“Oh?” He’s intrigued me, “What kind of club?”
He tilts his head to one side for a moment as if considering whether or not to answer. When he makes up his mind he approaches me with a broad cheeky smile, his finger coming up to tap me on the nose, “A very exclusive private members club. A BDSM club.”
I gasp, “BDSM?” I’m pretty sure what he means, but I’m hoping I’ve got it wrong.
At my quizzical look, he steps in with a clarification, “Bondage, Dominance or Discipline, depends on how you want to interpret it. Submission, Sadism, Masochism. Basically, whatever your kink.”
Oh! Shit! And Kadar’s brother’s into this? Does this mean Kadar is too? And Sean? Feeling a wave of dizziness, I back away from him only stopping when the kitchen counter gets in the way of my retreat. The amusement fades from his face.
“What’s the matter, pet?”
Swallowing rapidly, I open my mouth a couple of times, before letting him into one of my darkest secrets, “Ethan,” my voice is almost non-existent, I cough to clear my throat and try again, “Ethan had a playroom. He had every kind of whip, flogger or cane that you could imagine. He had handcuffs and equipment he would fasten me too. For the past year, I’ve been tied up and beaten. Sean. I couldn’t escape him; he would torture me for hours. There was nothing remotely enjoyable about it. So you can see why I wouldn’t trust a man who’d go to a club like that. Or how I could understand why any woman would want to go. If you go to a club like that, it makes you no better than him!” I start to tremble, tears in my eyes. My saviours are no better than the enemy I’m running from.
He moves close, invading my personal space, I press myself into the counter as far as I can. “You can’t compare what that fucking bastard of a man did to you with what goes on in the club. Listen,” as I try to turn my head away, his hand comes up to hold it in place, “Listen to me.” His voice lowers and becomes commanding. Almost against my will I look up into his eyes. “Safe, Sane, and Consensual. That’s the overriding principle we practice. What Ethan did to you was not consensual. You had no choice in the matter, and it obviously was not safe or sane. Yes, he might have had the equipment, but he obviously hadn’t a clue what to do with it. He was a sadist, pure and simple, and someone who wouldn’t be tolerated in a halfway decent club.” He gently tugs on my chin, moving my face upwards so he can look into my eyes. “Club Tiacapan, Jasim’s club, banned him a few years ago.”
I straighten in surprise; I hadn’t known that.
“Presumably, that’s why he ‘played’ at home. No club would tolerate his kind of ‘play’. Do you understand me? The club’s full of consenting adults, nothing happens that anyone doesn’t want to happen, there’s no corollary with what happened to you. Do you know what a safeword is, darling?”
I give a quick shake of my head. I’m still shivering, trying to understand what he’s saying, desperate to give him the benefit of the doubt and to process what he’s telling me.
“A safeword stops all play,” his free hand strokes my hair. Although I feel suffocated by his closeness, the caress calms me. “You would say your safeword to stop anything happening. Of course, your Dominant wouldn’t want to take things that far; he’d be a piss poor Dom if he didn’t already know where your limits were.”
“Was Ethan a Dom?”
“Fuck no, Ethan’s a bloody cretin. He’s barely got his man card.”
I draw back my shoulders, “Well this BDSM stuff might be all well and good for someone else, but I’m certainly never going to submit willingly to any man.”
His grin is almost a leer, “You just keep telling yourself that, darling. You,” he taps me on the forehead, “You, are submissive to the core.”
“Don’t be fucking stupid! I didn’t ask Ethan to hurt me. I didn’t give Ethan control he took it! He stole it from me!” My anger comes blazing to the fore.
“Listen to what I’m saying! Ethan is a fucking prat, an arsehole. He robbed you. You didn’t give your control over to him; he took it! That’s not what Dominance and submission are about. In a proper relationship, a submissive has all the control—they can stop the scene at any time they like. The Dom only has the power that his sub lets him have.”
