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

by Clare Connelly

  Emma lowered her head on the pretense of reaching for a date wrapped in prosciutto. If he could treat his brother with such a calculatedly cold attitude, then why was she surprised he could have the same attitude towards her?

  “Everything’s black and white to you, isn’t it?”

  “What is not black and white?”

  “The whole world is color, Rafiq. There are no absolutes. You don’t have to go through with this stupid trap just because, in the moment of first discovering that there was to be a baby, you thought it was the best option. Isn’t the mark of a wise man one who can admit he’s wrong?”

  His eyes glittered. “I am willing to admit when I am wrong. But in this, I am not.”

  She sat down moodily.

  “Let’s look at this from another direction.”

  “Another angle,” she corrected, her eyes simmering with resentment.

  “In marrying me, you would gain a vast fortune at your disposal. Power. Prestige. Influence. And we know we have great sex…”

  “None of those reasons is good enough to marry you for! Not one! Not even all of them combined.” She picked up another date and toyed with the prosciutto. “I have a good income, Rafiq. I don’t need money. I don’t want power. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m kind of an introvert. The last thing I want is to be in the public eye. And as for sex,” she said, her temperature rising at the memory of what they’d shared not even an hour earlier, “you aren’t the only man in the universe.”

  His eyes flared. “You dare suggest you will replace me in your bed?”

  Emma let out a strangled laugh. “Oh, puh-lease! Don’t act like you’ll be pining away for me all your days.”

  “I did not say I will pine for you. Why would I? I fully intend us to marry, Emma. As far as I am concerned, this conversation is closed.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, a gnawing ache in her gut spreading through her body. How could she make him see? That the attraction of their bodies shouldn’t – couldn’t – be used against her?

  The day had started so perfectly; so beautifully. And now, Emma felt like her whole gut was churning. As though her body was at war with her brain. And the fear that her heart was, one way or another, going to splinter into a million pieces, was growing inside of her.

  The rest of the evening was a disaster. Rafiq was in a foul mood, and Emma was, too. So much for a romantic night under the stars, she thought with a grimace as she climbed into the bed some time later. Rafiq stayed up, working, and when he finally came to bed, Emma was pretending to be asleep. She didn’t know if he saw through the rouse, but he made no attempt to wake her.

  She hardly slept. She was aware of him all night. Every move he made. Even the slightest twitch and she startled. She knew she was on alert, but it was an alert against her own body, that was craving him with a power almost too strong to resist.

  Sometime before dawn, when the call of the nightjar had faded, Emma fell asleep. But not for long, because, as the sun crested over the desert dunes, she was woken by Rafiq.

  “Emma,” he was smiling down at her, and her heart lurched painfully in her chest at how incredibly beautiful he was. Sleepily, she wiped her eyes, aware of a deep hurt inside her. Then, it all came flooding back to her. His insistence that their intimacy didn’t change a thing. His admittance that he still considered her property. A hostage whose only value was in procuring a baby – either Cassandra’s, or her own.

  She stared at him bleakly. “Yes?”

  “Emma, marry me because you want to. That is the reason.”

  She lowered her eyes, to hide the hope that flickered there.

  “Do you want to marry me?”

  “Yes.” He responded emphatically. Big blue eyes flew to his face, but then she remembered.

  “So you can secure your family’s line?”

  “Yes.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to marry you.” As she said the words, she knew it was a lie. She wanted nothing more than to marry him. But she wanted it to be a real marriage. Idiot that she was, she had fallen head over heels in love with him.

  He stood, dragging a hand through his hair.

  “Emma, I don’t know what to do with you. I’ve told you what your options are. I’m trying to help you see that you’re not telling Cassandra about this because, deep down, in here,” he said, bending down and placing his hand over her heart, “you want to marry me. It is the only answer.”

  “Which just goes to show how egomaniacal you,” she said under her breath, pushing out of the bed and dressing in haste. “Is it so hard for you to understand that I love Cassandra? And that loving someone means making sacrifices?”

