Читать книгу The Sheikh's Wedding Contract - Andie Brock - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

‘WHO ARE YOU and what do you want?’ Zayed snapped the words into Nadia’s ear, her head twisted into the pillow, a tangle of black curls obscuring the side of her face.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe come to that. With her arms wrenched above her head, both wrists shackled by Zayed’s forceful grasp, the shock and fear that were pumping through her body were threatening to make her lose consciousness completely. Slowly, deliberately, she tried to turn her head, hoping that once Zayed saw that it was just her, Nadia, he would release her, give her a chance to explain. Although she wasn’t sure how she was going to do that.

But what she saw soon put paid to any such fanciful notions. Because the dark brown eyes that she found herself staring into, just inches away from her face, were still glittering with intent, ready to attack. Everything about his forbidding face, the clench of his jaw beneath the closely cropped beard, the dark, untidy brows drawn together in a menacing scowl, the tight line of his lips, told her she was in big trouble. He was going to kill her, wasn’t he? She was going to die. Murdered in a stranger’s bed, then chopped into small pieces and offered as tasty morsels to the palace falcons.

‘It’s only me.’ She gulped noisily, her eyes wide with panic. ‘Nadia.’ She wriggled beneath him to try to free some small part of her trapped body, any part, but the movement simply increased the contact between them and she stopped abruptly. That clenching spasm, somewhere low down where their bodies met, that had to be fear, didn’t it?

‘I know quite well who you are.’ Zayed’s breath swept hot and dry across her face. ‘But what I don’t know is why the hell you are in my bed.’ Anger seethed in his voice and his grip tightened still farther around her wrists. ‘I want an answer, now.’

‘Your Royal Highness.’ Fighting to find her voice that was crushed somewhere down with the rest of her body, Nadia now lay very still, blinking her wide violet eyes at her fearsome captor. Her only chance of survival was to try to talk herself out of this mess. ‘I can assure you, I mean you no harm. I merely felt the overwhelming need to see you again.’

‘Yeah, of course you did.’ Sarcasm cut through his voice and as he shifted his weight on top of her Nadia felt an alarming rush of blood sweep through her. ‘Not good enough, I’m afraid. Who are you working for and what do you want?’

‘No one, really. I am completely alone.’

‘I don’t believe you.’ His voice was a hoarse whisper against her skin. ‘Are you here to distract me? Is that it? Keep me occupied while an accomplice creeps in to slit my throat?’ Locking his arms now, he raised his bare chest enough to twist round to look over his shoulder, as if the assailant might already be there, brandishing a knife, before lowering it back down over Nadia’s breasts. Nadia’s eyes widened. The movement had shifted his weight, the jut of his hips, the meeting of their groins.

‘No, nothing like that, I just—’

‘Or my father’s throat? Is that was this is about? I know my father has many enemies.’

‘No. You have to believe me. I’m not here to slit anyone’s throat.’

Chance would be a fine thing. With her arms pinned above her on either side of her head, her breasts stretched taut and high beneath the rock-hard pressure of Zayed’s chest, she couldn’t have felt more vulnerable, more laid bare. And worse than that, with Zayed’s full weight on top of her, the whole length of his virtually naked body bearing down on her, his masculine heat trapping her beneath him, she was aware of a growing ache, low down in her belly, that had nothing to do with the pressure of his weight alone. She drew in a ragged breath, but it was full of the scent of him, the heady mixture of musky shower gel and pumping pheromones.

‘So just what are you doing here, Nadia?’ Zayed’s face lowered down again, so close now that the space between them had almost vanished completely. His fearsome features blurred out of focus as his mouth hovered over hers and he whispered, ‘You have exactly one minute to tell me the truth.’

‘And I will.’ Nadia bit down hard on her lip to try to get some control. ‘When you have released me.’

‘Uh-uh,’ Zayed grated. ‘That’s not how it works.’ He tipped back his head. ‘You tell me the truth now, or I call the palace guards.’

‘No! Don’t do that.’ Her attempt at defiance immediately crumbled.

