ‘You smell of flowers,’ he whispered, ‘of flowers heated by the sun of the desert.’

  Trembling, Joanna fought for control. ‘I—I smell of soap,’ she said as he pressed kisses across her shoulder. ‘I—I didn’t use Rachelle’s precious bath oils to—’

  ‘Then the scent in my nostrils is of you.’ He threaded his hand into her hair, knotting it around his fist like a bright, gleaming band, so that she had no choice but to meet his eyes, eyes that had gone as dark as the sea at night. ‘By Allah,’ he whispered, ‘it is a scent more sweet than any I have ever known.’

  He bent and kissed her throat again. Joanna’s eyes closed and she swayed in his arms, hating herself for whatever weakness it was that possessed her when he touched her, hating him even more for finding that weakness and exploiting it.

  ‘The only name I’d ever call you is bastard,’ she said unsteadily. ‘And—and that would be only the beginning.’

  Khalil laughed softly. ‘Has no one ever taught you manners?’

  ‘No one’s ever tried to tell me how to live my life, if that’s what you mean!’

  She had meant to insult him, but her words only made him grin. ‘Ah. We’re back to that, are we? Khalil the dictator.’

  ‘We never left it! You think—you think you can—’

  ‘The first thing you must learn,’ he said, ‘is not to talk so much.’

  His mouth dropped to hers. She had been expecting the kiss, steeling herself against it, and she went rigid at the first touch of his lips. But his kiss was like a whisper—gentle, almost soft—and it sent a swift frisson of pleasure shimmering through her blood.

  Don’t, she began to say. But the thought never became a word. Instead, it emerged a sigh against his mouth. Khalil’s arms went around her and he gathered her so closely to him that Joanna couldn’t tell whose heart it was she felt racing, whose skin it was she felt blazing with heat.

  His teeth caught her bottom lip and he drew the soft flesh into the warmth of his mouth.

  ‘Joanna,’ he whispered.

  He swept the robe from her shoulders and the lightly knotted towel fell to her waist. He drew back, just far enough so he could see her. Her skin was flushed, her breasts full and hardened with desire.

  ‘How beautiful you are,’ he said, his voice thick.

  Joanna felt as if the room was spinning around her. ‘Please,’ she whispered, ‘please...’

  ‘What? What do you want me to do, Joanna?’ He reached out blindly, his fingers trailing across her collarbone, and she caught her breath. ‘This?’ he said softly, his eyes on her face. He touched the rise of her breast, circling the aureole lightly. Joanna whimpered and now it was he who caught his breath. ‘Or this?’ he said, bending his head and putting his mouth to her flesh.

  She moaned, would have fallen, but he caught her and gathered her fiercely to him, his hands cupping her bottom, lifting her into the hardness of his arousal.

  ‘Joanna,’ he whispered, his voice unsteady, and she moved blindly against him, exulting in the hard feel of him, her flesh on fire...

  ‘No!’ The strangled cry burst as much from her heart as from her throat. What was he doing to her? She wasn’t the sort of woman who fell into bed with a stranger or with a man she loathed! Joanna slammed her hands against Khalil’s chest and pushed him away.

  ‘All right,’ she said, her breathing swift, ‘you’ve convinced me. You’re bigger than I am, and stronger, and—and—’ She closed her eyes, then opened them, determined to face her humiliation without flinching. ‘And there’s something you do that—that makes me—makes me receptive. But—’

  ‘Receptive?’ He laughed, and whatever unsteadiness she’d thought she’d heard in his voice was gone, replaced by smug satisfaction at her embarrassment. ‘What you are, my charming Miss Bennett, is ready and willing.’ Her hand flashed up but he caught it before she could slap him. ‘But, of course, you’d have to be, wouldn’t you, to have had any hope of carrying out your little scheme?’

  ‘I hate you,’ Joanna said through her teeth. ‘Do you understand? I hate you, and I’d sooner die than—’

  ‘Yes. So you said, several times.’ His smile was chill. ‘It must be difficult, trying to play the part of the seductress and the wounded innocent at the same time.’

  ‘You’ll pay for what you’ve done, when my father comes for me, I promise you that.’

  ‘The sooner, the better,’ Khalil said grimly, thrusting her from him. ‘Rachelle will bring you clothing. Then she will show you the areas in which you will be free to walk.’

  ‘Free? You don’t know the meaning of the word!’

  ‘Behave yourself and things will not be as difficult as you imagine,’ he said, striding to the door.

  ‘And if I don’t?’ She flung her defiance after him, some inner need more desperate than fear spurring her on. ‘What then? Will you put me in chains?’

  He turned and looked at her. ‘Only a stupid man would resort to such measures, Joanna.’ A quick smile flashed across his lips. ‘Especially when there are ones that would please me far better.’