  He threw his head back in frustration. “Why is it always about love with you?”

  “Why is it never about love with you?” She retorted, reaching down for a bottle of water and taking a sip to try to cool her temper.

  His face showed his contempt. “Do you want me to say I’m in love with you?” His voice was drenched with scorn. He could have had no idea how those words would burn through her soul, like acid on flesh. How she would replay them, over and over. She spun away from him.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said unevenly. “I am talking about Mansour. Your parents. Even this baby. You never speak about anyone with love. It’s always pragmatic, considered. Alone. Aren’t you sick of walking alone, Rafiq?”

  He pulled himself up to his full height. “My father loved my mother with all his heart. And my mother cheated on him with his cousin. It was a public affair. A major scandal.” His face was grim, but she didn’t look at him. She was staring straight ahead, but her ears were pricked for every nuance of his tone. “My father was so in love with her that he let it go on for years. He was a laughing stock. That affair cost everyone dearly,” he continued, far away now. “There was no question of my parentage but Mansour… he looks nothing like our father. He was made to undergo blood tests to confirm his genetic right to be second in line to the throne.”

  Emma turned to him, appalled. “But couldn’t you have stopped that?”

  “No. Failing to take the blood test would have condemned him and my mother. Needlessly, as it turns out, for he is indeed my full brother.”

  “I’m sorry that happened,” she said honestly. “But it just proves my point.”

  “How so?” He stared at her, and his green eyes were stormy like the ocean in the middle of winter.

  “Mansour is your brother, and he had to suffer not just the loss of his parents, but also the possibility that he wasn’t even your father’s son. Is it any wonder he fled as far as he could from this country, this life, and those responsibilities you’re anxious for him to take on?”

  Rafiq frowned. “I had not considered it.”

  “Because you do not know how to love,” she yelled. “I have every reason in the world to think the worst of your brother – he’s got my sister pregnant and left her without a backwards glance – and yet, here I am, defending him to you. His own brother.”

  “You didn’t listen to me. I do not believe any good can come from love.”

  “You have a heart that’s made of stone.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I write romance novels. Love stories. All my life, I have believed in true love. Happily ever after. Marrying you would be like giving up on my religion.”

  At that, despite his simmering anger, he couldn’t help a small smile. “You do have a flair for the melodramatic.”

  She opened her mouth to unleash a tirade at him condescending, arrogant summation of her perfectly logically made argument, but he held up a hand to silence her. “The delegation is arriving.” He frowned in consternation. “Will you stay another night so we can resolve this?”

  “Abso-effing-lutely not,” she said caustically. “I can’t even be near you right now.”

  His eyes shone with his frustration. “You will note I am asking you to stay.”

  “Oh, what’s that supposed to mean? That if I say no, you’ll jus
t keep me here anyway? For God’s sake, Rafiq, don’t even go there. I swear, if you even so much as hint that you’ll keep me here against my will, I’ll… I’ll…” she felt impotent and powerless and it enraged her. “I don’t know what I’ll do,” she finished lamely, “but you’ll be sorry.”

  He grimaced. “Go back to the palace, Emma.”

  He turned from her, and she realized he was dismissing her. She stood there, panting with the force of her temper, not sure if she wanted to go over and slap him, or push him down to the ground and make love to him. Her emotions were zinging all over the place.

  “How?” She said after moments had passed and the air was still crackling with the force of their disagreement.

  “A security team has come to collect you. They arrived at dawn.”

  “You just think of everything,” she said acerbically, scooping down and picking up her bag. As she did so, she knocked over a bottle of water and swore. The noise made Rafiq spin around, and when he did, he saw that tears were falling from her cheeks.

  He suppressed his remorse. He had never lied to Emma. Never. From the beginning he had made it clear what he expected of her. And while sex hadn’t really been part of his plan, he wasn’t sorry it had happened. He hardened his heart to the stirring of tenderness he felt there.