This was so not what she had planned, to be pinned down on the bed like a common intruder. She was meant to be alluring, for heaven’s sake. Leading him into temptation and a betrothal that would prevent their kingdoms going to war. That had been the plan, at least. Now that plan had been well and truly squashed, along with her poor body, and the man she was supposed to be seducing looked as if he would much rather throttle her than make love to her. But she had to be strong, try again. ‘Before I tell you anything I demand that you let go of my wrists.’

‘You demand, eh?’ Zayed snorted. ‘That’s a good one. It may have escaped your notice but you are hardly in a position to make demands. I suggest you drop the high-and-mighty routine right now and come up with one good reason for me not to call the guards and have you clapped in irons and thrown into the palace dungeons. You have ten seconds and counting.’

‘Okay, okay.’ Nadia ran her tongue over her dry lips. ‘I came here...’ She could feel her heart hammering between them, hammering more violently with each decreasing second, feel the rough scratch of Zayed’s chest hair, the sheen of sweat that sealed them. ‘I came here quite alone, simply because I hoped... I hoped to be able to make you happy.’ The last words came out in a rush as the ridiculousness of her statement hit home. One thing was for sure: this sheikh looked anything but happy.

‘Time’s up.’

‘No, wait, really.’ Pure desperation clawed at her throat. This was all going horribly wrong.

Alone in her bed in the palace of Harith she had made herself picture this moment, prepare herself, using every bit of courage and fortitude she could muster to help her get through the ordeal that she knew she was going to have to face.

She had convinced herself it would all be worth it. If her virginity was the price that had to be paid to halt the threat of war between the kingdoms of Harith and Gazbiyaa, then she would do it, a hundred times over. Because she loved her country, even though it didn’t always feel as if her country loved her. And this crazy, dangerous, downright perilous scheme was the only way she could see that she could make a difference.

But the heartless sheikh that she had imagined sacrificing her honour for had turned out to be nothing like the real-life version. The darkly handsome man who stared down at her now, his eyes sharply focused on her face, his jaw set with fierce determination, was altogether a much more worrying proposition.

From what she had managed to glean from her father and brother, she had gathered that the newly crowned sheikh was nothing but a brutal, debauched hedonist, a man who spent his time in bars and nightclubs drinking alcohol and pursuing his only real interest: the pleasures of the female flesh. A man who had no regard for his people or his country. For all his multibillion-dollar business empire, he had none of the skills and knowledge needed to rule a kingdom such as Gazbiyaa. Which was why, like a hyena circling a vulnerable lion, Harith was poised, ready to pounce.

But Nadia already knew her father and brother were wrong about Zayed Al Afzal. Far from being the extravagant philanderer they had described, he was obviously a highly intelligent man, sharp and shrewd and perceptive. To underestimate him would prove cataclysmic for Harith. For everyone.

And he didn’t even appear to be interested in the pleasures of the flesh. Not hers anyway. She was the one whose body was experiencing an unfamiliar ache beneath the hard, warm, damp skin of her captor.

But who could blame her? The towel that was wrapped around his lower torso was rubbing against her bare midriff, his weight forcing the jewelled belt around her hips to dig into her skin. She could feel the shape of him, the bulge of this very male part of his anatomy, hot and intimate and completely impossible to ignore as it pushed against her groin. It was driving every bit of any rehearsed speech she might have had right out of her mind.

Sucking in a shallow breath, Nadia determinedly squirmed beneath him in a last attempt to free herself. And she did feel him lift himself off her, just an inch or so, and just for a second. Taking full advantage, she bucked her hips, her breasts rising with her, hopeful that she might be able to unbalance him somehow. But as Zayed’s weight closed the gap between them even more tightly than before, she realised her action had had a very different result. She gasped. His full-blown erection was pressing into her groin, straining between them like a rod of steel beneath its towel cover. As her eyes flew to his she caught the gleam of undiluted lust and her own eyes, reflected in his, mirroring his desire.

So she could do this to him. He wasn’t totally impervious to her.

She squirmed again, revelling in this minor power she had over him, in the clenching, craving waves of sexual awakening that the feel of his rock-hard member had triggered in her.

Maybe her plan could still work. Maybe she could still tempt him into making love to her and start the chain of events that would eventually, somehow, achieve what this dangerous charade was all about—a lasting peace between their two nations. Just maybe.

But one thing was for sure. She had to make this moment count.

