Anyone less spiritually inclined would have told Emma that the reason she had always loved turquoise was because it perfectly flattered her complexion. Her eyes, a stunning shade of blue, looked like tropical lagoons when compared to the fabric, and with her red hair and fair skin, the dress transformed her into a Titian goddess.
She grabbed a bottle of water from the small fridge and then pushed out of the bedroom, looking around for where she should sit.
The cabin was empty, except for the Sheikh.
She swallowed convulsively as the full force of his attraction hit her between the eyes. She dithered for a moment, wondering if she was supposed to join him.
“Emma,” he said without looking up, “hurry up and be seated so that we can leave. If you take any longer, we’re likely to miss our flight spot.”
She stifled her indignant retort and moved down the plane to the lounge area. He nodded towards the armchair beside his. She sat into it, marveling at the obscene comfort of the thing.
With a guttural noise of frustration, Rafiq stood and hovered above her, his green eyes finally locking with hers. He thought, out of nowhere, how well Amar’an clothes suited her. Far better than western suits. She looked incredibly exotic and bewitching in that outfit.
“Seatbelt,” he said sternly, leaning down and putting the strap low across her hips. He knew he didn’t imagine the way her breath hitched in her throat as his hands hovered at her waist, only centimeters from her most feminine heart. Up close, he could smell her sweet perfume, something floral and light, and he felt a kick of arousal in his gut.
She was going to hate him in a couple of hours, that was a given. In time, though, she might get over what he was about to do. But there was no way she’d ever forgive him if he acted on his attraction to her. Though she had the wrong end of the stick, it was not the time, nor place, to enlighten her.
He took his seat, buckled his own belt and then pressed a button on his phone. Immediately, as if remote controlled, Emma felt the plane lurch backwards and her old fear of flying resurfaced sharply.
“I suppose your plane has all the same safety checks as regular commercial jets,” she said softly, toying nervously with the gems at the collar of her gown.
He slid her a sidelong glance, “Of course, Emma. More, if anything. You forget that I am ruler of a country. Do you think I’m allowed to travel on anything that isn’t extensively secured?”
He had intended to reassure her but, hearing his sentence now, he felt an unusual compunction. He had sounded arrogant.
“You do not need to worry,” he tried again, seeing the way her face had drained of color. “It is a short flight.”
She frowned. It had taken about sixteen hours on the way over, but then again, she’d had to come via Chicago and London. Emma settled back in the seat, oblivious to the fact the Sheikh was watching her. She just wanted to click her heels together three times and be home…
* * *
It was Christmas time, and she was sitting across the table from Cassandra and Rafiq. They had their perfect baby, only it wasn’t a baby anymore. None of them had aged, but they had a six year old girl, who was the perfect physical interpretation of the two genetically blessed people who had combined to create her. And Rafiq, his face tanned, his lips full, was watching her. “Time for a Christmas kiss from my sister-in-law,” he said in his accented voice, and Emma’s heart raced, because she knew he knew that she was in love with him.
Guitar music filtered across the table, and Emma frowned, because she was a stickler for traditions and Christmas carols were almost all she listened to from Thanksgiving to New Years Eve. The guitar music got louder and she blinked her eyes open blearily, confronted by fluorescent lighting and a strange humming noise.
It wasn’t Christmas! She was on the airplane. Her eyes flew wide as she turned to the seat beside her. Rafiq’s green eyes lanced through her. “Did you know you talk in your sleep?”
She sucked in an agonized breath. “I do not!”
“I am surprised no one has ever mentioned it to you before.”
She dipped her head, unconsciously shying away from the implied question. Who would have mentioned it to her? As a girl, Cassandra had teased her about the secrets she let slip overnight, but since she’d been at college, she hadn’t shared a room with anyone.
She rubbed her eyes with her palms. “Where are we?”
“You have had a good sleep; we are nearly there. Are you hungry?”
“I must have slept forever.” She craned to peek outside the window but it was just black, as far as the eye could see.
“Are you hungry?”
His concern was surprising. She realized that she was. She’d skipped breakfast and things had been so hectic since then that she had not had a chance to eat. “Starving,” she answered honestly.
He picked the phone up from the armrest of his chair and spoke into it. Fatima appeared minutes later, carrying a steaming tray of vegetables with a light curry sauce.
“Thank you, Fatima,” Emma said with a polite smile. The food was delicious, but she could hardly enjoy it because she was so hyper-aware of the man sitting beside her the whole time. She felt gauche and young, and incredibly, frustratingly attracted to him.
“Emma, tell me. Why did you fly half way around the world to do your sister’s bidding for her?”
Emma paused, fork halfway to her lips. She placed it back on the tray. “What would you have had me do?”
He shrugged. “I’m asking about you. Why did you not leave her to sort her own mess out?”
“Mess!” She said, louder than she’d intended. And then, at his warning glare, she lowered her voice. “This is not a mess. This baby is going to be loved and adored, however you might feel about it. If you’re coming to America just to say stupid stuff like that, then I’m starting to seriously regret having told you.”
