“Let me rephrase that. One way or another, you, Emma, will give Amar’a an heir. You will convince your sister to come, or you will marry me. It’s your decision, little one.”
He spun on his heel and walked towards the exit, leaving Emma gaping after him.
I should be hanged for still wanting that man, she thought in outrage. Well, I’m not going to go down without a fight. And she put her handbag on the floor of the plane and went back to sit in her seat.
She stared out of her window, trying for all the world to appear confident. It was only about thirty seconds before Fatima approached her. “Are you feeling okay, Miss Emma? We are disembarking, now.”
Emma turned her ice blue eyes to the pretty attendant and smiled. “Please tell the Sheikh that I’m not going anywhere until we’ve finished our conversation.”
For a moment, she felt guilty to cause Fatima to panic, for she could see that her words had inspired fear. But Emma was not going to be a pushover. She stared out the window, trying to focus her attention on what she saw. She had no idea if her demand would even work, and in the meantime, she sat, and waited.
The airport looked surprisingly modern from where she sat. Then again, what did she actually know about Amar’a? Only the little she had googled in researching the Sheikh. She knew it was a progressive desert country; that women were the same as men when it came to education and employment. She had remembered that because it had pleased her to see it. She’d even thought of setting her next book somewhere like this. Past the terminal, there were rows of palm trees, their spiky fronds silhouetted against the creamy grey sky. Thousands of stars were visible, shining down like jewels.
“Emma.” His voice held a warning note but she refused to be cowered.
“We were in the middle of a conversation.”
He gritted his teeth. Her face was directed toward the window, leaving only her profile visible to him. Her nose was one of those little ski-jump things, her chin angled with resolution.
“We are leaving the airplane now.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said firmly, finally turning to look at him.
“I know I’m going to regret this,” he muttered quietly, as he leaned towards her. Her lips parted, as her first thought was that he was going to kiss her again, and her traitorous body was ready and willing. But he didn’t kiss her. He grabbed her easily around the waist and lifted her over his shoulder, carrying her like a bag of potatoes.
“Hey!” She shouted, surprise making her forget to appear poised. Not that there was anything remotely poised about being hoisted over someone’s shoulder, anyway.
He didn’t speak. He was like an enormous, impenetrable boulder, she thought as he easily transported them down the stairs of the jet and towards a waiting limousine. His staff, to their credit, didn’t bat an eyelid, and she wondered whether this was the first time he’d ever manhandled a woman into his car.
He deposited her inelegantly into one corner of the seat and buckled her in before she could move. He took the seat opposite her, still not speaking a word, nor looking at her.
Her token protest was at an end, and the slender hope she had held of getting back to America was at an end. It was only then that she realized the airport official in Greece hadn’t returned her passport. Eyes wide, she turned to Rafiq. “My passport…”
“I am keeping it safe.” Each word was like a condemnation. Her protest had angered him. Well, tough, he’d pissed her right off, too.
“I’m pretty sure this is illegal.”
“In my country, I make the laws.” He said coldly, only slightly exaggerating his powers. After all, she was right. Kidnapping was illegal, but there wasn’t a court in the country that would wade into this mess. Sheikh Rafiq was universally admired in Amar’a, and had been since, at the age of seventeen, his parents had been killed and he’d taken the throne. Now, at thirty four, he’d provided almost two decades of growth and stability and his people had every reason to support him.
“How can you possibly do this?”
“Very easily,” he responded with a tight smile. “After all, it’s win win for me.”
She leaned forward, resting her head on her hands. “Well, this isn’t win win for me.”
“I’m not so sure,” he said, observing her carefully. “You are my prisoner in name only. You will be staying in a beautiful country, as a guest of the ruling Sheikh. And we’ve already established that the benefits to our situation promise to be exquisite.”
“I’m not going to be some kind of sex slave,” she said shrilly, lifting her head to glare at him.
His laugh was like warm honey on just-baked bread. “Aren’t you?” Her look of indignation was his undoing. “Relax, Emma. I have no interest in touching you, yet. Your value is to procure a royal heir. I told you.”
“But… if Cass doesn’t come, you don’t seriously mean you want me to…”
“Marry me?”
“Yes!”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“But…why?”
“Several reasons, little one. Chief amongst them, it would serve your sister right to know that you were living with the consequences of her actions.”
“So you’d marry me to punish my sister?” Her body shook with the force of her shock. “You are an unethical monster!”
“On the contrary, I’m very ethical. I see this as an eye for an eye, or an heir for an heir, if you will.”
Emma stared out of the limousine window. They’d been travelling for several minutes and the unpopulated silence of the airport had given way to more built up roads and highways. “Where are we going to?”
“The city palace,” he responded lightly, as if taking her question for acceptance of her situation.
They travelled the rest of the way in silence, but it was far from comfortable. Emma felt every second stretch and pull at her nerves, so that, by the time the limousine slid into an underground car parking bunker, she was ready to explode.
As the driver cut the engine, he leaned forward. “You may fight with me in private, Emma. Believe it or not, I actually find your particular brand of hypocritical outrage refreshing. But do not make the mistake of questioning me in front of my staff again.”