‘Your Royal Highness—’ she fixed her sultry, dark lilac eyes on his ‘—if you wanted to take me now I would not object. Whatever you should ask of me I will willingly provide and I would do my very best not to disappoint you.’

Instantly, the desire in Zayed’s eyes vanished.

‘Enough!’ Finally freeing her wrists, he pushed his torso up, locking his elbows, so that he now looked down on her, scornful contempt burning in his eyes. ‘Stop this horrible seduction routine. I can assure you I have no intention of taking you. That is most definitely not my style.’

Nadia slowly brought her arms down from over her head, lowering them awkwardly so that they didn’t touch any part of his skin. She was fighting to stop his wounding words from showing on her face.

‘I’ll have you know I am not in the habit of having sex with someone just because they offer it to me. Especially duplicitous young women who sneak uninvited into my bed and then somehow think they can seduce me for their own gain. Whatever gain that might be.’

She stared at him in dismay. She had been sure that the way to beguile a powerful and ruthless ruler was to offer up the only thing that was truly hers to give—her virginity. The never-to-be-recovered gift of her virtue. Now, despite the obvious interest she had stirred in his body, it seemed a laughable idea.

To a man like Sheikh Zayed such a prize meant nothing. Quite the reverse, in fact. Why would he be interested in her when he could pick and choose from the most sophisticated women in the world, sexually experienced women, who would know exactly how to make him happy?

And more than that, here was a man with far too much integrity and morality to ever be tempted into having sex with someone just because he could; she knew that now. She had got it all wrong and now she was doomed, but to what fate she had no idea.

‘I apologise, Your Highness.’ She pushed the words past her choked throat. ‘I can see that my behaviour has displeased you.’

‘Can we dispense with the Your Highness bit?’ Zayed cut sharply through her apology. ‘I think it’s fair to say that the situation we are in has bypassed the need for formal protocol. How about you just explain what the hell you are up to and I decide what to do with you?’

Both of those things sounded equally terrifying to Nadia. Screwing her eyes tightly shut, she tried to think of a way out of this mess. But when she opened them again Zayed was still staring down at her, waiting for her reply, and when he leaned forward with his hand raised she instinctively flinched.

‘Good God, woman.’ He stopped, appalled, twisting the black strand of her hair in his fingers. He had simply meant to brush it away from her heated face. ‘What sort of brute do you think I am?’

Nadia shook her head. ‘No, I don’t...’

‘What desperation would bring you to the bed of someone you obviously think would strike you?’

If only he knew. If only she could tell him the truth. But if she revealed who she was now, admitted that she was from Harith, she was certain he would instantly carry out his threat and have her clapped in irons and left to rot in the palace dungeons. That was the strength of hatred between the two kingdoms.

‘I’m not letting you go until you tell me, Nadia.’ His voice was low and grating, and she knew he was fighting to keep his patience, her silence obviously antagonising him even more. Shifting his weight, he leaned forward again, one muscled arm on either side of her head, his chest hovering just an inch above her own. ‘I’m waiting.’

‘Okay, okay, I will tell you. The reason I am here...’

Suddenly Nadia stopped, saved from having to continue by the sound of a brisk tap on the door behind them. Zayed hesitated, poised and alert. There was another tap.

‘Your Royal Highness?’ A male voice came through the door.

Zayed abruptly pulled his body off hers, and, pushing aside the drapes from the bed, got out. Turning away, he adjusted the towel around his hips before heading for the door. ‘Stay here.’ He hissed the order. ‘I’ll get rid of them.’

Nadia didn’t intend to do any such thing. If this was her only chance of escape she was going to grab it. Leaping up, she started to scrabble on all fours across the slippery satin sheets to the edge of this enormous bed in a desperate bid for freedom.

‘Oh, no, you don’t.’ She hadn’t so much as got a foot to the floor before he was on her again, pushing her back against the pillows. Desperate now, Nadia bucked wildly beneath him, kicking her legs out to the side, wildly grabbing at anything she could get hold of. Which turned out to be a handful of Zayed’s towel. As she inadvertently ripped it from his hips she caught a glimpse of tight, naked buttocks before his body closed down on hers again.

‘Ahem.’ A polite cough alerted them both to the presence of someone else in the room. ‘Forgive me, Your Royal Highness.’

