Never Resist a Sheikh (International Bad Boys) (5 page)

S
he didn’t understand.
Really
didn’t understand. What was a bride prize? And why on earth did he think she was going to be his wife? Was he completely insane? Was she now the prisoner of a mad king?

The fear that had been coiling icily in her gut now froze solid.

By now, everyone would know she was missing, but they wouldn’t have any idea where she was. Hopefully Red Star
would be raising hell trying to find her, yet until they did, she’d be totally at the mercy of this…man.

Though really, he wasn’t like any man she’d ever come into contact with. He was almost the polar opposite of the computer guys in her company with their T-shirts and button-downs and jeans. And completely unlike the powerful men in their bespoke suits and their Manhattan offices, too, men
such as her father and his social circle.

This sheikh was as much like them as a tiger was like a house cat.

Not only was he built on a massive scale, he also radiated a sense of tightly leashed violence, danger almost vibrating in the air around him, a pressure like an approaching storm. It was unsettling and yet at the same time absolutely mesmerizing.

She had no idea why.

He stood in front
of her, his arms crossed, all that bare, bronze skin gleaming, and even though he was only wearing black pants and boots, he looked every inch the king he’d told her he was.

Not that she knew what a king was supposed to look like, but there was no denying his aura of power. This was a man who knew what he wanted and would take it without a second thought.

And apparently what he wanted was her.

Felicity tried to ignore her fear, but it remained a cold hard lump in her gut. God, where was the anger that had overwhelmed her earlier? She could really use some of that now. Though in retrospect, poking him hadn’t been the best idea she’d ever had.

Especially not when touching him apparently meant death.

A weird flush of heat seemed to radiate through her at the thought, starting from the
tip of the finger she’d jabbed against his chest, sweeping through her hand, over the wrist that his long, impossibly strong fingers had wrapped around, and up her arm.

Men didn’t usually have such an effect on her, not that she’d ever poked one in the chest like that.

Or been kidnapped by one.

Good freaking point. Which made being affected by him not only wrong, but completely insane.

Deciding
to ignore the weird heat, she stuck her hands beneath her armpits to hide any rogue shakes. “Okay, so…I think you’re going to have to go over the wife and bride prize bit again, because I really don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

His dark gaze settled steadily on her, his brutally handsome, rough features giving absolutely no hint whatsoever at what he was thinking. “It is an ancient
custom in this part of the world. When the time comes for a man to marry, he decides on a woman from a neighboring tribe and he steals her, taking her back to his tribe for a night of feasting. She is his bride prize.”

Felicity swallowed. “That sounds…interesting. An ancient custom you said?”

“A custom that extends to the present.” The sheikh’s black eyes glittered. “Al-Shakhra is a very old
country and we practice the old ways.”

He wasn’t kidding. This place was more a medieval fortress than a palace, and she’d just watched the man himself fight with a sword. It didn’t get much older than that.

“So what about the women being stolen? What if they don’t want to be married?”

There was a very heavy pause.

“These days,” the sheikh said after moment, “the woman cannot be stolen if
she doesn’t consent.”

Something tight inside her eased a little. “Ah, okay then. Well, in that case—”

“Except in Al-Shakhra.”

“What?” she asked bluntly, suddenly feeling a little panicky.

He remained expressionless, like he’d been carved from some kind of ancient stone. “My country cannot afford such modern scruples. It needs me to marry. And so I must find a wife.”

Felicity blinked. “So
you went out and stole one?”

For the first time something rippled across the sheikh’s face, gone so fast she couldn’t tell what it was. “I meant to steal a princess worthy of my country. But she was not in the car as our intelligence had told us.” He paused. “You were.”

Her mouth opened. Then shut. “She wasn’t there so you took me instead?” she asked eventually. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“I was not intending to, believe me.”

There was something in his voice. Not regret, but something that sounded…almost disdainful. As if taking her was the last thing he’d wanted to do. It should have made her feel relieved, and yet it didn’t. In fact, it made a horribly familiar feeling of hurt twist in her gut. Which was just ridiculous. Why should she be hurt? She didn’t actually
want
to be
kidnapped.

“Then why did you?” she said, unable to keep the edge of demand from her voice. “Because I certainly didn’t want to be taken.”

“You saw my face. I could not leave you there where you could identify me.”

“But I had no idea who you were!”

“That did not matter. The risk was still too great.”

“So you kidnapped me?”

He shifted on his feet, a cold expression coming over his face. “Have
a care, Miss Cartwright.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right. You’re the king and I should be bowing and scraping.”

Another heavy silence fell.

The sheikh stared at her, the aura of danger around him getting thicker and thicker.

You’re an idiot. He really could kill you if he wanted.

Yes, he could. But somehow that made no difference to the anger inside her. She wanted to walk right up to him and poke
him again. Hard. Just to let him know how furious she was. Furious and afraid.

She didn’t want to be kidnapped by this beast of a man. She didn’t want to wake up in some strange country after having been drugged. She didn’t want to have her life in the balance just because she’d touched him. She
really
didn’t want to be his bride prize.

And most of all, she didn’t want to feel inexplicably hurt
because she hadn’t been the one he’d wanted in the first place.

Swallowing, she tried to moderate her tone. “So? Why don’t you just take me back and get her instead? Like I was trying to tell you earlier, I was on my way to a really important meeting I can’t miss. One that’s vital to my company and when I say vital, I mean
vital.
”

“I cannot. It is too dangerous to undertake another raid. And
the princess I wanted will be marrying within days.”

Felicity stared at him in shock as it belatedly came to her who he was actually talking about. “You wanted Princess Safira?”