A strange knot of panic gripped his stomach as he thought about what would have happened if she had not informed him that an heir presumptive to the Kingdom of Amar’a was on its way.
“I’m very glad you did tell me.” And his relief was so palpable in his words that Emma felt the knife twisting in her gut. She hated herself for not being more thrilled that this guy was going to do right by her sister, but damn it, did the one man she had felt attracted to, ever, really have to be Cassandra’s baby daddy?
“However,” he cut across her anguished train of thought, “this is a matter for Cassandra and the baby’s father. It seems odd that she asked her sister to go running on her behalf.”
Emma shook her head. “It’s not like that. She doesn’t even know I’m here.” If she’d been paying attention, she might have seen the way his face tightened at that revelation. “She was adamant that you wouldn’t want to know.”
“And yet you went against her wishes. Why?”
“She is heartbroken, Rafiq,” she said, using his name for the first time. “Sorry, it just doesn’t feel appropriate to call you Your Highness anymore.”
He shook his head. “What you call me is irrelevant.”
“Well, Rafiq, my sister is at home, pregnant and sobbing into her pillow every night. Because of you! So what would you have done? Sat back and done nothing?”
He thought about the fruitless search he’d been overseeing for his wayward brother Mansour and knew that Emma was right. She had had no choice.
“You must be very close to Cassandra?” He surmised.
“Yes. As she must have told you, our parents died when we were sixteen. It’s been just the two of us for a long time.”
“No grandparents?”
“No. Our parents were in their forties when they had us; we never knew any of our grandparents.”
An experienced flyer, he felt the way the plane had started a slow descent. Beside him, Emma tensed, and he spoke to reassure her. “It is a clear evening. Our landing will be smooth.”
“Landings are never smooth,” she disagreed, curling her fingers around the
lip of the armrest, nervous and queasy all at the same time.
He thought about the response he would usually give in a situation such as this. Perhaps a platitude. More likely he’d have her moved to another part of the plane, so that he could concentrate on his work without this sense of worry. But he did neither. He reached across and took her hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly.
Emma felt like tiny little daggers were dancing under her skin. Pins and needles on speed. His hand was warm, she noted. His skin soft. His fingers long and capable, and his nails short and well cared for, though not in the way of a man who gets regular manicures. She knew she should have broken the contact. He was, after all, about to be reunited with Cassandra. But she couldn’t. She was weak, and she hated herself for it, but all of a sudden, Emma realized her future was going to be made bearable by illicit physical contact with a man she could never have, and must pine for very, very privately.
And so she let him hold her hand as the plan dropped out of the sky (well, descended in a safe and controlled manner, rather), and as it careened along the runway (landed perfectly and slowed to a steady crawl). As the engines quieted down and the plane nudged towards the terminal building, Emma let out a deep breath and let go of the Sheikh’s hand. Four crescent shaped indents were clearly visible along the ridges of his knuckles, where her fingers had bitten into his royal skin.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” She exclaimed, leaning forward and inspecting the marks. “I really am a terribly flyer, but it’s no excuse for mauling you.”
He bit back the retort that being mauled by her was at the top of his wish list currently.
The pilots cut the engine and once again, the cabin was a hive of ground and flight staff. Fatima came toward them, carrying a sheer piece of pale blue cloth. She passed it to Rafiq with a smile at Emma and then disappeared to the front of the plane.
“Here, put this on,” Rafiq passed the fabric to Emma, and, when she looked at it in confusion, he took it back from her. “Allow me.” He draped it skillfully over her head, noticing the way her eyes were clouded and her lips parted slightly.
He stood back to admire his work. “Perfect.”
She frowned. “But, Rafiq, we don’t wear head scarves in America.”
“But women in Amar’a do.”
CHAPTER THREE
His expression was inscrutable. “Did you honestly think I would let the heir to the throne of Amar’a be raised in America?”
Fear trickled down her spine as she took in the enormity of what he had just said. “Do you mean we’re not in the States?”
“Come on, Emma. You’re smarter than that, aren’t you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand. I thought you wanted to see Cass…”
“She is nothing to me,” he swore fiercely, leaning down so that his face was only inches from hers. At this proximity, Emma could see that his eyes weren’t simply green; they were flecked with gold and amber, and rimmed in the darkest, thickest lashes she’d seen.
His words punctuated the fog of her brain and she squeezed her eyes shut. “But, she loves you.”
He bit down the retort that sprung to mind. Emma’s defense of her sister, in the circumstances, was admirable.
“Love is irrelevant.”
Emma swayed a little as the airplane doors were opened and an unmistakable desert heat crashed into her. “You really are the worst kind of bastard,” she said, her skin crawling with anger. “My sister was good enough to sleep with, but not good enough to care about now that she’s pregnant? And another thing,” she leaned her own face closer to his, and now they were almost touching, “how dare you kiss me while she’s listlessly waiting for you on the other side of the world?”
“I’ll kiss you any time I damned well want,” he said, fury obvious in every angle and plane of his face. “And do you know why, Emma?” He wedged his thumb beneath her chin and lifted it so that she had no choice but to meet his eyes. “Because you want me to. You act the part of the prim virgin well, but when you’re in my arms, you fall to pieces.”