‘Go away!’ Furious, Zayed barked the words over his shoulder as he glared down at the now frozen Nadia.

‘I do apologise, sire, but I come with a message.’ There was another nervous cough. ‘From your father, sire. I believe it is a matter of some importance.’

* * *

Nadia started at the sound of the key turning in the lock and quickly turned to face the door, her hands behind her back.

It was about half an hour since Zayed had imprisoned her in his bedchamber. Having pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, the quick flash of his naked rear widening Nadia’s eyes still farther, he had locked the door to the interconnecting suite of rooms, theatrically jangling the bunch of keys in front of her face to make sure she had got the message. Finally, hissing a few curt words through his teeth to the effect that he would deal with her later, he had marched from the room, locking the door behind him.

Nadia’s first thought was that there had to be some way to escape. After futilely rattling the door handles she had felt along the panelled walls, convinced that there had to be a hidden doorway somewhere. But if there was, it was too well hidden for her to discover. And one look at the terrifying drop from the fourth-floor windows had convinced her that, unless she could somehow sprout wings before she hit the ground, that wasn’t an option, either.

So instead she had ended up pacing round the room, impotent fury pumping through her veins that she, Princess Nadia of Harith, should be held captive against her will by this maddening sheikh. Furious, too, that all her plans had gone so horribly wrong and she couldn’t see any way out of this mess.

Her pacing had taken her over to a large ormolu-mounted desk in the corner of the room. A collection of electronic devices littered the top: a laptop, a smartphone, a tablet. Nadia had never been allowed any of these things, her brother insisting that they would be a corrupting influence on her. But it was the modestly framed photo at the back of the desk that caught her eye. Picking it up, Nadia studied the four fine young men wearing grey gowns and mortar boards and grinning widely for the camera. Graduation day. Four young men with the world at their feet. There was Zayed, second from the left with his arms slung over the shoulders of his friends, several years younger but already heartbreakingly handsome and a twinkle in his eye that said he knew it. Nadia felt something pull inside.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Nothing.’ Nadia glared back at him, fumbling to replace the photo behind her on the desk. ‘I’m hardly in a position to do anything, locked in here like a prisoner.’

‘And whose fault is that?’ He growled the words as he ran his hand over his thick dark hair. Nadia recognised the weariness of the gesture, sensed the heavy weight of responsibility that he carried, quite apart from the trouble she was causing him. She almost felt sorry for adding to his burden. Almost. ‘You are damned lucky I haven’t called security—’ he paused ‘—yet.’

Nadia felt his eyes scanning her body again, starting with the bra top and sweeping down the length of her torso to her bare stomach that contracted under his gaze, lower to her belted hips and long, shapely legs that the sheer, gauzy fabric twisting around them made no attempt to conceal.

She squirmed visibly. Zayed cleared his throat.

‘The question is, what do I do with you now?’

From the fierce look on his face Nadia suspected he wasn’t waiting for an answer from her. And even if he had been she wasn’t sure how to reply.

Despite her earlier determination to escape, she had no idea what she would do if she was set free, where she would go, especially still dressed in this hateful outfit.

Returning to Harith was out of the question. She knew that by now her disappearance would have sparked a full-scale search of the kingdom, that her father and brother would be seething with rage when she had not returned from the ‘shopping trip’ she had set out on earlier that morning, a morning that now seemed an eon ago. She knew that her mother would already be worried sick, and for that she was genuinely sorry. She would have loved to have been able to confide in her, tell her of her daring plan, but she knew that she couldn’t. Years of persecution from her husband and then her son had weakened her mother from the highly intelligent, spirited young woman of her youth to the nervous, fearful woman she was today. Nadia had watched her decline, powerless to do anything about it. But one thing was for sure. She was never going to let that happen to her.

And so she had made her escape. Accompanied by her chaperone, a young woman called Jana whom Nadia had secretly befriended, she had set out with instructions to buy ‘the fine clothes for her trousseau.’ The money her family had given her for this task had been extremely generous and, added to the stash that Nadia had been accumulating over the past months, amounted to a small fortune.

