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

‘He didn’t love her?’ His pragmatic observation shocked her.

‘You sound scandalised,’ he observed. ‘You do not need to be. Not on my mother’s behalf. She did not love my father—not in the romantic sense—but she respected him, and they shared a vision of what this country should be, and a strong sense of commitment and duty.’

Things, Gabby thought, studying his dark face, they had passed on to one of their sons at least. A son who even when he was dying did not think about it in personal terms but in terms of how it would affect the future of his damned country … She was conscious of anger building inside her. No one had ever given him the choice!

Why should Rafiq be expected to make such a sacrifice?

‘My parents’ marriage was a successful union.’ Annoyance flickered across Rafiq’s face as he heard the defensive note in his own voice. ‘When they married the country was in turmoil. My mother was instrumental in supporting my father when he undid the years of neglect following Sadira’s death.’

‘You think love is a form of insanity?’ She studied his profile, her glance lingering on the passionate curve of his mouth, and wondered if Rafiq had ever known that insanity.

His eyes slid to the portrait. ‘When Sadira could not bear children my father was expected to put her aside. He refused, even though the lack of a clear heir to the throne was creating major divisions.’

Gabby’s tender heart bled for the tragic Queen. ‘You think he should have put her aside?’

He shrugged. ‘My father put his personal happiness ahead of his duty.’

‘Is that a yes or a no?’ It was a silly question. It was clear from his actions that Rafiq put his individual desires and needs below his duty and his country—duty had been bred into him, and he had never been allowed to be a carefree little boy or a reckless young man. He had always been the future King.

‘The job of King comes with responsibilities.’

‘The poor woman. She was so beautiful …’ Even though her glance had drifted back to the portrait Gabby remained painfully conscious of the man beside her, and her empathy went bone-deep. ‘And her eyes are incredible … so blue.’

‘Not as blue as yours.’

The husky retort brought her swinging back to face him. As their eyes connected the air around them seemed to shimmer with the intensity of unspoken desires and emotions.

The only sounds in the massive room came from the mingled tick of a selection of antique time pieces and their breathing—hard to distinguish each from the other.

Gabby’s stomach quivered, and her heart thundered as she struggled to breathe. Her feet seemed glued to the floor with lustful longing. She struggled to break free of the bonds of the sexual thrall that held her tight in its grip … Rafiq’s eyes were so … hot … Oh, help!

‘I … I … I’m hungry. For food,’ she added, her face crimson with embarrassment.

Rafiq inhaled, his flared nostrils quivering as he scented her perfume. ‘I too am hungry …’ Ravenous described better the desire pounding through his veins.

He moved abruptly, and broke the tableau a split second before Sayed announced his return with a tentative knock.

‘What is it, Sayed?’ He assumed a neutral expression. She was a sensual banquet, but not his.

Standing in the vault of the room, Sayed raised his voice to reach the mezzanine level. ‘I am afraid that there has been a landslip in Bahu.’

Gabby saw Rafiq stiffen as the two men continued their interchange in rapid Arabic. It didn’t take an ability to understand the language to see that the situation they were discussing was serious.

Halfway to convincing herself that the entire sizzling moment had only existed in her head, Gabby was sure of it when Rafiq turned back to her, with no residual trace of warmth in his sombre manner.

‘I am needed. I must leave you.’

‘Take me with you,’ she heard herself say. ‘That is …’

‘All right,’ he said, telling himself that it was a good thing if she saw some of his country and fell under its spell.

It was not a good moment to think of spells.

Conversation was not possible due to the noise during the helicopter flight. It took them three quarters of an hour, but for Gabby, staring down at the fascinating and constantly changing scenery of this geographically diverse country, the time went quickly.

Gabby wrapped the silk scarf she had been given around her head as she stepped out into the sun. She shaded her eyes and stared.

A group of black tents were scattered around a green oasis, but what dominated the site was the towering ancient stone wall rising up behind them.

Rafiq watched her jaw drop.

‘It is the remains of a Crusader castle. Like the Bedouin, the Crusaders were attracted by the water, and due to the height nobody—enemy or friend—can arrive unseen.’

It was clear from the small group who came to greet them that Rafiq fell into the latter category.