  The door opened, then shut, and Joanna was alone.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘I HAVE brought you some lunch, Joanna.’

  Joanna looked up as Rachelle entered the bedroom and set a tray on the table beside the window.

  ‘You will like it, I think. There is kofta and ommu-’ali—little meatballs—and then some rice pudding, and—’

  ‘Thank you, but I’m not hungry.’

  The bright smile dimmed. ‘But you haven’t even looked at it!’

  ‘I’m sure it’s delicious. But I don’t want it.’

  ‘Joanna, please. You must eat.’

  ‘Why?’ Joanna’s attempted good humour vanished in a haze of frustration and disappointment. ‘Is that what the Prince said?’

  Rachelle flushed. ‘The Prince will be concerned about the welfare of his guest.’

  ‘Ah. That’s touching. Unfortunately for me, I am not exactly his guest.’

  ‘He will be displeased with me.’

  ‘Send him to me, then. I’ll tell him you have nothing to do with my not eating. Perhaps he needs to be reminded that prisoners often lose their appetites—but then, what would a kidnapper and bandit know about such things?’

  ‘Hush!’ Rachelle’s eyes were wide with shock. ‘You must not say that of my lord!’

  ‘Why? Will he have me beaten if I speak the truth? Will he have you beaten for listening to it?’ Joanna got to her feet and stalked across the room. ‘Why don’t you stop defending him? There’s no one here but me—you can be honest for once. Your mighty Prince is nothing but a—’

  Rachelle gasped, turned, and all but flew to the door.

  ‘Rachelle!’ Joanna’s voice rose in dismay. ‘Rachelle, wait, please! Don’t go. I just wanted to—’

  It was too late. The door swung shut, and she was alone again. She stared at it for a few seconds, and then she flung out her arms in frustration.

  ‘How could you be so stupid, Joanna?’ she demanded of the silent room.

  She flung herself into a chair and stared blankly at the wall. She’d lost her temper with a slip of a girl who was too terrified of Khalil and the life-or-death power he held over her and the rest of his people ever to question what he did.

  More importantly, she’d lost the chance to ask the only question that mattered. When would she be set free? Surely Khalil had heard from her father by now? Sam must be working as quickly as he could to meet the demands for her release, but—

  A knock sounded at the door, as if in answer to Joanna’s thoughts. She sprang to her feet, her heart pounding—but it was only Rachelle again, this time bearing an armfu
l of what looked like bright lengths of fabric.

  ‘I have brought you some things to wear,’ she said, hurrying to the bed, her eyes downcast. Garments fell across the blankets, along with a pair of embroidered leather slippers. ‘I hope they are to your liking, Joanna. If they are not—’

  ‘Rachelle—I’m sorry if I insulted you before.’

  The girl looked up. ‘It was my lord you insulted, not me.’

  ‘Yes.’ Joanna sighed. ‘And I suppose it’s a capital offence to do that here, isn’t it?’

  Rachelle’s brow furrowed. ‘Capital offence? I do not understand.’

  Joanna smiled tightly. ‘No, I’m sure you don’t.’

  ‘The clothing,’ the girl said, gesturing to the bed. ‘I had to guess at the size, but—’

  ‘I won’t need it.’

  Rachelle shrugged her shoulders. ‘I thought you would be more comfortable in these things than in the jellaba, but if you prefer to wear it—’

  ‘I won’t be here long enough to bother changing what I’m wearing.’

  The girl’s eyes met Joanna’s, then skittered away. ‘It will not hurt to have these things,’ she said.

  ‘There’s no point,’ Joanna said firmly. ‘Surely, by now, Khalil has heard from my father, and...’ She stared at the other girl. ‘He has, hasn’t he?’

  Rachelle seemed to hesitate. ‘I do not know.’

  ‘Khalil said he’d contacted him. Did he tell me the truth?’ Rachelle’s face grew shuttered and Joanna’s voice sharpened with impatience. ‘Come on, Rachelle, surely you can answer a simple question. Does my father know what’s happened to me?’

  The girl nodded. ‘Yes.’

  Yes. Yes. Sam knew she was being held prisoner, but he hadn’t yet arranged for her release...

  ‘I will take away the things I have brought, since you do not wish to—’

  ‘No!’ Joanna shook her head and put her hand on Rachelle’s arm. ‘No, leave them. On second thought, I don’t want to go on wearing this—this bathrobe of Khalil’s another minute.’ She reached towards the bed, then stopped abruptly. ‘What,’ she said disdainfully, ‘is this?’

  ‘A skirt.’ The girl smiled hesitantly. ‘And a blouse to go with it. If they please you, I will bring you other—’