The Sheikh Who Blackmailed Her: Desert Prince, Blackmailed Bride / The Sheikh and the Bought Bride / At the Sheikh's Bidding

Rafiq thought about the substantial budget earmarked each year for palace security, and a muscle clenched in his lean cheek once more as he fought the unexpected desire to laugh. The girl was more than unusual, she was unique—though he had not dismissed the possibility she was mentally unbalanced just yet.

‘And when it slowed down I … I got out …’

This casual confidence sent Rafiq’s eyebrows in the direction of his dark hairline. ‘It was moving?’ He tried to imagine any of the women he knew leaping out of a moving vehicle and failed.

He felt reluctant admiration stir once more. Whoever this woman was, she did not lack courage—or for that matter recklessness. And today had taught Rafiq that when all other alternatives were exhausted reckless was sometimes the only thing left.

‘Not very fast …’ She lifted a hand to the shoulder seam of her shirt. The skin beneath was grazed and starting to bruise.

His brow furrowed in concern as he saw the specks of bright blood on the cotton. ‘You are injured?’

He didn’t wait for her denial. Gabby watched with horror as he strode with purpose towards the door, his white robe billowing around his tall frame.

He was going to let them in!

She acted without thinking and threw herself between him and the door. Shrill panic threaded her voice as she caught his arm.

Their eyes met, and there was a long, still, nerve-shredding silence, Gabby’s world narrowed until the only things she was conscious of were his mesmerising sloe-dark eyes and the thunderous beat of her heart as it pounded in her ears.

It was Rafiq who broke the tableau, the breath expelled from his lungs in one slow, audible hiss as his dark glance moved from her wide, beseeching eyes to the small pale hand on his arm.

Gabby saw the direction of his gaze, saw the inexplicable astonishment in his expression, but she didn’t let go. If anything she clung harder, her fingers tightening into the taut, rock-hard muscle of his arm.

Her breath came in panicky gasps as she appealed with husky urgency, ‘Please—don’t let them in.’

Rafiq’s glance flickered across the soft contours of her face. Her full lips trembled, and under the smudges of dirt the freckles across the bridge of her nose stood out against the dramatic pallor of her skin. Her electric blue eyes held the zealot-like glow of sheer desperation.

He shook his head. ‘I must. You need a doctor.’

Gabby unpeeled her fingers from his arm, finding her digits strangely reluctant to respond to her commands. Mission accomplished, she absently rubbed her palm across her thigh. The impression of sinewy strength in his forearm seemed to have imprinted itself on her hand.

‘It’s nothing,’ she promised, ripping the fabric of her shirt a little more than it already was to prove her point, revealing the smooth curve of her shoulder and the beginning of a large area of bruising in the process.

‘I can’t feel it,’ she said, between clenched teeth.

But she could feel the brown fingertip he slid down the exposed curve. And her nervous system’s reaction to a touch that was so light it barely stirred the soft invisible down on her pale skin was totally disproportionate. Every nerve-ending in her body came alive, and a heavy, creeping warm lethargy invaded her suddenly uncooperative limbs.

There was not a breath of air in the room. She doubted this sort of stillness existed outside the eye of a hurricane, where the fragile illusion of security was coloured with the anticipation of the storm that was just waiting to break.

She could feel the pressure in her eardrums as her heart-rate began to race. The air thrummed with tension—unacknowledged and almost tangible.

Gabby struggled to maintain her indifferent pose, and to control her shallow, uneven breathing as his fingertip moved upwards, tracing the angle of her collarbone in a light, feathery motion. Unable to bear the prickling heat under her skin and the dragging sensation low in her belly another second, she pulled away.

‘I told you—I’m fine.’ Gabby glared at him, resentment shining in her eyes as they connected with his and stayed connected. She was utterly mesmerised by the febrile glow smouldering deep in his dark eyes.

Rafiq did not speak until the heat in his blood had cooled—which meant he was silent for some time.