I push him away with my hands, and he immediately frees me. Despite the direction the conversation has gone in, for some strange reason, I don’t feel threatened by him. I turn round more concerned at the word he used. Submissive? Fuck no. Let a man hurt or control me again? Never. I shudder at just the thought of a man even touching me sexually again. My thoughts return to the handsome sheikh. Is he really a Dom and into the kind of things Sean’s spoken about? The emir’s authoritative way of speaking, his imposing voice, the way he issues commands, do they add up to something that would terrify me? Or are they just because of his position?
“Sean,” I begin, hesitantly. “Is Sheikh Kadar a Dom? Does he play at that club?”
His face is impassive, giving nothing away, “That, pet, is something I cannot tell you.”
I’m not going to get any more out of him; I can see that by his serious expression. But is it because he doesn’t know, or is he just not going to say?
Chapter 15
Kadar
Rubbing my hands across my face as I unsuccessfully try to focus my attention on the paperwork in front of me, I realise sorting out my country’s problems isn’t consuming my interest at this moment in time. Sitting in the Kassis private jet, I’ve got other things on my mind, such as waiting for my special guest. No, not a guest, my new employee, I’d do well to remember that distinction. Inwardly I curse at the distraction just the thought of her is causing, and that I’m allowing my concern for her safety to override my ability to work.
For the tenth time in probably as many minutes, I glance out of the window. Although I have Richard waiting for Sean and Zoe with diplomatic papers as well as the woman’s new Amahadian passport, getting through security at the airport still carries a risk of exposure. In the intervening days since that rather bizarre meeting with Zoe at the embassy, I’ve found out more than I wanted to know about St John-Davies. It’s true he’s a force to be reckoned with, and seaports and airports are bound to be littered with extra surveillance to help him find her.
So now, as I watch a white saloon drawing up, I inhale sharply as I wait to see who steps out and then let the air out in a rush. She’s here! A wave of relief floods through me, inexplicable in its intensity, and I lean back in my seat for a second, at last able to breathe normally again. Thank Allah, I got protection on her. If she hadn’t had Sean with her when she went back to that house in Ludlow on Thursday, she wouldn’t be here today, might not even be breathing any longer. The thought that I’d have lost her before having a chance to properly get to know her makes me go cold. But she’s here, and she’s safe. Just a few more minutes and we’ll be in the air and out of that fucking monster’s reach. Once on the royal family’s jet, she’ll be under the protection of the Emir of Amahad.
Rising to my feet, I go to greet her at the door, noticing she’s climbing the steps to the plane as though in a trance and hasn’t seen me yet. At the top, she steps inside, acknowledges the polite greeting from the flight attendant; then her eyes widen as she notices the luxury of the interior. I hadn’t factored in that the pretentiousness of the Kassis jet, kitted out in my father’s time would have been such a surprise to her being so accustomed to such ostentation myself. She takes it all in, and it’s then she spots me and her cheeks blush bright pink, making her look a typical English rose, her otherwise pale skin an attractive contrast. I hold out my hand and when she reaches me, clasp hers.
“Welcome, Miss Baker.” I hold her hand a little too long before I remember myself and let it go.
“Zoe, please Your Excellency. And thank you.” She seems shocked to see me, and her voice falters on her greeting. Instead of coming closer to me she steps back as though seeking the protection of her bodyguard, Sean, who’s ascended the stairs behind her, and he
puts his hands on her arms to steady her. Taken aback by this demonstration of familiarity I throw him a sharp look and see him shake his head and throw me a quick grin in response. But still the question comes to my mind, has he claimed her? Or is she just taken aback to find me wearing the traditional robes of my country and the golden agal of my office securing my headdress?
Putting thoughts of their possible relationship aside, I stand back allowing her to precede me into the plane and, with just a light touch on her shoulder, direct her to the seat opposite mine. As I sit down, I study her briefly. She’s wearing that godawful trouser suit again—the one she wore to the embassy—but today her shirt is pink, almost reflecting the colour of her cheeks. Hands twisting in her lap, teeth nibbling at her bottom lip she looks incredibly nervous.
“You’re safe now, Miss Baker, Zoe. No one’s going to hurt you.” All that I am makes me want to reassure her.
