Bought by the Sheikh

by Diana Fraser

  “I’m so pleased that I spent so much money to bring you here, to receive such an incisive background to the piece. Although I’m not sure your Oxford college will be as pleased.”

  The reminder that the future of her Oxford college, together with its staff, depended on her work, was timely. She swallowed. “What else do you want to know?”

  He casually indicated the Qur’an. “I’ve told you. About the Qur’an. I want you to tell me what happened to it. I wish to know how it came to be part of my collection.” He sat down, frowning, his hands steepled before him.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but the words eluded her.

  “Tell me,” he repeated.

  “I can’t.”

  “I thought you might say that. But I’ve thought of a way to be helpful to you.”

  “Helpful?” she repeated weakly, hardly able to think straight.

  “Indeed. I’ve cleared my schedule for the next twenty-four hours to assist you in this regard.”

  “You… what?”

  “I thought you might find your memory faulty, and I’ve decided to help you out.”

  “So thoughtful,” she murmured.

  “I simply want the truth.”

  “And if I can’t discover the truth?”

  “Then, your Oxford college will not receive payment for your services and will cease to exist.”

  “How do you know—”

  “That your college is desperately short of funds? It came to my attention that one of its major sources of funds had dried up.”

  She closed her eyes briefly. “It was you.”

  He shrugged. “I do what I have to do.” He stepped away. “Be ready in an hour.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I anticipated you might be reluctant to tell me.” He took another step away. “We’re going to the desert castle of Khasham.”

  “The desert castle,” she repeated. She shook her head. “But—”

  He turned to her, his face hard. “No buts. We’re going to Khasham. Once back in the surroundings where it all began, perhaps then you’ll find it easier to tell me everything I wish to know. And if you don’t? Then I shall remain by your side for the duration of your contract.” He paused, but she didn’t answer. “You have a month, Gabrielle. One month until the bi-millennial celebrations, when your paid services will no longer be required.”

  “Why then?”

  “Because I will then know exactly what I need to know.”

  As he swept out the room, she knew with absolute certainty that he wouldn’t allow her to leave Gharb Havilah without giving him what he wanted. But, if she did that, she risked damaging the very country she loved.

  * * *

  As Zavian walked along the palace corridors to his suite of offices, he had only one image held in his mind, triggered by the way the rose-colored light had touched her face. It had been soon after her grandfather had died. The same light had fallen on her face as she’d awoken in a traditional Bedouin tent in the desert, far from civilization. He’d opened a flap of the tent so he could watch the sun slowly rise through the trunks of the palms, shimmering its delicate peachy rays across the water onto the oasis where birds had come to drink before the heat soared. But he’d had no interest in the wildlife that day. Only the way the shadows of the palm leaves had flickered light across her face, relaxed by sex and sleep. He’d known at that moment that she would always be his, no matter what.

  Growing up, he’d got to know Gabrielle’s grandfather on his frequent visits to the palace to visit his own grandfather. He’d always sought the older man out to listen to tales of the desert and the history of his country, about which none of his own family appeared particularly concerned. And he’d heard all about Gabrielle long before he’d ever met her. That meeting hadn’t happened until they were both teenagers. But they hadn’t come close until an accidental meeting in the desert when she’d returned from her studies at Oxford University.

  Her grandfather had died shortly after their relationship had begun. Zavian had taken it slowly at first, knowing her grief over losing her only relative. But, if he was correct about her role in the repatriation of the Khasham Qur’an, then her reason for accepting the bribe from his father was called into question. Why had she taken it?

  He thought he knew why, but he needed to hear it from her. And when he did, he’d resume his relationship with her, simply to rid himself of his obsession. That was all.

  Chapter 4

  She’d never been good at being controlled. Not by a person or by a thing—a wall, a lock, an instruction. Her grandfather had known that, her head of department had come to realize that, but it seemed the King of Gharb Havilah had yet to learn it.

  Yes, she wanted, no needed to go into the desert, but not with him. She wanted to be alone, now, more than ever before, free of the shackles of ownership, of locked doors, and deadlines. And, not least, free from Zavian’s spell. Whenever she was near him, she wanted him, physically and emotionally, like a person emerging from the desert who’d survived only on meager rations. She was hungry and thirsty for him as if her life depended on it.

  But it was no good. Despite all the lingering looks, theirs was a relationship with no future. Neither of them could deny their intense physical attraction to each other, nor their enjoyment in each other’s company. She loved to watch Zavian’s impassive face, noting the slight changes to indicate his humor, the slight contraction at the corner of his mouth when something amused him, and not least the heat in his eyes when he looked at her. But she had no choice but to resist the magnetic pull toward him. It could go nowhere because they were poles apart. And the thought of spending the next twenty-four hours—or longer—with him was enough to drive her crazy.

  And she didn’t intend to be driven crazy. That was why she’d arranged for a taxi to collect her a good two hours before the appointed time and to take her into the desert—not to the desert castle—but to the place she’d grown up with her grandfather. It would be deserted, she knew, but she needed to see it again, needed the solace just being in her old home would bring. She’d do what was required of her, she reasoned. She didn’t need physical resources to put together the PR stories; it was all in her head and her laptop. She’d be working, keeping to the letter of her contract, just not quite in the way Zavian imagined. He might be king, but he wasn’t her king.