What he had felt when he touched her skin had been raw and primitive. It didn’t take enormous powers of analytical deduction to conclude it was some form of delayed reaction, because he was not a man who allowed his passions to rule him, but it was easy to understand why some men finding themselves in his position might chose to blot out the bleak reality of their situation. They might turn to alcohol, jump in the driver’s seat of a fast car or sit astride a horse and try and outrun the devils within.

And then others might bury themselves physically and mentally in the soft body of a desirable woman …

His eyes brushed the slender white column of her neck before reaching the full curve of her wide mouth. His chest lifted as he dragged in a fractured breath. A woman like this one.

‘Do you imagine that the men outside are going to go away? Why can’t you admit defeat gracefully?’

‘There’s nothing graceful about defeat,’ she retorted scornfully.

Her apparent inability to see that she had lost irritated him. But the irritation melted into antagonism as the memory of the raw desire, the tidal swell of devouring hunger that had washed over him moments earlier surfaced.

‘Not admitting you have lost does not make it any less a reality.’

Nice sermon, admitted the ironic voice in his head. Is it intended for her or you, Rafiq?

Gabby compressed her lips, regarding him with seething resentment. Did he think she didn’t know that her situation was impossible? Did he think she didn’t know she only had herself to blame?

Her lips curled into a derisive smile. ‘Lost …? I’m not playing a game.’

‘You are delaying the inevitable.’

‘Thank you for that pearl of wisdom,’ she snapped sarcastically. ‘If you want to be helpful you could go out there and tell them I’m not here …’

‘Why would I lie for you?’

Gabby scowled at him. ‘Maybe they don’t know you’re here either?’

‘I imagine they will be shocked to find me present.’

The admission drew a hah from Gabby. ‘I thought as much! You’re not meant to be here either, are you?’

His lashes, jet and lustrously curled, swept downwards, concealing the satirical gleam in his dark eyes from Gabby as they brushed the slashing angle of his cheekbones.

‘This room is off-limits to everyone but the Crown Prince.’

The information made her examine her surroundings with fresh interest. ‘Really?’ Her voice echoed her surprise. ‘A sort of bolthole?’ she mused.

Compared with the parts of the palace she’d seen, this was as plain as a monk’s cell—a well-read monk who liked comfy chairs.

‘Maybe he gets bored with the glitter? He likes books,’ she added, running her finger along the spine of a thick leather-bound volume open on the table. She read the title and her eyebrows shot up. ‘Not what I’d call light reading, so he’s not just a pretty face.’

‘You are familiar with the Prince?’

Gabby laughed and folded her arms across her chest. ‘What do you think?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘If you must know, I read an article.’

‘Was it a critical article?’

The suggestion drew a laugh from Gabby.

‘Hardly! Either your Prince Rafiq has just stepped directly off Mount Olympus, or someone paid the journalist to write nice things, or she had a massive crush on him—because nobody is that marvellous. Personally it made me queasy to read all that gushy stuff.’

The odd look on his face made her recall the embassy man’s warning.

‘The people here are very protective of their royal family, so avoid saying anything that could offend.’

‘Gushy …? I must have missed that one.’

The admission was delivered in a flat tone, but she had the impression that far from being offended he was amused. It just showed that the embassy man had been wrong—people here did have a sense of humour.

His dark eyes scanned her face. ‘I am going to open the door you know. Sooner or later.’

Gabby gave a resigned sigh, compressed her lips and nodded. Short of sprouting wings, there was no other way out, and he was right: she was delaying the inevitable. It had also crossed her mind that the longer she kept the men outside waiting the less likely they were to be sympathetic.

Sympathetic? Ever the optimist, Gabby. They’ll probably fling you into a cell next to Paul.

‘I suggest you stay there, be quiet, and restrain any impulses you have to do something dramatic or foolish.’

‘I suppose you’re going to be in trouble too …?’ She struggled to feel some genuine sympathy, but it was hard when he didn’t look perturbed by his predicament, and she couldn’t rid herself of the suspicion that he was the type of man who liked to break the odd rule once in a while just for the hell of it.