He didn’t look in the least bit ashamed of the fact he’d been about to kidnap an already engaged woman. “I was hoping to.”

“But…she’s already taken.”

“She refused the sheikh of Al-Harah,” he said as if explaining to
a child. “If a woman refuses, then she is eligible to be a bride prize for another man.”

Okay, so when he said his was an old country with old ways, he really hadn’t been kidding.

“So she can refuse then? Or do you force her?” Her voice had risen. “Drug her and kidnap her like you did with me?”

Again that ripple of expression passing over his features. “No,” he said flatly. “In Al-Harah, a
woman can refuse. That is her right.”

“Except if she’s me, of course.” She was being snarky and that was probably stupid given her situation, but she couldn’t help it. For years she’d kept quiet, tiptoeing around in the brittle atmosphere of her childhood home, not wanting to say a word in case she brought it crashing down, keeping all her emotions to herself. As an adult, she’d always sworn
she wouldn’t do that again, so she didn’t now. “Except if she’s some poor tourist who just happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and caught a glimpse of the wrong man.”

The sheikh said nothing, eyeing her.

“So what about my rights?” She went on, increasingly furious, suddenly needing to get it all out, otherwise she was going to explode, death threats or not. “What about my right
to refuse? I wasn’t asked if I wanted to be drugged. I wasn’t asked if I wanted to come here to your country. And I definitely wasn’t asked if I wanted to be your s-stupid bride prize!” She’d taken a few unconscious steps toward him, anger propelling her. “And, for the record, I don’t. I refuse! Red Star—that’s my company in case you didn’t know—depends on me being in Al-Harah at a meeting right
now. And because you decided to kidnap me, I’m not at that meeting. And because I am not at that meeting, my company will in all likelihood fail to get the Al-Harahan money we need. And if we don’t get that money, my company is screwed.” The words tumbled over each other and stupidly, she could feel the backs of her eyes stinging.
Oh God, please don’t let me cry, that would be truly pathetic.

Still, the sheikh said nothing, his black eyes studying her with a strange intensity.

Her throat felt thick, the nausea left over from the drug they’d fed her unsettling her stomach, and the unfairness of it all welled up inside her, choking her.

She’d worked so hard to get Red Star where it was, all the hours and the money she’d put into it, and to have it all fall apart just because this…man
had decided to kidnap her to fulfill some ancient custom was beyond upsetting.

She blinked fiercely to stop the sting of stupid tears. “I don’t want to be your bride prize, and if you think I’m going to marry you, you’re insane.”

If he found that insulting he didn’t show it, standing there immovable as a stone door, and she had the impression she could shout at him all day and he wouldn’t move.
She could push him, hit him, take out all her rage on him and he would still be there, unchanged. Unaffected.

Remind you of anyone?

The thought of her father was enough to send another little pulse of fury through her. “Well?” she demanded suddenly. “You’re not going to say anything?” She took another few steps toward him, shaking. “Take me back. Take me back to Al-Harah right now!”

He hadn’t
responded to her before, and she wasn’t expecting a response now.

But as the last echoes of her shout died away, he moved. Toward her. Closing the distance so fast she had no time to get away. And then his hand came out and her chin was taken between his thumb and forefinger in a grip so strong she couldn’t break it.

She went absolutely still like she had in the SUV, her heart was thudding in
her ears, some primitive part of her telling her not to move so the tiger wouldn’t eat her.

There was a dark, fierce gleam in his eyes, and she became aware, overwhelmingly, of his physical presence. Of how warm his fingers were on her skin and though his grip was firm, it wasn’t so hard as to cause her pain.

His body was very hot, burning like the radiators back in her New York apartment in
midwinter when she was cold and wanted to press herself against them. And he smelled like clean sweat and sandalwood and some other spice she couldn’t quite pinpoint. It made something inside her flip over.

She’d never had a man touch her like this before.

“No,” the sheikh said in that rough, gravelly voice of his, the word heavy as a slab of stone falling onto the ground. “You are staying here.”

*     *     *

She was upset,
but he’d expected that. The moment he’d revealed what she was here for, he’d thought she wouldn’t be happy and indeed, she hadn’t been.

But he’d also expected tears and pleas, and although he could see a faint reddening of her eyes, neither the tears nor the pleas had appeared.

Instead there had been a very real anger, and
for some reason that had moved him more than tears ever would.

She stared up at him now, her pointed jaw held fast between his fingers, and he could see that anger sparking in her eyes. He could feel it in the quiver of her chin and the tremble of her body.

Up close, the grain of her milky skin was fine and the scatter of freckles across her nose was like gold dust. Her lashes were as red as
her hair, a kind of dark copper with a sheen of gold to it, the perfect frame for her silvery, smoky eyes. A faint scent of sweet flowers came from her, a simple, uncomplicated yet feminine scent that sent the blood rushing to his head.

Her skin was very soft and very smooth, reminding him of the silk pillows that had once graced the harem. And also the skin of the women he’d had there, soft,
fragrant, and yielding…

Desire shifted in the dark, right down deep inside him. An unwanted sensation. He should probably let her go, but he wasn’t going to. He was stronger than the desire. Strength was one of his gifts and he chose to exercise it whenever possible.

So he kept tight his hold on her, watching the ebb and flow of color under her skin. Ignoring the pull of his baser instincts.

She was very angry, he could see that. And no wonder, if what she said about her company was true. Pity that was irrelevant at this particular point in time.

“You can’t stop me if I want to leave,” she said hoarsely. “You can’t keep me here.”