Desert Prince, Blackmailed Bride

by Kim Lawrence

  ‘Anything would be.’ She shrugged.

  ‘That is not what I meant,’ Rafiq said, as he struggled to erase the image in his head of her in the bathtub, her pale skin gleaming and wet. It wasn’t just his body that was weakened, it seemed, but also his brain.

  Was he going to say what he meant?

  She noticed that his glance had dropped to the creamy vee that hinted at her cleavage, and to hide the fact her heart had started hammering she let her hair fall forward to hide the flush on her cheeks.

  ‘It is true that what you are wearing is not suitable for travelling in the backs of delivery trucks. You appear uncomfortable…are you still embarrassed?’ He sounded mildly amused by the possibility. ‘Shall we agree to forget the…incident ever happened?’

  ‘It was a total non-incident as far as I’m concerned,’ she grunted. ‘So, tell me what this is about. What do you want?’ Not your body, Gabby, so stop fantasising.

  Rafiq shook his head. ‘First you must eat something.’ He gestured towards the table. While she had been dressing the cold food had been removed, and fresh hot dishes were set in their place.

  ‘I’m not hungry.’ Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.

  He looked smug and walked across and lifted the lid on one of the dishes. An aromatic spicy smell drifted across to Gabby, whose mouth immediately began to water.

  ‘Sit.’

  Gabby thought about ignoring him, but decided the rebellion was pretty pointless. The sooner she humoured him the sooner she would find out what she had to do to secure Paul’s release.

  ‘And what are you going to do? Watch me eat?’ she asked as she sat down. If so, indigestion was assured.

  ‘I think I will join you,’ he said, gracefully lowering himself with the ease of long practice onto one of the very low divan seats around the circular table.

  ‘How cosy—a date, almost.’ She piled some food onto a plate and forked some into her mouth—it was delicious.

  She swallowed and felt a large pang of guilt. She was living in the lap of luxury, albeit temporarily, and Paul was probably on a diet of bread and water.

  ‘I don’t know about you, but I can eat and talk.’

  But not look at him and think straight. So she didn’t. She kept her eyes trained on her plate as she adopted a brisk, business-like tone.

  ‘They’re talking about putting my brother behind bars for twenty-five years, so as far as I’m concerned no price is too steep. Stop being so damned mysterious and tell me what you want. My soul?’ She laughed at the suggestion, but he didn’t join in—which did not seem like a good sign to Gabby.

  ‘What do you think of my country?’

  Gabby’s impatience showed as she snapped back, ‘I’ve not actually had a lot of time for sightseeing.’

  ‘I will call you Gabriella.’

  ‘And what will I call you?’ She could think of several things, but most of them would probably get her arrested for treason.

  ‘My name,’ he said, laying a hand lightly on his chest, ‘is Rafiq.’

  ‘I can’t call you that!’

  He looked mildly surprised by her appalled denial. ‘Why not?’

  Gabby, who couldn’t think of a single reason beyond the uncomfortable implied intimacy of using his name, ignored the question.

  ‘Look, why have you brought me here? What is this about? The food, the dress, the…’ She stopped, suddenly realising that there wasn’t a soul in the world who knew where she was. The fork stopped halfway to her mouth. She had lost her appetite. She’d practically been kidnapped and she hadn’t even noticed.

  ‘I told the man at the embassy…’ She scoured her memory and triumphantly produced his name. ‘I told Mr Park I would telephone him at six. If I don’t he will come and collect me.’

  ‘Really? He did not mention it when I spoke to him.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘You spoke to the man at the embassy? You told him I’m here?’ Gabby grimaced. When she had left the bespectacled diplomat she had promised she wouldn’t do anything rash. Her eyes suddenly widened ‘Did you make a complaint about me?’

  ‘I spoke to Mr Parker,’ Rafiq confirmed. ‘And I made no complaint.’

  Gabby expelled a relieved sigh. She didn’t want to alienate one of the few people who might be on Paul’s side, even if he was hopeless.