‘There are no men.’ Gabby voiced her observation out loud.

‘The men are all helping in the rescue. My father gave permission for an archaeological dig to go ahead down in the valley.’

‘That’s where the landslip is?’

Rafiq nodded, his expression sombre. ‘Yes, several young men from here were working on the site.’

‘There are injuries?’

‘It appears so. The rescue is being made more difficult by sheer inaccessibility. The overhanging cliffs make helicopter access impossible, and the track is too rough for four-wheel drives. That just leaves …’ He nodded towards a distant dust cloud that as Gabby watched became a group of horsemen, approaching at great speed.

She felt her stomach lurch as she saw the spare horse they were leading.

‘You’re going in?’

He nodded, and looked surprised by the question. ‘Of course.’

‘Can I come with you?’

He shook his head, something close to tenderness flickering across his face as he looked at her. Gabby’s stomach flipped.

‘Not this time,’ he said. His expression grew troubled as he focused on her face. Then, as he hooked a thumb under her chin and tilted her face up to his, it hardened into one of self-recrimination. ‘I should not have brought you.’

‘What if when you go with them—?’ She nodded towards the men who had reined in their mounts close by. ‘What if—’ she repeated, unable to keep the anxiety from her voice. ‘What if you get ill?’

‘I won’t.’

Not a very practical response, but one that seemed to Gabby very typical of this man—this very hands-on Prince, who took responsibility a lot more literally than most.

‘The women will look after you.’ Rafiq had turned away to speak to the group from the tents, varied in age and all looking visibly comforted by what Rafiq said to them.

He only looked back once as he strode out to the waiting men and vaulted with lithe ease into the saddle of the spare horse. Gabby watched until the riders were nothing more than specks in the shimmering desert landscape.

The women did look after Gabby, but as they spoke no English and she spoke no Arabic, communication was limited. Her anxiety levels were rising, and she had almost chewed her nails off. When the braziers were lit, sending clouds of smoke into the darkening sky, still there was no sign of Rafiq.

She had tried several ways to ask the women when they thought Rafiq might be back, but the mention of his name had produced many giggles and smiles that were pretty much the same in any language.

Dawn was breaking when Gabby curled up on a rug beside one of the open camp fires, finally succumbing to exhaustion. But that exhaustion paled into insignificance beside the pallor of fatigue in the grime-streaked face of the man she saw when she awoke a couple of hours later.

‘Rafiq!’

He stretched his long legs in front of him and hooked one ankle over the other, looking at her over the rim of his coffee cup.

‘Good morning. I am sorry you were left for so long.’

Dismissing the apology with a wave of her hand, Gabby pushed aside the blanket someone had placed over her while she slept and shot into a sitting position, wincing as her cramped limbs complained.

‘You should have woken me. How long have you been sitting there? You’re hurt?’ she asked, as her horrified gaze fastened on the blood seeping from a gash on his wide forehead.

‘I am fine.’

From the way he said it Gabby knew the same could not be said of everyone. ‘Were many hurt?’ she asked quietly.

‘One fatality,’ he said, placing his cup down on a level stone with an exaggerated care that did not quite hide the tremor in his hand. He thought of the boy who had died in his arms. Later he must speak to the mother who had lost her son. ‘Twenty injuries. Five of those are critical; one man lost an arm.’

She watched as he passed a hand across his eyes. The need to wrap her arms around him and offer the comfort that would obviously be rejected was so intense that it took every ounce of her self-control to stay put. She could feel his pain in her bones.

‘I’m sorry.’ This was a prince, she realised, who took duty to a very personal level. He really cared.

He flicked her a half-smile that was very white in his grime-streaked face. ‘They have been airlifted out now. A helicopter will be back for you presently.’

‘You’re not coming?’

He shook his head. ‘I must stay.’

She didn’t even try and persuade him otherwise. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to change his mind.

‘What about my princess lessons?’

Rafiq felt something move and twist inside his chest as he looked at her, her hair a wild halo, the dark smudges under her eyes making them seem huge. Swallowing, he shook his head. ‘I think you have had a baptism of fire into our culture, so we will skip the cutlery lesson.’

‘Did I pass?’

He looked at her in silence for a moment, then rose to his feet. ‘Yes, you passed.’

