Desert Prince, Blackmailed Bride

by Kim Lawrence

  It was a classic case of out of the frying pan into the fire, because Rafiq Al Kamil did not represent safety except for Paul, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut and crossing her fingers as she murmured fiercely under her breath, ‘Please free Paul.’

  A smile tugged the corner of her mouth as an image of her brother popped into her head. He was smiling, and then he wasn’t, and then he wasn’t blond and he wasn’t Paul.

  Gabby opened her eyes with a snap, and rubbed her upper arms vigorously to dispel the rash of goosebumps that had broken out over her skin. The cold that had made her shiver had turned her thoughts in the dangerous direction of the heat that had burned through the layers of clothing when Rafiq had hauled her back from the brink.

  It seemed to Gabby that she was still on the brink—the brink of going quietly crazy. She extended her hand to push back her hair and saw she was shaking again. She felt a surge of relief. She wasn’t going mad—she was just experiencing a severe blood sugar dip. She had felt like this before, when she had skipped a meal or two because she was busy.

  Well, that accounted for some of it. But she had to admit missing a meal had never caused her to look at a man and feel the shameful slow burn of desire low in her belly.

  She turned with an over-bright smile to the girl. ‘Do you think I could have a cup of tea?’

  ‘Your meal will be here presently. I will make sure that there is tea, miss. You will have time to bathe, if you wish, and there are fresh clothes in the bedroom.’

  Gabby smiled in acknowledgement of the offer, even as she thought no thanks.

  Once alone, she explored. She bounced on the enormous bed and pulled back the counterpane to admire the finest Egyptian cotton linen, then pressed a selection of buttons on a panel she discovered. One of them caused curtains to silently swish across the windows, and another filled the room with the sound of a blues tune that had always been one of her favourites.

  She didn’t have a clue how to switch it off, so she let it play. The background sound was soothing, and it actually made her feel a bit less lost. She turned up the volume, thinking she needed all the help she could get. She was so totally out of her depth. The question was, how long could she carry on treading water before she sank like a stone?

  The entire suite of rooms was sumptuously furnished, but it was the bathroom that really made her eyes pop. The sight of an utterly decadent sunken bath that could have fitted an entire soccer team brought a wistful gleam to her eyes…

  The girl had said there was time. What could be the harm?

  She turned on the taps and struggled to recall the title of the song now playing as she began to strip off her soiled clothes.

  She took a little while to select a bath oil she liked from the vast selection on offer, before tipping in the contents of a blue crystal flagon. The room was immediately filled with the aroma of roses as the water foamed.

  Gabby inhaled and smiled in anticipation as she walked down the flight of shallow steps that led into the foaming water. In the middle of all this craziness, taking a bath seemed so marvellously normal.

  She actually giggled as the water begin to lap around her ankles, then waded deeper, dropping to her knees and scooping the water in both hands. She threw it over her back and shoulders, wincing a little as it touched her bruises and grazed skin.

  Then with a sigh she switched off the gushing water and stretched out, resting her head on a conveniently situated padded headrest. The effect on her body was almost instant. She could actually feel the tension begin to ease from her body as if by magic. Smiling, she ducked her head under, and emerged moments later, with water streaming down her wet face. Pushing her saturated hair from her face, Gabby lay back again.

  As she floated in the warm scented water a self-protective instinct kicked in, and her overtaxed brain went numb. Staring up at the elaborate gold-embellished carvings on the ceiling, Gabby didn’t feel concerned when they began slipping in and out of focus. Her eyelids felt as though they had lead weights attached—so heavy that finally she had to close them.

  Just for a minute…

  The combination of warm water and music had the obvious effect. Her mind emptied and she slept.

  Rafiq consulted his watch as he knocked on the door of the guest suite to announce his presence. It had been an hour since he’d left Gabriella Barton, and he had not wasted that time.

  Considering the time factor, the file that now lay on his desk was actually quite comprehensive. What he had read about her brother suggested, rather to his surprise, that the young man might actually be innocent. Skimming the pages, he had seen that Paul Barton was a perfect example of arrested development.

