The Sheikh's Jewel (9 page)

‘No, it wasn’t, and we both know that—but blame won’t help us in our current situation,’ she retorted, quoting his words back to him with a cheeky light in her eyes, and her dimples quivering.

He grinned. ‘Someone’s feeling feisty.’

She winked. ‘I told you I’d feel better in a minute. Or maybe five,’ she amended, laughing.

‘Then let’s begin the search,’ he suggested, not sure if he was relieved or resentful for the intervention. Her lips glistened like ripe pomegranates in the rose-hued rays of the falling sun through the window, and he was dying to taste them. And when she wriggled off his lap, he couldn’t move for a few moments—so blinded by white-hot need for her, all he could see was the vision of them together in bed as they could have been for years now.

What sort of fool had he been? Within a day of giving her some attention her eyes were alight with desire when she looked at him, or when he was close. If he took her to bed right now, he doubted she’d even want to argue.

‘Wrong time, wrong place—and Alim could die,’ he muttered fiercely beneath his breath, feeling the frozen nails of fear put the coffin lid on his selfish wants.

Keeping Alim’s face in his mind, Harun fell to his knees, looking for loose boards in the floor with ferocious determination. He wouldn’t look at her again until his blood began to cool; but whenever he heard her husky voice announcing she still hadn’t found anything, he looked up, and with every sight of her wiggling along the floor in that shimmering satin the fight began over. Hot and cold, fire and ice—Amber and Alim…

The suite of rooms was small. Amber unconsciously followed the path he’d taken while she slept, knocking softly on walls, checking bricks for secret passages. But then she hung so far out of the window he grabbed her by the waist to anchor her, and had to twist his body so she wouldn’t know how much she affected him. Fighting also against the burning fury that those men with assault rifles would be looking at her luscious body, he pulled her back inside with a mumbled half-lie about her safety.

She sighed as she came back into the room. ‘We’re so far up, even if we tied the sheets and bedcover together, we’d have a two-storey drop or more.’ She glanced at him. ‘You could probably make it to the ground, but I’d probably break my legs, and then they’d just take us again.’ Biting her lip, she mumbled, ‘I wish I’d had the same kind of war training as you—dropping out of planes, martial arts and the like. I wish I could say I was a heroine like my great-grandmother, but the thought of breaking my legs makes me sick with fear.’ She looked him in the eyes as she said, ‘You should go without me. You have to save Alim.’

Hearing the self-sacrifice in her voice, remembering how she’d been so furious when he’d run himself down earlier, even if it was an act, he felt something warm spread across him. After all these years where he’d ignored her, did she really think so much of him?

Or so little, that she could even suggest he’d go without her, put his brother first, and abandon her to her captors?

Quietly, he said, ‘I dropped out of planes with a parachute and spare. And even if I could use a sheet as a makeshift parachute, and jump in the darkest part of the night, I’d still have to outrun the guards, and find a place of safety or a phone, and all without water or food—and wearing only these stupid things.’ And there was no way he’d leave Amber alone to face the consequences of his escape.

He was taken aback by the success of his diversion when Amber giggled. ‘Oh, the visions I’m having now—the oh-so-serious Sheikh Harun el-Kanar escaping abduction, but found only in his boxer shorts!’

Though he laughed with her—because it was a funny thought—right now he wasn’t in the mood to laugh. ‘I would never leave you, Amber. That probably seems hard to believe—’

Her eyes, glowing with life and joy, a smile filled with gratitude, stopped him. She did believe him, though he’d done nothing to earn her trust. That smile pierced him in places he didn’t want to remember existed. The places he’d thought had died years ago…trust, faith, and that blasted, unconquerable hope.

Trust had died even before his parents, and, though he still prayed, a lot of his faith had eroded through the years. And hope—the last shards of it had smashed to bits when he’d heard her agree to marry him, despite loving his brother.

Or so he’d thought, until today.

‘Let’s check the bathroom again,’ she suggested. ‘Sometimes there’s a loose tile on the floor that is the way out—or even in the bath itself. My great-grandmother had one egress made through the base of the tap in the bath, after the war ended. We should check it out thoroughly.’

Grateful for the reprieve from his dark thoughts, he followed her in and got down on hands and knees beside her, but turned to search in the opposite direction. Anything rather than endure the torture of memory—or of watching her lovely body wiggling with every movement.

This time he forced his eyes to stay away. If she held a shadow of desire for him now, it was just through enforced proximity and her need for human closeness. She’d never shown a single sign of wanting him, or even wanting to know him better, until now. He’d never seen anything from her but cold duty and contemptuous anger until the day she’d heard Alim was back.

