Imprisoned by a Vow

by Annie West

  As for emotions...he’d been cured of those in his youth.

  Growing up in a dysfunctional family, learning early the destructive power of so-called ‘love’, Joss had never wanted anything like it again. No emotions. No entanglements. No dependants. His gut clenched at the very idea of kids and a clinging wife. Only a deal like this, based on sound business requirements and no emotional expectations, could convince him to marry.

  Joss was a loner to the core.

  ‘You’ve spent time in London, I believe?’ He should know more about the woman who was to be his hostess.

  She nodded, her smile barely abating. ‘I was born there. Then we moved to Washington when my father took another diplomatic posting, then Paris and Cairo with short stints in between in Bakhara. We moved back to Britain again when I was twelve.’

  ‘And you enjoyed it?’ That much was obvious. ‘You have friends to catch up with there?’

  Her smile faded and her gaze swept from his. It struck Joss she’d had her eyes fixed firmly on him all through their conversation. He felt an odd...lack now she’d turned away.

  She shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘So it’s the shopping you’re looking forward to?’

  ‘No, I...’ She swung to face him, but this time her lashes veiled her eyes. Did she realise how sexy that heavy-lidded look was? No doubt it was one she’d practised. ‘Well, of course, shopping is part of the London experience.’ Her mouth curved in a smile but this time it didn’t have the same wattage. Its impact didn’t resonate inside his chest.

  Good. That earlier response was an aberration. He had no intention of feeling anything for his wife other than satisfaction at the benefits she brought to his balance sheet: fuel resources to exploit and her personal connections in the region.

  ‘I can see you’ll enjoy yourself in London.’ He’d wondered if he’d face an emotional plea to extend their stay in Bakhara after the wedding. It pleased him she was so reasonable. They’d deal perfectly together. ‘The jet is fuelled and ready to go as soon as we reach the airport.’

  ‘That’s—’ She stiffened and sucked in a gasp. ‘My passport! I can’t—’

  ‘You can. Your passport is waiting at the plane.’

  ‘Really?’ She leaned forward, her eyes searching. ‘You had no trouble getting it from...from the house?’

  ‘My staff did it. I assume there was no difficulty.’ Joss surveyed her curiously. He’d almost swear that was shock on her face. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘Wrong?’ Her voice stretched high. ‘Of course not. I just...’ She shook her head. ‘Everything’s perfectly fine, thank you.’ She turned away to watch the retreating city as the car sped towards the airfield. ‘How long till we reach the plane?’

  Joss leaned back in his seat, intrigued by the flicker of emotions he’d seen in his wife’s face. He’d pegged her for a woman of unruffled sophistication, with the poise of a socialite who took world travel and privilege for granted.

  It was a surprise to find there was more to Leila than he’d expected. If he had the inclination he’d almost be tempted to discover more.

  Almost.

  He had higher priorities than learning about his wife on anything other than a superficial level.

  * * *

  ‘We’re almost there.’

  His words were music to Leila’s ears.

  Escape, not only from her stepfather’s home, but from Bakhara, seemed too good to be true. Though she loved her homeland, she wouldn’t feel safe from Gamil till she was a continent away. She’d expected to stay in the country a few more weeks and had fretted over the possibility Gamil would find a way to convince Joss to leave her behind when he went.

  The few times over the years when she’d succeeded in escaping the house she hadn’t got far. Gamil’s staff had found her and forcibly hauled her back, and each time the punishments had grown more severe. Gamil’s money and legal power as her guardian gave him control over her till she married or turned twenty-five. He’d restricted her travel, education, friendships and money.

  Even now she was married, she’d feared he’d find some way to stymie her escape. But now—freedom! She could taste it on her tongue, sweet and full of promise.

  The thrill was almost enough to dispel the strange queasiness she felt.

  It had been over twelve months since she’d been allowed out of the front door. The clenching spasm of stomach muscles, the panic that had grabbed her throat and made her heart race as she’d left the house, had hit out of nowhere. She hadn’t even been able to wave farewell to the guests, every fibre concentrated on conquering that sudden tension.

  As if she’d been afraid to step into freedom.

  Ridiculous! For years she’d done nothing but plan how to get away.

  It was just the rich food after sparse rations that had turned her stomach. The heavy scents clogging the air at the wedding feast and the buzz of conversation after months of monastic silence that made her dizzy.

  Or maybe it was excitement at being so close to escape. Fear that at the eleventh hour it would all go wrong. She knew firsthand how Gamil liked to toy with his victims—hold out the illusion of liberty then yank it away. She’d watched it happen to her mother too. Each time Leila had vowed not to let him best her. But she shuddered, remembering.

  ‘Are you cold?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  Nothing could stop her boarding that plane. This was the first day of her new life away from the man who’d made her world, and her mother’s, hell. Soon she’d put her plans into action. Set herself up with the money she got on marriage and see about resuming her studies. She’d build a new life without ever needing to ask anyone’s permission again.

  Joy flooded her. This was real. Joss had already secured her precious passport. How often had Gamil taunted her that he kept it under lock and key?

  The limousine was ushered through a gate and onto the airfield. Moments later they drew up near a sleek jet. Staff waited to see them aboard.