She swallowed down her question of just why not.
But he must have read the defiance in her eyes, because he added as an afterthought, “I have many ways to make you regret it, if you do, and I would enjoy each and every one of them.” He took her hand in his and gripped her wrist, his fingers on her pulse point. “And going by the way your heart is fluttering like a bird in a glass box, I believe you would too.”
Emma didn’t answer. What was the point? He was right. She might not approve of his tactics at all, but she still felt an overpowering desire for the man. Oh, Cass! Please let me be wrong about you, just this once...
She followed the Sheikh into the elevator, along with several other security men. She didn’t speak, but it wasn’t because she was obeying his request. She was chewing over exactly how she was going to break all of this to Cass. Since their parents had died in an earthquake, they’d been alone. Just the two of them. And Cass was going to feel deserted at a time when she needed her sister for love and support.
Emma didn’t want to worry her during her pregnancy. Over and over again, she pondered just how she was going to break it to Cass that she was being held hostage by the ruler of Amar’a? And that the only ransom he was going to accept was Cassandra’s baby?
She couldn’t. At least, not right away. She had to write to Cass and see what frame of mind she was in before she owned up to her monumental act of stupidity. Had it really only been earlier that day that she’d accused Rafiq of sleeping with her sister and leaving her, pregnant and alone?
In the circumstances, it was difficult to believe, but Emma was suddenly weary. Her mother had always said that things seemed better ‘in the morning’, but she doubted any number of mornings would make this better.
“Emma?” Rafiq was looking down at her impatiently.
She tried to focus. “Yes?”
“Have you heard anything I just said?”
She shook her head. “No, sorry. I was distracted.”
He let out a long, slow breath. “Come with me.”
She followed behind him as he broke free of their gaggle of security officers and headed down what seemed like endless corridors and through large, wide rooms. It was incredibly opulent, but Emma was hardly paying attention. Rafiq’s stride was long and she almost had to jog to keep up. Right when she was about to snap and tell him to slow down, he came to a stop.
She was slow to realize and would have bumped into him if he hadn’t held a hand out to catch her. She flinched at his touch, which didn’t escape his attention.
“This will be your room, for now.”
“For now?”
“When we are married, you will sleep with me.” He tilted his head across the hallway to a gold-framed door. She presumed it led to his bedroom.
“There’s no when about it!” She snapped, finally pushed to the limit by his arrogance. “I am not going to marry you.”
“We’ll see,” he said with a shrug, stepping inside her door and waiting for her to follow. She shot him a mutinous look as she passed by him, careful to keep a wide berth and not make bodily contact.
The room, she noticed with the part of her brain that was still capable of thought, was the last word in luxury. The bed in the centre of it was the biggest she’d ever seen, and it looked so comfortable that she longed to sink down into it now.
“You are insufferable!” She said, hot, angry and weary.
It only seemed to amuse him, and he laughed.
“What? What the hell is so funny about this? Do you like to see people suffer?”
He sobered. “Your indignation is amusing to me. Come on, Emma! If I kissed you now, you’d beg me to make love to you. Stop pretending that there isn’t a part of you that’s relishing the prospect of what lies ahead for us.”
“I am not!” She lied hotly.
With silent intent, he cut the distance between them, and pulled her into his arms. Her resistance was token. Truthfully, though she wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for him, she took great comfort from his strength and embrace. “Emma, if you didn’t look as though you were about to pass out from exhaustion, I would enjoy showing you just how our bodies can pleasure one another.” His words sent a strong thud of ache going in her gut, and between her legs, moistness slicked.
She was too much of a novice to realize it, but she was looking at him with a look of such total surrender that he thought he deserved a medal not for taking her, then and there. “You will sleep now.” He dropped his hands, and as soon as the contact was lost, she instinctively groaned in disappointment.
His eyes flared. “Well, perhaps just a little demonstration to make sure you have sweet dreams.” And he lifted her, so that her legs wrapped around his waist, connecting her with his stirring erection. He moved swiftly, backing her into the cold wall, imprisoning her there with the force of his body. And he kissed her in a way she’d never known existed. The kiss sublimated thought and reason, time and place. It removed anything from existence except this moment and this feeling, and she knew she was going to sleep with him. That she would do anything for him.
In an instinctive tribute to ancient womanhood and feminine knowledge, she arched her back so that her core was pressed closer to his erection, and she felt the way he shuddered with answering need. She needed to touch him, to feel his skin, and she slid her hand through the collar of his shirt, down his back. It was warm and smooth, and she dug her nails in.
“I hate you,” she groaned in self-recrimination. She had said it in the throes of passion, but it had broken through his fog of desire.
He lifted his head and slowly eased her to the ground. “Your body does not.”
“No,” she agreed wistfully.
“We will continue this tomorrow.”
And the thought, which should have angered her, should have scared the life out of her, instead just melted her bones with pleasurable anticipation.
CHAPTER FOUR
As the sun rose over Agbesh, bathing it in a peach colored hue, Emma stretched in her bed. Her body felt alive with an electrical current, her bones like liquid. And she realized, with a start, why.