  Innocent, perhaps, but Rafiq had little sympathy. He saw nothing to admire in the hedonistic existence of those who drifted aimlessly through life, avoiding responsibility and leaving chaos in their wake, expecting other people to pick up the pieces.

  He knew all the essential facts about Paul Barton. But the information on his sister—the information that actually interested him—was less complete. It was frustrating, but he could fill in the gaps later. As nothing he had read negated his plan or made it unworkable, he was pushing on regardless.

  When there was no reply to his knock he stepped inside. The music system was playing some moody jazz piece he was vaguely familiar with, but the salon was empty. The food attractively laid out on a low table was untouched and cold.

  ‘Miss Barton! Gabby!’ He flicked the ‘off’ switch on the music system and repeated his call. When this elicited no response either, he moved to the bedroom door and knocked loudly.

  When this too yielded no result, he went inside. The canopied bed was not disturbed. The only sign that the room had been entered was the neat pile of fresh clothes he had left instructions for the maid to provide, which still lay folded on a chair.

  He called out again. She had to have heard him. The novelty of being ignored did not amuse him—rudeness never amused him—and her not responding was irritatingly childish.

  He laid his hand palm flat on the bathroom door, and it swung inwards.

  There was no indignant screech when, after the slightest of hesitations, he stepped inside. The room was filled with steam that misted the reflective surfaces, and it took Rafiq’s eyes a few moments to adjust and see the woman in the bath.

  He turned his head abruptly—though perhaps not as quickly as he might have. The heightened colour along the crests of his cheekbones was hidden by the fog of steam.

  He stared fixedly at the wall, still seeing the image of pale limbs and a slim body that had imprinted itself on his retina. He reaction had been that of a green schoolboy catching his first sight of the naked female form. She had made no attempt to cover herself.

  ‘Sorry, but I did call out. When you are ready I will be in the salon.’

  He was approaching the door when a soft gurgling sigh from the direction of the bath made him frown. ‘Miss Barton?’ He turned his head, and in a flash realised that the reason she had not replied was because she was either sound asleep or unconscious.

  With a curse he crossed the room and strode straight into the water. She was lying so still that for a split second he thought she wasn’t breathing. When he saw the lift of her ribcage and small breasts he felt a rush of relief that was quickly replaced by anger—furious, molten anger.

  Even as he called out her name he saw the ripple of water wash over her face. Sucking in a breath through clenched teeth, he bent and placed his hand under her head, lifting her face clear of the water. She stirred sleepily and muttered something unintelligible as he picked her up. It took two attempts. She weighed nothing, but even nothing, when it was wet and slippery and uncooperative, was hard to get a grip on.

  As he heaved her bodily into his arms she opened her eyes and looked at him, her gaze big and blue as a summer sky. If he hadn’t come in when he had those eyes might have been permanently closed—sheer carelessness could have resulted in tragedy.

 
It was incandescent fury that Gabby saw on his face when she opened her eyes. She instinctively recoiled from the blaze of rage, but for several seconds there was no recognition in her eyes. Her sleep-fuddled mind was a total blank. Then events of the past two days came rushing back, and all the condensed misery and emotional turmoil hit her with the force of a brick wall.

  She blinked up at the dark, lean features of Rafiq Al Kamil…He was going to help Paul, but she still didn’t know whether to put him in her friend or foe file…He was actually a bit big to fit in any file.

  He was carrying her as though she weighed nothing, and there was no element of softness about him. Physically he felt all hard bone and muscle, and mentally his gaze was as unforgiving as tungsten steel.

  Hold on! She blinked, frustrated at the time it was taking her brain to assimilate the most basic information. Then abruptly the time-lag between her seeing something and interpreting it narrowed, and her eyes widened to their fullest extent. He was carrying her!

  ‘What are you doing?’ She looked down and saw her naked body. She froze. ‘And why—’ her voice quivered ‘—am I naked?’

