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

by Clare Connelly

  “Stop bossing me around,” she repeated, but her voice lacked conviction. He thought she was going to kiss him; his lips were parted and aching to taste her. But instead, she burst into tears, and for the first time in his entire life, Rafiq had no idea how to react.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Hey Cass. I know you’re probably wondering why you haven’t heard from me. (Lame, lame, lame! Call yourself a writer?) But I’ve had a pretty eventful few days. And before I start telling you all about it, please promise you won’t get mad. (Oh, she was going to be furious.) So, I got your Sheikhs mixed up, and I went to confront your Sheikh, but instead got his domineering, insufferable, sex-on-legs brother. Yeah, the one who runs the whole country. Cass, I messed up. I told him you’re pregnant, and (please, remember not to be mad with me?) he’s sort of demanding that you move here to raise your child. Or he wants to ‘impregnate’ me – his word, not mine. So it’s a great place to live, though, and you’d have a really beautiful bedroom.

  Ughhhhhhhhhhh. Delete.

  Hey Cass. I feel like I haven’t emailed for ages. How are you? I miss you. E.x

  Knowing she was the worst kind of coward, she hit send on the one line email and tried to imagine what Cass was doing at that moment. Maybe eating tacos by the beach – one of her favorite past times. Or stretched out like an elegant cat on her leather sofa, reading a fashion magazine and mentally spending her fortune on handbags and watches.

  It made her smile and she realized she really did miss her sister.

  With a restless sigh, she moved to the windows of her room, and took in the spectacular view. Evening was falling, and the sky was a rich royal blue, twinkling with stars. The smell of the warm desert was on the air and she sucked it in gratefully. She hadn’t seen Rafiq since they’d argued over lunch. After her emotional outburst, she’d run to her bedroom, and he had not followed.

  At least he had had the decency to give her space when she needed it. If only he could understand how impossible this situation was for her. How could he possibly think she’d be a suitable wife for him, anyway?

  And then she realized. He didn’t! No way would someone like Rafiq actually want to marry her! He was the one who went on and on about Amar’an bloodlines. Surely he would end up with some noble old family connection.

  He was bluffing!

  It came to her out of nowhere but with such a bolt of certainty that she knew it had to be true. He was just putting all his eggs in her basket, hoping that if he seemed to mean business, she would put the hard word on Cassandra.

  Immediately, her spirits lifted. She just had to wait him out. He would tire of this soon enough, and she would be free to leave. To leave him behind. And that was absolutely what she wanted, she thought with a firm mental shake. If she’d learned one thing in the last forty eight hours, it was that her body was a very poor instrument of judgment. She would never trust her desire-driven instincts again.

  Her computer made a pinging noise and, with a squeak of excitement, she rushed back to the marble desk.

  It was from Cass. Doing the math, she worked out that it must have been somewhere around eight o’clock in LA. Early for her sister to be up, but perhaps the email had woken her. She did sleep with her phone under her pillow, despite Emma’s sage reminders about electro-magnetic fields (she supposed her mother had left a bit of that hokey hippie stuff behind, after all).

  Em, it’s great to hear from you. How’s Europe? Are you having fun? I loved Greece; I bet you are, too. Things here are much the same. Can you believe I’m three months in now? My stomach is enormous, I can’t believe it’s going to get bigger. I had a scan and everything looks good. I wish you were here, but I bet you’re having too much fun to miss me. I got a maternity photo shoot, by the way. It’s going to be a fun way to announce my pregnancy to the world.

  Write back and make me jealous. I’ve nothing to do today except lay around feeling sorry for myself. C.x

  And, on the other side of the world, as the warm Californian sun shone into her loft windows, Cass felt a pang of remorse about lying to her sister. But it was for the greater good, and she’d explain it all when Em got home. She hit send and then snuggled back down into her bed, enjoying the feel of the warm body spooned behind her.

