Sheikh's Virgin Love-Slave

by Brooke, Jessica

  “There’s no harm in taking a look at what the man is offering.”

  Adil cursed low and aggressively under his breath. “I really have to object. This man is probably bluffing.”

  “And he’s tied up.”

  “Fine,” he said. “But it’s a waste of time.” With that, Adil tossed him the phone. “My sheikh, it’s better to turn this piece of refuse over to the authorities as soon as possible.”

  “A glance will hurt nothing,” Ravi corrected as he thumbed to the picture app on the thief’s smart phone. The photos that came up were of museums and art exhibits, taken at angles that belied a curiosity about the security layout more than any real interest in art. But as he thumbed through into the older photos, he found one of a woman who, quite literally, took his breath away. When he could speak again, he eyed the thief. “She seems young.”

  “Last time I saw her was at her college graduation. Like I said, she’s almost twenty-six and I assume even more beautiful.”

  The thief’s words made part of his stomach churn. What such man would offer up his daughter to someone he didn’t know to save his own skin? And yet, Ravi knew in his bones he was going to take the offer. Scanning through the graduation photos, he came to one with her cap off. Her long, blonde hair—like the color of freshly-threshed wheat—fell down to her shoulders, and eyes the color of emeralds sparkled back at him. But it was her smile, that flash of purity highlighted with enticing dimples that made him want her.

  He handed the phone back to a frowning Adil before turning turned to the thief. “Mister...?”

  “Callahan. Dean Callahan.”

  Ravi smiled in agreement. “Well, Mr. Callahan, we have a deal. Tell me where your daughter is and how to get her, and you can have your worthless life back.”

  “With pleasure.”

  Chapter Three

  The electrical jolt of the Taser knocked Bridget out cold. When she awoke, she found herself lying on an overstuffed leather sofa in what looked like a beach house. The room before her was decorated in cool blues and whites with tessellated tile everywhere. She could see water lapping against a nearby dock outside of the nearest window. Struggling to sit up, she wanted to scream her frustration when she found her hands were bound with something thick like rope behind her back. But if she screamed, she might make people come running for her. She might alert guards.

  Bridget looked over her shoulder and did scream when she saw that the guards were already there: the three men who had abducted her were now armed with not just Tasers, but also machine guns. Besides them in traditional, flowing Arab robes were at least six other large men that were armed to the teeth. Her heart beat so hard against her chest that she worried it might actually burst through.

  So much for trying to escape.

  Before she could even think of anything to say, three new people strode into the room. One was a woman who had to be almost as tall as she was, but far curvier with dark hair that fell almost to her waist and heavily kohl-lined eyes. The second was a man who was bent by age and had a long, white beard. The final person to enter seemed to saunter into the room and radiated power. He was tall and seemed to cast a shadow even over Ms. Va-Va-Voom. His shoulders spread wide under the fabric of his perfectly-tailored suit. She was sure that the suit cost more than a few months of her rent.

  The truth was, he didn’t need it. Whoever this man was would have looked amazing in a plastic garbage bag. Dark hair, the color of midnight, hung down to his shoulders in loose waves; his high cheekbones cut sharply across his face, and his eyes, the color of cut jade, were hypnotic.

  Despite everything, an unusual warmth flared in her belly at the sight of him. It took more effort than she wanted to admit to push that away. Everyone averted their eyes and bowed low, making it easy to tell that this newcomer was the one in charge here. Who was he?

  Come on, Bridget, forget those big green eyes. This guy has to be the head honcho, which means he’s the reason you’re even here.

  “Who are you?” she asked, holding her chin up high and eyeing Mr. Tall, Dark, and In-Charge.

  “I’m Sheik Ravi Shamon, and I’m your host here in Dubai. In fact, I’m the sheikh of all of Dubai; the ruler of all you see in the entire city. All of the territory.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” she asked, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to keep it level.

  “It has a lot to do with you,” he said nodding to the old man who stepped forward and cut her arms free.

