Bought by the Sheikh

by Diana Fraser

  “Come, we can continue this inside the castle.”

  As his staff took themselves off to their quarters, she followed him inside the doors and into the cavernous main hall, which was the main reception room of the castle. She sat down on the nearest chair, and he closed the doors behind them. There were only the two of them in the ancient room—full of shadows and memories.

  What had she just done? She’d shown him that she was his for the taking. She pushed her fingers through her hair, back from her face, focusing on taking calming breaths to quieten her raging body. Heat and moisture pulsed at the core of her, wanting him where he used to give her so much pleasure. She raised her palm to her cheek, where she could still feel that touch, not believing that her reactions could be so predictable.

  He twisted around. “I apologize. I did not bring you here to kiss you.”

  She shook her head. “Then why did you bring me here?” To her irritation, her voice was husky with desire, betraying her need.

  He sucked in a long breath as if to counteract the effect her voice had on him. “Because I want to hear it from you.”

  “Hear what?” What was he talking about? Hear that she was still attracted to him? That her body still sung to the tune he played? That much must surely have been obvious.

  He gripped the back of the chair. “I want to hear from you why you took my father’s bribe. If it wasn’t for what the money could do for your lifestyle, then why take it?”

  She’d almost forgotten what they’d been talking about. All thoughts swept away by his devastating touch. “Because I… Because it’s my business. Not yours.”

  Her response swept away the last remnants of their kiss, and he tilted his head back, his eyes narrowed as they shot a different kind of heat at her. “Really, Gabrielle? Not my business? Is that the best you can come up with? I suppose it is, because anything else and you’d have to reveal the truth.”

  “You seem to know so much. Perhaps you should tell me why I took the money.”

  He nodded, and she instantly regretted her words. “Because you wanted me to believe you could be bribed to leave me. That way you knew that I wouldn’t come after you.”

  She closed her eyes briefly under the onslaught of bare truth. She shouldn’t have done, because when she opened her eyes, she saw a light flash in his eyes as he realized his assertion was correct.

  “Who’s being too complex now?” she asked, trying to backtrack, trying to regain some element of control he was intent on robbing her of. “Money is money. Everyone needs it to survive.”

  “But not you, Gabrielle. You survive in that beautiful head of yours. Your material needs are minimal.

  She bit her lip. “People change.”

  “Not you. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “I could have a manor house in the English countryside, for all you know.”

  “You could. But you haven’t.”

  “Don’t tell me, you’ve checked.”

  “Of course.”

  “Why would you bother investigating someone so disloyal, so easily bribed?”

  “Because I didn’t believe it when my father told me then, and I certainly don’t believe it now. You wanted me to hate you, you wanted me not to follow you because you knew I would.”

  “You can think what you like.”

  “I do.”

  “Although I can’t think why you imagine I would accept a bribe and then not spend the money.”

  “Oh, I don’t think you haven’t spent it.” Electricity crackled in the air between them. “I know you have.”

  He couldn’t. He might, for some reason, guess, but he couldn’t know. She’d done everything to cover her traces. If there was one thing she knew about it was objects and ownership.

  She shook her head. “Why would you think such a thing?”

  “It’s illegal for a foreign national to purchase an object of cultural interest in Gharb Havilah. But you know that, of course.”

  She refused to be drawn into the conversation. “What is that to do with me?”

  “You bought the Qur’an in a private deal. A week later, the object was brought to Gharb Havilah and presented to the museum.”

  She shrugged. “Then I suggest you follow up with whoever brought it here.”

  “You know full well, that a courier company delivered it. A company that had no knowledge of who had sent it.”

  “Well, I fail to see why you believe I’m connected with this.”

  “They had no knowledge, but I made it my job to find out.”

  She’d had enough. She knew he’d never stop until he’d got what he wanted—her admission of guilt. He’d found out the truth somehow and was determined she should admit it. She swallowed. “How did you find out?”

  The intensity had left his features as he sat back, now he’d got what he’d wanted. “I didn’t, Gabrielle. It was merely a guess. True, it was an educated guess. That is why I wanted you here—to find out for myself the truth. I needed to know for certain.”

  “You tricked me.”

  “I did what I had to do to uncover the truth. And, I rather think it was you trying to trick me. You took the money from my father because you believed him when he told you that you would be no good for me and the future of my country. Isn’t that so?”

  She pursed her lips closed. He’d got what he wanted, and he wasn’t going to get any more.

  “And you only used it when you discovered the piece was for sale. You bought it and donated it anonymously to the country. Didn’t you?”

  His words filled the cavernous room, seeming to hang accusingly in the air. It seemed he wasn’t going to relent until she’d given him an answer. “Yes.”

  He changed visibly before her eyes. It was as if a weight had been released from every muscle and sinew in his body. It was only then that she realized how much this meant to him. But it changed nothing. She’d simply have to find another way to show him that they had no future together.

