Bought by The Sheikh Page 15

  The theory held for all of thirty minutes. Once the boat had docked and she’d made a hasty and patchy explanation to Becky, and gone ashore, she’d seen Rafiq again. And her body did crazy things. With one of the melodramatic sighs she generally reserved for her heroines, she followed in the wake of the eminent prince. Even his walk was sexy, she thought glumly, as he led them away from the boat.

  Two limousines were waiting in the car park, and she was relieved to see that he sat in a separate vehicle to hers. Or, at least, she told herself she was relieved. It gave her time to pull her thoughts together as they made the trip through Athens, to the airport.

  The convoy bypassed the airport car park and, pausing for the briefest of moments to show credentials at a boom gate, was shepherded down a side street and onto the tarmac. Emma gripped the handle of the car door as a huge airplane accelerated into the air, just above their cars. She looked across at the man sitting opposite for reassurance, but he had obviously been trained not to interact with the Sheikh’s guests.

  It was bracingly hot in Athens, with none of the pleasant sea breeze to take the edge off the sun’s intensity. As she stepped out of the limousine straight onto the tarmac, she wished she’d thought to change out of her suit. Instead, she settled for removing the jacket, aware that the white blouse strained a little at her breasts. It would have to do until they were on board and she could find something else to wear.

  “Passport?” An official approached her, his hand extended.

  “Oh, right, passport,” she exclaimed, furrowing her brow, trying to remember where she’d stashed it. “Just a second.” Face glowing, she crouched down and checked the side pockets of her luggage, her frown deepening when she didn’t feel its familiar binding.

  “Is this your first international trip?” Rafiq’s voice was laced with sarcasm and she glared at him.

  “I’m not used to packing in such a hurry,” she responded, shooting him daggers. God, she felt like a mess. Her braid was coming loose, strands of hair were plastered to her face which was perspiring a little as anxiety and heat combined to make her feel truly yucky.

  “Perhaps your handbag?” He prompted, nodding towards the Louis Vuitton satchel Cass had given her last Christmas.

  Of course! She reached inside and pulled it out triumphantly, handing it over to the airport customs officer. He took it without cracking a smile, something which, ridiculously, was enough to make her feel one step closer to letting a full-blown rant rip.

  But she held onto her temper, barely. They were almost on board, and soon, she’d be back in America, in her own home, with her beloved cat Minky. And Rafiq would be Cassandra’s problem.

  “After you, Emma,” he sighed impatiently, waiting for her to walk up the narrow staircase ahead of him. She must have walked millions of staircases in her life, but knowing he was right behind her made her wobbly. She would have missed her step right at the top were it not for his firm hand around her waist.

  He swore under his breath and the look he shot her could have killed. “You are the most impossibly clumsy woman I have ever known.”

  She clamped down on her lip. She wasn’t one to complain, but his high-handed manner was wearing thin. “I’m hot, and tired,” she said honestly. She stepped inside the plan and was so awe-struck by the sheer opulence of its interior that she didn’t notice the way his expression turned contemplative.

  Emma had surprised him with her statement. He was usually more considerate of his guests’ needs. Something about this woman seemed to rob him of his manners. Worse, he found himself thinking of very little but what she would be like, naked, in his bed. It was a line of thought far more appropriate to Mansour; Rafiq knew better than to allow his physical desires to control his behavior. He dropped his arm from around her waist and spoke in Arabic to one of the flight attendants. A few words and he had organized everything that would make her more comfortable.

  “Emma, I apologize for not accommodating your needs better. Fatima will take you to a room where you will find some refreshments, and where you can change into something more comfortable. We have a few minutes before take-off only; I’m sure you can appreciate that I am eager to be underway.”

