The Sheikh's Virgin Hostage: Seducing her was never part of the plan... Read online

  Unable to restrain himself, he lifted his hand to her face. Her skin was warm and soft, he noticed, as he ran his finger over her cheek. Her eyes flew open, and he saw for the first time that they were a shade of blue almost akin to turquoise.

  “You are unusually confrontational. And I find it strangely attractive.” He murmured quietly, his accent thicker than usual, as he struggled with what he wanted, and what was right.

  She was incapable of moving, even though every inch of her body was screaming at her how very, very wrong this was. Cass loved the Sheikh. He’d left her heartbroken. Emma couldn’t – wouldn’t – let herself feel attracted to him. But the truth was, of every man she’d ever met, none had inspired a fraction of the aching need she felt for Rafiq.

  “You are unusually annoying. And I don’t find you at all attractive,” she retorted breathlessly, wondering bleakly if Amar’a was one of those Middle Eastern principalities where the death sentence was still in effect. She threw up a silent prayer of thanks that they were still in the ocean off the coast of Greece, and that he had no real legal power over her.

  She’d anticipated anger, but instead, his lips tilted into a sexy smile. It was almost her undoing, but she closed her eyes and brought her sister’s face to her mind. The last time she’d seen Cass, she’d been miserable. Characteristically stunning despite her suffering, but totally, obviously heartbroken. And it was all this man’s fault.

  “Please, whatever you do, don’t touch me,” she said, and she underscored her words by stepping back, out of his reach. The palm that had been curved around her cheek dropped to his side. She didn’t acknowledge the way her insides immediately clenched painfully at the removal of his physical contact.

  He was hardly the bachelor the press made out, but he was experienced enough with women, and he hadn’t ever known a member of the opposite sex to reject his advances. Particularly not with such an obvious level of antipathy.

  “You do not like me to touch you?” He asked silkily, watching the way her cheeks bloomed with pretty color and feeling an answering tension in his jeans.

  She lowered her eyes to her feet. “No.”

  “Little liar.” His chuckle was low, and it sent sharp arrows of heat through her body.

  What are you waiting for? A written invitation? Tell him!

  “You disgust me,” she said, lifting her head and boring into him with eyes that were clouded with emotional intensity. “You think women are your own personal play thing. Well, we aren’t! You don’t get to touch me, just because you’ve decided on a whim that you want me.”

  “Emma, you want me too, unless I’m very much mistaken; which I rarely am.”

  She closed her eyes. There was no sense lying to him. “Physical attraction is one body’s unconscious reaction to another. It’s all chemical. We have brains to give us the ability to control those impulses.”

  His eyes flared with grudging appreciation. How often had he expressed that sentiment to his brother Mansour? “My brain is not listening to common sense now.”

  And he leaned forward and took possession of her lips. Briefly, he wondered what the hell had got into him. She was a young woman in his employ. He knew nothing about her, except that she’d tormented his dreams from the first time he’d seen her. As his lips savored the feeling of hers, he knew he’d been wanting this. She was sweet and warm, and he felt the way her body immediately softened, pliant against the hard planes of his. Her hands came up to wind around his neck and he growled low in his throat. “Emma, you are… heaven…”

  He felt her freeze in his arms. “No!” She was almost screaming. She pushed him away. It was not a hard push but her vehement rejection had caught him off balance, so he stepped backwards, watching the way she was shaking, like a leaf. “How dare you! How dare you of all people!”

  “And who, pray tell, am I, of all people?” He was immediately in control of his emotions and she hated him even more for it.

  “You are the man who left my sister, heartbroken and alone, before she could tell you that she’s pregnant! You disgust me!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Rafiq froze. He was rarely surprised, but this woman had totally managed to knock him sideways. He knew it couldn’t be possible, and yet, he had no doubt the fiery red head in front of him believed it completely.

  “Who is your sister?” He asked, a kernel of worry already lodged in his chest.

  “Cassandra,” she hissed angrily. “Or do you sleep with so many women that you can’t even remember their names?”

  The name meant nothing to him, and it must have showed in his face, because he could see suddenly that Emma was about to slap him. He put a hand up and easily caught her wrist in his, and wrapped it around her back, bringing her body sharply back into contact with his. He was right, he thought distractedly. Their eyes clashed and all he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss her again. It was so out of character that he released her immediately, and put some much needed distance between them.

  “Show me your sister,” his voice was imperious and haughty, no sign of heat nor passion.

