Taken by the Sheikh (6 page)

“He worked impossible hours. He was devoted to his people. My people now.”

Laurel stayed silent for a while before asking anything else. Rafiq had ‘people’? He seemed to be serious. But why should she believe his outrageous claim?

“Is Rafiq your real name?”

“One of them. I have many.”

“Are you fighting to get the throne back? Is that why I was kidnapped? Am I a hostage so they’ll re-instate you?”  

Despite looking so tired, he roared with laughter.

“
What?
”

His chuckles subsided. “I wish it was that simple.”

“Don’t just laugh at me,” she snapped. “I’ll have to let Mrs. Daniels know where I am. She’ll be horribly worried by now. Is there a phone?”

He shook his dark head.

“Do you have a mobile then?”

“There’s no reception way out here.”

“I’ve got to let her know somehow.”

“Not a chance, Miss Kiwi. No-one must know where you are—for your own safely as well as my own. You’ve ended up as the meat in a most unpleasant sandwich. Not your fault in the least. But for now you must stay out of sight and out of contact with the rest of the world. It’s necessary that certain people think you are dead.”

“I’m not the least important.”

“As Laurel the nanny, possibly not. But as Laurel the hostage you’re vital to the success of my current mission. And many other lives hang in the balance because of you.”

She drew her brows together. “But how? Why?”

“Just believe that it’s so. I can’t tell you everything. It should be enough you have a King’s word.”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “Prove you’re a King, then. I don’t know why you expect I’ll go along with that fantasy.”

“Would you recognize my parents, the late King and Queen, if I showed you their photographs here in this house?”

She shrugged. “I doubt it.”

“Then I have no other way of convincing you right now. You’ll be well looked after but you’ll be staying here, out of sight and out of contact.”

He spoke over the top of her next question. “The world won’t stop turning without you. Leave it for tonight. We’ll talk more in the morning. Yasmina!” He gestured for coffee.

 Laurel stayed poised with her mouth open, ready to object to such cavalier treatment. How dare he just cut her off like that? He’d stolen her freedom and apparently had no intention of giving it back. Taken her away from everything familiar and safe. A furious burn started at the back of her throat. She willed herself not to give in to tears.

The servant hurried across with the coffee pot and poured two small cups of aromatic liquid almost thick enough to stand the spoons in. A brass bowl of fresh apricots followed.

“Thank-you Yasmina. Good-night.”

“Good-night My Lord Rafiq.”

She tipped his injured forehead to the light, inspected the dressing one last time, and sniffed her disapproval before leaving them alone.

“What did she call you?”

“What she has always called me.”

“And what’s that?”

A slow smile spread across his handsome face. “Do you wish to call me the same, Laurel?”

“I doubt it,” she said with spirit, somehow sensing from the unnerving gleam in his eyes that she didn’t.

“I doubt it too,” he agreed. “Yasmina has always addressed me as ‘My Lord Rafiq’.”

“How absolutely feudal.”

Rafiq watched as she reached for an apricot and bit into the golden fruit.  A savage bite.  Her even white teeth sank into its softness and he imagined himself doing the same to her delicious flesh. A nip on her shoulder, a nibble on her earlobe, a sustained assault on her luscious lips. He would be much gentler with her than she was being with the unfortunate apricot. He would scrape and tease and torment her long and thoroughly to punish her for calling him ‘feudal’...for laughing at the possibility he was the rightful heir to Al Sounam’s throne.

She owed him her life, and he hoped she’d realize that very soon and start behaving in a suitably grateful manner.

He sipped his coffee, considering what he needed to do next day. Buy her some clothes. Some books perhaps. He wouldn’t keep her at the lodge for long. A fortnight at most. Perhaps if he showed her who was boss—a very accommodating and accomplished boss—she might soften like honey in sunshine and melt into his arms?

He’d be kind to her. Kind and generous. He would flirt gently, flatter her, let her know he found her desirable. That should be enough? She was a pretty thing and would make a pleasant diversion. He had nothing urgent to do for the next little while. He’d deliver the second demand to the TV station at the end of the week and buy some more time. Every passing minute would bring greater possibilities of success—for his under-cover mission as well as his new-found personal one.