  ‘When I told him you were here it was news that caused him some alarm,’ he informed her. ‘He was under the impression that you were happy to let him act on your behalf.’

  Gabby wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, the man was about as much use as a wet lettuce leaf. All he could talk about were diplomatic channels and how these things take time. I couldn’t wait.’

  Something flickered in the back of his deepset eyes. Gabby was struggling to interpret it when he said, surprisingly, ‘It so happens that I share your sense of urgency.’

  She regarded him with a wary frown. ‘You do?’

  ‘I do, and for the record I am not trying to kidnap you, Gabriella.’

  Mortified colour flew to her cheeks. ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘But you thought it. The door is open.’ He gestured towards the double doors. ‘Or at least it will be if you decide to leave. You are quite at liberty to do so whenever you wish. There are no locks, no guards…But I feel I should remind you that it was you who sought me out—or at least my father. Which was a prime example of optimism winning out over common sense.’

  Gabby gritted her teeth in frustration and didn’t move. ‘Are you just playing with me? Is this some sort of game for you or are you actually going to help my brother?’

  ‘That is up to you.’

  ‘Rafiq, what do you want?’

  ‘You are a kindergarten teacher.’

  Her feathery brows shot up. ‘How on earth did you know that?’ she gasped.

  Ignoring the indignant question, he continued. ‘And you are not emotionally entangled at present. In fact you have never been seriously involved. I find this hard to believe,’ he admitted. However, if his information was accurate, it did remove one impediment that might have been an obstacle to his plan.

  Of course the perfect bride for a future king would be a virgin, but even his father, who attached a great deal of importance to such things, recognised that modern morality made this desirable rather than essential.

  The colour climbed to Gabby’s cheeks. ‘Look, where are you getting this information? How—?’

  ‘Do not be naive, Gabby. I have used the time while you were resting to make myself familiar with your brother’s case.’

  She gave a sigh of relief. ‘So you know he’s innocent?’

  ‘I do not know this.’

  She laid down her fork and fixed him with a narrow-eyed glare. ‘Well, I do know it.’

  ‘Shall we leave the matter of your brother’s innocence out of this discussion?’

  She regarded him in disgust. ‘You’re not the least bit interested in justice, are you?’

  ‘I do not make a habit of interfering with the judicial system of my country. However, in this instance I am willing to make an exception.’

  Gabby’s lip curled. ‘Yes, you’re an opportunist—I get that,’ she inserted impatiently. ‘But what do you want?’

  She saw the jolt of shock that stiffened his body at her less than deferential attitude. Sticking out her chin, she folded her arms across her chest and met his dark implacable gaze. She wasn’t going to pretend a respect she didn’t feel.

  ‘You want your brother released from prison, his name cleared and the slate wiped clean. I want my brother married.’

  Gabby struggled and failed to make the connection between the two. She shook her head and pushed away a silky skein of fair hair that had drifted across her face.

  ‘What does that have to do with me?’

  ‘I will help you achieve your objective if you help me achieve mine, Miss Barton.’

  ‘But how can I help? Do you want me to talk to your brother’s girlfriend?’<
br />
  ‘My brother does not have a girlfriend. Well, actually he has several, but none would make a suitable consort for the future King of Zantara.’

  Gabby was struggling to follow, but immediately identified a discrepancy. ‘But aren’t you the future King?’

  He appeared to tense, but ignored the question and successfully diverted her attention by declaring, ‘I have decided that you would be a suitable bride for my brother.’

  Gabby blinked. ‘Is that meant to be some sort of twisted joke? My God, you never had any intention of helping Paul, did you?’ Throwing him a look of disgust, she folded her napkin with slow deliberation and got to her feet. ‘What do you and your friends do for after-dinner entertainment? Watch traffic accidents?’

  Rafiq rose to his feet and stood there towering over her. ‘You asked me about the succession. You are correct. I am next in line, but I will not be King, Miss Barton.’

  An expression of overt suspicion in her narrowed eyes, she folded her arms across her chest. What was this? she wondered. Another example of his warped sense of humour?