  Gabby’s eyes slowly lifted. Wild panic was triggered as they connected with his, and she was swallowed up by a tide of mind-numbing horror. She began to struggle wildly, hitting out and screaming at the top of her lungs. She landed several blows before he responded to her shrill commands to put her down!

  ‘Be still!’

  Panting from her exertion, Gabby looked at the towel held out to her with deep suspicion, before grabbing it and wrapping it around herself. Swathed from head to toe, she felt slightly more secure, but she was still shaking as she angled him a look of withering contempt, struggling to stop her teeth chattering.

  She directed a narrow stare at his dark face. ‘T…take another step closer…touch me and I’ll…’ What? Gabby asked herself. Scream? Because that’s done so much good so far, hasn’t it?

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘LET me ease your mind. There is no incentive you could offer that would make me come within five feet of you.’

  He had always been drawn to cool goddesses, so in theory Rafiq knew that holding a wet, screaming, squirming, volatile virago should not have aroused him.

  He dug his hands deep in his pockets in a vain attempt to disguise the fact that he was in fact deeply aroused. It was a case of theory losing out yet again when it collided with reality—especially wet, slippery reality.

  Her smooth brow pleated in a deep frown as she tried to follow the sequence of events that had landed her naked in his arms. ‘How did I…?’

  The last thing she remembered was soaking in the tub.

  ‘I was taking a bath…’ She shook her head and threw him an accusing glare. ‘Do you make a habit of sneaking up on women when they’re taking a bath?’

  His nostrils flared. ‘I did not sneak.’

  ‘Well, you sure as hell didn’t knock!’

  ‘I did.’

  This was getting childish—though there was nothing adolescent about his body in that suit, or presumably out of it—not that it was a subject that interested Gabby. She rolled her eyes, radiating a scorn she was far from feeling. She had lost time…how long?

  Her thoughts were in a spiralling loop of bemusement. Had someone drugged her tea…? No, she hadn’t had any tea. Her dry throat reminded her of that. Or was it the result of the terror she had experienced when she’d found herself naked in a desert sheikh’s arms?

  So he was now wearing a very western suit, and the tailor who had cut it to fit his frame must have been kissing the ground he walked on-but the desert sheikh thing still applied. It didn’t matter about the wrappings or the sophisticated, urbane demeanor. Deep down this man was a total barbarian—she had every right to feel terror.

  Just terror…?

  Gabby evaded his dark eyes and closed down that line of thought before it got going.

  ‘You were asleep.’

  Gabby’s eyes lifted. She opened her mouth to refute the crazy claim, then closed it again. A few hazy memories came slipping back, but she ignored them and produced a disdainful sniff.

  Asleep! Couldn’t the lecherous rat come up with a better story? Or was it possible that in some moment of insanity brought on by stress and emotion she had been responsible for ending up naked in his arms?

  It seemed about as likely as him being overcome by lust and going Neanderthal. This man had control—iron control that it would take a lot to snap.

  ‘I might have dozed off for a moment,’ she conceded reluctantly. ‘But that doesn’t give you the right to—’

  ‘Save your life?’

  This drew a laugh from Gabby. ‘My hero! Save my life? Pooh!’ she muttered, even as the realisation that he had seen her naked hit her again. The thought kept going around in her head, and every time it did she had to fight the urge to curl up into a mortified foetal ball and pretend this was all a dream—correction, nightmare!

  ‘You could have drowned.’ As he thought of how close she had been, he felt anger crowding in on him again.

  About to pour scorn on this, Gabby closed her mouth with an audible click. She swallowed. ‘I only closed my eyes for a minute.’

  Rafiq could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

  His nasty smile was to Gabby’s mind unnecessarily smug.

  ‘When I got in the tub the water was stone-cold.’ His sweeping gesture drew her gaze downwards, and Gabby saw the bottoms of his beautifully tailored trousers were wet to above the knee. There were dark water stains on his shirt and jacket from where he had held her.