Her eyes flit quickly to mine. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am, Emir Kadar. I can’t quite believe I’m leaving it all behind,” a pause, then she adds, “That I’m leaving him behind.” The words are the right ones, but there’s hesitancy in her voice that suggests I’ve still some way to go to get her to relax.
“We’ll be taking off in a couple of minutes. And call me Kadar, please, I’m sorry but using my title still makes me look around for my father.”
Either what I’ve said or my tone of voice seems to break the tension between us. Her eyes soften with compassion, “Did you lose him recently?”
I nod. “Just over three months ago.”
“I’m sorry.” Her brow furrows, as the thought occurs to her, “So you’ve only recently become the emir?”
I nod to confirm that indeed I have, and accept her sympathy graciously. “Fasten your seat belt. We’re taxiing to the runway.”
“Oh!” I see she hadn’t noticed the plane moving as she glances out of the window with a start.
In no time at all it’s our turn for take-off. As we leave the ground and the runway disappears beneath us, she seems absorbed in watching England fade into the distance behind, oblivious to my presence. I can’t begin to guess how she’s feeling leaving her old life behind, heading towards a new one that currently, she knows nothing about at all. Cognisant she’s much to think about and to come to terms with, I leave her to muse and pick up my paperwork once more.
It’s an unfortunate irony that the first matter vying for my attention concerns arrangements for the darn ball I agreed to. My advisors have compiled a list of likely women acceptable to the country and are asking for my approval. Fuck it! I put the document at the bottom of the pile, unwilling to give it a minute’s consideration given the presence of my companion.
Soon we’re airborne and shortly after, reach cruising altitude. The seat belt lights go off, and the flight attendant comes down and offers us a meal. I frown, remembering how on the way out she’d blatantly offered me more services than are written in her job description, but I had turned her down, unsure whether she viewed the opportunity as a perk of her job or a duty. Whatever, I’m pleased to see she’s all politeness when she notices I have a female companion with me for the return trip. I also observe she’s also done up all the buttons on her tunic today.
We order food from the vast range of delicacies offered, and a short while later eat our meal exchanging small talk. Zoe indulges in a couple of glasses of wine with her food and gradually starts to look more relaxed in my company. At first, I have to coax her out of her shell, but soon she responds, looking me straight in the face and asking questions. I find it’s surprisingly easy to chat with her, and use the time to satisfy some of her curiosity about the country that will soon be her new home. I avoid touching on the reason for her being here today, not wanting to add a sombre note to our conversation.
As she finishes her food, I have a desire to see to her comfort. “There’s a bedroom at the rear of the plane. And some new clothing laid out for you.” I indicate her current clothing, “Your suit will be far too warm for Amahad.”
I can’t fail to see that as soon as I mention the word bedroom, she stiffens, and I feel a burst of anger. Does she think I’ll take advantage of her? “I’ll get Lisa to take you down.” I gesture to the flight attendant. “And there’s a lock on the door,” I add the last through gritted teeth.
She flushes red again, this time with embarrassment as she realises she’s given herself away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” She’s flustered, waving her hand in apology and dismissal of the unspoken accusation.
I sigh deeply and shake my head, “You’ve been through a lot, Zoe. Go, have a rest, a shower, change. You’ll feel better prepared to face your new life after freshening up.”
She bows her head, “Thank you, your…Kadar. I’ll take advantage of your offer.” She gets up so fast I suspect she’s grateful of the opportunity to escape from my presence. But my name on her lips makes me smile.
As she follows the flight attendant down to the rear of the plane, I motion Sean to join me. “She’s like a cat on a hot tin roof!” I exclaim as he sits down.
He’s obviously as angry about it as I am. “She’s been used and abused. She was conned into what she thought was the perfect relationship and then it all went sour. That bastard isolated from her friends and family, and now she’s frightened to contact them in case she puts them at risk. She doesn’t trust anyone, Kadar. You, me or any member of our sex.”