CHAPTER NINE

PAUL’S good-looking face lit up when he saw her. He rushed forward and enfolded Gabby in a bear-like hug, before sweeping her off her feet and twirling her around in a circle.

‘Put me down, you idiot,’ she begged, laughing. ‘Thank you,’ she said, smoothing down her hair which, thanks to the ministrations of a hairdresser who must be famous because he only had one name, hung like a smooth silky curtain down to her waist.

‘Thank me?’ Paul shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Thank you.’ He shook his head in admiration. ‘I don’t know how you did it, sis—but, thanks.’

Her eyes slid from his. ‘I didn’t do anything,’ she protested. She had wondered whether to tell Paul the truth, but had decided on balance not to. It would be pointless. Why make him feel guilty? Always supposing he actually took her seriously.

‘That’s not what the Parker guy said. He said you were Wonder Woman.’

‘No, he didn’t.’

‘No,’ Paul agreed, checking out his reflection in the mirror. ‘I might keep the beard,’ he mused, rubbing his hand against the sparse, patchy growth on his lower face. He appealed to Gabby. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think no.’

Paul sighed. ‘You’re probably right. The chicks don’t dig facial hair,’ he added with a mock leer.

‘Must you use that word?’ she asked with distaste. ‘While it annoys you—yes.’

Gabby rolled her eyes. ‘So, what did Mr Parker say about me?’

‘It’s always about you, isn’t it …?’ Paul teased. ‘Actually, the guy had an idea that you must have friends in high places. I put him straight. Mind you, I did start to wonder when they sent that car to pick me up. You should have seen it—about twenty feet long, and inside …’ He let out a long whistle and shook his head. ‘Then I realised.’

‘You did?’

He nodded. ‘They’re buttering me up.’

‘They are?’

‘Obviously.’

Gabby shook her head and looked bemused.

‘God, Gabby, you are so slow sometimes. They’re afraid of bad publicity. And—Is that chocolate?’ Distracted, he picked up a bar of chocolate that was amongst the contents that had spilled out of Gabby’s bag onto the table.

He mimed a roll of drums and said dramatically, ‘My first food as a free and exonerated man.’ He shoved a large chunk into his mouth, rolled his eyes and groaned. ‘Heaven,’ he said, before adding, ‘The thing is, they don’t want me suing them for false imprisonment or something.’

Gabby’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘You’re not thinking of doing anything like that, are you, Paul?’ she asked uneasily.

‘All I want to do is go home.’

Gabby’s shoulders sagged in relief. ‘You’re booked on the six-thirty flight this evening.’

‘Six-thirty? That barely gives me time to use room service.’ Paul flung himself down on the nearest sofa and threw a grateful look at Gabby. ‘You’re a miracle-worker, sis.’ His expression sobered as he asked, ‘How are Mum and Dad?’

‘You can ask them yourself later today.’

‘It’s been tough on them.’

She nodded. ‘They’ve coped well enough.’

‘Is there cable? Do you think I could get the match?’ Paul wondered.

Gabby, thinking of the anxiety she’d suffered, imagining him in some cell with no window, regarded Paul with amused exasperation. He had just been through an experience that would have traumatised most and permanently scarred some for life, and all he could think of was a soccer match. And it wasn’t an act either.

It must be nice, she reflected wistfully, to go through life with such a laid-back attitude.

‘Was it terrible? Prison?’ Gabby asked, feeling as usual like the responsible adult present, even though Paul was six years older than her.

Paul began to scroll through the channels, stopping when he found a cartoon he proclaimed to be his favourite.

‘If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.’

‘Turn down the empathy, Gabby, it’s not good for your blood pressure. I’ve not got post-traumatic stress or anything. What is there to say? It’s not meant to be nice, is it? It’s prison. But it wasn’t as bad as it might have been, and I knew I’d get out. I hadn’t done anything, and anyhow I had the A team on the job.’ He shot her an affectionate grin.

Gabby responded, marvelling at the way he had shrugged off his imprisonment the same way he shrugged off anything unpleasant that ever happened to him. Paul was, she reflected, nothing if not resilient.

‘You look different.’