  ‘Why not?’

  A man born to be King, he looked the part—which was pretty rare in royal circles. He was regal down to his fingertips, and on the evidence so far he’d have no major problem with the ordering-people-around element of the job.

  Before she had finished reflecting on his princely attributes, he had covered the space between them in two easy strides. Planting a hand on the wall behind her head, he leaned over her.

  His sheer physical presence was incredibly intimidating, but Gabby was determined not to give him the satisfaction of showing him how painfully aware of him she was.

  ‘I need your word that what I am about to tell you will not leave this room.’

  The intensity of his manner unnerved Gabby even more.

  ‘Or what?’ she squeaked.

  He arched a brow and gave her a look of mock surprise. ‘You are in a position to threaten me?’

  Gabby, who was in a position to fall in a shaking heap at his feet, shook her head and gulped. Barely audibly, she forced her response past her frozen vocal cords.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I am next in line of succession. My father was not young when I was born, and five years ago he had two heart attacks. The second was fairly major and he had surgery. He could live for a long time or he might not.’

  Gabby was unsure how to respond to this information. She ducked under his arm and put some distance between them. ‘The same could be said of everyone.’

  ‘Not of me.’

  ‘Why? Are you going to live for ever?’ She gave a scornful laugh and began to turn.

  ‘I am dying, Gabby.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HIS words made her swing back. ‘You’re sick, all right—sick in the sense of humour department.’ She pointed at her face. ‘Does it look like I’m laughing?’ She stopped.

  He wasn’t laughing either. Conscious of a knot of something close to panic building in her chest, she scanned his face, her unease growing.

  ‘My God!’ The colour drained from her face and her hand came up to cover her trembling lips. ‘You’re telling the truth!’

  ‘I have perhaps six months to live. I have that time to prepare my brother for the role which will be his.’

  Gabby shook her head in a negative motion and staggered backwards, until the back of her knees hit a chair. She slid into it. ‘But there must be something?’

  ‘No.’ His closed expression made it clear that he found the subject uncomfortable.

  ‘But you’re young and fit…’ she protested, her eyes travelling the long, lean length of him. She had never actually seen anyone who looked more alive.

  ‘This is not something we need to discuss. The facts are clear—not to accept them would lack…dignity.’

  She was utterly bemused by his attitude. ‘Dignity?’

  ‘There is nothing that can be done.’

  She felt something snap inside her. Suddenly Gabby was so angry that for several heartbeats she couldn’t speak. ‘How can you be so calm about it?’

  Rafiq shrugged in response and looked visibly taken aback by her reaction. ‘Why should it matter to you? We are strangers.’

  The question and the shrug fanned the flames of the anger that held her in its grip. Hands on the arms of the chair, Gabby pulled herself to her feet.

  She tilted her head back to look into his dark, impassive face, and as she studied the strong, cleanly sculpted lines and planes of his symmetrical features she thought, He can’t be dying! It simply wasn’t possible. It had to be a mistake. She had never seen anyone look less weak or more invulnerable.

  Vitality seeped from every gorgeous pore—or was that nervous energy? she wondered, the indentation between her bows deepening as her glance lingered on the dark smudges beneath his spectacular eyes.

  ‘There must be something—’

  He cut her off with a flat, ‘There is not.’ Looking irritated by her insistence, he added with horrid finality, ‘I am dying.’

  Their eyes met, and her hand went to her mouth as a tiny cry was wrenched from her throat. ‘But you can’t be ill. You don’t look ill,’ Even as she spoke she was seeing the shadows under his eyes, the lines of strain bracketing his mouth.

  ‘I do not at present feel ill.’ The doctor had explained that this was the reason why so many people who presented with this disease were already beyond treatment. The onset was insidious, and the symptoms were often limited to general fatigue, night sweats, and weight loss—not specific.

  ‘But that’s a good sign, isn’t it? They are making advances in medical science every day of the week. Things that once seemed impossible—’

  A muscle clenched in his jaw. ‘There is nothing that can be done beyond the occasional blood transfusion as a short-term fix later on, when my energy levels drop.’

