“We are both orphans, you and I. My parents also died when I was a teenager.”
“I’m sorry.”
His shrug was pure nonchalance. “It was a long time ago. I was making a statement of fact; I do not wish to discuss it. My point is simply that you and I have both seen for ourselves that life can unexpectedly extinguish at any time. I have a greater imperative than most to ensure our bloodline continues.”
“I understand that, but you have to see that forcing people to bend to your will is not right.”
He arched a brow derisively. “Bending you to my will would be very right, Emma, and you know it.”
She closed her eyes briefly, trying to quell the butterflies in the pit of her stomach. “But what about your brother?”
“Mansour does not want to rule. Besides,” he frowned, surprising himself with his honesty, “he is not well liked.”
Emma felt a slight pin-prick of worry at the admission. “What do you mean?”
He locked his eyes with hers. “He’s a philanderer, Emma, he always has been. He sees the world as a vehicle for his pleasure, and nothing more.”
“Great! Sounds like just the guy for my sister,” she snapped sarcastically. “Oh, Rafiq, I have to go to her.”
“You will not.” He stood, his imposing shape making the cavernous room feel smaller suddenly.
“You can’t be serious about this kidnapping business.”
“I’m deadly serious, Emma. And I’ll tell you something else. I have a good mind to marry you today.”
He was angry, she realized in surprise. And though she was getting used to this man’s intense moods, she couldn’t fathom just what had enraged him now. “Don’t be absurd,” she said slowly, shocked at how his words now only filled her with excitement, and not dread at all.
“Then you must do a better job of defending your honor whilst you’re a guest in my home.”
Her laugh was a strangled sound. “My honor? Oh my God. Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound?”
“It is not ridiculous to want to protect you, and me, from palace gossip. You came tearing into my room early in the morning, dressed like that? What did you think the staff would think?”
She looked down at the simple cotton nightgown, and realized that it was slightly transparent. “It’s not my fault,” she fumed. “This is all I could find. I don’t have my bag. I don’t have my handbag. I’m sorry if I’m disappointing you because I don’t know what the hell I’m meant to do. Perhaps you could give me a list of the rules I’m expected to follow.” She added acerbically, hands on hips, chin tilted defiantly.
“Is it so much to ask that you behave with a modicum of self-restraint?”
“Yes!” She yelled. “Quite frankly, it is. Under the circumstances, I have no self-restraint left. I’m scared out of my mind, Rafiq.”
“You do not need to be afraid, little one. I have no intention of hurting you, or letting you be hurt.”
“Keeping me here against my will is hurting me.”
He let out a hoarse laugh as he closed the space between them and pulled her into his arms. “Today, I will show you things that will make you feel otherwise.”
“You can’t obliterate rational thought with sex,” she snapped moodily, but her body was already stirring at the very idea.
“Ah! I can, and you know it. But that is not what I meant. Amar’a is a country like no other. Agbesh, a city full of history and culture. This palace is one of the most interesting and beautiful in the world. Spend the day with me, and see if you don’t feel differently about your visit afterwards.”
She felt a kernel of interest in her gut, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his words had placated her in the slightest. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”
His smile was genuine. “No. So I suggest you have a good grace, instead of that sulky little pout which, you should know, simply makes me want to kiss you.”
Her mouth opened in surprise at his words and she stepped out of his arms. The way he made her feel confused her beyond words! She hated him. She did. He was some sort of dictatorial oligarch, as evidenced by the way he had kidnapped her to achieve his goal. But there was a side to him that was light-hearted and sexy, and made her weak at the knees. Then, there was this physical longing that arced between them…
She slapped a saccharine smile on her face and battered her eyelashes at him. “I’m so excited!” She said mockingly. “This is my idea of a perfect day!”
“As punishment for that bit of sarcasm…” He murmured, and he pulled her back against his chest and kissed her hard on the mouth. She was getting used to the way he could rob her of any thought just by taking her into his arms, and in truth, she’d been aching for him to kiss her since she had woken up that morning.
She sighed when he released her, but self-preservation replaced desire with anger. “You cannot keep doing that!” She snapped crossly.
“You do not want me to kiss you again?”
“No!” She lied. “And certainly not just to make a point. I know you must have an ego the size of the Grand Canyon, and whoopee-do, you can drive me crazy with just one kiss. But I don’t appreciate you using that against me.”
“Ah.” He nodded sagely. “Look at me, Emma.” He said quietly. She lifted her eyes to his face and he shook his head. “No, look at me. All of me.” He watched as she dragged her gaze down the length of his body and saw the exact moment her eyes arrested on his erection, because she startled, visibly. For the first time, he wondered how experienced she was. He’d teased her about acting like a prim virgin, and yet she really did seem out of her depth. Perhaps it was just the strange situation she found herself smack-bang in the middle of. After all, she was alluringly beautiful, and it was impossible to imagine that, at twenty four, she hadn’t been romanced by a number of men. His certainty that she was more experienced than she seemed took away any compunction he might otherwise have felt in seducing her simply to achieve his goals.
“You are not the only one whose body is on fire with need. I am not using your desire against you. I am trying to drip feed my own, so that I don’t ravage you senseless right now. Okay?”