She wanted to deny it, but he was right. “I already told you,” she whispered, tears springing to her eyes. “That’s just stupid chemistry. It doesn’t mean anything. Cass loves you.”
“Cassandra loves my brother, Emma. I’ve never even met the girl.” He straightened, as if their intense exchange of words hadn’t just taken place.
“What do you mean?” Emma reached out and grabbed his arm.
“How many different ways are there to say it? My brother Mansour was dating, for want of a better word, your sister over the Summer. He, and not I, is responsible for your sister’s condition.”
“But…” She bit down on her lip, her eyes showing her inner turmoil, “why didn’t you just tell me this on your yacht?”
“Because, Emma, I couldn’t run the risk that you would not accompany me to Amar’a.” His tone was wiped of any expression, but Emma was outraged.
“Why the hell not? Damn you, Rafiq, what are you playing at?”
He raised his eyebrows. “That child will be the only heir to the Amar’an crown. Until such time as I have an heir of my own, that child will be raised in accordance with our traditions and culture. Obviously, it is imperative that your sister come to Amar’a immediately, so that we can oversee her medical care.”
“That’s… ludicrous!”
“Our family has ruled this land for four centuries. That child is the key to the future of my country. And to think, I wouldn’t even have known about it if it weren’t for you.”
Guilt ate into her stomach as, for the first time since hatching this harebrained plot to avenge her sister, it occurred to her that she might have acted without thinking it through properly.
“I don’t think Cass is going to fall in with your plan, Rafiq.”
“Nor do I. Not without the right incentive, anyway.”
She blinked up at him, her eyes saucer-wide. “Incentive? You don’t mean me?”
“Try to keep up, won’t you?”
She glared at him, ignoring his smug sarcasm. “You mean I’m… bait? Oh, God. What have I done?”
“You, my fiery little nightingale, have flown right into a spider’s web. And I don’t think you have any idea just how trapped you are.”
Emma dropped her hand from his arm, fear and anxiety swirling in the pit of her stomach.
“It won’t be that bad.”
“How can you say that?” She asked, her hands spread wide in front of her, imploring him to see her perspective. “I’m your prisoner.”
He turned to the few crew members who were busying themselves in the front of the cabin, and addressed them in his own language. They instantly disappeared, so that Rafiq and Emma were completely alone.
“Yes.” He said, with a simple nod of his head. “You are my prisoner. Perhaps hostage would be a better word, as I will give you your freedom as soon as your sister gives me the heir to Amar’a.”
She felt sickness wash over her as the reality of her situation chasmed in front of her like some unbelievable ravine. She stared down at her feet, willing her tears not to fall now, not in front of him. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“I have many ways at my disposal, to make this up to you, Emma,” he said silkily. She lifted her face to his, hopeful, only to have his lips crash into hers, plundering her mouth and making her forget anything except the heat of desire that flashed through them. The reason she’d been forcing herself to ignore her flaming need for Sheikh Rafiq had been torn down. He had never been Cass’s lover. But now he was her captor, could she really still want him?
Yes. Completely and undeniably, she wanted him with every fiber of her being. She moaned as she succumbed to his passionate kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her body to his taught frame. She felt her insides churn with want, as her breasts tingled at the contact with his broad, muscled chest.
He broke the kiss, stepping back, looking every bit as relaxed a
s if he’d just read the finance pages of the New York Times. Emma felt nothing like it. She crossed her arms across her chest and shot him a look of rage. “There is no way my sister is going to give you the baby.”
He shrugged. “She can stay here, too, of course. I’m not unfeeling, Emma, whatever you might think. I have no interest in separating her from her child. But it is not up for debate. The heir to the Amar’an throne will be raised in the palace.”
Emma shook her head. “No, I just know she won’t do it.” She gulped. “She doesn’t need money; she’s been a well-paid model since we were in school. She has a beautiful home near the beach. She won’t give her life up to live in Amar’a.”
“Which is where you come in,” he pointed out gravely.
Emma let out a long sigh. “Then you really are in trouble. Keeping me here won’t make Cass come. She’s not like that.”
He narrowed his gaze. “You disrupted your life to take a job on my staff, just so that you could confront me on behalf of your sister’s broken heart. You don’t think she’ll do the same for you?”
Emma’s laugh was hollow. “I know she won’t. I love my sister with all my heart, but she’s hideously selfish. Always has been. She won’t give up her baby, or her freedom, just because I’ve been an idiot and got in over my head.” She straightened her spine. “And nor should she. This was my mistake, and I’m the one who has to live with the consequences.”
Rafiq refused to show how her defiant little monologue had impressed him.
“So you might as well just turn the plane around and take me home,” she continued. “This won’t achieve anything.”
“One way or another, Amar’a is getting an heir.”
“Then have your own bloody child. You must have millions of women who’d happily lend you their womb.”
Emma cringed inwardly at her vulgar words. She hadn’t meant it to sound so rude, but he was treating her sister like some kind of baby making machine!
The Sheikh's Virgin Hostage: Seducing her was never part of the plan... Page 3