  Without softening his expression, he said, “Go back and start planning the wedding. We will marry, and soon.”

  She swallowed down on the sob that was burning her throat. “I hate you.” She whispered instead, stalking through the tent, her brain fuzzy with the complete lack of options at her disposal.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Only, she did have one option.

  She could email Cass. While her sister might not come racing to her rescue, at least she would show Rafiq that she really didn’t want to marry him, as he’d said. At least, not this way, not like this. His terms of marriage would kill her. How could she raise a child with someone so cold? So incapable of love? Would he even be capable of loving their child?

  It was too hard to imagine.

  She walked, listlessly, towards the exquisite rose garden she’d discovered the day before. In the six days since leaving Rafiq in the desert, Emma had been forced to look deep inside herself and work out just what the hell she wanted.

  Rafiq was pure desert king, but she suspected if she absolutely flat-out refused to marry him, he would let her go. He was no monster. And despite his declaration that he thought love wasn’t worth having, there was a decency to him, and she knew he did not want her to suffer. So, if she wanted to leave him, surely she could.

  But it wasn’t just like any other man. She had one chance, and one choice. If she left Rafiq once, he was too proud to see her again. And he certainly wouldn’t be popping by on Saturdays to stroke Minky and read with her.

  If she left all this, she thought, surveying the rows of standard roses that, despite the desert climate, were glowing like weeds, she could never come back.

  She plucked a rose from a bush and, in doing so, cut her finger. Blood, dark crimson, dripped slowly from her finger onto the white gravel beneath. She watched it fall, and splash against a glinting stone. Paradise and pain. Wasn’t that just perfect?

  * * *

  Rafiq tried to focus but he was struggling. Ten days since Emma had left, and his conference of desert sheikhs showed no signs of running out of matters to dispute and discuss. He longed for simpler times, where people were so afraid of the ruling sheikh that they wanted to get out of his presence before he could lose patience.

  “Ismat does not wish to marry, your highness. She wishes to study.” The older man was saying with a look of pride.

  “Your daughter has been promised to my son since birth. It is the way of our tribes, and you dishonor our fathers and their fathers by trying to deny this birth right.”

  “Enough.” Rafiq spoke harshly, moving between the bickering men. He stood, hands on hips, as the full weight of his decision crashed down on him. “Sheikh Kadir, this is two thousand and fourteen. You cannot force Ismat to marry Wasim if she does not wish it. Marriage contracts are a dying concept. I know, I know,” he put his hand on Kadir’s shoulder, “they are ancient, and they have always been. But time moves on, my friend. I will not force anyone to marry if it is so clearly what they do not want.” He addressed the gathering as a whole. “As sheikhs of this land, it is our place to lead by example. I know your son Wasim is of impeccable character, but there are many who are not. Who would use marriage contracts to force marriages on women who are poor, or worse, on children. Those days are hundreds of years behind us. We must ensure they stay there.” He turned to the other man, whose eyes were suspiciously moist. “Tomaz, Wasim is an exceptional young man. I personally vouch for his character. Why do you not at least introduce Ismat to him, on the off chance love flourishes between them?”

  As he spoke, he felt with every single cell of his body what a monumental hypocrite he was.

  He couldn’t bear it any longer. As soon as he possibly could do so, he concluded the meeting. He still had a handful of matters to attend to, and he wished to dispense with them as quickly as possible, so that he could return to the palace. But first, there was something urgent that needed all of his focus. Calling for a recess, he went back to his tent and looked around. His chin was covered now in a short beard, and he stroked it, lost in thought.

  Absentmindedly, he moved to the rug he and Emma had made love on. She had given him so much. She had given up so much, he corrected with a grimace. How could he declare forced marriage wrong whilst in the process of blackmailing a woman to marry him? He knew he could do it. But he would hate himself if he did.

  She was right. His first instinct had been the wrong one, and he was a big enough man to admit it. There had to be another way.

