Handcuffed to the Sheikh, Too

by Teresa Morgan

  "I found them easier to work out than a Sudoku."

  "Funny guy."

  Her eyes hadn't fully adjusted, but she saw Ithnan as a shadow now, and she could tell when he raised his arm. His fingertips brushed her cheek. Whether because of the blackness or the adrenaline, or whatever, every nerve ending in her body responded to the light contact of his touch.

  "I wish I had left the light on," he said. "So I could see your smile."

  Had he just said what? He wanted to see her smile? What did he mean?

  Her heart clenched with some newborn emotion—but no. She pulled back on whatever feelings opening up inside her. She couldn't afford to get anything wrong here. The two of them were chained together, locked in a tiny room with no other contact, placed in danger with no one to rely on but each other. The forced intimacy would mess with anyone's head. She could easily start thinking Ithnan felt something he didn't, or convince herself she felt something.

  She took a deep breath. She needed to be smart here. They were two strangers locked together, a mutual enemy threatening them. Nothing more. Neither of them could start thinking—or feeling—otherwise.

  She didn't acknowledge his tender words. "I think we'll have to approach the bed from the other side if we want to arrange ourselves like you just said."

  Unless you want to crawl over top of me, she didn’t add, for fear of what he might say.

  With a bit of scooting around and adjusting, his system worked. She lay on the bed, one of his arms draped over her hip, the other under her head.

  "Are you comfortable?" she asked.

  "Very comfortable. I hope you will excuse me if I become too comfortable."

  Too comfortable? What did he mean—

  Something poked her butt through her thin pajamas.

  Oh. He was aroused. Pretty seriously aroused.

  Her throat tightened.

  She had respectable C cups. Nice hips. A small waist. His reaction would have happened to any straight male in bed with a woman. She had no doubt he was used to getting what he wanted out of women. Sex, specifically. She couldn't picture him as a romantic pina-coladas-and-getting-caught-in-the-rain kind of guy. Not the way he held himself distant from people around him. Which she couldn't blame him for, now she knew he'd been abducted as a kid. What kind of mental torture had his abductors inflicted on him?

  Sigh. She just hoped he took his biological response with the proper grain of salt. They needed to be adults here.

  You don't want to be an adult here, some part of her whispered.

  "You smell of citrus. And soap." The admiration in his tone made her stomach tighten.

  "Thank God. I was afraid I smelled like sweat and dirt." Tomorrow, she probably would.

  "You can afford expensive perfume, but you do not wear it."

  She smiled to herself. "My lemon soap costs the earth," she told him. "A friend of mine makes it by hand, with natural organic ingredients from all over the world. I bought my first bar to support her business, but I bought the rest because I love it."

  "The scent suits you well. Gwendolyn, would you say we are friends now?" His voice came out of the dark, low and sensual.

  Friends? Partners in captivity, for sure. But friends? She doubted they'd be grabbing a latte anytime soon. But sure. If he wanted to call them friends, she'd run with it.

  "Of course we're friends."

  "You continue to be a terrible liar."

  "Goodnight, then," she said, cringing. Since his arms were around her, he probably felt her recoil.

  He didn’t take the hint. "If you are at least pretending we are friends, I will ask you a question."

  "Sure."

  "Tell me why you dislike me."

  She stopped breathing. He'd hit it on the head. Sort of.

  She didn't hate him or anything, but something in her wanted to keep him at arm's length. Ugh. Terrible metaphor. She wanted him way, way farther away than arm's length. Until the cuffs came off, she didn't have a choice. He'd be at arm's length—way too close.

  "I don't dislike you," she said, hoping she didn't sound too careful with the words.

  He paused a moment. "True, and yet not true. A good start if you wish to learn to lie, but you lack finesse. A simple denial rarely has the intended effect and shows your discomfort with lying."

  She resisted the urge to squirm. Whatever else Ithnan was, he was laser sharp. And observant.