That was the way his life would be. How many times did he have to convince himself over and over that duty and supporting family was his only destiny? How many times had his parents told him that he’d be useless for anything else? How many times in the twenty-two years since they’d died had Fadi enforced his belief that duty was first, last and everything for him, that he was born to be the supportive brother? Yet here he was, no wiser. At thirty years old, he still hadn’t learned the lesson.

Was it the after-effects of the drugs that had weakened his resolve, or was it just a case of too many years of denial? But the desire in her eyes, the curve of her smile, the music of her laughter—and everything that was almost clear to see beneath that peignoir—were killing him to resist. Even the sight of her bare feet was a temptation beyond him right now.

This was the exact reason he’d avoided her so long before. But now he couldn’t make himself avoid her, even if he could parachute out of here with that stupid sheet. He couldn’t leave her alone…and so here they were, only the two of them and that delicious bed…and with every moment that passed, it became more impossible to resist her. How long could he last before he made a fool of himself?

But that was exactly what the kidnappers wanted, and damned if he’d give it to them.

CHAPTER EIGHT

B
Y
NIGHTFALL
, they had covered almost every inch of both rooms, and found no way out. All her hopes dashed, she sat on the ground, slumping against the cool bath tiles in despair. ‘We’re not getting out of here, are we?’

‘Not until they let us out.’ There was a strange inflection in his voice.

Arrested, she turned to look at him. ‘What is it?’

Harun didn’t reply.

‘I’m not a child, Harun, or an idiot. I’m in this with you, like it or not, and there’s nowhere for you to conveniently disappear to here, no excuse or official or quiet room for you to get away from me. So you might as well share what you’re thinking with me.’

After a moment that seemed to last a full minute, he said, ‘I think your father may be our abductor.’

‘What?’
They were the last words she’d expected. Gasping, she choked on her breath and got lost in a coughing fit to be able to breathe again. Harun began using the heel of his hand in rhythmic upward motions, and the choking feeling subsided. Then she pushed him away, glaring at him. ‘Why would he do that? What would be the benefit to him, and to Araba Numara? How could you even think that? How dare you accuse my father of this?’

Harun was on his haunches in front of her, his face had that cold, withdrawn look she hated.

‘For a daughter who doesn’t share my suspicions, a daughter who believes implicitly in her father’s innocence, I notice you put the two most natural questions last. Instead, you asked the most important questions first—why, and what benefit to him in abducting his own child. You believe it’s possible at the very least, Amber. Everything makes sense with that one answer. Why there have been no demands or threats as yet, why we were left in this kind of room dressed this way, and why we’re alone most of the time. Your father has probably endured some ridicule and speculation over our not producing an heir, and he wants it to end.’ He gave her a hard look. ‘He has no son, and you’re the eldest daughter. He hasn’t named his brother, or his nephews or male cousins as his heir. Any son we have will be qualified to become the hereditary sheikh for Araba Numara, so long as he takes his grandfather’s name…and I assume that keeping the line going is important to him.’

Every suspicion he’d voiced could be exactly right. And it all fitted her father too well. Though he came from a very small state in the Emirates—or maybe because of that—he enjoyed manipulating people until they bent to his will. And yes, he’d want a grandson to take his name and the rule of Araba Numara.

‘If you’re right, and I’m not saying you are, I will never, never forgive him for this.’ Then she shot to her feet, and cried, ‘Hasn’t he done enough to me? Three years of being his pawn, left in a foreign country and shuffled from one man to another, none of whom wanted me! Can’t he just leave me be?’

The echoes of her voice in the tiled bathroom were her only answer. The silence was complete, just as it had always been when she’d tried to defy her father’s will, and she slid back down the tiles. ‘I hate this, I hate it. Why can’t he let me have my life?’

Harun’s eyes gleamed with sadness. ‘I don’t know, Amber. I’m no expert on family life. I barely remember my father, or mother.’ As he slid down beside her, the feeling of abandonment fled along with her outrage—and, as natural as if she’d done it for years, she laid her head on his shoulder. ‘It’s probably best not to think about it,’ he said quietly, wrapping his arm over her shoulder, drawing her closer. ‘And remember I could be wrong.’

‘We both know you’re not. It makes too much sense.’

‘There is the other solution I told you before,’ he said very quietly.

She nodded.

‘If they won’t let us out until you’re pregnant, we may have little choice but to comply.’

A tiny frisson of shock ran through her. ‘B-but what if we are wrong—wouldn’t that risk Alim’s life?’ she stammered.