  She packed her bag and arrived at the car early, handing her bag to the chauffeur, who stowed it away. She was about to get into it when a group of men burst out from the castle. She knew it was him before she saw him. Athletic, white-robed men talked into microphones and swept the empty courtyard with their gaze. Only one gaze was directed at her—the man at their center.

  She jumped in the car. “Let’s go! Now!” she called to the driver. But the driver pretended not to hear and stepped to one side, allowing a clear view of Zavian striding out of the white marble foyer of the palace, flanked either side by security, his eyes focused on her beneath a frown.

  She looked away, steeling herself for his response.

  “Good morning, Dr. Taylor,” Zavian said, briefly gripping the top of the car and peering inside, looking over his dark glasses at her with eyes of obsidian. “It seems you anticipated we’d be making an early start.”

  She swallowed hard, then turned to him. “We? No. I was leaving on my own.”

  “And you were going to the desert castle?”

  She shook her head and looked straight ahead. “I was going to my family home—my grandfather’s house.”

  “To do what, exactly?”

  “To work. As you wished me to do.”

  “What I wish is for us to proceed to the desert castle. Now is not the time for a sentimental return to your childhood home.” He turned and issued a few short, sharp commands to his attendants, some of whom returned to the palace, while others jumped into cars which emerged at the wave of a hand. The sound of car doors slamming filled the courtyard. Zavian slid into the driver’s se
at and grunted with satisfaction as he handled the steering wheel and gear stick. He was in control, just as he liked it.

  “Gabrielle,” he said, not turning to look at her. “You should know I’m a man of my word. I said we’d go together, and that is what we’ll do.”

  “And you have to drive, of course,” she said, as his men stepped away from the car, leaving only the two of them inside. The gates rolled open, and Zavian drove through them, closely followed by two other vehicles.

  He glanced at her. “Of course.”

  As they drove slowly through the old quarter and out toward the city boundary, she couldn’t help remembering.

  He glanced at her. “Although I seem to remember a time when you insisted on driving us around the desert in your grandfather’s Jeep.”

  She looked at him, startled. It was as if he’d been reading her mind. “It was ancient and required gentle handling.”

  His glance set her pulse racing. Again, their minds were in sync. “And do you still think I don’t know how to handle things gently when required?”

  She swallowed but refused to answer. She risked a glance at his profile. Dark glasses screened his eyes from the sun as they burst out of the city and onto the short plain, which would take them to the mountain road and then to the desert interior.

  “I grew up on horseback, remember,” he continued. “To get the best out of an animal, one needs to know how to treat it—when to be gentle, when to be firm.”

  “But always to be in control,” she murmured, as they passed lush farms, the result of heavy irrigation.

  “Of course. One cannot change one’s personality.”

  “More’s the pity.”

  There was silence, and she glanced back at Zavian. He had one arm over the back of the seat, his hand nearly, but not quite touching her shoulder as he angled towards her. He looked less like a king now, and more like the man with whom she’d fallen in love. There was a sense of excitement in his eyes and something more.

  He didn’t need to stretch to extend his fingers to touch her shoulder if he desired. It seemed he didn’t desire, not yet. “You would not like it if I changed my personality.” A small smile played on his lips.

  She shook her head and tried to suppress a smile. “You think you know me so well.”

  “I do know you.” His finger now rested on her shoulder. “These past few days, I’ve watched you as you struggled to come to terms with the conditions at the palace, and yet you’ve enjoyed being back in Gharb Havilah.”

  There it was again—that contradiction. Her body buzzed at the thought that he’d watched, that he’d noticed her enjoyment and her discomfort at being trapped in the palace with him. But then, she felt like a rabbit caught in the glare of a headlight, unable to escape, stunned by the brightness of the light.

  “Maybe.” She focused studiously on the approaching line of mountains, which fringed the plain upon which the city sat.

  His finger moved over her shoulder, and she closed her eyes against the sensation which was gentle, yet so powerful that it sent shivers snaking through her body to places where they really shouldn’t snake.

  “Gabrielle.” His voice was hushed as if he, too, felt those same sensations. “You wanted to be free of the palace, and I am giving you this freedom.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. He truly believed he was giving her freedom. She could see it in his eyes. She shook her head, about to deny it, about to tell him that freedom couldn’t be given. If it was, it was yet another form of control. But before she could speak, the hand on her shoulder caressed her again, and all thoughts fled.

  “At dinner last night, you asked me a question, and I didn’t answer.”

  She shrugged, not wanting an answer to that question right at that moment.

  “You’ve forgotten? Then let me remind you. You asked me why I’d brought you here. You suggested I wished to rekindle something before I marry. And I didn’t answer.”

  She smiled. “You seldom do, not if you don’t want to.”

  “Ah, but it’s not that I didn’t want to, it’s that I didn’t know the answer. But now I do.”

  “What is it? What is the answer?”