  ‘Ready?’ The deep rumble of her husband’s voice tickled Leila’s spine, leaving her skin tingling. But, she reassured herself, he was husband on paper only. The instrument of her freedom.

  ‘Ready.’ Eagerly she pushed open the door before the chauffeur reached it.

  Warm, desert-scented air wafted into the car as she slid from the seat. She nodded her thanks to the uniformed driver, turned to face the crew lined up at the base of the steps and grabbed the car door as her knees abruptly crumpled.

  The world swooped around her: the sky vast, almost endless as it tilted and stretched towards a far distant horizon. It was so huge, so empty, as if it had the power to suck her up into its immense nothingness. Sick heat beat at her temples.

  Her pulse raced as her heart catapulted against her rib cage. In her ears she heard the roar of pounding blood.

  A nameless, dragging terror clawed at her. She knew it would press her down till that infinite space swamped her, expelling the last of the air from her labouring lungs.

  Leila couldn’t breathe. Yet she fought to stay on her feet. She saw the chauffeur say something then Joss was in front of her. His mouth moved. His brow pleated in a scowl.

  He might have been behind glass. Everything was distant but for the heat, the weight of the very air pushing at her, and the tandem crashing thud of her heart and lungs as panic seized her and her stomach churned.

  Adrenalin surged as she fought the impulse to fling herself back into the car. Into that small cocoon of safety that beckoned so tantalisingly.

  She wouldn’t do it.

  She wasn’t going back, no matter what!

  Yet it was all she could do to keep her feet on the ground, her hands limpet-like on the door.

  ‘Leila!’ This time she heard Joss. There was concern in his brusque t
one. ‘What is it?’

  She dragged in a deep breath and with furious effort straightened her shoulders. She lifted her chin, swallowing with difficulty, her throat as dry as the great inland desert.

  Joss’s dark gaze held hers, reminding her she was strong. She’d survived years with her dangerously controlling stepfather. She’d got through a farce of a wedding that was all about business, not love. Surely she could walk to the plane.

  The thought of being taken back to the capital, perhaps to her old home and her stepfather’s tender mercies, was a douche of ice water on overheated flesh.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said in an unfamiliar voice. ‘My legs are stiff from sitting so long.’ She tried to smile but it was more of a grimace. ‘I’ll be okay in a minute.’ At least her voice was merely hoarse now, not wobbly.

  For answer Joss turned and said something to his staff, who dispersed out of sight.

  Leila drew another breath. Whatever this unnamed fear, it wasn’t rational. It could be overcome. She took a tentative step, still holding the car door. Her legs were made of concrete, so heavy, yet shaking and weak as water.

  She took a second step towards the jet. Only twenty paces to the stairs. She could manage that.

  With a shuddering breath Leila forced her cramped fingers to release the door. Willing herself on, she paced towards the plane.

  Out of nowhere strong arms wrapped round her, scooping her up. They hefted her against a solid body that smelled of soap and citrus and what could only be the spicy scent of male flesh. A thread of heat eddied through her, warming her frozen body.

  The arms tightened and she felt the reassuring thud of Joss’s heart against her: steady, calm. Reassuring.

  In that moment her instinctive protest faded away.

  It didn’t matter that she hated the idea of needing help. Or that Joss acted simply because he couldn’t leave his bride collapsing on the tarmac.

  For the first time since her mother’s death Leila knew the comfort of being held. The shock of it helped clear her pounding head.

  ‘Relax,’ Joss said in an even tone as if dealing with a half-fainting female didn’t faze him. Perhaps he was used to women swooning at his feet! ‘I’ll have you somewhere quiet in a moment.’

  ‘I can walk. I want to board the plane!’ She jerked her head up and found herself with a close-up view of his solid jaw and a full lower lip, incongruous in such a harshly defined face yet somehow right. Midnight-blue eyes bored into her, alight with speculation. Straight eyebrows tilted high towards his hairline as if he registered her desperation.

  Anxiety still jangled like a drug in her bloodstream but she met his scrutiny with all the dignity she could muster.

  ‘Please, Joss.’ It was the first time she’d said his name and it slipped out with an ease that surprised her. ‘I’ll be fine once I’m aboard.’

  He hesitated and Leila’s nerves stretched to breaking point. She watched his brow furrow as he scrutinised her minutely. ‘Very well. The jet it is.’

  Leila dragged in the breath to fill her empty lungs. ‘Thank you.’

  She shut her eyes and tried to regulate her ragged breathing, willing her pulse to slow. She sensed him move but didn’t open her eyes. It was enough to feel those hard muscles holding her, the sense of safety seeping slowly into her taut body.

  She didn’t let herself question why she felt safe in the arms of a stranger.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not usually given to...’ What? What was wrong with her? ‘Usually I can even walk and make conversation at the same time.’

  A huff of laughter riffled the hair on her forehead. ‘No doubt. Don’t forget I’ve seen you play hostess, deal with an unfamiliar husband in front of hundreds of guests at a never-ending wedding and maintain your poise without batting an eyelid.’

  Leila’s eyes popped open at the note of wry humour in that deep suede voice. It...appealed to her.