  She followed the designated staff member through the plane – if it could even be called that! It was more of a luxury apartment with wings. The kind of lounge furniture that would be at home in a six star resort was angled towards a gigantic cinema screen. A dining table made of polished wood and decorated with lavish arrangements of flowers (she noted on closer inspection as she passed that they were screwed to the table), and carpet so plush that she wanted to lie down and go to sleep on it. Oh, how the other half lived, she thought with a wry twist of her lips. If nothing else, her sister’s little escapade had given her this insight which she could spin into several books. It was all grist to the mill for a writer like Emma Anderson.

  The room Fatima led her to was as overwhelmingly grandiose as the rest of the plane. An enormous bed made up the centre, but there was lounge furniture in here too.

  “Sheikh Rafiq and his family travel often. The plane must be comfortable.” Fatima, in an uncharacteristic gesture, spoke without having been addressed, sensing the pale American woman’s hesitation.

  “This is beyond comfortable, don’t you think?”

  Fatima’s smile was indulgent. “Do not forget, this is a royal craft.”

  “Mmm.” Having seen his yacht, she supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised, but she couldn’t help but wonder: at what point did these trappings cease to seem impressive? When did they become ordinary?

  “Fatima, can I ask you something?” She colored, realizing she might be putting the other woman in a difficult position. “I don’t want to get you in trouble…”

  “My job is to take care of the Sheikhs’ guests. If you have a question, I am here to answer it.”

  “Did you know my sister? Did she ever fly on here? Or perhaps you met her elsewhere?” She reached into her pocket while she spoke and pulled her phone out, loading up the same picture she’d shown Rafiq only hours earlier.

  “Ah, yes! Miss Cassandra is your sister?”

  Emma let out a huge smile. “Yes! And… did she seem happy when she was with you?” Emma was, in all honesty, finding it hard to envisage how the bombastic man she’d come to know could make anyone happy, least of all her flighty, free-spirited, irresponsible twin.

  “Miss Cassandra and the Sheikh were very happy together, yes.”

  Emma knew enough of her treacherous feelings of longing to know that, while that might have been the answer she should have wanted, it wasn’t. Beneath them, the plane whirred to life and the sound of the engines spinning rushed through the cabin.

  “You must hurry if you would like to change. The pilot will wait until you are seated to take off but you know that His Highness does not like to be kept waiting.” As she spoke, she pointed towards a concealed doorway across the room.

  Emma nodded, anxious again, as she crossed the room and looked inside. There were a couple of different outfits but they were all traditional Amar’an clothes. Beautiful and bright, silk gowns, and harem pants (Oh, God! What she would call harem pants, because that’s what Vogue called harem pants. She hoped the Sheikh didn’t have an actual harem at his disposal!), all stunningly embellished with jewels which, given her surroundings, she thought might have been actual gemstones rather than the stick on kind.

  Remembering Fatima’s warning, she stripped out of her suit in record timing and pulled on the turquoise outfit. She had always loved the color. Her mother, in between reiki sessions and juicing wheatgrass, had told her that the way she was drawn to turquoise could be explained by her open personality and emotionally simplistic aura.

  Well, not today, mum, she said with a heaven-ward glance. Her emotions were anything but simple, and yet she still gravitated towards the color.

  Anyone less spiritually inclined would have told Emma that the reason she had always loved turquoise wa
s because it perfectly flattered her complexion. Her eyes, a stunning shade of blue, looked like tropical lagoons when compared to the fabric, and with her red hair and fair skin, the dress transformed her into a Titian goddess.

  She grabbed a bottle of water from the small fridge and then pushed out of the bedroom, looking around for where she should sit.

  The cabin was empty, except for the Sheikh.

  She swallowed convulsively as the full force of his attraction hit her between the eyes. She dithered for a moment, wondering if she was supposed to join him.

  “Emma,” he said without looking up, “hurry up and be seated so that we can leave. If you take any longer, we’re likely to miss our flight spot.”

  She stifled her indignant retort and moved down the plane to the lounge area. He nodded towards the armchair beside his. She sat into it, marveling at the obscene comfort of the thing.