  He had held her naked in his arms. She shook her head to dispel the image that was a distraction she did not need just now—though she knew she was going to be thinking about it later.

  The colour flooded her face. ‘I fell asleep…? That was…I was…’

  ‘Stupid,’ he supplied helpfully.

  She bit her lip, totally mortified. ‘I didn’t do it on purpose.’ She covered her face with her hands and groaned. ‘God, this is so embarrassing.’

  He looked confused by her choice of words. ‘Why?’

  She looked at him through her fingers. Was he dense, or what? ‘Because I was…’

  ‘Naked?’ he suggested, looking amused. ‘Better to be embarrassed, Gabby,’ he declared, ‘than dead. If it helps, I have seen naked women before.’ None of them were imprinted on his retina, though.

  ‘It doesn’t,’ she hissed, thinking of women with Hollywood gloss and perfect bodies he no doubt normally swept into his arms. She wanted badly for the floor to open up and swallow her. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get dressed.’ He didn’t move, so she added pointedly, ‘Without an audience.’

  ‘Of course.’ He inclined his head and turned to leave her.

  ‘And…thank you,’ she called, as he stood with his hand extended towards the door.

  He swung back. ‘It was my pleasure.’

  ‘That’s what bothers me,’ she muttered as the door closed. He must have heard her because she heard him laugh, which just about made her humiliation complete.

  Gabby was tempted to put her own clothes back on, but her shirt had just about disintegrated.

  ‘Damn,’ she muttered, shaking out the dress that had been left for her. The floor-length gown unfolded with a soft swish. Her eyes widened. ‘Wow!’

  A dreamy expression drifted across Gabby’s face as she gazed at it. Layers of the finest silk in varying shades of blue, it was just about the loveliest thing she had ever seen. She had never in her life imagined wearing anything like it.

  It probably wouldn’t fit.

  It did.

  It fitted perfectly. Gabby found herself smiling stupidly as she looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror. She swung her hips and the dress belled out from her knees, the silk swishing seductively against her skin.

  ‘My God, I almost have a cleavage!’

  Not that the illusion was going to fool the man waiting for her in
the next room. He already knew that she wasn’t exactly lushly endowed. Although she had read somewhere that when it came to the naked female form men did not demand the perfection that women imagined…

  Her expression sobered abruptly and she took a step back. Paul was rotting in a prison cell and she was wondering what the Crown Prince of Zantara had thought about her naked—wondering what he would say when he saw she scrubbed up quite well. How shallow and selfish did that make her?

  Not to mention delusional. An infant-school teacher from Cheshire would not even register on his radar.

  She shook her head and refused to think about the heat she had seen in his eyes.

  Taking a deep breath, she walked into the salon. The first thing that hit her was the smell of food—she was ravenous—and then she turned, and the second thing hit her.

  Rafiq Al Kamil was sitting on one of the sofas. He rose politely to his feet when he saw her. Ineffably elegant, he radiated a confidence that was totally unaffected—an integral part of him, as was the raw sexuality that hit an unprepared Gabby with the impact of a physical blow.

  What a time to discover a weakness for tall, dark and brooding, Gabby thought as she struggled to mentally shift gear. She was ashamed that she had to struggle. Her brother’s dilemma should be the first thing on her mind—not some stranger who had made the whole brooding hero thing his own.

  He didn’t speak, just stared at Gabby—who stared back. She felt his eyes as they slid down her body, and she lifted a self-conscious hand to the silk bodice of the dress.

  ‘My clothes were a write-off. This isn’t really my style, but thanks.’ She lowered her eyes. What was she doing thanking the man? It wasn’t as if he’d picked it out personally.

  ‘It is an improvement.’

  The iridescent shades of blue in the gown she wore reflected but did not outshine the brilliance of her blue gaze. Her skin, scrubbed clean of make-up and dirt, was revealed as flawless and porcelain-pale, and her hair, freshly washed and still damp, fell down her back in soft rippling waves