  She’d thought Joss Carmody too dour for humour. Too focused for sympathy, especially for a wife he didn’t want. She’d been sure when he looked at her all he saw was a vast tract of land awaiting development.

  ‘That was a short wedding celebration by Bakhari standards,’ she murmured, concentrating on his face and not the vast sky beyond his shoulder as he ascended the stairs to the plane. ‘We got off lightly.’

  Gamil had been furious, wanting to display his wealth and important son-in-law to the cream of society. He’d surpassed himself in ostentatious displays of riches that would have made her parents cringe. No wonder she’d felt ill. It must have been the heavy food.

  Leila felt a solid shoulder shrug against her as Joss stepped sideways through the door. Strange how she didn’t mind in the least the alien sensation of being clasped so close to him.

  ‘I had places to be. I couldn’t stay feasting for day upon day.’

  ‘Of course not. Very few people insist on such traditions any more.’

  She took a deep breath of cool air and surveyed the luxurious private jet. Already she felt better. Maybe after years locked away she’d simply lost her ability to deal with the Bakhari heat. The explanation buoyed her.

  ‘I can stand now. Thank you. I feel all right.’

  Joss tilted a look from his superior height, scouring her face as if penetrating her secrets. His expression gave no hint of his thoughts. But then he was a self-made multibillionaire. He’d perfected the art of keeping his thoughts to himself.

  A flicker of unease trembled under her skin. What did he see as he watched her? A business asset or something else?

  Leila pushed her palm against his collarbone, trying to lever some distance between them. It didn’t work, only making her aware of his unyielding strength. Held in his arms, she suddenly felt not so much protected as vulnerable. Puny against his formidable masculinity.

  It made her uneasy.

  His gaze dipped to her mouth and her lips tingled as if she’d eaten chilli.

  ‘Joss! I said I can stand.’ Suddenly it was imperative he release her. She’d felt light-headed before but this was different. Something she didn’t want to explore. Something to do with him.

  Smoothly he put her down, watching her intently.

  Fortunately the strength had returned to her legs. She was herself again, able to walk, spine straight and legs steady, to the lounge chair the stewardess indicated.

  Sitting straight despite its encompassing luxury, Leila turned to the hovering stewardess.

  ‘I’d like some water, please. And do you have anything for travel sickness?’

  ‘Of course, madam.’ The woman bustled away.

  If Leila tried hard enough she might convince herself it was motion sickness she’d experienced out there after her first trip in a vehicle in ages. Or the effects of heat.

  She watched Joss sit on the other side of the cabin. His gaze didn’t leave her as she took the medication and a healthy slug of water.

  His scrutiny made her uneasy. It wasn’t like Gamil’s, which had always made her flesh crawl. But Joss’s steady regard seemed to strip her bare. Surely he couldn’t see the tumble of elation and anxiety she strove to hide? Concealing what she felt had been a matter of survival under Gamil’s cruel regime and she’d become adept.

  Deliberately she put her head back and closed her eyes, reassured by the hum of the engines starting.

  When finally she felt the plane take off she opened them to see Joss, head bent over a stack of papers, his pen slashing an annotation across the page.

  Relief welled up inside her. He’d forgotten her, his curiosity had been temporary. Once they reached London he’d forget her entirely.

  She turned to see Bakhara drop away and exhilaration filled her. Her new life had just begun.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘I SEE YOU’VE made
yourself at home.’

  Joss sauntered into the kitchen. The sight of his wife setting a kettle to boil made the huge, functional room seem domestic, almost cosy.

  It was the last place he’d expected to find her. Given the number of servants in her old home he’d imagined her reclining in bed and summoning staff to wait on her.

  Leila swung round, eyes wide, and he felt the impact of her clear gaze like a touch. Intriguing. Yesterday he’d put the sensation down to curiosity and a tinge of concern when she’d all but fainted at his feet.

  ‘You surprised me,’ she said in a husky voice that purred through his belly. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’

  Joss shrugged. ‘I’ve been known to make my own coffee occasionally.’ Hell, he’d spent enough time batching in rough-and-ready outback accommodation to know his way around a kitchen. He could feed a whole shift of hungry miners if need be. Plain, hearty fare that stuck to the ribs, not the sort of fancy delicacies a society princess like Leila ate. She was like his mother had been—used to being waited on.

  ‘I meant I didn’t expect to see you in the apartment.’ As his brows rose she added, ‘Not at this time of day. It’s only early afternoon.’

  ‘And tycoons never take time off?’ He watched her gaze skitter away across the gleaming floor before returning to his.

  The connection ignited a tiny spark of sensation.

  Joss ignored it. He was good at ignoring unimportant things. Things that didn’t figure in his plans.

  ‘I understand you’re a self-made man. You can’t have got where you are without working long hours.’

  So, she’d been interested enough to find out that much.

  ‘You’re right.’ He strolled across the room, peeled off his jacket and dropped it on a stool near the enormous island bench. ‘My working hours are long.’

  There was an understatement! He didn’t bother explaining that he enjoyed the cut and thrust of expanding his empire. That he revelled in the challenges of business despite the highly efficient teams he employed.