Gabby was amazed that he had noticed. ‘You think so?’

‘New dress?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed, thinking, New dress, new hair, new makeup … In fact when she had looked in the mirror before she had driven—or rather been driven—out of the palace earlier, she had hardly recognised the person who had looked back at her. If Paul, not the most observant of people, had noticed, the transformation must be even greater than she had thought.

‘It’s a different look,’ Paul observed, fingering the blue filmy fabric of the skirt that fell in soft folds to her knees.

‘But you don’t like it?’

‘Sure. I’m just used to seeing you in jeans. This makes you look a bit … um … untouchable,’ he decided, studying her new look.

‘Untouchable?’

Gabby was startled by the suggestion, but when she thought about it was not exactly displeased. The chances of Prince Hakim wanting to touch her were in her opinion fairly remote, and if she was cold and distant enough it would hopefully put him off her totally. Throwing many obstacles in the way of Rafiq’s plan could only be a good thing. And if, as she suspected, Rafiq was overestimating his brother’s sense of duty, it would not be long before Rafiq had to accept that people were not puppets.

But it was not her ability to be cold and distant to his brother that was troubling Gabby. Every time she thought of the way she had grabbed Rafiq and kissed him she wanted to curl up and die—and when she thought of him kissing her back the recognition that she hadn’t wanted him to stop was more than humiliating, it was beyond belief!

How was it possible? The feelings he had aroused in her were terrifying, the hunger and excitement totally alien to her nature. Why, of all the men she had ever met, was this angry, tragic, infuriating man the one who had awoken the dormant sensual side to her nature?

Of course he had a good side. She kept seeing his tired, beautiful face as Sayed had arrived at the Bahu encampment to escort her back to the palace yesterday. He cared so passionately about his people and his country that she couldn’t help but admire him and worry about him.

She clenched her teeth. No, she wouldn’t worry! The wretched man hadn’t even had the courtesy to let her know when or if he had returned to the palace. All she’d had was that stupid damned note this morning!

What was wrong with her? Was she one of those women who were attracted to what they couldn’t have?

No. For that theory to work she would have to want Prince Rafiq, and obviously she didn’t. Heat ignited low in her belly just thinking of him, but that was only a chemical reaction to a man who was the quintessence of everything male. Small wonder, really, that her hormones had been jolted out of their dormant state.

But she had them firmly under control now, so it was end of story, turn the darned page, Gabby, and get on with sorting out the next problem—namely, showing she was not queen material.

‘Well, maybe not untouchable, but …’ Paul replied.

‘Regal?’ Gabby suggested. Gabby, appalled by her thought, struggled with the urge to mess her hair and wipe off the beautifully applied make-up. All day she’d had the feeling of being trapped inside the body of someone else. Or maybe just trapped—which she was. Temporarily trapped.

Paul threw back his head and laughed. ‘You? Regal? Now, that is a good one.’ He chuckled at the joke, then asked, ‘What time did you say the flight was?’

Gabby told him and he consulted his watch. ‘So, no time for a nap?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t suppose it was easy to sleep in prison?’

‘Actually, there wasn’t a lot else to do—and you know me. I can sleep anywhere, any time. The King of the Catnap!’ he said, stretching out on the sofa and yawning. ‘Haven’t you got some packing to do or something? Shall I order a taxi?’

Gabby took a deep breath. ‘Actually, Paul, I thought I might stay on for a while.’

‘You’re not coming home?’

Home. The emotional lump of loss in Gabby’s throat swelled, and she blinked as she felt the prickle of tears behind her eyelids.

She could get on that plane with Paul.

She had given her word, but that had been under duress so it didn’t count. There was nothing barring the integrity Rafiq seemed so convinced she possessed stopping her. She could sleep in her own bed tonight.

The idea held a lot of appeal.

What was to stop her? Who was to stop her?

Rafiq? Even Rafiq would stop short of boarding an international flight and hauling her off—wouldn’t he? An image of Rafiq’s face—the carved cheekbones, the sensually sculpted mouth and the implacable dark eyes—flashed into her mind.

It was the face of a man who would stop short of nothing to achieve the goal he had set himself. The man was so fixated and stubborn that she was wasting her time telling him his plan was crazy, but she was sure that the passage of time would prove what he didn’t want to hear.