  “Show you my sister?” She repeated, rubbing her inner wrist where his fingers had touched, as if to erase the feelings he evoked.

  “Yes. I presume you have a mobile phone or something with a photograph?”

  “Are you actually pig-headed enough to admit you don’t know who she is?”

  He spoke slowly, as if she were incredibly slow witted. “Show. Me. A. Photograph.”

  With a glare that spoke volumes, she fished her phone from her pocket and opened the photo album. There were a thousand to choose from. They might look like chalk and cheese, but they had always been best friends. “Here,” she thrust the device at him, a hand on her hip, a scowl on her face.

  In other circumstances, he might have been amused by the show of defiance. It was certainly a novelty for him to be treated with anything other than complete respect and deference. He turned his attention to the photo she had selected and something clicked in the back of his brain. Cassandra. Yes, it was coming back to him now.

  He raised his eyes to the woman in front of him, a small frown on his lips. He didn’t like being caught on the back foot.

  “Remember her?” Emma asked with saccharine sweetness. “That’s the girl who’s been crying her hormonal eyes out for weeks, all because you ran out on her! I’m not surprised that you’re a philandering cheat, I’m really not. But to carry on like this when you’ve left a girl pregnant, with no way to contact you… That’s despicable.”

  He looked down the length of his aquiline nose at the woman who had unapologetically turned his life on its head in a matter of minutes. He ignored her insults. His brain was switched on to fact finding. “One moment.”

  Emma watched, heart in her mouth, as he yanked open the door and began speaking in rapid fire Arabic to a security guard beyond. She tried not to seem weak, but what she desperately wanted was to sink down on to the bed, head in her hands. The pent up emotion of the last two months had taken its toll, in the moment she’d finally confronted him with the awful truth.

  But she would not let this man, this man she hated, see her sudden fatigue.

  “Your sister is in America now?”

  Emma sniffed. “You don’t even know where she’s from?”

  “She’s in LA, Emma.” He was grateful then for the security guard having a memory for detail. Any woman who was dating Amar’an royalty was subject to rigorous background checks. Fatush had been able to list several salient details about her background when requested.

  A bitter wave of disappointment fell down on Emma, and she realized she’d been hoping there’d been a mistake. A mix up. But there was none. She’d seen the recognition in his face. And he obviously knew where Cass based herself.

  Emma’s eyes were dull when she looked at him, her nod small.

  “Fine. We will go to Cassandra together.”

  “Huh?” She stared across at him, confused.


  “I presume you only took this job to confront me with this… news?”

  She swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Well, you’ve done it. Cassandra is fortunate to have such a loyal sister. And now, I am anxious to confirm this pregnancy for myself.”

  “Wait just a minute, your highness,” she infused the title with as much disdain as she could.

  A crease formed between his brows. “Yes?”

  “Are you suggesting you don’t believe me? Do you really think I’d go through all this if there was any doubt that you’re the father?”

  The boat engines purred to life and, as it accelerated at its top speed towards the coastline, Emma lost her footing. She lurched forward. Rafiq reacted fast, snaking his hands out and catching her around the waist. In the circumstances, his reaction was highly inappropriate, but the more spectacularly rude Emma was to him, the more he felt his need for her increase.

  He held her against him, staring down at her, watching as awareness flashed through her like a visible wave. Her face flushed, her pupils dilated, her breath started to come in shallow rasps… it was obvious that she hated herself for wanting him; it was an unforgivable betrayal to the sister she clearly adored, but want him she still did. And yet, he’d be a fool to push it. No matter how much he felt the same desire scorching his body, he had to control it. For both of them.

  It was now blindingly imperative to get airborne. “Go and pack, Emma. The jet’s been put on alert. We will depart as soon as we can.”

  He obviously couldn’t wait to get back to Cass. He might have said it was to confirm the pregnancy, but surely no man could really resist Cassandra’s charms for long. As Emma emptied the contents of her drawer back into her bag, she told herself that she was just emotional. It had been a huge worry, tracking down her sister’s wayward lover, and now she’d done her duty, she could almost wash her hands of the whole thing.

  Only, she didn’t know she’d ever be able to forget her body’s treacherous reaction to the despicable Sheikh Rafiq Al Sadini. All she could hope was that she’d mistaken her feelings. Yes! A triumphant smile lit up her face. Of course that was it. She was just overflowing with emotional energy; had been since Cass had confided in her. So some of that energy had just mistaken itself for attraction.

  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 posit
ion. “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.