‘Only if he has been taken. We just don’t know.’ His eyes hardened. ‘I can’t keep living my life for honour alone, Amber. Alim’s the one who left his family and his nation too many times to count—and why did he finally return? For the sake of a woman he can’t even marry. I’ve done everything for him for ten years, and it’s time I did something I want to do.’

Softly, she murmured, ‘And now you want me?’

‘Yes,’ he replied, just as soft.

His mouth curved; his eyes softened. And he brushed his mouth against hers.

With the first touch, it was as if he’d pulled a string inside her, releasing warmth and joy and need and—and yes, a power she hadn’t known existed, the power of being a woman with her man,
the
man for her. She made a smothered sound and moved into him as her lips moved of their own will, craving more. She turned into him, her hands seeking his skin, pulling him against her. Eager fingers wound into his hair, splayed across his back, explored his shoulders and arms, and the kiss grew deeper and deeper. They slowly fell back until they lay entangled on the floor. Amber barely noticed its cold hard surface. Harun was touching her at last, he was fully aroused, and she moaned in joy.

‘As far as first kisses go, that was fairly sensational,’ he said in a shaky voice. ‘But we’re only a few hours out of the drugs. Today hasn’t been the easiest for either of us. Maybe we should rest. If we feel the same tomorrow…’

Bewildered by the constant changes in his conversation, she sighed. ‘Yes, I think I need to sleep again. But I really should have a bath.’

After a short silence, Harun said quietly, ‘No, sleep first. Come, I’ll help you to bed.’ He swept her up again, as though she weighed nothing, and carried her back out to the main room. He could have taken her to bed and made love to her all night and she’d have loved it.

Reaching the bed, he laid her down. ‘Rest now, Amber. I swear I won’t leave you,’ he whispered, his voice tender, so protective. Had the
habib numara
become her very own tiger—at least for now?

She ought to know better than to think this way. They barely knew each other, and he’d never shown any interest in touching her until today.

She ought to feel grateful to their abductors. For the first time Harun was looking at her as a person. For a captive, she felt happier than she had in a very long time.

Too tired to work through the confusion, she allowed her heavy eyes and hurting heart to dictate to her. She needed temporary oblivion from the events of the past day, to blank it all out. But even as she slid towards sleep, she felt Harun’s presence in the chair he’d drawn up beside the bed. Touched that he was standing guard over her, keeping her safe without presuming to share the bed, she wanted to take his hand in hers and cradle it against her face, to thank him for all he’d done today. But he’d done so much for her; she couldn’t demand more than he’d already given. She sighed again, and drifted into dreams.

And shaken far beyond anything she knew, too aroused to sleep, Harun sat beside her the whole night. He didn’t get on the bed—he didn’t dare—but he remained on guard, ready to protect her if there should be a need.

* * *

She’s a stubborn, rebellious daughter, with no regard for law or tradition. I wouldn’t pay a single dinar for her return. Let Sheikh el-Kanar pay it, if he’s worried about her at all, but I doubt it. He ran from her in the first place, didn’t he?

Shivering in the night suddenly turned cold, the echoes of her father’s uncaring tone still ringing in her ears, Amber jerked to a sitting position in the bed. Praise Allah, it had only been a nightmare—

But this bed, sagging slightly, definitely wasn’t hers, and choppy breathing came from a few feet away. Adjusting to the darkness and unfamiliar room, she gradually took in the form of her husband sleeping in a chair beside the bed.

Although the sight of him made her ache somehow—he looked like a bronze statue of male perfection in the pale moonlight, even half crumpled in the chair—reality returned to her in seconds, the reasons why they were here. And what they’d done to convince their abductors that they were cooperating…

A hot shiver ran down her spine.

She looked again at her sleeping husband, realising anew the masculine beauty of him. His face was gentle in repose, seeming so much younger.

She reached out, touching him very softly. His skin was cool to the touch. He was shivering as she’d been; there were goosebumps on his arms. His sheet must have slipped to the floor long ago, and he was still half naked, only clad in those silky boxers. Obviously he’d left her the blanket, but she’d kicked it off some time in the night.

During the search earlier, neither of them had found a second covering of any kind, so she could do nothing but share the blanket they had. The modesty he’d given her in sleeping on the chair was touching, but it was ridiculous when they were married. If either of them took sick, they had no way to care for the other.

‘Harun,’ she whispered, but he didn’t move. Taking him by the shoulder, she shook it, feeling the flex and ripple of muscles beneath her fingers. ‘Harun, come—’ she stopped herself from saying
come to bed
only just in time ‘—under the blanket. You’re cold.’

An indistinct mumble was his only response.

Impatient, getting sleepy again, she grabbed his shoulders with both hands, pulling him towards her. ‘Come on, Harun. You’ll be in agony in the morning, sleeping like that. I can’t afford for you to get sick.’