  She rubbed at her wrists and rolled her shoulders, grateful to have the circulation spreading back through her fingers. “I don’t see how it does.” Bridget wanted to run, to try and escape, but she could see at least nine guards with guns trained on her and no clue where she was, or how many more guards were waiting out of sight. Judging by the tropical scenery, there was no way she was anywhere near Baltimore anymore. The only hope she had was to play along and watch for a chance to escape. “I don’t even know who you are.”

  “But I know you, Bridget, at least a little bit. Your father, Dean—”

  “I know my father,” Bridget interrupted. “He’s a jerk. I haven’t seen him in almost five years, not since my university promised not to press charges on him for trying to steal a priceless statue from the campus art museum. It took a lot of begging for them not to. It wasn’t like I could ever show my face back on campus again.” Her eyes widened and it began to dawn on her exactly what had to have happened. “What did my father do now?”

  The sheikh inclined his head and strode over to her. “He stole from me. Actually, he failed to. But he made me an interesting offer.”

  Her throat went dry and suddenly she couldn’t swallow at all. It took massive effort to even force the next words to escape her lips. “My father sold me?”

  She could feel a cold horror creeping over her heart and through her mind. Yes, Dean Callahan was a shitty father, but he’d never trade her to some sheikh, would he? He had to know what a man like Sheikh Shamon would want.

  Jesus, of course dear old Dad did that.

  “Yes, but do not think that whatever you’re imagining is correct. You’re not. I have no interest in doing anything untoward tonight.”

  “Then I guess I should be glad,” she said, trying to force herself not to cry. “I mean, why would I think that when you had men kidnap me from a car garage?”

  The sheikh nodded. “I understand. It was a necessary evil, I’m afraid. But for today, all I need you to do is go with Sabella, and let her help you get dressed. Then, there will be dinner.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to ignore the jittery cadre of guards surrounding her. “I don’t want to.”

  Sabella eyed her, a nasty frown marring her model-gorgeous face. “I don’t either, habibi. Why don’t you just return this American giraffe back home? She’s not worth the trouble.”

  Sheikh Shamon shook his head. “Now, now, Sabella. Be nice to our guest. You’re one of the staff.”

  The woman glared at him, but stifled right away.

  “Fine,” she said, nodding to Bridget. “Come with me now, American, and don’t make this any harder on us than it has to be. I’ll get you dressed and then you can dine with Ravi. I’m sure he’ll figure out soon enough that you’re not worth his attention.” She tilted her head back to the sheikh. “Don’t worry, American. You’ll be home in a few days. I’ll help you with that.”

  Sheikh Shamon’s expression soured and he grabbed Sabella by the wrist. Terse words were exchanged between them in what Bridget assumed had to be Arabic. Sabella’s face grew redder as she cursed, shooting a death glare at Bridget before cooling down.

  “Come now,” Sabella said, forcing a fake smile to her lips. “Let’s have some time just between us girls.”

  ***

  Try as she might to make a mental map, Bridget couldn’t keep track of the maze of hallways as they passed through the house. It surprised her that the sheikh was only in a house and not something m
ore grand. Still, when they came to a bedroom twice the size of her apartment with a four-poster bed covered with soft lace fabric, she was impressed in spite of herself. The view looked out on the sea or ocean, whichever it was, with the water gently lapping onto the sand outside her window. If she weren’t the abducted forced guest of a sheikh, it would be the best vacation she’d ever been on. It wasn’t like she could afford to travel on her salary, or ever had time off to take a trip like this.

  Of course, if she never got out of here, it wasn’t like she’d have a job either. But prisoners didn’t need those, did they?

  “So, what now?” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and sitting down hard on the mattress. Sabella didn’t seem to be carrying weapons, but there was no way to be sure that she wasn’t. Besides, she was no action hero; it’s not like she could successfully overpower Sabella. It was stupid. The only chance she had was to learn as much as she could, to figure out when there might be a better time to get help. “Are you going to paint me up with kohl as well? Maybe you’ll be covering me in a kaftan. Or I’ll have genie pants? Maybe something bangly?”