  He pulled his laptop out from its case and began to type. The satellite internet his military had hooked him into was working well, and the email sent as soon as he clicked the button.

  He refused to acknowledge the heavy weight he felt pressing down on him. It was done, and it was done for the best.

  * * *

  The first Emma knew about it was when Cassandra came bowling through her door, early one afternoon.

  “Emmie! What the hell kinda mess have you got us all into?”

  Emma had been staring at the ceiling, trying not to think of Rafiq, and she sat up, absolutely stunned. “Are you real?” She whispered, holding her arms out to her sister. Then, her eyes dropped lower, and she saw the neat, round bump at her sister’s stomach.

  “Oh, Cassie! Look! You have a baby inside you!”

  “Yes, yes, old news. Now I mean it, tell me absolutely everything about just what is going on.”

  Emma fell into her sister’s arms, and sobbed. “No, you can’t be here, Cass. Rafiq wants your baby to be raised in Amar’a. If he knows you’re here he’ll keep you here until the baby is born and then send you back to America.”

  “He will do no such thing,” she said with a glint in her eye. “Do you notice anything else different about me?” She asked, holding up her left hand. On the second finger from the left, there was an enormous diamond ring.

  “You’re married?” Emma’s jaw dropped. “Who? How?”

  “Mannie.” She said with a blissful sigh.

  “You mean Mansour?” Emma froze, her heart cold at this news. The playboy Rafiq had described was hardly the kind of man she had wanted her sister married to, even with the baby in the picture.

  “Who else?” Cassandra said with a small laugh, pulling herself back from Emma and looking her in the eye. “Sweetie, I’ll explain all that, but first, tell me everything.”

  Emma gave her sister the brief outline, leaving out the fact that she was in love with her captor, and seriously considering marrying him even though he’d outright admitted he didn’t believe love had anything to do with marriage. She also left out the fact that they’d shared a mind blowing sexual awakening together.

  �
�But why didn’t you just tell me? I would have come over.” Cassandra said at the end, stroking her twin’s long wavy hair.

  “I didn’t want to ask it of you,” Emma said quietly. “This country is conservative. And I didn’t know if you’d be happy here. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you came to Amar’a in exchange for my freedom.” She shrugged. “This was my mistake, I deserve to live with the consequences.”

  “Oh, Em, you’re so silly.” She squeezed Emma’s shoulders lovingly. “Has he been horrible to you?”

  “Rafiq?” She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Apart from insisting I’m his hostage or bride, no. He’s been quite nice, actually.” It was a ludicrous understatement for what he had been, but she didn’t know where to begin explaining things to her sister.

  “Well, palace life seems to suit you, anyway. You look positively beautiful,” Cassandra said with her usual kindness. Emma was used to her sister trying to make her feel better. Emma didn’t see the way her skin glowed with a light tan, her eyes shone from all the exercise she’d been doing, and that wearing her hair loose around her shoulders made her truly beautiful. She looked down at the dress she was wearing, yet another from the inexhaustible wardrobe Rafiq had stocked for her. It was cream and gold, and it did set her complexion off nicely, she supposed, seeing the way her arms glowed against the pale fabric.

  “Where is Mansour?” Emma asked, changing the subject.

  “He’s just moving our bags to a room.”

  “Well, take me to him. Let me meet this brother-in-law of mine,” she said with an overly bright smile.

  As they walked towards the guest wing, something occurred to Emma. Heavy balls of dread slugged inside her but she forced herself to ask the question, even though she suspected she knew the answer. “Hey, Cass, you never said. How did you know I was here?”

  Cassandra didn’t have a chance to answer.

  “I emailed her.” His voice, unmistakable, arrested them both. Emma turned, slowly, willing herself to seem calm and poised. But two full, long weeks away from Rafiq and she was fighting a losing battle to run to him and throw herself into his arms. Only the look of complete detachment in his face stilled her. Her heart sledge hammered into her ribs.