Under a tightly controlled surface, she decided, studying the lean hard lines of his face, he had a combustible quality. But then he was a man of contradictions. Like his mouth, she thought, her eyes straying in that direction. The stern upper lip and the full sexy lower lip, sending two opposing messages …

‘I am already in trouble.’

The cryptic response made her frown. ‘I’ll make it clear you didn’t help me or anything.’

He inclined his dark head, and something she could not interpret flickered at the back of his eyes. ‘Thank you.’

‘Why are you here?’

‘Why are you here?’ he shot back seamlessly.

‘I was looking for someone.’

‘The Crown Prince?’

‘At a pinch he’d do, I suppose, but, no—not really. I need someone with more clout.’ A choking sound made her tilt her head to look at him.

‘I think you’ll find that the Crown Prince has a little … clout.’

‘Maybe,’ she conceded, dismissing the absent royal with a shrug, and a worried glance towards the door that was the only thing between her and total failure—maybe even imprisonment. ‘But he isn’t here, is he? There’s just you and me.’ Which sounded a lot cosier than it was. ‘No insult intended, but I need someone important to hear what I have to say. Don’t panic—I won’t bore you with the details.’

Without the belligerence she seemed much smaller, more delicate, and the bleak note of resignation in her flat voice stirred something he refused to recognise as concern.

‘I will tell you if I’m bored,’ he promised.

‘Nice offer.’ If he meant it—which she doubted. ‘I came here to see the King.’

It sounded so absurd, even to her, that Gabby wouldn’t have been surprised if he had laughed. He didn’t, though she was willing to bet he would look pretty incredible if he did laugh, or even smile, she thought, trying to imagine the lines bracketing his stern, incredibly sexy mouth relaxing. Actually, now she thought about it, it might be easier to concentrate if he didn’t laugh.

‘There are official channels to receive an audience with the King, if that is your plan.’ He did not add that there was also a long list for those waiting to be granted an audience with his father.

‘I’ve no time for official channels and plans,’ she admitted. ‘I’m kind of winging it.’

The desperation in her manner was tinged with obstinacy as she looked around the room. There had to be another way out. She refused to believe that her attempt to save her brother could end in such ignominious failure.

‘Are you sure there isn’t any other way out of here? What about the balcony?’ Without waiting for a response, her urgency fuelled by another bang on the door, followed by a second volley of threats, Gabby, her eyes sparkling, rushed headlong past him and out of the open double doors.

The balcony was not large—little more than six feet in width—and the impetus of her dash sent Gabby right up to the scrolled wrought-iron railing that came up to waist-height.

As she found herself staring down at a dizzying drop, her vision blurred and the world far below spun. A mewling sound locked in her throat as she closed her eyes.

CHAPTER FOUR

RAFIQ emerged on the balcony just as Gabby loosened her grip on the rail and her body swayed forward. A violent curse was drawn from his lips as he surged forward, his fingers closing like steel bands around her upper arms as he jerked her back to safety.

Gabby’s knees had gone. Head spinning, she was only vaguely conscious of her heels dragging across the floor in the moment before she found herself hauled upwards. With a sigh she leaned back into him, her heart pounding after her near escape. His arms came up around her waist, anchoring her there, drawing her closer.

‘Don’t worry—I’m not going to jump.’ Now that the moment of sheer terror was over she was becoming a lot more conscious of other details—disturbing details, like the hot, hard imprint of his body where her spine curved into his lean length. She was tempted to stay where she was and prolong the moment. ‘Thank you,’ she said huskily. ‘I’m not good with heights.’

‘I’m disappointed. I thought nothing frightened this jumping-from-moving-vehicles action woman.’

One arm still wrapped in a supportive band across her midriff, Rafiq felt her ribcage rise as she sought to suck in a deep breath before responding huskily, but with a lot less attitude than she had shown so far.

‘So sorry to be a disappointment, but we all have our weaknesses.’ It seemed a good time for her to remember that her weaknesses did not usually include being attracted by obvious beefcake—even the exotic variety.

Very exotic, she thought as the clean, musky and very male scent of his body teased her quivering nostrils. Her eyelashes brushed her cheeks as her gaze fastened onto his fingers, long and tapering where they lay on her arm. A large red stone set in a thick gold band decorated one finger. If the stone had been real it would have been worth a small fortune.