  "No," she told him, aware she was doing what he called "a simple denial" again. "I'm not lying. I don't dislike you."

  "Very well. Let me rephrase. Tell me why you kept our interactions as short as possible, avoided me when you could, and made yourself into a bland, vapid cipher when you could not."

  She flinched. She'd done every one of those things. She hadn't wanted to face him knowing her father had already decided to build the pipeline in his brother's country. Her father had no trouble smiling and keeping secrets. She'd never mastered the skill.

  And Ithnan saw right through her.

  But there wasn't just her father's deception. She could keep that quiet for now.

  "I knew you'd try to use me to influence my father," she admitted.

  "Ah." His arms relaxed around her. "I understand."

  "You're not going to tell me I'm wrong?"

  "A simple denial rarely has the intended effect." Despite the cynicism of the thought, the quote made her smile. "You are familiar with how such games are played. I planned your father's entire visit with the goal of influencing him to place his pipeline in my country. I would have made the attempt, had you given me the opportunity."

  At least he was honest about lying.

  "Your brother wasn't even subtle. He couldn't talk about anything but the lack of security in Zallaq, how you've got less oil, and Askar's rich history." Walid had just walked up and asked her to consider advocating for Askar. She'd found it refreshing. "I didn't mind. He got to the point instead of dancing around what he wanted."

  Ithnan went stiff at the mention of his brother. "Walid is accustomed to simply telling people what he desires and having his wishes served to him on a golden platter."

  A king blasting someone for being entitled? That was rich. "Oh so different from you, Your Majesty."

  He paused for a long while. "I assure you this was not always so."

  A lump came to her throat. No, people didn’t always do what he said. He'd spent part of his childhood as some kind of captive.

  "Was your father not always wealthy?" he asked.

  "Not when he was a kid. Which is another issue." An issue that would lead her to telling Ithnan her father had zero intention of building his pipeline in Zallaq, that her father just wanted to see how long he could make Ithnan and his brother dance to his tune. "One that has nothing to do with me."

  "Your mother was his mistress. Did he not compensate her honorably?" Ithnan's tone was curious, not judgmental.

  He thought that her mom was a professional mistress. She tried to think of her feminist mother taking money from her father, or any man. And nearly laughed.

  "I was born from their affair, but my mom was never his mistress in the way you think. They didn’t have a financial arrangement."

  He loved her, she didn’t say. They loved each other.

  Elena Spencer took care of herself and Gwen, and was fine with it. Her mom had encouraged Gwen to prepare herself to be independent in the world. She'd taken Gwen to her first street-proofing class when she was eight. She'd shown Gwen how to balance a budget, save for her retirement, and drive a stick shift.

  Elena had been an amazing example, and hard to live up to. Gwen missed her mom every day. They'd been their own little team. Elena and Gwen against the world.

  Her mom had never said a bad word against her father, but when Gwen was old enough to understand, her mom had told her he was married. Gwen didn’t learn about the shackles tying Sullivan Devoe to his wife until much later. When it was too late.

  "She was a manager at a jewelry store,"
Gwen continued. "Earned a decent income. We did just fine until she got sick."

  "Your father did not provide for you?"

  "He didn’t know about me until I was thirteen." And then he'd given her everything. Everything except her mom back.

  "I understand. You were not part of his world until then?"

  "So I've never gotten used to high-society events. I still feel like a jewelry store manager's kid."

  "And so you remain so silent and passive when you stand behind your father." His arm contracted around her. She couldn't call it a hug, but a kind of connection. A show of his support. Feeling supported by His Royal Majesty King Ithnan al Kalam the First of the Dominion of Zallaq was as strange as it was... comfortable.

  "Can I ask you a question?" she asked.

  "You just did."

  In their weird situation, she found herself appreciating his strange sense of humor. "Can I ask you another question after this one?"

  She felt him smile into her hair. She'd never seen him smile. What did it look like?

  Knowing him, devastating.

  "Who were you thinking of when you kissed me?"