  ‘How can you accept it this way?’ she reproached him incredulously. She looked at him—tall, vital-looking, the embodiment of masculine vigour—and shook her head in utter rejection.

  Rafiq’s lashes dipped to hide the emotion that flared hotly in his hooded eyes. A nerve clenched in his jaw. Accept? Did she imagine he had any choice? Did she imagine he would not have preferred to yell and bellow?

  He could not allow himself the indulgence. He needed to focus and do what had to be done for his country. His chest lifted as he expelled a deep breath and subdued the sudden irrational impulse he had to shake her or kiss her or both.

  ‘It is a path we are all on, Gabriella.’

  ‘Spare me the homespun philosophy, please,’ she begged, rolling her eyes. In the grip of emotions she didn’t even recognise, she was barely conscious that she had laid her hands flat against his chest. ‘I don’t call it brave—I call it defeatist and pathetic. Aren’t you angry? God, if it was me I’d be furious!’

  Rafiq lifted his eyes from the small hands that lay against his chest. ‘You appear to be furious.’

  His impassive manner further ignited her passion. ‘I am,’ she gritted.

  ‘There is little point railing against fate.’

  ‘I’m not mad at fate, I’m mad with you!’ she exploded. ‘You’re just so, so…passive. It’s feeble! You should be fighting! You’re acting like you’re dead already! But you’re not.’ Flexing the fingers pressed against his chest, she fixed him with a fierce sapphire stare. ‘I can feel your heart beating…’ She began to beat out the tattoo of the steady thud in his chest.

  There was no conscious thought behind her action as she reached up impulsively, grabbing his head in her hands and dragging it down to her. Her eyes squeezed tight shut as she pressed her trembling lips to his warm firm mouth and kissed him hard. She felt a shudder pass through him, but he made no attempt to return the pressure.

  She pulled clear after a moment. This wasn’t about kissing him, or even wanting him to kiss her back, she told herself. It was about proving a point. The method was crude, and heavy on the drama, bu
t she had done it.

  She fixed him with a shimmering blue stare and shook her head, pressing a hand to her heaving bosom.

  ‘Now do you believe you’re alive?’

  ‘You make an argument forcibly, Gabriella,’ he observed thickly.

  There was nothing forcible about the pressure of his mouth as it covered hers. Soft and seductive, his lips moved sensuously over hers. As his tongue traced the soft trembling outline they parted. He accepted the mute invitation and his tongue slid deep into her mouth. She felt the groan in his chest as his big hands moved to her waist and dragged her up hard against him.

  The erotic pressure of his erection as it pressed into her soft belly made Gabby weak with wild desire. Her hips moved against him instinctively as she met the deep, stabbing incursions of his tongue with her own, hesitantly at first, and then with more confidence and urgency.

  Then it stopped.

  He put her away from him so abruptly that Gabby almost fell over. Her head spinning, she blinked up at him, waiting for the world to slide back into focus. You couldn’t kiss a person that way and then act as though nothing had happened!

  But he was. Could a man really turn it off that quickly? Other than the dark colour scoring his cheekbones there was nothing in his manner to suggest that moments earlier he had been fully aroused.

  Maybe he still was? It was only by exerting every ounce of the will-power at her disposal that Gabby stopped her glance dropping. Unfortunately the blush she had no control over.

  ‘A man has the right to face his death however he wishes, Gabriella.’

  ‘Your rights! What about my rights?’ Gabby, still shaking after the sensual invasion, shook her spinning head. ‘It’s not my wish to marry your brother. Or to be kissed by you,’ she lied.

  ‘That will not happen again,’ he said with a formal inclination of his head. ‘As delightful as the diversion was.’

  In order to make true his promise Rafiq knew he would have to take care to keep her literally at arm’s length in future. For some reason his brain ceased to function around her.

  He was still shocked to the core that for the first time in his life he had permitted carnal need to overrule common sense and logic.