Was he married?

Did he have a brood of children and an adoring doe-eyed wife who worshipped him? The images of domestic harmony that passed before her eyes made Gabby feel vaguely dissatisfied.

Was it envy? Obviously not of the woman who was married to this total stranger, but Gabby was twenty-four, and she had never even met anyone she cared enough about to have a serious relationship with—this was one area of her life where she was risk-averse.

As recently as the previous weekend Gabby had produced a jokey response when her friend Rachel had made an exasperated suggestion that she should lower the bar and maybe have a little fun.

Gabby was no prude, but she wasn’t sure she wanted the ‘fun’ her friend was talking about—and she wasn’t about to admit that she was a closet romantic. And anyway, everyone would treat her confession as a joke. She was simply not the type of girl anyone expected to admit she believed there was someone special for everyone—someone worth waiting for.

But she couldn’t help but occasionally wistfully wonder if there actually was anyone out there for her, and she found it increasingly difficult to even imagine meeting someone she wanted to share her life with. Maybe Rachel was right? she mused. Maybe she was just making life difficult for herself …?

It could be she was doomed to stay single. Oh, well—there were worse things—things like being married to a man every woman under a hundred lusted after, she thought.

As she sucked in another tremulous breath Rafiq could feel the tremors running through her body. She felt soft, warm, scarily delicate. The man in him recognised that he was strongly attracted to her; the Prince in him knew that even had circumstances been different, even if he hadn’t just been given a death sentence, a woman like this would not be for him.

There had never been any room for distraction in his life, and that went double now. His glance flickered across the top of the blonde’s tousled head. There was no doubt this woman had distraction written all over her.

Her colour heightened, Gabby pulled away and walked back in to the octagonal room. She couldn’t decide if her legs felt as shaky as those of a newborn colt due to her fear of heights and the accumulated stress of the last two days, or to this badly timed visceral reaction to a stranger.

Now, that was weird—because she had never been attracted to men like him, who projected animal magnetism. As she tilted her chin to meet his level dark gaze she was forced to acknowledge she had never actually met men like him before.

Her lips twisted into a wry smile. She was guessing there were no other men like him …

‘Why do you want to speak to the King?’

Self-recrimination tautened her soft face as his question made her realise she was in danger of losing focus here.

‘I really don’t see why that would be any of your business.’

There was another bang on the door—loud enough to make Gabby flinch.

Without taking his eyes from Gabby’s face, he nodded towards the door. ‘It is possibly his business.’

Gabby glared at him. ‘Well, if you must know I want the King to intercede. It’s my brother—he’s under arrest, awaiting trial.’

Gabby watched comprehension and distaste spread across his lean face. Her chin lifted. She had seen this response before, but most people attempted to conceal it. He did not.

‘Your brother is the English drug-smuggler?’

Indignation sparkled in her eyes as she retorted, ‘My brother is not a smuggler.’ She saw the look of cynical contempt in the tall Arab’s face and struggled to stop her eyes falling guiltily from his. ‘What’s the point?’ she said, throwing up her hands in disgust. ‘You’ve already made up your mind,’ she accused angrily. ‘Everyone in this stupid place has already made up their minds,’ she added, with an emotional quiver in her voice as she realised Paul didn’t stand a chance.

The embassy man had been right—his fate was sealed.

The idea hit him like the classic bolt from the blue. He had been searching for an answer to his problems and the answer had come looking for him—or as good as.

He smiled, and his answer glared back at him with loathing.

Had he gone mad?

Admittedly on the surface it seemed a crazy, desperate idea, but sometimes you had to think outside the box—something he was famed for, though admittedly he had never ventured this far outside on previous occasions.

He’d never had to.

His thoughts raced. This girl possessed the qualities his brother was lacking: toughness, resourcefulness and a healthy lack of respect for people in authority. And loyalty was a quality you could not buy. How many people would have gone to the lengths she had for a brother? And even now, when she knew deep down it was hopeless, she refused to give up.