  "You kissed me," he teased. "Very well. I did not think you were anyone in particular. I was barely awake. I found a woman in my bed. Thinking did not enter into the decision."

  "Okay." Dammit. She should have phrased the question more directly.

  He told her what she wanted to know anyway. "I have no romantic attachments at present, Gwendolyn."

  A powerful sense of relief hit her. "Good. You'd have trouble explaining this to your girlfriend."

  "Do not worry about being the other woman, as your mother was," he assured her.

  She gulped, not realizing she'd been worried about that until now. Something in the air made the atmosphere thick and hard to breathe.

  They were two young and healthy people lying in bed together. It would make anyone nervous and edgy. Perfectly natural to feel a hit of sexual energy. They were stuck in a tiny space together, maybe for a long, long time. They were getting along. Relying on each other. Of course there would be a certain amount of tension.

  "Do you?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  "Do I what?"

  "Have any romantic attachments. Is there a boyfriend who will require you to do some explaining?" Was his breath even closer to her ear? Did he cinch her tighter to him?

  "No," she managed to squeak out.

  Now she was sure. He had pulled her closer.

  "That is also good."

  "Okay, then." Her voice sounded like she was hardly freaking out at all. "Goodnight."

  He ignored her. "How unfortunate you used up your opportunity by asking the wrong question. What you should have asked me is who I am thinking of kissing now."

  A shiver went up the back of her neck despite the warmth of his breath on her nape.

  "Goodnight, Gwendolyn."

  FOUR

  "Please stop that," His Majesty said, without opening his eyes.

  What was he talking about? She wasn't doing anything. Which was the problem. There was nothing to do.

  "Stop what?" she asked.

  "Bouncing your foot."

  "I’m not—" But her leg vibrated the bed so bad the rusty coils squeaked. She'd taken international flights with less turbulence.

  "Sorry." She stilled her foot. "I'm going crazy from boredom."

  His Majesty didn't have the same trouble. Ithnan's handsome face cleared of any expression. His body stilled like a TV show on pause. Because of the cuffs, he forced her to sit as still, her thigh touching his, feeling the warmth of his body through her PJs. He seemed content to just sit there for hours. Or at least the time felt like hours to her. Without any sort of clock in the room, she couldn’t tell.

  The sight of him, so calm, annoyed her.

  She, on the other hand, had enough stoked energy to start digging their way through the concrete floor with her fingernails.

  "What are you doing?" She knew the answer to the question. But she'd say anything to get him talking. "Meditation?"

  He didn't open his eyes. "An ancient Zallaqi custom to create focus. You should consider taking up the practice. The discipline would relax you and bring you clarity."

  "Oh, I'm clear on many things. One of them is I have to do something." Even saying the words cut into the quiet of the room and made her feel better. Like she was making progress, had an ounce of control.

  The sheikh cracked open one eyelid and raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "What must you do?"

  "We should..." She looked around, fumbling in her mind for some kind of task to accomplish. Then she hit on an idea. "We should sweep the place for bugs. They might be listening to us." She dropped her voice to a whisper, bringing her lips close to his ear. Which was perfectly formed, of course. "Then we can plan our escape."

  "There will be no escape." But he unfolded his expensively clad legs and stood.

  She started with the bed. As likely a place as anywhere to hide a microphone or—ugh—a camera. A chill shivered down her arms, making goosebumps appear. The idea someone could watch them as well as listen gave her the creeps. She wouldn't be taking off her clothes, no matter how hot, sweaty, and dirty her Tom the Toad pajamas got.

  "Oh, I’m escaping, mister, even if I have to drag your butt through the sand to do it."

  She dropped to the floor to inspect the lower bedframe—and Ithnan grunted. Her sudden movement had jerked his arm. Crap. She kept forgetting they were handcuffed to each other.

  "Sorry, Your Majesty."

  He waved off her apology. Well, he'd forced her along with him often enough, so she didn't feel too bad.