“Shall we take a second cup of coffee somewhere more comfortable?” he asked a few minutes later when she’d finished another apricot.

Her lashes flicked up and her startling blue eyes flashed across at him, full of suspicion.

“Where did you have in mind?”

“The armchairs in the salon. I consider it rather too soon yet to invite you to my bed.”

How am I ever going to keep my face straight?

Laurel snatched a deep breath, which caused her perky breasts to thrust forward, giving him further tempting targets for his pleasurable contemplation.

“And you needn’t think you’re sneaking along to mine,” she snapped.

“There’s a lock on your door. You’ll be quite safe from me. I won’t be recruiting you for my harem tonight.”

She sent him a withering look.

“Right,” she said. “Absolutely right.”

Rafiq worked hard to keep his grin from showing.

He poured another two fragrant coffees from the small beaten-copper pot, and stood.

“This way.” He added a slight jerk of his head in the direction of his mother’s favorite room.

Laurel rose more slowly, having her somewhat precarious bath-towel to contend with. Her gaze slid up and down over Rafiq’s shoulders and back as he strolled along the central hallway of the house balancing the two steaming gold-edged cups. Although the magnificent old lodge held plenty else to fascinate her, she couldn’t keep her eyes off him.

His trousers sat low on his narrow hips. He looked as lean and muscular as a panther; so much more electrifying than any of the pale flabby men she’d seen socializing around the Daniels’ noisy swimming pool. And he was criss-crossed everywhere with faint jagged scars which spoke of terrible mistreatment in the past, or devastating injuries.

Her fingers prickled again with the need to touch his dark-gold skin.

Not her nanny’s fingers, well-used to comforting small children, but her woman’s fingers—as yet untried on naked male flesh. He was unexpectedly beautiful, despite having stolen her freedom.

Rafiq turned, and entered a much larger room. He transferred both cups to one hand and reached for the wall-switch. Suddenly a huge chandelier cast beams of warm light in every direction.

Laurel’s eyes swiveled from his sinuous body to the magnificent draperies at the windows, the faded splendor of several velvet couches well-piled with fringed and embroidered cushions, and the carved tables and screens which dotted the generous space.  

The soft light reflected off gilded picture frames and the jeweled lids of a collection of golden boxes clustered together on a marble-topped credenza. Two deep-buttoned leather chairs flanked the tall fireplace.

Laurel had been over-awed by the Daniels’ reception rooms in the capital of Al-Dubriz. They were expensively appointed with furniture brought from America, and swagged with curtains in the same heavy upholstery fabrics.

But this lodge way out in the desert felt much more impressive—real, historic and treasured.

She touched a finger to one of the golden boxes.

“You chose my favorite—the emeralds.”  He set the coffees down.

She pulled her hand away as though trespassing.

“Admire them—they’re beautiful,” he urged. “My father commissioned Al Sounam’s top goldsmiths to design one every year for my mother’s birthday. Like the Czar and his Faberge eggs for his Czarina. No-one sees them now.”

She reached towards the box again, running a finger over the concentric rings of glittering stones. When she lifted it for a closer view its weight astounded her.

“Solid gold,” he said, no doubt amused by her horrified expression. “And in every box there was a brooch or a necklace or a pair of spectacular earrings. He loved my mother greatly. The whole country loved her.”

“Someone obviously didn’t if she was assassinated?”

Rafiq’s chest rose and fell in a sigh so full of regret it almost broke her heart. “Anti-monarchists. ‘Republicans’ I suppose you would call them in your country.”

“And they killed to get their way?”

“They did not get their way.”

“But they killed.”

“And were killed in return. Al Sounam’s security service is always well-informed.”

She shivered at that. “Not well-enough to stop it from happening, though.”

“As you say... But they were only hours away from arresting the plotters. My father chose to bring us out here at short notice. Too short. We were attacked after we passed the city’s edge and left for dead. He and my mother, my two brothers and me.”

Laurel gave a soft gasp of distress. She could almost taste the sorrow that surrounded him. How had he mentally survived something as horrendous as this? Even if his body had slowly healed, his mind must have been terribly messed-with.