  With a guttural noise of frustration, Rafiq stood and hovered above her, his green eyes finally locking with hers. He thought, out of nowhere, how well Amar’an clothes suited her. Far better than western suits. She looked incredibly exotic and bewitching in that outfit.

  “Seatbelt,” he said sternly, leaning down and putting the strap low across her hips. He knew he didn’t imagine the way her breath hitched in her throat as his hands hovered at her waist, only centimeters from her most feminine heart. Up close, he could smell her sweet perfume, something floral and light, and he felt a kick of arousal in his gut.

  She was going to hate him in a couple of hours, that was a given. In time, though, she might get over what he was about to do. But there was no way she’d ever forgive him if he acted on his attraction to her. Though she had the wrong end of the stick, it was not the time, nor place, to enlighten her.

  He took his seat, buckled his own belt and then pressed a button on his phone. Immediately, as if remote controlled, Emma felt the plane lurch backwards and her old fear of flying resurfaced sharply.

  “I suppose your plane has all the same safety checks as regular commercial jets,” she said softly, toying nervously with the gems at the collar of her gown.

  He slid her a sidelong glance, “Of course, Emma. More, if anything. You forget that I am ruler of a country. Do you think I’m allowed to travel on anything that isn’t extensively secured?”

  He had intended to reassure her but, hearing his sentence now, he felt an unusual compunction. He had sounded arrogant.

  “You do not need to worry,” he tried again, seeing the way her face had drained of color. “It is a short flight.”

  She frowned. It had taken about sixteen hours on the way over, but then again, she’d had to come via Chicago and London. Emma settled back in the seat, oblivious to the fact the Sheikh was watching her. She just wanted to click her heels together three times and be home…

  * * *

  It was Christmas time, and she was sitting across the table from Cassandra and Rafiq. They had their perfect baby, only it wasn’t a baby anymore. None of them had aged, but they had a six year old girl, who was the perfect physical interpretation of the two genetically blessed people who had combined to create her. And Rafiq, his face tanned, his lips full, was watching her. “Time for a Christmas kiss from my sister-in-law,” he said in his accented voice, and Emma’s heart raced, because she knew he knew that she was in love with him.

  Guitar music filtered across the table, and Emma frowned, because she was a stickler for traditions and Christmas carols were almost all she listened to from Thanksgiving to New Years Eve. The guitar music got louder and she blinked her eyes open blearily, confronted by fluorescent lighting and a strange humming noise.

  It wasn’t Christmas! She was on the airplane. Her eyes flew wide as she turned to the seat beside her. Rafiq’s green eyes lanced through her. “Did you know you talk in your sleep?”

  She sucked in an agonized breath. “I do not!”

  “I am surprised no one has ever mentioned it to you before.”

  She dipped her head, unconsciously shying away from the implied question. Who would have mentioned it to her? As a girl, Cassandra had teased her about the secrets she let slip overnight, but since she’d been at college, she hadn’t shared a room with anyone.

  She rubbed her eyes with her palms. “Where are we?”

  “You have had a good sleep; we are nearly there. Are you hungry?”

  “I must have slept forever.” She craned to peek outside the window but it was just black, as far as the eye could see.

  “Are you hungry?”

  His concern was surprising. She realized that she was. She’d skipped breakfast and things had been so hectic since then that she had not had a chance to eat. “Starving,” she answered honestly.

  He picked the phone up from the armrest of his chair and spoke into it. Fatima appeared minutes later, carrying a steaming tray of vegetables with a light curry sauce.

  “Thank you, Fatima,” Emma said with a polite smile. The food was delicious, but she could hardly enjoy it because she was so hyper-aware of the man sitting beside her the whole time. She felt gauche and young, and incredibly, frustratingly attracted to him.

  “Emma, tell me. Why did you fly half way around the world to do your sister’s bidding for her?”

  Emma paused, fork halfway to her lips. She placed it back on the tray. “What would you have had me do?”

  He shrugged. “I’m asking about you. Why did you not leave her to sort her own mess out?”