  "I don't get why you love it here so much," she said, running her free left hand along the rough bedframe. Her fingers came away stained with rust. Thank God her tetanus shot was up to date.

  "I do not love this place," he said. "But there are worse places, and our rescue will come soon enough, if we are patient. Perhaps we could even find a way to make our confinement pleasant."

  She shivered again. Not from the creeps this time.

  He couldn't be flirting with her. He must be amusing himself at her expense. Best to ignore.

  She rolled to her side to look at him. "What worse place is there?"

  "Hidd, for one."

  Ithnan pressed his lips together. She'd seen other people make the same gesture when they sat in her chair during interviews. Mostly when they'd let something out they shouldn't have. Interesting. "Where?"

  "Have you found any listening devices?" he queried.

  She got to her feet. Ithnan brushed the dust off her clothing like he was doing the most natural thing in the world.

  Distraction or not, she wasn't about to let him change the subject. "Your brother Walid mentioned Hidd while you talked on the balcony. You were fostered there when you were a kid. Said it was a great place."

  "He believes so."

  She didn’t miss the implication in his blunt tone. The words he left out spoke paragraphs more than the ones he put in. Hidd had been hideous, she understood. Walid didn't know and Ithnan would never tell him.

  But things clicked into place for her. He had been held captive when he was a kid; he was in Hidd when he was young. Made sense he'd been kidnapped there.

  Being sent away from home as a little kid to live with strangers. To be scared and lonely and want your parents and then be stolen away by people who wanted to hurt you. She couldn't imagine anything worse. Her stomach turned in sympathy.

  Turning away from him, she pretended interest in checking for bugs in one corner of the room. He followed along without protest.

  "I guess Hidd wasn't all great," she suggested. No big deal, you can tell me, she projected.

  "I have no wish to discuss such my past."

  Really. Didn't get that at all. She mentally rolled her eyes.

  Running a finger up the seam where the two walls met, she felt unusual bumps. But the seam was all unusual bumps. "You we
ren't always a guest, were you?" She didn't pause for his response. "Did they abuse you?"

  A heartbeat of silence passed before he answered, "No."

  Hmm. Had to be more to the story. But how to get the tale out of him? Her years in human resources had taught her to recognize people's sore spots. The way he talked about Hidd was a shining, blinking, buzzing neon arrow pointing to an emotional trigger.

  "So Hidd was happy and dandy and your brother was right about your greed and disloyalty, then."

  A sudden tug on the cuffs made Gwen whirl. She spun, and found herself chest to chest with the sheikh, looking up at his face. She grabbed a fistful of the back of his tailored jacket to keep her balance. His left hand went to the small of her back, bending her other arm behind her, eliminating all defense.

  She squished against him, acutely aware her bra was back in the palace. She hadn't been in a man's arms for a year. Every muscle in her body tightened with awareness of him.

  "You bait me." Each word came out with a dangerous edge.

  "Yes." All she could manage through her closed throat, but the word sounded clear and unafraid. She lifted her chin in defiance. "And you're trying to intimidate me. I've been intimidated enough today, so let me go."

  He raised a querulous eyebrow, but didn't release her. "I am attempting to intimidate you?"

  His lips were inches from hers. For a second, all her focus went to how luscious they looked, their changing shape as he formed every syllable.

  She licked her own lips.

  Her mind spun back to the memory of their kiss. The hottest kiss of her life. Sure, he was irritating and overbearing, but they were stuck here for God knew how long, and...

  Ugh. Had she really been thinking those things?

  She gave Ithnan a weak shove. He released her, taking a step back.

  She tried to wrap her arms around her midsection, a protective gesture, but with the handcuffs, his left hand brushed her breast.

  Sensation rushed through her. His slight touch through her t-shirt was magnetic, pulling every nerve ending in her body into the inch of flesh he'd touched.

  She wanted to slap herself. What was wrong with her?

  "Never mind," she said, turning away to search the room. "None of my business. If you want to keep your secrets, fine with me."