The Sheikh's Ransomed Bride (8 page)

Her indrawn breath was loud in the silence. The instant tension between them so strong, so intimate, that he felt it in every taut muscle, saw it reflected in her stunned expression.

Abruptly he released her.

She slid her hands off the table, out of sight. But his fingers still felt the silken delicacy of her skin against his.

They itched to feel more.

She was a woman of contrasts. Determination and physical courage in such an alluring, feminine body. So brave, yet obviously scared by her response to him. He’d made himself her protector, yet she intrigued him as no other woman had.

She was right to be nervous.

He took a strawberry and bit into its lush fullness, enjoying the fresh tartness overlying its sweetness. But his eyes were on Belle as he ate. Would she be sweet as summer berries? Ripe and rewarding and luscious?

She avoided his gaze as she reached for her coffee.

`But now we need to discuss the present,’ he said, watching her take a sip of the hot brew.

She tilted her head in acknowledgement.

`You said last night that you want to return to your team.’

`You misunderstand,’ he said abruptly. His neck stiffened at the implication that he sought recompense for doing his duty and he clamped his jaw tight shut. He took a slow, calming breath. `The ransom wasn’t money. It was the Peacock’s Eye.’

Her brows knit together. I’ve heard of that,’ she said slowly. Ìt’s jewelry, isn’t it?’

He nodded. The Eye was jewelry just as the Taj Mahal was a tombstone.

Belle Winters obviously wasn’t like most visitors, who believed a trip to Q’aroum wasn’t complete without a visit to see the royal gems. The Eye was the centerpiece of the collection: a dazzling necklace, ancient and heavy with the weight of solid gold and gems, designed to mimic the pattern on a peacock’s tail feather. Its value was in its magnificent wealth: the huge emeralds alone were beyond price. But much more important was its historic and cultural significance to Q’aroum.

Ìt’s jewelry,’ Rafiq agreed wryly. But, more than that, it’s an heirloom that holds unique significance in our heritage. For generations it’s been the traditional gift of the royal Sheikh to his bride.’

Her jaw dropped.

Àccording to the custom of my people,’ he continued, `since I relinquished it in return for you, I’ve paid it as a bride price. Which means that, as far as Q’aroum is concerned, Belle, you are my affianced bride.’

`That’s right.’ She nodded so emphatically that her hair swirled around her shoulders. Ì‘ve got lots to organize. There’ll be a replacement for Duncan arriving some time, and then the rest of the group. And I want to visit the wreck again as soon as possible.’

Ìt will not be as simple as that.’ He lifted his own cup and swallowed some of the strong coffee.

She put her cup down and squared her shoulders, as if bracing for bad news. `What’s wrong? Is it the wreck? Has it been destroyed by the cyclone?’

He shook his head. In all the mopping up operations after the devastation wreaked on the outer islands, checking an ancient wreck had not been a priority. `No one has been to investigate. Our problem has nothing to do with your marine survey. It has to do with the ransom that was paid to save you.’

Her brows pleated in confusion. `But you rescued us. Why would a ransom be paid?’

Clearly she hadn’t caught up with the news from her hospital bed.

Which meant the staff there had been remarkably discreet.

`There was reason to suppose you would come to harm if the ransom wasn’t paid. Serious harm.’ He frowned, remembering his advisors arguing over what action to take in response to the kidnap.

As if there could have been any doubt once he’d realized the situation’s gravity. `Regrettably, the deadline for payment of the ransom came before we could get news to the mainland that you’d been found.’

`So,’ she said slowly, `the ransom was paid anyway?’ `That’s right.’

`How much do we owe you?’

Rafiq stared, not believing his ears.

`How much was the ransom?’ she asked again, just as if she meant to find the money somehow, and pay him back whatever the cost of her rescue.

BRIDE. Affianced bride. Belle gaped as the words tumbled through her brain.

She’d recognized the glint of amusement in his eyes as he’d spoken of his ancestors and their rapacious habits. But he wasn’t laughing now. The long grooves that bracketed his mouth were etched deep, the sharp angles of his cheekbones and his jaw were prominent, as if tension tightened his muscles.