  “Mess!” She said, louder than she’d intended. And then, at his warning glare, she lowered her voice. “This is not a mess. This baby is going to be loved and adored, however you might feel about it. If you’re coming to America just to say stupid stuff like that, then I’m starting to seriously regret having told you.”

  A strange knot of panic gripped his stomach as he thought about what would have happened if she had not informed him that an heir presumptive to the Kingdom of Amar’a was on its way.

  “I’m very glad you did tell me.” And his relief was so palpable in his words that Emma felt the knife twisting in her gut. She hated herself for not being more thrilled that this guy was going to do right by her sister, but damn it, did the one man she had felt attracted to, ever, really have to be Cassandra’s baby daddy?

  “However,” he cut across her anguished train of thought, “this is a matter for Cassandra and the baby’s father. It seems odd that she asked her sister to go running on her behalf.”

  Emma shook her head. “It’s not like that. She doesn’t even know I’m here.” If she’d been paying attention, she might have seen the way his face tightened at that revelation. “She was adamant that you wouldn’t want to know.”

  “And yet you went against her wishes. Why?”

  “She is heartbroken, Rafiq,” she said, using his name for the first time. “Sorry, it just doesn’t feel appropriate to call you Your Highness anymore.”

  He shook his head. “What you call me is irrelevant.”

  “Well, Rafiq, my sister is at home, pregnant and sobbing into her pillow every night. Because of you! So what would you have done? Sat back and done nothing?”

  He thought about the fruitless search he’d been overseeing for his wayward brother Mansour and knew that Emma was right. She had had no choice.

  “You must be very close to Cassandra?” He surmised.

  “Yes. As she must have told you, our parents died when we were sixteen. It’s been just the two of us for a long time.”

  “No grandparents?”

  “No. Our parents were in their forties when they had us; we never knew any of our grandparents.”

  An experienced flyer, he felt the way the plane had started a slow descent. Beside him, Emma tensed, and he spoke to reassure her. “It is a clear evening. Our landing will be smooth.”

  “Landings are never smooth,” she disagreed, curling her fingers around the lip of the armrest, nervous and queasy all at the same time.

  He thought about the response he would usua
lly give in a situation such as this. Perhaps a platitude. More likely he’d have her moved to another part of the plane, so that he could concentrate on his work without this sense of worry. But he did neither. He reached across and took her hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly.

  Emma felt like tiny little daggers were dancing under her skin. Pins and needles on speed. His hand was warm, she noted. His skin soft. His fingers long and capable, and his nails short and well cared for, though not in the way of a man who gets regular manicures. She knew she should have broken the contact. He was, after all, about to be reunited with Cassandra. But she couldn’t. She was weak, and she hated herself for it, but all of a sudden, Emma realized her future was going to be made bearable by illicit physical contact with a man she could never have, and must pine for very, very privately.

  And so she let him hold her hand as the plan dropped out of the sky (well, descended in a safe and controlled manner, rather), and as it careened along the runway (landed perfectly and slowed to a steady crawl). As the engines quieted down and the plane nudged towards the terminal building, Emma let out a deep breath and let go of the Sheikh’s hand. Four crescent shaped indents were clearly visible along the ridges of his knuckles, where her fingers had bitten into his royal skin.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” She exclaimed, leaning forward and inspecting the marks. “I really am a terribly flyer, but it’s no excuse for mauling you.”

  He bit back the retort that being mauled by her was at the top of his wish list currently.

  The pilots cut the engine and once again, the cabin was a hive of ground and flight staff. Fatima came toward them, carrying a sheer piece of pale blue cloth. She passed it to Rafiq with a smile at Emma and then disappeared to the front of the plane.

  “Here, put this on,” Rafiq passed the fabric to Emma, and, when she looked at it in confusion, he took it back from her. “Allow me.” He draped it skillfully over her head, noticing the way her eyes were clouded and her lips parted slightly.