And he had something she needed.

Looking at the defeated slump of her slender shoulders, and at the tears sparkling on her cheeks, Rafiq felt a moment’s doubt about his intentions. He quickly pushed aside the disquiet and walked towards the door. This was about the future of his country. He could not afford sentiment.

Gabby lifted her head at the sound of the lock being clicked.

With the door half open he turned back to look at her, and Gabby lifted her chin. She had not realised until this moment that she had hoped, quite irrationally, that this stranger might be on her side. Which probably made her certifiably stupid.

Gabby waited, sickly anticipating armed men appearing. When they didn’t she moved towards the door, but any tentative hope she had that the coast might miraculously be clear for her to make her escape vanished when she heard the sound of deep male voices outside.

One belonged to the man who had just walked out, the other possibly to the man who had been escorting her from the premises—though it was hard to tell, because he wasn’t sounding cold or dismissive now.

If anything he was sounding … well, deferential.

Gabby was still trying to make sense of this conundrum when the tall Arab reappeared. He closed the door.

Gabby noticed immediately that the air of hauteur she had noticed in his manner was now more pronounced. She folded her arms protectively across her chest as she regarded him with deep suspicion. She was missing something.

He waved a hand towards a low divan covered in tumbled silk cushions. ‘Have a seat, Miss Barton.’

Gabby didn’t miss the significant fact that this was not a suggestion. ‘What’s going on? The guard—where is—?’

‘I have convinced Rashid that you offer no immediate threat to security.’

She gave a dubious shake of her head. ‘And your word was enough to make him go away?’

‘Perhaps I should introduce myself?’ Without breaking eye contact with Gabby, he bowed fractionally at the waist and said, ‘I am Prince Rafiq Al Kamil.’

The hot colour flew once again to Gabby’s cheeks.

If the introduction had come from anyone else she would have thought them delusional and politely asked if they had taken their medication, but as her gaze travelled up the length of the tall figure, from his dusty feet to his gleaming dark head, she had to bite back a groan at her own stupidity.

She might have been looking for royalty, but in her own defence she hadn’t been expecting to find it so literally. If she had been thinking straight she might have worked it out herself—his whole manner proclaimed that he was speaking the truth.

So this was what the end result of centuries of breeding looked like … She had to admit that even to someone who felt a natural repugnance for arranged marriages he was a pretty good advert.

A mortified flush climbed to her cheeks. ‘You’re the Crown Prince?’ she said, feeling stupid.

He inclined his head in regal acknowledgement and drawled sardonically, ‘A poor second, I realise, to the King, but my father is at present out of the country. You don’t look very pleased,’ he mused, studying her flushed face and sparkling eyes. ‘Is this not what you wanted? A chance to plead your brother’s case at the highest level?’

Despite the fact she had what she wanted, instead of taking this heaven-sent opportunity to ingratiate herself and plead Paul’s case, she remained on her feet and shouted angrily, ‘Why didn’t you tell me who you were?’ Adding, ‘And how do I know you even are who you say you are? You could be anyone.’

A look of astonishment chased across his lean features. ‘You wish me to prove who I am?’

Their eyes connected, and Gabby’s short burst of irrational anger subsided. She shook her head, retracting the challenge before taking the seat he had previously proffered. She would have infinitely preferred the dark wood chair beside it to this low divan that would not have looked out of place in a harem.

How did harems work?

Did he have one?

The questions popped unbidden into her head, and it was hard to mentally drop the theme as she watched him lower his long, lean length into the slatted designer chair she would have preferred herself. It was not exactly difficult to see him in the role of desert predator.

‘Would you like some refreshment?’

She shook her head, and took a deep breath before launching into her practised impassioned plea. He didn’t interrupt, even when—despite her intention to make her argument with dispassionate cool and not come across as a hysterical female—her voice became suspended by tears and she had to wipe her wet face on the hem of her shirt.

‘And so,’ she finished, having presented what she hoped was a compelling argument, ‘my brother was foolish—really stupid,’ she conceded. ‘But he didn’t do anything criminal. You could say he’s the victim here.’