“Oh.” Pleasure erupted inside of her, tingling all the way to her toes and fingertips. She bit down on her smile. “I still hate you, you know.”
“I understand. Now, go get ready.”
“What about my handbag?” She said as an afterthought, her hand on the doorknob.
“I will see it is brought to you.”
* * *
And though her handbag was promptly returned to her, she still hadn’t emailed Cass. She’d hardly had a spare moment after leaving Rafiq’s room. She’d showered in the palatial bathroom attached to her bedroom and dressed in one of the outfits available in the wardrobe. None of the clothes she’d taken to work on the yacht seemed suited to this majestic palace, and the clothes she had found were so very exotic and beautiful.
Today, she chose a pale cream dress, with ornate red embroidery. She scraped her hair into its usual side braid and slid her glasses onto the bridge of her nose. Though there was an enormous mirror in the dressing room, she avoided looking at herself. The silver lining of growing up with a supermodel as a twin was not having any unrealistic vanity. Emma had never felt particularly beautiful, and as Cass had continued to grow tall and willowy, her rust hair darkening to a deep auburn, her pale skin developing a subtle tan, she had felt even less so in comparison.
True to his word, Rafiq had given Emma a full tour of the palace, one she found overwhelming. After hours of trailing through elaborately decorated rooms and learning about the history of Amar’a, she was quite mentally weary.
“Come,” Rafiq said authoritatively. “Let us lunch.”
She threw him an appreciative smile. “A break would be nice.”
He led her to yet another room, this one with a marble floor and huge gold columns that reached to the vaulted ceilings. “Wow.” She ex
claimed, spinning around to appreciate the grandness of this room. “Even after everything you’ve already shown me, I still can’t believe how … impressive this place is.”
“This is used for formal dining occasions, only,” he said quietly. “These are my parents.” He nodded towards a huge painting at the end of the room. As if propelled by their own will, her feet glided across the ground, taking her closer. His mother had been very beautiful, Emma thought wistfully. Eyes shaped like almonds, with curved lips and dimpled cheeks, and a dark complexion. His father was just like Rafiq. Or rather, Rafiq was just like his father.
“And my father was just like his father,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. Or perhaps she had spoken aloud. She couldn’t be sure.
“And Mansour?” She enquired.
“He is… a red herring,” Rafiq said darkly. “This way.” He led her through yet another doorway, and they were suddenly outside, on a balcony overlooking what she realized was an immaculately kept golf course.
“Your own private golf course? Really? Nice for some,” she said, trying not to sound judgmental.
“I do not play golf,” he said in response. “It is popular with visiting dignitaries, though.”
“And beautiful to look at,” she said wistfully. She moved the few steps to the marble balustrade and leaned forward. In truth, she had instinctively known he would not play golf. Rafiq Al Sadini was pure alpha-male. She could picture him on the back of a horse, riding across the desert, but not spending hours idly wandering cut grass lawns, chasing a tiny white ball into a hole.
Beyond the golf course, in the far distance, she could see desert sands, and palm trees. It was hot and sticky, but at least there was also a refreshing breeze. Large fans hung from the ceiling overhead, and were spinning to circulate the air.
A table had been set down the other end of the balcony, and she couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her lips. She covered the fact that she was impressed with a sarcastic, “You do realize this is not normal, don’t you?”
“It is normal for me.”
He put a hand under her elbow and propelled her forward, towards the table and chairs. He pulled out a chair for her and she lowered herself into it.
“I was not sure what to order for you, so I have had a selection of Amar’an delicacies prepared.”
“Thank you. That was…thoughtful of you.”
“It was no trouble.” He said with a dismissive shrug, as he took the seat opposite her. Beneath the table, she felt his foot brush against hers and she instinctively moved her legs further away. Of course it was no trouble for him. He’d admitted (with a powerful demonstration) that he was attracted to her, but she had to put the romance writer in her on hold. Theirs was no great love story waiting to come to a happy ending. He had imprisoned her as bait for her poor, miserable sister, and while he had her at his disposal, he intended to seduce the heck out of her. Well, she could get on board with that. But she had to stop letting her fantasies take over.
It was imperative to her emotional survival to remember that he had no feelings she could relate to. He was raised to rule, and all that mattered to him was the survival of his dynasty.
She breathed out a steadying breath and crinkled her nose as she surveyed the selection of meals before her. “It all looks delicious. Can you tell me what everything is?”
He nodded, and ran through the selection of meals. She settled on a chicken and rice curry and, when she went to reach for the spoon, he shook his head. “Allow me.” He took her plate and put a generous amount of the meal onto it.
She felt her tummy groan with hunger and just hoped he hadn’t heard it.
He heaped food onto his own plate; of course he had a virile appetite when it came to food, too, she thought wistfully.
“Rafiq, may I ask you something?”
He narrowed his eyes, “You may.”
“But you reserve the right not to answer,” she guessed with a small tilt of her lips.
“Indeed.” He forked some yellow colored rice to his mouth.
“I… would like to meet Mansour. To speak to him about Cassandra.”
“And what would you say to him?” He asked smoothly, his expression carefully blanked of emotion.