All night, she had dreamed of him. Rafiq.
Despite the fact she was alone, the distinctly erotic nature of those dreams made her blush. With a moan, she flopped back into the pillows, her red hair billowing out around her face like a curtain. What a mess!
She had dreamed that he’d taken her, but not here in the civilized opulence of the palace. In the wild desert she knew lay just beyond the walls of the capital. A man like Rafiq would always seem more at home in the wild bounds of nature, or so she thought. And her fantasy night’s lovemaking had been very, very satisfying.
She kicked her feet over the side of the bed, and scanned the room. She was more alert now, and able to take in the details of where she’d be staying. Indefinitely, she thought with a strange tangle of mixed emotions. Enormous curtains, behind which she supposed lay enormous windows, were swathed in a gold and turquoise fabric, falling to the floor and meeting the plush cream carpet. The bed itself, apart from being enormous, had a large paneled headboard that took up the entire wall and was ornately detailed with cream and gold. And the chandelier that hung from the ceiling in the center of the room was, if real crystal, probably worth more than she could ever dream of making, even if her books turned her into the next Joan Collins.
Her hand ran across the quilt cover – more gold – and she thought how incongruous she was in this environment. Everything here was elegant and elite, with fine lines and a hefty price tag. She felt remarkably unsophisticated and even less glamorous than normal.
Cassandra would fit in like a swan in a ballet, she thought with a small grin. In fact, her sister would have loved the extravagance. Maybe she’d come around to a life in Amar’a, after all?
There was only one way to find out. She had to email Cass and at least open a dialogue. Having already decided her approach would be to go gently gently while she worked out where her sister’s head was at, she eased out of bed and looked around for her handbag. Only it wasn’t there. The last time she’d had it was on the plane. Which meant… Oh, dear.
She didn’t give her actions a moment’s thought. She had to find where it was! Her whole life was in that handbag, including her slim line laptop, that had the draft of her latest novel on it. She pushed out of the doors and bumped straight into a security agent.
“Are you guarding me?” She asked indignantly, eyeing the small mustachioed man in disbelief.
He frowned and answered in rapid-fire Arabic.
“I don’t understand,” she said, fighting back tears. The sheer loneliness of her position hit her like a sledgehammer. “Rafiq?” She said, pointing to the door across the hall.
He nodded, but his look was filled with warning. More loud, fast Arabic ensued but she ignored him and pushed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her, before he had a chance to follow. The Sheikh’s room was darker than it had been in hers and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust.
When they did, she had to gulp. Sprawled in the middle of the bed, stirring from a deep sleep, was Rafiq. He was wearing only a pair of cotton boxers, exposing the rest of his body to her appreciative gaze. She let her eyes wander, guiltily, as he slept. He really was the quintessential tall, dark and handsome, only his body was like nothing she’d ever seen. If she hadn’t witnessed for herself how demanding his work was, she would have thought he spent every spare moment in the gym. His arms had the muscular tone of someone who lifted weights; his abdominals were a bunch of muscles beneath taught, elastic skin. She sighed as she remembered what it had felt like to be pressed against the wall by the weight of his body.
“Rafiq,” she said q
uietly. He stretched, but did not wake. In consternation, she moved closer to the bed and, balling her courage, reached out and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. When he still didn’t wake she leaned over the bed and shook him.
He moved lightning fast; she had to give him that. When his eyes flew open and trapped hers in a steely, questioning gaze, she realized he hadn’t been asleep at all. He grabbed her by the wrists and easily pulled her, so that she lost her balance and fell on top of him.
She let out a squeal of protest as her body landed awkwardly on top of his.
“Good morning, Emma,” he said, his accent thicker in the morning.
She blushed to the roots of her hair. “I’m sorry to wake you,” she whispered, not quite meeting his eyes.
“It is not often I hear my security agents become agitated. What did you do to make Hakeem yell like that?”
Her blue eyes flew wide open. “Nothing! I …” She gulped as she realized his hand was at her waist, holding her lightly, making rational thought possible. She blinked, trying to grab the thread of thought. “I need my handbag,” she said triumphantly. “I was going to email Cass.”
The shift in his expression was so fast that she doubted it had even happened. In the blink of an eye, he went from being flirty and teasing to looking menacing, and then back to seductive again. She squirmed and tried to move away from him but he kept a firm grip on her waist.
“What are you going to say to your sister?”
She gave up the struggle and instead, resigned herself to enjoying the proximity. She propped her head up on his chest, her chin on her hand, and stared down at him. “That’s none of your business.”
He threw her a look of sardonic amusement. “You don’t think this is my business? Are we not discussing my lineage? The future heir presumptive to the throne of Amar’a?”
“Why are you so obsessed with locating an heir, anyway? You must only be in your thirties. Surely you have plenty of time to consider the matter of succession.”
“The future is never certain. You, of all people, should know that.”
She pushed up from him, and this time, he let her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The Sheikh's Virgin Hostage: Seducing her was never part of the plan... Page 4