  Emma gnawed her lip thoughtfully. Cassandra’s tone, at least, had been upbeat. Maybe the heartbreak phase was over? Lots of women raised children on their own. And Cassandra wouldn’t be truly alone. She’d have Emma. The most fiercely loving aunt in the world. Only, what if she was wrong about Rafiq bluffing? What if she really was stuck here? She needed time to think. Time to work out just how serious Rafiq was with his threats.

  Don’t feel sorry for yourself, Cass. You have a beautiful little baby in your tummy – is there anything more special? Great news about the maternity shoot. I’m sure you’ll be a beautiful subject (is there any doubt?). Yes, Greece is great, and I am enjoying exploring some of the incredibly ornate buildings. The local food is good… (Oh, jeez, do you want to bore her to death?) I haven’t been writing as much as I thought I would, though, and I’m aware I have a deadline looming and no sense of how I’ll meet it. In fact, I should probably be spending my computer time trying to put words on paper. Have a good day and email more often. In fact, do you have any pictures from your scan? E.x

  It was only a couple of minutes later when another email appeared, this time with the subject, ‘My Jelly Bean’. And attached was a grainy black and white photo of her little niece or nephew.

  Ah! So sweet. Cutest embryo I’ve ever seen. Is it a boy or a girl? E.x

  Too soon to tell. I’ll find out at the next scan. Love you, sis. C.x

  Emma closed out of her emails and pulled up her word document. She re-read the last chapter she’d written, back when she was on the yacht, before she’d even clapped eyes on the Sheikh. And her descriptions seemed so tame. The passion so lacking. Nothing compared to the way her skin tingled with anticipation when Rafiq was near.

  With a strangled groan, she shut the laptop lid and moved back to the mirror.

  She had never met someone who made her so hopping mad. And, she realized belatedly, that she hadn’t even got an answer about Mansour. Why would he be so evasive? Surely if she could convince Mansour to go to Cassandra, it would have a greater chance of success. Besides, Mansour was the legal father of the child, so he would have legal access claims to the baby through more traditional ways.

  The more Emma thought about it, the stranger the Sheik’s aggressive techniques seemed. What had he said? He couldn’t run the risk that she would not accompany him to Amar’a. He had been desperate to secure access to the royal heir. But this just seemed ludicrous.

  And, as for her hair, she thought with indignation, as she moved towards the bathroom and looked at her own reflection. What she saw made her pause. Was that woman staring back at her really Emma Anderson? She’d worn her hair in a braid for years, as a sort of pre-emptive strike against what everyone must think when they realized she and Cassandra (yes, that Cassandra) were twin sisters. It really was a joke that one person should have such beauty and the other would be so ordinary. Only, she hadn’t really noticed that over the last few years, her hair had also changed color, deepening into more of a mahogany than the true shade of red she had always disliked. It was silky and long, and loose around her face like that, it did something complimentary to her whole look.

  But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she felt that way.

  With a determined scowl, she reached up and twisted her hair into its familiar coil. Only she didn’t have an elastic tie! He must have kept it once he’d pulled her hair loose. Holding the end of her plait in one hand, she looked through the drawers in the bathroom. It was fruitless.

  Hmm. She was tempted to cut it all off then, just to prove that she wasn’t so willing to fall in with what he wanted. How imperious he’d sounded! I do not want you to wear this bloody plait ever again. He was nothing like the heroes in her books! Her he
roes were chivalrous and cerebral. Intelligent, yet manly. Only right now, she couldn’t muster much enthusiasm for her fictional constructs, Esther Wallace and Grant Douglas. Their romance seemed so pithy now. So lacking in passion. Oh, her editor was happy enough with the early draft she’d sent over. It was just that, in light of Emma’s recent experience, she could see how much more fire there could be between a couple.

  In truth, she’d never thought Rafiq’s particular brand of super macho personality could appeal to anyone. But, having been captured by him and hidden away in his desert palace, she had to reluctantly admit that his brand of controlling, domineering, dismissive manliness was, well, just so sexy.