  He nodded and stopped pacing and sat on a chair opposite her. “So that leads us to another puzzle. Why would you spend a small fortune on a heritage collection which belongs to a foreign country?”

  “Why, because it’s important.”

  “For us, maybe. But for you? You’re not one of us, are you?”

  It was as if she’d been struck. He was right. She wasn’t one of his people, she wasn’t of this country, but she felt like one. He leaned forward, with passion. They were close to each other.

  “I ask you again, Gabrielle, why did you take my father’s money and spend it on this object if you are not one of us? If you’d simply wanted to rid yourself of the money you could have donated it to any number of charities, but you didn’t. You spent it on an object of national significance to the country.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged. He was asking too much of her; he was asking her questions that she’d never dared ask herself.

  “You’re right. It was stupid of me.”

  He sat back, defeated. “You’re not stupid.”

  “Then what am I?”

  “Misguided. Ignorant of the fact that you belong to this country as much as anyone. You are one of us, whether you like it, or believe it, or not.” He sighed and looked at the floor for a few moments, and when he looked back up at her, his eyes had lost their autocratic air. It was like a shell had been cracked, revealing their inner liquid warmth.

  She shook her head. “You of all people should know I’m not one of you.”

  “Do not tell me what I know or don’t know.” He sat back, his eyes never leaving hers. “You are one of us. What puzzles me is why you refuse to see it.”

  She shrugged facetiously. “Maybe because my father was English, my mother and grandfather, French. I think that probably explains why I’m not one of your people.”

  He rose and came closer to her. “You know it is nothing to do with genetics.” He took her hand and slapped it against her heart. “It is here where your ident
ity lies, it is here, in your heart, that dictates your nationality, your people, where you belong, your home. And I won’t stop until you know this, too.”

  She tugged her hand away and stumbled back. “Why are you torturing me? Why are you doing this? Trying to punish me for rejecting you, hey?” She stepped back further.

  He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “What makes you run from happiness, habibti? But why do I ask, when I doubt you know.”

  “Don’t play games with me, Zavian!” she warned, walking quickly toward the door.

  “I’m going to do whatever it takes to make you see.”

  She paused with her hand on the door handle. “What if I don’t want to see?”

  “You are afraid. That, I had not imagined.”

  She shook her head and opened the door. “You can play your games if you like, Zavian. But the end result will be the same. You need to marry someone who your countrymen approve of. Without that, you won’t have a country.”

  She slipped out the door without waiting for an answer. She knew where her bags would have been taken and quickly ran up the back stairs to the guest wing, only stopping when she knew she wasn’t being followed.

  She flung the windows open wide and gulped in the hot, fragrant air. Far overhead, a falcon cried out. She looked up to see the bird call again as it flew past. The light was harsh, the landscape stunning, and she felt her connection to it at a vital level.

  She had a vivid recollection of when Zavian’s father had offered her the money to leave, a chance to run from commitment, and she’d taken it. At first she’d believed that she was doing it for him and the country. It was only later that she realized that there was something else—something deep-seated within her, a scared child at her center who was terrified of committing to a person who had never spoken of love. From an early age, her grandfather had ingrained on her how love was the only thing to be trusted in this world. Everything else was ephemeral—here one moment, and the next, turned to dust. Only love continued, and there was no substitute, no second best. There hadn’t been for him—he’d loved her grandmother until her premature death—and there wouldn’t be for her, either.

  A shiver ran through her, but it had nothing to do with the breeze that came from the open window. Zavian was right. She was afraid. She was scared of falling for Zavian’s magnetism again and then being cast adrift after he’d tired of her—either before or after he made an arranged marriage. And she was worth more—her grandfather had shown her that.

  Chapter 5

  Zavian knew her secret now, Gabrielle thought, as she descended the stairs to attend the breakfast she’d been summoned to. There was nothing else he could do other than accept her reasoning. It sounded simple in her head, but as Zavian rose to greet her, alone once more, she knew it would be anything but simple.

  “You slept well, I trust?”

  She nodded warily. “Yes, thank you.”

  He indicated she should take the seat opposite him. “Then why do you look so tired?”

  She shot him an annoyed look. “No more than you.”

  He didn’t appear perturbed by her response. He’d seemed to have shed his kingship the moment he’d set foot inside the desert castle. “I had things on my mind, as I’m sure did you.” He beckoned staff to step forward to serve them breakfast.

  As the head steward exchanged a few words with Zavian, Gabrielle looked around. It hadn’t changed at all since she was last here. Then there’d been only Zavian and herself, which was just as well as neither of them had any thought for anyone else.

  She took a sip of coffee and closed her eyes as the thick, fragrant brew took her back to that time, a few months after she’d returned from completing her degree at Oxford, when she and Zavian had made love for the first time. It had been here, in this castle, in the room in which she was staying. She’d lost her virginity that night to him, as well as her heart. She blushed at the memory of how completely and utterly she’d given of herself and how her surrender had been rewarded with Zavian’s generous lovemaking. That was the real reason she hadn’t slept. When she opened her eyes again, Zavian was staring at her with an easily-read expression. It was the reason he hadn’t slept either.