“And you were the only one left alive?” she dared to ask.

“Miraculously.” His hand swept a graceful path through the air in front of his chest and belly as though to stroke his very life-force. Her eyes followed—past smooth skin and taut muscles until she guiltily dragged her gaze up to his face again. 

Rafiq didn’t react—simply passed her a coffee and sat on one of the leather armchairs, hitching a long leg up so his foot rested on his opposite knee. He leaned back as though he’d told her nothing more outrageous than the week’s movie gossip.

How could he put something like that behind him with such apparent ease? And now work in espionage himself?
Was
it espionage, she wondered? To judge by today’s situation, he took part in horribly dangerous missions with little regard for his own safety.

She set the emerald box down again and sat in the other big chair.

“So was that how you got shot?” she asked, indicating his shoulder.

“That time, no. That was Army training.”

“
That
time?” she gasped. “How many more times? No—I don’t want to know. How did you get shot in the Army?”

“Not quite the Army.” He turned his attention to his coffee, causing her to regard him with extreme suspicion.

“Some sort of Special Services thing I suppose. SAS—that kind of stuff?”

“Near enough. It was a long time ago.”

“How long?”

“You want a lot of details, Miss Kiwi. Are you sure you’re not one of the insurgents yourself?”

“Bad joke after today,” she snapped.

Instantly he was on his feet and had bent to grasp the hand not holding her coffee. He raised it and kissed her fingers.

“My apologies, Laurel,” he murmured. “You’re right of course. My life has made me a hard and thoughtless man.” He sank down into his chair again, leaving her so sensitized by his lips it was like an instant drug reaction. She tingled. She sparkled and pulsed. A delicious feeling, but very distracting. She shook her head to clear it. Her hair swayed from side to side and she noticed the way his eyes fastened on it as he sat unspeaking for the next little time.

“Eleven years ago,” he eventually continued. “They had no expectation I would live. Everyone else died. The limo was ambushed. Our escort vehicle then hit the King’s car from behind. I was...badly damaged.”

He retreated into silence and sipped his coffee again. Laurel did the same, desperate to know more, but not liking to ask.

His whole family—dead in one instant? She couldn’t think of a single other thing to say that wouldn’t sound nosy or intrusive.

Eventually he stood, leaving his empty coffee cup on the small table beside his chair and reaching for hers to place beside it.

“Enough,” he said. “I’ll give you bad dreams.” He stretched out an arm. Laurel rose as well, very slowly, apprehensive about what might happen next.

He switched off the chandelier and the comforting spangles of light disappeared.

Now the lodge was dim and full of shadows. He guided her along the side-passage to where her sleeping quarters were.

“Sleep well, Miss Kiwi.”

She stood, uncertain, beside her bedroom door. He wouldn’t try anything, would he? No more suggestive jokes about adding her to his harem?

“So you’ll take me back to Kalal first thing tomorrow morning?”

“You must trust me in this, Laurel. I am not a safe person to be seen with. I shall see what I can arrange.”

She frowned with annoyance and then drifted into her room. He locked the door behind her. The unexpected noise of the key clicked sharp and loud in the quiet night.

“Hey!”

“Sleep, Miss Kiwi,” he called through the door.

“You’ve locked me in...”

“I said your door could be locked to keep you safe from my unwelcome advances.”

“But
you’ve
got the key.”

“Indeed I have, Laurel—and you will be safe, I promise. I wouldn’t want you sleepwalking out into the desert and getting lost.”

“I’ve never sleepwalked in my life. Unlock the door.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll scream for Yasmina.”

“Yasmina’s apartment is quite separate from the lodge. She’ll never hear you. And anyway, she’s a little deaf these days.”

Flutters of panic danced up her spine. A cold and horribly clammy sweat broke out over her chest. “Unlock this wretched door, Rafiq!” she yelled, kicking at the planks and exclaiming with the pain of it.

“You can’t kick your way out. The timbers are old and strong. You’ll only hurt yourself. You’re safe for the night, Laurel. Go to bed. You’ve had a day no woman should have had to live through.”