Her stomach dipped on a rollercoaster of reaction.

Bride! To this man? It was impossible. Ludicrous.

And yet still he didn’t smile.

An icy finger of foreboding slid down her spine, making her shiver.

Bride to this man. Out of nowhere flashed an image of her and Rafiq together. Close. Intimate. Heat flared in her cheeks, and surreptitiously she wiped her damp hands over her trousers.

Rafiq threatened her self possession, but not because he was a royal prince, head of state and a billionaire. It was Rafiq the man of elemental power, unstudied sex appeal and restrained passion who unsettled her. Scared her.

He’d already stalked her dreams and taken up residence in her subconscious. Now he was talking about her life. `They think we’re engaged?’ Her voice cracked on the word.

Ìt is the custom.’ He nodded, sounding appallingly calm. `Though of course usually the Eye stays in the possession of the bride, and is ultimately passed to the next generation. It has always been so.’

`When you say always…’

He shrugged those impressive shoulders. `No one knows for sure.

Since some time in the sixteenth century, most probably. Or so the experts believe.’

The sixteenth century. Hell!

He didn’t need to spell out the implications. She knew all about the value of ancient treasure. The reverential, almost mystical importance attached to it by tradition. And Q’ aroum, for all its modem gloss, held its traditions dear.

Belle had an awful feeling she was just beginning to understand how important and valuable a ransom had been paid for her life.

The implications made her stomach roil.

She flopped back in her chair, her breathing short and ragged. She fought for calm. For common sense.

`But everyone must realize you didn’t hand it over as a bride price,’

she reasoned. Ìt’s obvious the circumstances are completely different. And there was Duncan too. You paid the ransom for both of us.’

His eyes held hers, and the intensity of his unblinking gaze told her there was no easy way out. Her heartbeat thundered so loud in her ears she had to strain to hear his response.

`That is so. But you mustn’t underestimate the importance of custom to my people. You’ve seen the new town, the wealth invested in education and modem infrastructure. Change is occurring, but Q’aroumis are slow to give up some things such as their love of royal pomp and custom. That’s one of the reasons I remain as head of state though we have a democratically elected parliament.’

He took another sip of thick black coffee with all the ease of a man discussing social trifles. But the hard lines of his face told their own story. This was no joke. He took it completely seriously.

‘The circumstances are incidental.’ His words were brusque. `The fact is I gave up the necklace and I returned with you.’ He shot her a look from under leveled black brows. Its intensity pinned her to her seat.

`To my people it is a simple equation. A bride gift in return for a woman. A ransom for a bride.’

His gaze brushed slowly across her face, igniting a curl of hot sensation deep inside her. As if he’d touched her, caressed her.

And, despite this crazy situation, she couldn’t prevent her instinctive, needy response.

She shook her head in denial. Of his words. Of the fierce, frightening heat building within her. She couldn’t mistake it. It had been there when he spoke of al Akhtar men claiming their women.

Stealing them from the high seas and making sure they never wanted to leave.

Excitement. That was what she felt. And desire.

The appalling realization held her in frozen immobility as she stared back into his piercing eyes.

She didn’t even know this man, yet some atavistic part of her psyche reveled in the idea of being claimed as his woman. Of belonging to him.

Her! A woman who’d made her way against the odds in a man’s world. Who’d learned to be self-reliant at an age when other girls were dreaming of Prince Charming and happy ever after. She knew first hand that happy ever after was the stuff of fiction.

The sound of quick, measured footsteps cut across the thick web of tension enmeshing them. She blinked, had to make a physical effort to drag her eyes from Rafiq’s compelling gaze. She turned to see Dawud approaching, dressed once more in army fatigues.

Immediately she sensed a new tension in Rafiq, though he said nothing, merely waited for the other man to approach.

‘Saba’a alkair, Ms. Winters,’ Dawud said, with a slight, formal bow.

Ì hope you are well rested.’

‘Saba’a alkair, Dawud. Thank you, I’m well. And you?’ His gaze strayed to Rafiq, and she could have sworn some unspoken message passed between them.

Ì am well, Ms. Winters.’ He paused. Ì come with urgent news for the Prince, if you’ll permit?’