  Sabella shook her head. “If you’d like to be dressed as well as I am,” she said, gesturing to her own flowing dress of bright canary yellow fabric that seemed to still find a way to cling to her hips. “Then we can arrange that. But I know Ravi’s tastes, and he likes to dress everyone up well. You should take advantage of that, American giraffe.”

  Bridget swallowed hard. She was called worse than that in high school, but it still reminded of her gangly limbs and, at the time, her knobby knees. Coming from a woman as objectively pretty as Sabella, the taunts hurt even more and cut in deeper. It didn’t matter that she only wanted to go home and had no interest in Sheikh Shamon.

  Almost no interest.

  Still, Sabella mocking her made her feel low as dirt.

  “I’m not a giraffe.”

  “Could have fooled me,” Sabella pouted. “I don’t know what Ravi sees in you when he has me.”

  Bridget ignored the bite of pain to her heart at that bit of bragging. It didn’t matter that Sheikh Shamon was gorgeous or that he could command a room with his very presence. The man had bought her. Done a deal with her good-for-nothing father and stolen her from her home. She needed to keep her wits about her; it was the only hope she had of escape.

  “Well, he didn’t invite you to dinner. Just help me play Barbie dress up for him. Let me get this all over with.”

  Sabella shook her head as she opened up the closet. “You should be so lucky. If Ravi really has gone crazy and wants to take you to his bed tonight, remember that there are women all over the United Arab Emirates, and all over the world really, who’d kill for the chance you’re about to have. I know that I would. Not that I’ll have to. He will find only a bit of novelty in making love to a zoo animal.”

  “I hate you,” Bridget said, her voice laced with anger.

  “I feel the same way, American,” Sabella replied. “But I have my orders for the night,” she said, tossing a dress onto the bed. “This is a Marchesa, and it’s wasted on you, but put it on. You’ll be late for dinner.”

  Chapter Four

  “My sheikh, I do not advise this as a course of action. We have such good will from the Americans currently, so many of their wealthiest expats live here. It would damage Dubai’s public relations to know that you abducted one of their citizens.”

  “I don’t intend for it to become public knowledge, Adil,” Ravi said as he poured himself a cup of tea. He wasn’t an adherent Muslim and allowed himself pleasures of the West like alcoholic drinks, but he wasn’t sure what refreshments Ms. Callahan would want and he wanted to set the pace by being in full control of his faculties. Sipping the Darjeeling, Ravi eyed his servant. “I’ve thought of all the risks, believe me. I’m not flying off half-cocked like you think I am, old friend.”

  Adil winked at him. “Well, I can’t imagine how I’d become worried when you’ve been planning things out so well so far.”

  Ravi drummed the fingers of his left hand on the table. “I know you practically raised me since Father was too busy, but that doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.”

  “I’ll refrain from that, my sheikh, but do try not to get the might of America mad at us.”

  “I won’t,” Ravi said, taking another sip of tea. “Besides, I can’t explain it. I’ve never been like this before. I know it sounds insane, but I just saw her photo and I felt drawn to her. It felt as if it were fate. As if the hand of Fatima, herself, was guiding us together.”

  “Poetic.”

  “Perhaps, but I can admit that I can think of more uses for her than I could for her sniveling excuse for a father. It’s those eyes—”

  “Yes, they’re quite lovely, totally worth risking the wrath of a nuclear power.”

  Ravi snorted. “No one will find out. I plan to wine and dine her, not hold her prisoner. I’m going to earn her love. I won’t touch her, not unless I have her absolute permission. This isn’t about some outdated conquest or harem. It’s about the feeling that there could be something between us.”

  “I suppose, sir, but I’d be a poor friend if I didn’t advise you to think things through. Errors of the heart were your father’s specialty, and they threatened to wreck this nation more than once.”

  “I won’t repeat his mistakes, believe me,” he said, donning a megawatt smile as Sabella opened the dining hall doors, addressing her. “I assume Ms. Callahan is joining you?”