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I just think there must be a more civilized way to resolve this. Perhaps if he went to Cass, he could convince her to come to Amar’a. I know she loves him, and if she thought he loved her too—.”
“Love is a myth,” he interrupted coldly.
“How can you say that?” She demanded, appalled.
“Very easily. I have seen what your so-called love does to people. Look at your sister, for example. She believed she loved my brother, and yet he has hurt her. What good came of their love?”
“That smacks of a broken heart, Rafiq,” she said, speculatively.
Rafiq tightened his grip on his fork. “I do not speak from personal experience. I have seen the effect of loving with complete devotion. I have always believed the best relationships involve a degree of formality and a lack of emotional involvement.”
A shiver ran down her spine. His words held an ice like warning to her. Hadn’t she just told herself the same thing? “That’s incredibly cold.”
He shrugged. “It is not my job to turn into a love-sick fool. I was born into this world knowing what my role would be. And I am honored to be ruler of Amar’a. It is enough for me.”
“Gee whiz. I wish you’d said so sooner. Now I really can’t wait to tell my sister to give up her awesome life to come to the Kingdom of Emotional Coldness.” She snapped derisively.
“You know my terms. If you do not manage to convince your sister to move to Amar’a and allow her child to be raised as an heir to the throne, then you can pay me what she will not.”
Emma dropped her fork noisily to the ground. “Stop talking like that,” she said breathily. “A child is not a commodity to be bought.”
“It is when you are talking about royal bloodlines, Emma. Don’t be so naïve.”
“Clearly I am naïve,” she said under her breath. “What kind of idiotic thing have I done?” She pushed her plate aside and stood jerkily.
“Where are you going?” His voice was commanding, full of royal superiority.
“I’m finished eating.”
“You will sit.”
“Stop bossing me around.”
“Emma, do not forget where you are, and who I am. You will sit.”
She glared at him with the full force of her rage. “And if I don’t?”
“Ah, Emma. You know what I will do. And you know how you will respond. So save yourself the embarrassment of begging a man you claim to hate to make love to you.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Screw you.”
He had never been spoken to in such a way and, ridiculously, he laughed.
“It’s not funny!” She said, her voice thick with tears. “I’m going to my room, and I’m going to email Cass, and I’m going to tell her to stay the hell away from you at all costs.”
He leaned back in his chair, his expression cold. “Then, you must really want to marry me.”
“I do not,” she fumed, “But how can I ask Cassandra to come here, knowing what blackmail and barbarism you’re capable of?”
“I don’t know, Emma. That’s a decision for your conscience. How much are you willing to do for your sister? What would she do in your position?”
“She would never be stupid enough to be in my position. I’ve always been a gullible idiot.” She said, her heart heavy with self-recriminations.
“Your sister got pregnant to a man she hardly knew, who no doubt promised her the world and then left without a minute’s hesitation. Who is the gullible idiot?”
“She isn’t! The way she talked about it… he loves her too. I know he does.”
“Is it possible you see romance in the mortar joins of bricks?” He said with a cynical expression on his handsome face.
She stared d
aggers at him. “She called him Sheikh.” Emma said now, just remembering that vital detail. “Why would she call him Sheikh?”
“Mansour is a sheikh. Just not the ruling one.”
“Crap.” She slapped her palm against her forehead and turned away from him, walking to the balustrade. In the gentle breeze from the golf course, her dress dragged against her body, outlining her silhouette in a way that made Rafiq stir with longing. She turned to face him, and he had to mentally restrain his thoughts, lest she see just what he’d been imagining.
“I want to see him.”
Rafiq’s brain was sluggish. “Mansour,” he said after a moment.
“Of course Mansour! Who else? I want to meet the man who played fast and loose with my sister’s affections.”
“Emma, your sister isn’t the first woman he’s left broken-hearted. Though admittedly, she is the first he’s been stupid enough to impregnate.”
“Stupid enough to impregnate. Oh my God. You did not just say that.”
“It is the truth.”
“It’s so clinical! You’re the one who talks about this baby as though it’s your heart’s desire to raise it.”
“You seem to view me through the veil of your own emotions. This baby has nothing to do with my heart’s desire, as you so melodramatically put it. This baby is a vital member of the Amar’an future. And for that reason alone it has value.”
“I can’t do it, Rafiq. Surely you must see I can’t pressure Cassandra into this.”
“As I have said, either way, I expect to have an heir within a year. The decision is, of course, yours.”
Her braid caught in the breeze and whipped against her cheek. She grabbed it and pushed it back over her shoulder, her annoyance clear.
“And another thing,” Rafiq stood, his eyes hooded, his own frustration obvious in every taut line of his body. “I do not want you to wear this bloody plait ever again.” He caught her braid in between his fingers and smoothed the elastic down the ends, then weaved his fingers through her hair, disentangling it from the style. It fell in long, silky waves around her face and down to her breasts. It was the most spectacular hair he’d ever seen. Rust colored and shimmering with flecks of gold, it made her blue eyes look even more breathtakingly beautiful.
The Sheikh's Virgin Hostage: Seducing her was never part of the plan... Page 5