She wasn’t sure whose permission he was asking, but she nodded.

He stepped closer and murmured to Rafiq. Ìt is as you predicted, as we feared.’

‘Where? When?’ Rafiq’s voice had a steely edge. `Shaq’ara. Less than fifteen minutes ago.’

Belle watched Rafiq absorb the obviously unpalatable news.

Emotion stripped his face to a mask of brooding severity. One hand clenched on the table. And then, in a single lithe movement, he stood before her.

`Forgive me, Belle. Important as our conversation is, we have something of an emergency on our hands. I must go.’ As he spoke he gestured to Dawud, who nodded in her direction and then turned away, his footsteps quickening.

`We’ll continue our discussion on my return. You will be patient and stay within the grounds until then?’ He phrased it as a question, but it was unmistakably an order.

She scented danger in his battle ready stance, in his aura of barely restrained power, as if only the thinnest veneer of civilized behavior masked a ruthless warrior ready for combat. Whatever had sparked the martial glint in his eye, she wanted no part of it.

She’d wait here in secluded comfort for his return.

Then they could sort out this bizarre notion of him buying her with an ancient bridal token.

‘I’ll wait.’

`Good. Ask for anything you want. The staff will look after you.’

And with that he was gone, striding purposefully down the colonnade.

As he disappeared into the shadows Belle pressed a shaky hand to her abdomen. Her stomach muscles clenched in painful spasm. She swallowed convulsively, recognizing too well the dry, rusty taste on her tongue. Rafiq’s alert warrior stance had brought apprehension rushing back in a wave so potent she felt ill.

But this time the dread was different. She wasn’t scared for herself.

Her fear was for the enigmatic man who’d saved her life. The man who set her heart racing out of control every time she saw him.

Who’d destroyed her comfortable illusions about her self sufficiency, her needs as a woman, and her self-control. The man who, after a few short days, meant more to her than any man ever had.

By evening Belle couldn’t sit still. She’d prowled the gardens, trying to concentrate on the lush tropical blooms. But they’d reminded her of the sensuous heat in Rafiq’s eyes as he’d watched her this morning. She’d visited the royal reception rooms, been awed by a wealth so immense that the very walls of the main audience chamber were studded with jewels. But none were as dazzling as Rafiq’s smile last night when he’d coaxed her, tricked her into staying here.

She had investigated an armaments room, its walls set with a bristling display of antique scimitars, muskets and other deadly weapons. But her frisson of unease had been less to do with that evidence of Q’aroum’s violent past than with the memory of Rafiq’s story. Of how his ancestor had stormed a passing ship and boldly abducted a woman simply because she’d pleased his eye. A woman he’d kept in the harem where Belle had slept.

But in her mind it was Rafiq on the deck of that ship. Rafiq with his feet planted wide, his muscled arms bare, his eyes gleaming with purpose and promise as he spied his prize the woman he would take for his own.

And, of course, to Belle’s despair, that woman was herself.

Sternly she told herself not to worry, that her fantasy had a sort of strange logic, given his stories of pillage, her own abduction and his role as her savior. And even more so now, with his news of the royal betrothal token.

That tidbit of information had stunned her. But she was sensible enough to know that, despite tradition, a man like Rafiq couldn’t really expect or want marriage to someone like her. She was no princess but an ordinary hard working Australian. A foreigner.

Neither glamorous nor exotically beautiful. She guessed Rafiq would require both those qualities in a wife. And so, somehow, they’d find a way out of this betrothal business.

Yet put all those factors together and was it any wonder she’d spent the day picturing herself as his what? His prize? His bride? His woman.

A tremor of terrible excitement, of wanting, shivered through her.

Belle stared blindly across the lamp lit sitting room and tried to reassure herself. She was recuperating from the kidnap. She was under stress. It was all perfectly logical. Nothing to fret over.

Except there was more to this than some swashbuckling fantasy.

There was a connection between them unlike anything she’d experienced. There was need so strong it rocked her to realize how much she wanted to be near him, to be his.

Admitting that to herself took all her courage.

And there was more too. Far more than physical desire. That was why these slow-moving hours had edged her to the point of snapping.