  “Later, I will show you later.”

  Show you, he said. Show, not tell. Her mind refused to shift from imagining how he would show her.

  “Now,” he continued, “tell me about the work you have been doing in Oxford.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. She’d imagined he would begin the inquisition over her involvement with the Qur’an immediately. Still, it seemed he was employing his self-described ability to tread gently to get results. Whatever, she was relieved.

  The miles melted away as she talked about her work, on familiar ground once more. Her passion, her life’s work. It wasn’t until they were approaching the desert castle that he did more than merely prompt her with questions.

  “You say this is your life’s work.” He gestured all around. “All of this. And yet you choose to live away from it.”

  The ease vanished instantly. She’d got carried away talking about her work and had fallen into his trap. “My work is academic, theoretical.”

  He glanced at her. “No, it’s not. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have done what you did.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know perfectly well what I mean. You refuse to tell me the truth. But you will.”

  She bit her lip. “And how will you make me do that?”

  She could feel his gaze rest on her briefly although she didn’t meet it. She resolutely stared out the window at the castle, growing larger with each passing minute.

  “I’ll remind you of something.”

  “Remind?” she grunted. “That sounds very subtle.”

  “I can be. You, of all people, should know that.” He paused. “Be quite sure, Gabrielle, you will tell me everything.”

  She swallowed. She did not doubt that he’d get his way in the end, but she was damned if she’d make it easy for him.

  “Everything?” She drew in a deep, strengthening breath and turned in her seat to face him. She needed him to know that she wasn’t afraid of him. “Everything could take us some time. Don’t you have a country to run?”

  “I do. And I will continue to run it from a distance while I find answers.”

  “Answers? To what questions.”

  Again a flick of those disdainful eyes. “You don’t know?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe one of the ‘stories’ you hired me to create?”

  He didn’t deign to respond to her suggestion, merely kept his eye on the road and, overtaking a car, sped off into the shimmering mirage of the desert road. He channeled all his frustration into the accelerator as they approached the castle gates, which opened to allow them to enter.

  They drew up in a cloud of dust, far ahead of anyone else. The desert castle appeared deserted. Silence descended when he turned off the car’s ignition.

  “I want you to tell me why you took my father’s money,” Zavian said.

  She hadn’t expected him to be so direct. “I…”

  “You what?” He sat forward. “Do you want to know why I think you took it?”

  She shrugged stiffly. “I think that’s obvious. Why do people usually take money?” She gritted her teeth together to stop herself trembling.

  “There are many reasons.” He jumped out of the car and walked around and opened the door for her. “The main reason is that they’re greedy,” he continued.

  “Then that must be the reason here. Why wouldn’t it be? I had little to my name. A million dollars can change a life.”

  He tilted his head to one side as if incredulous. “It can. But not yours.” He looked at her with an expression that took her breath away. “I remember that abaya from a year ago when I bought it for you. You were always hopeless with clothes, unaware of them. It was one of the first things that struck me about you—your lack of interest in outward show. And I’ve see
n the clothes you wear beneath it. British high street stores, if I am not mistaken.”

  She bridled with irritation. He’d always been such a snob. “And how would you know that? Do you shop there often yourself?”

  He didn’t bother to respond. “So, I can only deduce that you didn’t want the money for designer fashions.”

  The heat from the packed earth outside the umber colored stone of the desert palace rolled over her in waves. The smell of the desert scorched her lungs. She wanted to get out of the sun, into the shade and gardens that lay within. But she didn’t dare back down.

  “Of course not.”

  “Then what?”

  “There are… there are plenty of other things in the world to buy besides clothes.”

  “Name them. Because I know for a fact, you’ve been living in one room at an Oxford University college since you left Gharb Havilah. And that came with the job. A bedsit, I believe?”

  “It’s convenient.”

  “Believe me. A luxury penthouse with maids is far more convenient.”

  “Maids,” she scoffed. “What would I do with maids?”

  “Indeed. You were always uncomfortable with them around.” His face softened a little. “I recall you were always giving them days off.”

  She couldn’t help but be seduced by the memory. “And I recall you were annoyed because they had work to do.”

  He paused. “Only for a while. You soon made me forget them.”

  The air thickened with memories, as the sunlight shimmered around them. Sweat beaded her forehead. He frowned.

  Her chest tightened as her breathing came more rapidly. He seemed to be closer to her now. He cupped her cheek with the palm of his hand. It felt rough against her skin, prickling it and rousing it as he briefly caressed her cheek. She tried to shake her head, but he brought the other hand up to her other cheek, and she was trapped. And then she didn’t want to escape anymore. The world was hushed as if waiting for his next move. Like the world, her senses were heightened and fixed only on him. He shook his head, and for a horrible moment, she thought he might step away. Instead, he moved closer to her. Her world darkened to the rich, inviting pools of his eyes as his lips touched hers. It was barely a kiss, a mere soft brush, and yet it had the most devastating effect. Her body reacted as if by an elastic memory, knowing at some deep level that this was her man. And then, as quickly as it had happened, he dropped his hands by his sides, as the cavalcade of security cars swept into the compound.