  Sabella’s expression was nominally a smile, but there was something forced and feral about it. Tough; she’d have to get used to the fact that Ravi never had serious intentions with her. She was fun, but never the type of woman who could serve as a sheikha.

  Wait, am I thinking that far ahead?

  Did he want to put that role on Bridget? He didn’t know her yet, but he did feel that she was someone he could have more than a fling with, someone who could help break the oppressive spell of his boredom. At least she seemed to have more going on in her life than Sabella did, with her college education and all of that.

  “So, Sabella?” he said, tapping his fingers on the table. “Is she coming?”

  “She’s right behind me, Ravi, but if you want a better guest, then I’ll be happy to entertain you,” she purred.

  “I’ll pass tonight, and every night that Bridget is here,” Ravi rejoined.

  She pulled back red lips over her teeth. “Then I hope it’s a short visit.” Sabella, seeming to remember who she worked for, turned and called over her shoulder, “Well, giraffe, time to get your feed bucket on.”

  “Adil,” Ravi called, feeling his blood boil. “Feel free to take Sabella on a walk by the shore and remind her at length how we treat our guests…”

  He stopped then, the words seeming to die in his throat, even as Adil led Sabella out of the dining room through the servants’ exit. It barely registered to him. Instead, his eyes were trained on Bridget as she slipped into the room, her head held high. The long gold, tear-drop earrings emphasized the delicate curves of her swan-like neck. Her black dress, a slinky number highlighted with dark red rosettes that mirrored the dark red of her lips, skimmed her knees. It wasn’t long as he thought it would be. Sabella might resent their newcomer, but she still complied with her sheikh, and Ms. Callahan looked ravishing.

  So ravishing, in fact, that he was glad the wood of the table blocked her view of his lap.

  Ravi coughed to try to get his equilibrium back. “You look lovely.”

  “I look as I was ordered to,” Bridget replied, before taking her seat.

  “Still, you look gorgeous. Just as I knew you would. I could see your beauty even in a billowy graduation robe and a cap; you took my breath away.”

  She quirked her chin back at him and spooned out the tabbouleh, a mix of tomatoes and green onions mixed with lemon among other herbs and vegetables, onto her plate and then complimented it with pita and hummus. “I bet you say that to all y
our captives, Sheikh Shamon.”

  “You may call me ‘Ravi,’ if you like. In fact, I’d prefer it.”

  “I’m not sure if I’m ready for that step, Sheikh Shamon,” she said, deliberately enunciating his title. “Less than twenty-four hours ago, I was leaving a bar in Baltimore and now I’m in Dubai… which is where, again?”

  “United Arab Emirates,” he corrected offhandedly, trying not to let the tenor of the exchange throw him.

  It wasn’t like he could just expect Bridget to accept what he’d done overnight, and he did want to give her the time she needed to accept the arrangement and understand that her fate was far from terrible. He knew a dozen women in line for Arabian thrones who would kill to be in her position. But he needed to give her time. He just hadn’t anticipated making her so angry with him to start.

  Bridget pushed the onions around on her plate with her fork and barely acknowledged him. She kept her hypnotic eyes lowered and firmly fixated on her food. They hadn’t even gotten to the matchbous, yet. Maybe she’d find that beyond captivating.

  Just his luck.

  Ravi coughed in order to get her attention again. “You know, I sent your father back to the States and gave him money to help him get his life back on track. I’m not heartless.”

  “He’ll waste it in a few months,” she said, her tone hardening. “He always does.” Bridget sighed and picked up a piece of pita, tearing into it with fervor. “Do you want to know the funny thing?”

  Encouraged by the fact she was up to talking, Ravi nodded. “Do tell.”

  “I’m not even mad at you. Oh, I’m nervous, and this isn’t at all what I want to be doing, but you’ve kept your word so far and not hurt me.”

  Ravi shook his head. “I assure you that stereotypes of the Middle East have no place here. I’ve no interest in forcing any woman into anything. I just want to show you the wonders of the city and let whatever may happen take its course.”

  She swallowed hard. “Well, I haven’t had a vacation in years, but I’m not saying I like being abducted.”