  She sighed. She was annoyed with herself and furious with him. How dared he turn her life upside down as he had? Not that she’d had much of a life, anyway, she thought with a laugh. Her and her cat, and the occasional weekend with Cass when her schedule permitted.

  What she needed was to journal everything about her experience with Rafiq. Yes! Then, when all this was over, as surely it would be soon, she could use her experience as the model for her future drafts. With an inspired smile, she sat down at the desk and opened her laptop. She scanned her emails automatically – just one, from her editor, checking in. She swallowed guiltily, before deleting it. Then, she began the incendiary task of recalling, in vivid detail, every encounter with Rafiq, and how each one had made her feel. Adjectives through thick and fast, leaping straight from her heart and onto the bright white paper inside her laptop.

  Sometime later, when evening had bled into night, and the song of some sort of desert bird was thick in the air, there was a knock at her door. She slammed the lid of her laptop down, flushed with recalled passion, and stood slowly.

  Her heart was pounding, in the hope it was Rafiq. She should still be furious with him, but having spent the last however long thinking in detail about his beautiful body and brooding face, she was more than half-tempted to storm into his bedroom as she had that morning.

  It was not Rafiq. Disappointment, like a swell in the ocean, rose through her, but she hid it swiftly, greeting the palace servant with a smile.

  “Madam, his highness asked me to bring you this book, and to check that you have had dinner?”

  “Dinner? No, I hadn’t even thought about food.”

  “I will fetch something for you.”

  Emma really wasn’t hungry, but she didn’t argue. She was too interested in the book that was being held to her. She took it, with a murmur of thanks to the servant, and moved back to her desk.

  It was a history of Amar’a. She frowned and flicked through the pages. A handwritten card fell out and she scooped it up.

  Perhaps this will help you understand why the infant is so important to me. R.

  Fascinated, she crossed to her bed and lay down on her back, opening the book to the first page. She gathered from the internal fine print that this was a copy specially translated into English for the palace, and she was grateful to have it at her disposal now. She’d always loved history, and, as she stuck her head into the book, she saw that the Amar’an history was even richer than she’d imagined.

  Several chapters in, her head was swimming with images of desert princes and sandstorms and bejeweled princesses and ancient wisdom. She put the book aside, her finger marking the spot she was up to, and stared at the ornate ceiling above her. The sound of the animals beyond the palace walls had intensified, and now that she had read so much about the beginnings of the kingdom, she felt a thrill of excitement. To be in the desert. To hear such magical animals from ancient times.

  The sound of her door opening interrupted her thoughts and she propped up on her elbows, to thank the servant for her dinner. Only to see Rafiq, looming large in the doorway to her room.

  “May I?” He asked, with no expectation of being refused.

  “I thought you were worried about my appearance of morality?” She asked archly, hiding the sharp stab of desire she felt at his appearance.

  “I think that horse has already bolted, don’t you?” He strode into the room and shut the door behind himself.

  Emma wriggled off the bed, awkwardly, and stood, watching him. And he stood, watching her. His face gave nothing away, ever, and it drove her crazy that he was so difficult to understand.

  “You got the book, I see.” He said finally, when the silence was heavy with words unspoken and needs unmet.

  “Yes, thank you. It’s an amazing country. I had no idea your history was quite so rich.”

  His eyes flared with love, and she knew it was love for this land, these sand-filled, ancient lands.

  Another knock came from the door and Rafiq answered sternly, “Come.”

  The servant appeared again, with a tray of food.

  Rafiq turned accusing eyes to Emma. “You have not eaten?”

  “I…No.”

  He spoke to the servant in Arabic, quietly, and the man walked across the room, through a door that, until now, Emma hadn’t even noticed. The Sheikh’s face expression was veiled when he turned to Emma and switched back to accented English. “When I sent the servant to ask, it was simply an afterthought. I didn’t really think you’d be so poor at looking after yourself. Why have you not eaten dinner?”