Something must have penetrated, for he fell onto the bed, landing almost right on top of her, his leg and arm falling over her body, trapping her. ‘Mmm, Amber, lovely Amber,’ he mumbled, moving his aroused body against hers, his lips nuzzling her throat. ‘Taste so good…knew you would. Like sandalwood honey.’ And before she could gather her wits or move, he kept right on going, lower, until he was kissing her shoulder, and she had no idea if he was awake or seducing her in his dreams.

She couldn’t think enough to care…her neck and shoulder arched with a volition of their own as he nibbled the juncture between both, and the bliss was
exquisite.
And when his hand covered her breast, caressing her taut nipple, the joy was sharp as a blade, a beautiful piercing of her entire being. ‘Harun, oh,’ she cried aloud, craving more—

His eyes opened, and even in the moonlit night she saw the lust and sleepy confusion. Gazing down, he saw his hand covering her breast. ‘I’m sorry…I was dreaming. I didn’t mean to take advantage of you.’ He shook his head. ‘How did I get on the bed?’

A dull ache smothered the lovely desire like a fire-retardant blanket. ‘I woke up—you were shivering, and I pulled you over. The sheet wasn’t warm enough for you,’ she replied drearily. Who had he been dreaming of when he’d said her name? ‘It’s all right. Take the blanket and go back to sleep.’

‘Amber…’

‘Don’t,’ she said sharply.
Don’t be kind to me, or I might just break down.
She rolled away from him so he wouldn’t see her humiliation. ‘Goodnight.’

The next afternoon

Any moment now, he’d pick her up and throw her on the bed, and make love to her until they both died of exhaustion.

He’d been going crazy since last night. Pretending to sleep for her sake, he’d lain still on the bed until his entire body had throbbed and hurt; he knew she was doing the same. Then, just as his burning body talked him into rolling over and making love to her, her soft, even breathing told him she slept.

That he’d made Amber cry simply by not continuing to make love to her was a revelation to him. In three long, dreary years, all he’d known was her contempt and anger, even the night she’d asked him to come to her bed. But within the space of a day, he’d seen her show him regret, budding friendship, trust, need and—for that blazing second when he’d awoken with his hand on her breast—pure desire for him. He’d come so close to giving in, giving them what they both wanted—only a tiny sound from outside the room, a shuffle of feet, a little cough, had reminded him of their watchers, had held him back.

And how could he risk his brother’s life?

It kept going back to that choice: their personal happiness, or Alim’s life. If there was a way to know Alim was safe, if they could escape and have some privacy, he’d give their abductors what they wanted, over and over. Now he knew Amber wanted him…

But without meaning to, he’d hurt and humiliated her. His apology had wounded her pride in a way she was going to find extremely hard to forgive.

After hours of silence between them and no touching, he spoke with gentle deliberation. ‘I’m sorry about last night.’

Her lips parted as her head turned. ‘You already apologised. Anyway why should you apologise? You were dreaming, right?’ Oh, so cold, so imperious, her tone—but his deepest male instincts told him it was the exact opposite of what she felt inside.

He looked into her eyes. ‘I heard a cough outside the room. The first time I make love to you will not be by accident, with an audience of strangers through holes in the wall.’

A surprised blink covered a moment’s softness in her eyes. ‘That’s a fairly big assumption to make.’

Despite the cold fury in her voice, he wanted to smile. ‘That we’ll make love? Or that you can forgive me for neglecting you all these years, and welcome me in your bed?’

‘Either. Both,’ she said quietly, ‘especially considering the neglect was of epic proportions, and publicly humiliating.’

At that, he offered her a wry smile. ‘I had no wish for a martyr bride, Amber. I’m fairly sure you didn’t want a dutiful, reluctant husband, either. I believed you had no desire for me; you believed that I never desired you. All this time we both wanted the same thing, if only we’d tried to talk.’

She looked right into his face, her chin lifted. ‘Did you really just say that—if
we’d
tried to talk?’

He had to concede that point if he wanted to get anywhere with her. ‘You’re right, I’m the one that didn’t try—but ask yourself how hard you’d have tried, if you’d thought I was in love with your sister.’

Another slow blink as she thought about it. ‘Maybe—’

But just as the frost covering her hidden passion finally began to soften he heard the door open, and he cursed the constant interferences between them—but then, with a smothered gasp, Amber bolted off the window seat and cannoned into him. ‘He’s pointing that rifle at me,’ she whispered, shaking, as his arms came around her. ‘And…and he’s looking at me, and I’m only wearing this thing.’