  Her blush deepened as his eyes swept over her face. It took in the delicate shadows which had formed over the nights since she’d been told she had no choice but to face this moment, down to her lips which she instinctively moistened. Only then did he look away.

  “I see you aren’t eating,” he said. “You should.” He leaned forward, his eyes hot. “We are leaving this morning.”

  She put down her coffee cup. “So that was it? We come here to have the truth extracted from me, and now you know what happened, we return to the capital, I complete my contract and return home.”

  “You appear to have grasped entirely the wrong idea of what is about to happen.”

  She frowned. “What other outcome is there?”

  “What you don’t appear to have grasped is that you’ve told me nothing I didn’t know, or at least guess, already.” He leaned back in his chair and took a long sip of coffee. “That is not the reason for us being here.”

  “Then why go to all the trouble of leaving your work to bring me here?”

  “It was the first step. I needed you to know that I knew.”

  “Surely there were far easier ways of telling me.”

  “The telling was not the objective.”

  She shook her head in confusion. “You’re talking in riddles.”

  He leaned forward, and her senses were filled with him. “This isn’t about me telling you anything. This is about you needing to understand.”

  “I think you underestimate my powers of comprehension. I know you, Zavian. I know how you think, what you like, what you want.”

  His lips twisted into a disbelieving hint of a smile. “And what is it that you think I want now?”

  “You hate that I left you, and you want to reignite our relationship before your impending marriage—which is everywhere in the news—and then drop me when you’ve had enough and humiliate me in the process.”

  He shook his head, no trace of a smile now. “For all your education and intelligence, you have no idea how a man’s mind works.”

  “Then enlighten me. Because I’m dying to know.”

  “We’re only here to further your education, to make you understand, not me, not the desert or the country, but yourself. To be clear, and it seems I must be, I’ve brought you here to understand the truth about yourself.”

  His explanation hadn’t come close to any of the things she’d anticipated he’d say.

  “Myself? You want me to know myself? That’s a bit arrogant, isn’t it? To imagine I don’t know myself? Or, as I suspect, because my thoughts don’t agree with yours, you intend to change mine, under the guise of ‘education’.” She sat back and huffed out an unfunny laugh. “Such autocratic arrogance.”

  He rose. “Possibly, but that doesn’t mean to say it’s not true.” He tossed down his napkin. “Continue, finish your breakfast because you’ll need all the energy you can find.”

  “What now? Have you got me on an assault course to assist me in sorting my muddled thoughts?”

  “Something like that. The horses are being readied, and we’ll be leaving in an hour.”

  * * *

  Gabrielle hadn’t wanted to enjoy the horse ride so much. It had been easier to begin with, when she’d been able to keep her anger at the downright arrogance of the man close to her, guiding her feelings. But with each rolling canter of her horse—a sensitive Arab mare who responded to her every movement—she settled into the ride and the landscape. If it weren’t for the thud of the horse’s hooves vibrating through her body, and the astringent heat of the desert filling her lungs, she’d have thought she was dreaming. Each night of the past twelve months, she’d gone to bed with images of the country she loved so much filling her mind, hoping they’d come to life in her dreams. But this was no dream. A
shout from Zavian proved it.

  “We’ll ride on ahead. Come.” He gave his horse free rein, and they galloped off. Her mare could hardly contain herself, and she also charged off and was soon flying to one side, out of the cloud of sand Zavian’s horse churned up.

  Gabrielle suddenly felt free of the sadness that had dogged her steps ever since a year before when she’d made that fateful decision to leave Zavian. Free of the control that had kept her focused on her work in Oxford, and free of Zavian’s control in the palace.

  Exhilaration—pure and white-hot—coursed through her veins as they galloped across the desert toward a rocky outcrop in the foothills of the mountains—a place they both knew well.

  Finally they slowed, picking their way up and over the outcrop and descended into the oasis where the Romans had enjoyed the hot spas.

  Zavian jumped off his horse and walked around to Gabrielle, and she jumped off into his arms. She stepped away abruptly and looked around the clearing. It was exactly as she remembered it.

  “It’s just the same,” she said in surprise, tethering her horse to a bush. “I thought there were plans to commercialize it.”

  “Not my plans. My father’s. I stopped it.”

  This made her look at him. “But it could—”

  “Have brought in income and been a great tourist attraction? Yes, I know. But some things are sacred and easily damaged. The very things the people would have been coming here to see would have been destroyed.”

  She walked toward the water, an emerald green under the overhanging palms. In one corner, the fan-like leaves rose and fell on the current of warm air rising from where the hot springs bubbled up, driven by the geothermal activity far below ground.