I feel my gut clench in anger. Someone as lovely as Zoe should be treated with hearts and flowers, not violence. I realise what Sean’s telling me and know what I have to do, “I’ll contact Cara before we land and make sure she’s waiting to greet her. I suspect she’ll feel more comfortable in female company for now.”
“I think you’re right. Bastard did a fucking number on her.”
“She’s safe now. She’s under my protection.”
Sean narrows his eyes, “Make sure she knows there are no strings attached.” At my sharp look, he adds, “She’s a beautiful woman, Kadar, and I’ve seen the way you look at her.”
“I thought you were interested yourself,” I retort.
He laughs, but there’s no mirth there, “I’ve nothing I can offer her, I don’t do relationships, and my kind of play wouldn’t be hers.”
Frowning, I tell him, “That goes for me, too. So we’ll both be leaving her alone.”
There’s nothing more to say on the subject. I bury myself in my work again; Sean seems to get lost in a best seller. Shortly before we land, I send Lisa back to wake and prepare Zoe for our arrival. Despite my assurances to the bodyguard, my gut clenches when I get my first glimpse of Zoe in the traditional clothing of my native land. In a soft peach, long sleeve silk tunic and matching trousers, she seems to move more gracefully than I’ve observed before. When I see Sean close his book and rapidly blink as he brings his eyes into focus, I realise it’s not just me she’s affecting. But what makes me take a good long look is her hair. She’s no longer wearing a wig, and now she looks more like the photographs my investigators had managed to dig up. Her natural hair is a light blond colour, straight and fine, and falling just past her shoulders, complimenting her pale skin and rosy cheeks. It’s shine matching the shimmer in her steel blue eyes. With her face washed clean of the heavy makeup, she looks almost beautiful, only the slight crookedness of her nose marring her complexion. I’m glad I’m wearing a robe and she can’t see the effect she has on me. In a western style suit, Sean’s not so lucky; I can see him adjusting himself, hiding his reaction under the table. I throw him a warning look and then turn to greet her with a smile.
“Thank you,” she indicates the clothing. “You’ll have to let me know how much I owe you for it.”
“No need. Consider it an advance in your wages.” Forcing my voice to sound unaffected I explain, “You can wear western clothes if you prefer.” I don’t want her to feel pressurised, or that she has to dress to please me.
She smiles shyly, “I know—I sa
w the selection in the bedroom. I chose this; it’s…” She waves her hand down, unwittingly drawing the attention to both of us to the way the tunic hides, but somehow clings to and emphasises her feminine body underneath. “It’s lovely, I’ve never worn anything like this before, and I can feel how cool and comfortable it will be.”
“Lisa should be packing the rest of the clothing for you.”
She starts at that, and I realise she thought she was just to select one thing from the variety I’d had provided for her. For some reason, she’s not pleased. “No, I don’t want you to do that. The clothes; they’re far too expensive for me to accept.”
Her rebuttal reminds me she must be well used to designer labels from the wardrobe Ethan would have provided knows quality when she sees it. Sean’s looking at me with interest, wondering how I’m going to handle this. I could play the card as absolute monarch; she’s technically one of my subjects now as she’s travelling on an Amahadian passport, as well as my employee. But insisting she takes them that would make me an absolute prick. I lean back in my chair, watching the emotions flit across her face.
“If you don’t like them…”
She grimaces, “I do like them, but…”
Realisation dawns, “He dressed you, didn’t he?”
I can see a tear come to her eye as she remembers. “Yes,” her voice is soft, low. “I never had a choice. I had to wear exactly what he told me too.”
“Not the same thing here at all.” I sit forwards, “Zoe, you left Ethan with nothing more than the clothes on your back, presumably anything you’ve bought since was for the English winter. The clothes you’ve brought with you, well, they’re not going to be suitable for the climate. You didn’t have time for a shopping trip to prepare for Amahad, so I asked for clothes to be provided that will be comfortable in my country. If you don’t like them, choose a couple of things to tide you over then I’m sure Cara will be happy to take you shopping, or you can replace them online. If you do like them, keep them. As I said, consider them an advance on your wages.” I’ve caught her attention.
Second Chances (Blood Brothers #3) Page 17