  “I just didn’t think about it. Besides, I can hardly walk into the kitchen and make myself a bagel, can I?”

  “A bagel?”

  “A type of bread. You know, round, with the hole in the middle?”

  He grunted his disapproval. “That is not a suitable dinner for anyone but a dog.”

  “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.”

  He shrugged. “Come, sit, eat.”

  “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that you have a terrible habit of dictating?” She asked crossly. “No, I suppose not. Who would ever dare tell his royal highness when he was at fault?”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you are as cheeky as a child?”

  “Cheeky? Don’t be absurd.” She followed him through the door and paused, with an exclamation of delight, completely knocked off her angry course. “This is beautiful.” It was a semi-enclosed terrace that looked out over the desert. The walls were made of a sort of rendered stone, she guessed, and had those very traditional Arabian shapes cut through, like Aladdin’s windows might have looked, she thought. At the edge of the balcony, illuminated with several flickering candles, was a table laid with her dinner.

  She walked towards it, taking her time as she appreciated the view from every angle. When she reached the table, Rafiq was waiting, holding a chair back for her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, sitting herself down and sighing again as the smell of something sweet hit her.

  “Night flowering jasmine,” he supplied, nodding towards a vine that was creeping wildly over a walled garden below.

  In yet another intimate meal setting, Emma felt her nerves reverberate like strings on a guitar that had been tuned too tightly. “Rafiq,” she addressed him as he took the seat opposite her. “You never answered my question about Mansour. Can I speak to him? Try to find out if he cares for Cass?”

  Rafiq was silent for so long, Emma wasn’t sure he’d heard, or understood. She watched as he fingered the stem of a wine glass, his expression drawn. Finally, he pinned her with his gaze, and electricity zapped through her spine.

  “I do not know where my brother is.”

  His words were laced with pain, though whether he felt hurt, or betrayed, she didn’t know him well enough to say. “What do you mean?”

  “He managed to evade his security escort about six weeks ago. Around the time your sister and he broke up, I believe.”

  She put her fork down on the table, her hunger disappearing instantly. “But, why would he run away?”

  “Emma, this is all guess work, but I presume it has something to do with your sister.” He heaved out a heavy sigh of annoyance.

  “I don’t follow. What could possibly have happened with Cass that would make him run
away? I know for a fact she hasn’t seen him. And that she never got to tell him about the pregnancy.”

  “Mansour is out of control. Unlike me, he was educated in the United Kingdom, and then the United States. He had endless wealth at his disposal, and as much as I tried to provide a good influence, he was seduced by a lifestyle of which I do not approve.” His eyes clearly showed condemnation, and for a painful moment, Emma almost felt it was directed at her. Only, of course, it wasn’t. But Cass, he would blame her.

  “I told him several months ago that I expected him to leave his youthful indiscretions in the past. I told him that he would be disinherited if one more scandal landed at his feet.” He dragged a hand through his hair roughly, and it showed how upset he was.

  “And Cassandra would have been a scandal?”

  “Not Cassandra, per se. A supermodel from America is the last in a long line of inappropriate women my brother has dated. Amar’a is a progressive nation. I am proud of the steps we have taken to achieve true equality and cultural sophistication. However, some values are still mired in the very traditional belief structures. And those values are applied even more stringently to Mansour and me. We are the ruling family; we are supposed to be beyond reproach.”

  Emma’s protective instincts went on high alert. “He can hardly help who he falls in love with.”

  “He should have known better. Mansour lives and dies by his impulses.”

  “As opposed to you?”

  “Emma, you of all people should know how hard I work to control my own desires.” His eyes flash with a warning she did not heed.

  “And do you really think that makes you better, somehow? You talk about your progressive nation and cultural sophistication. But in most other cultures, what Cass and Mansour did is completely acceptable. Normal.”

  He slammed his hand down on the table. “I am not King of any other country though, am I?”