‘I thought I’d take an extended holiday,’ she said.

Just the odd twenty years or so, if things went according to Rafiq’s plan. But it wouldn’t—it couldn’t. Gabby clung to her conviction. The alternative was something she couldn’t bring herself to contemplate.

‘But you don’t go on holiday.’

‘I don’t go on holiday as often as you—but then who does?’

Paul worked only to pay for his trips, while their parents lived in hope that he would outgrow his wanderlust, but so far it showed no signs of happening.

‘I went to the Lake District last summer,’ she reminded him.

Paul dismissed the Lake District with a grimace. ‘You took a group of kids and you camped in the rain. I don’t call that a holiday.’

‘The Lake District is beautiful.’

Paul shook his head. ‘You know, Gabby, sometimes I worry about you. Maybe I’ll stay on with you.’

The word exploded from Gabby. ‘No!’

She felt Paul’s astonished stare, and added in a more moderate tone, ‘What I mean is, you have to go home. This has been traumatic for Mum and Dad, and they’re not going to believe you’re safe until they see you and hug you.’

Paul grimaced and looked contrite. ‘Point taken. Poor Mum and Dad—I’ve given them a tough time over the years, haven’t I? I never mean for these thing to happen, you know.’

Gabby’s expression softened with affection. ‘I know you don’t.’

‘Well, at least they have one kid who doesn’t give them nightmares.’

Gabby dodged his gaze. She was still working on the assumption that Rafiq’s plan would never actually come to fruition, but if it did it would not be just her own life that was affected.

She tuned back in from her worried analysis just in time to hear Paul say, ‘Shame, though. I’d have liked to show you the sights … Not jail, obviously. Are you staying on at this hotel? How much are they asking a night? Let me speak to the management—I’ll see if they’ll do you a deal.’

‘Thanks, Paul, but actually I’ve had an invite to stay with … a family.’

‘Cool—the best way to see a country is to stay with locals. Or are they ex-pats?’

‘No, they’re local, actually. I’ve been invited to stay at the palace.’

Paul stared at her. After a long, startled silence he clapped his hands and gave a smug smile. ‘See—I was right!’

‘You were?’ she said warily.

‘Yeah. They’re scared stiff I’ll stir up trouble and they’re pulling a charm offensive on you. I say go for it, sis. You might even get to see the Royals.’

‘I can hardly wait.’

‘I was just joking. That place is vast—and you’re not likely to get invited to dinner with the King.’

Gabby, her mind very much on the ordeal awaiting her that evening, joined in weakly as Paul laughed heartily at his own joke.

‘Come on,’ she said, playfully knocking his foot down from the sofa. ‘Shake a leg. You don’t want to miss your flight.’

‘What did I tell you?’ Paul said as she climbed into the limo beside him. ‘VIP treatment. I’m tempted to stay and milk it a bit.’

‘They might be tempted to change their mind and throw you back into jail.’

Paul laughed and patted her hand. ‘You’re such a worrier, Gabby.’

At the airport the VIP treatment continued. They were even shown through to a private lounge and offered refreshments. Gabby had a few moments’ panic when the flight was called and Paul was nowhere to be found, but he returned before she had gone into meltdown, looking pleased with himself.

‘Where were you? The flight has been called.’

‘First class,’ he announced as she hustled him out of the lounge. ‘Now do you believe me?’

She smiled and shook her head. ‘You’re incorrigible. But promise me one thing—don’t talk to any strange women.’

‘I’ve sworn off women.’

‘I’ve heard that before,’ Gabby muttered as she watched him go through security.

The relief she felt as she watched Paul’s flight lift off was intense.

He was safe. She had achieved what she came out here to do. But at a price.

The heat outside the air-conditioned terminal building hit Gabby like a solid shimmering wall as she stepped onto the wide pavement in front.

There was no sign of the car that had deposited them, and Gabby was wondering what to do next when a long black limo with tinted windows pulled up.

The rear door opened.

‘Get in,’ a disembodied voice snapped.

It was the verbal equivalent of a click of the fingers. Gabby’s lips thinned in displeasure. She would have given a lot not to jump in in response, but she had very little option.