In fact, she and Jana had only made one purchase of clothing, the harem outfit that the two nervously giggling young women had chosen hardly being what her family had had in mind. Then, taking just enough for her flight ticket to Gazbiyaa, Nadia had insisted that Jana had the rest of the money, and the two women had embraced long and hard before Jana had set off on her own adventure, fleeing back to her family with the money for her mother’s operation tucked safely away beneath her hijab. Nadia just hoped she was having more luck than she was.

Zayed had walked across the room, positioning himself in front of one of the balcony windows with his arms folded across his chest, the middle finger of one hand tapping an impatient beat. Nadia could do nothing but silently watch as he decided what he was going to do with her.

‘You know what—’ he sighed heavily ‘—I could stand here all night, trying to figure out what you are doing here, why you have broken into my bedroom, sneaked into my bed. But frankly—’ he stopped to give Nadia a particularly derisory stare that shrivelled her insides ‘—I don’t even care.’

‘Your Royal Highness, if I could just be allowed to explain—’

‘No, Nadia.’ Raising a firm hand, Zayed stopped her. ‘I refuse to listen to any more of your explanations. I’ve heard more than enough of your half-baked nonsense for one evening. But, as much as I would like to be rid of you, I am not going to be held responsible for whatever fate might befall you walking the city streets at this time of night looking like that.’

The sneering gesture, along with the look of distaste on his face that went with it, clearly spelled out just what he thought of her attire.

‘You will stay tonight in the palace.’

As Nadia opened her mouth to protest he barked, ‘And that’s an order.’

* * *

Moving over to the marble-topped credenza, Zayed took out a bottle of Scotch and a crystal tumbler and poured himself a generous measure. Then, pulling out a chair, he sat down heavily, stretching his long legs out in front of him and flexing his muscled arms behind his head. This evening had to rank as one of the most bizarre of his life—and that was saying something.

When he had found out that he, rather than his brother Azeed, was to be crowned sheikh of Gazbiyaa, he had immediately known that his life would change dramatically and forever. He could never have foreseen the circumstances that had led to his being in this position, but the fact was that the future of the kingdom was now in his hands and duty to his country and his subjects had to come before everything else.

From a practical point of view he could do it, he knew that. He had absolute faith in his abilities. His hugely successful global company was a testament to his business acumen and he was certain he could further the prosperity of the fledgling but rapidly moving expansion of the kingdom’s economy. More than that, his keen intelligence and insightful mind meant he instinctively made astute judgements, knowing just when to take the hard line or to follow a more diplomatic approach. Something that could only stand him in good stead with the role he now found himself in.

But emotionally he was still struggling to come to terms with the idea of being the sheikh of Gazbiyaa. This was not the life he had planned for, not the life he had ever wanted. And the more he saw of it, the less he liked it.

Because beneath the flashy, showy front that Gazbiyaa presented to the world, the front that he had let himself believe when he had been thousands of miles away in New York pursuing his own career, there was a bedrock of injustice and ignorance. Like a cloak of the finest gold brocade thrown over a rotting pit of wolves and snakes. What his father called honour and tradition he would term bigotry and prejudice, and the more closely he examined this place, the more deep-rooted he saw that it was. Something he knew he was going to have to address.

The conversation he had just had with his father had done nothing to lighten the load. It seemed that news had come through that Azeed, who had fled Gazbiyaa in a furious rage on learning he would never be crowned sheikh, was heading for the kingdom of Harith. And far from being a cause for relief that his exiled brother was safe and well, this had simply heightened the threat of war between the two kingdoms.

The conflict between Gazbiyaa and Harith went back centuries, originating over disputed land territory. The animosity and bitterness on both sides was now so ingrained that its roots were all but forgotten. The shifting sands of time had done nothing to smooth over the differences between the two nations; in fact with each generation it seemed the wall of resentment grew ever higher.

Which made this debacle surrounding Azeed all the more dangerous. Zayed knew that his first momentous job as the newly crowned sheikh had to be to negotiate a peace initiative before the absurd threat of war that was rumbling between the two countries was allowed to take hold. Only then could he begin to tackle the other inherent problems.

Taking a deep slug of the burning whisky, he slammed the glass back down on the sideboard and rolled back his shoulders to ease the tension. If my friends could see me now. Zayed let out a low snort of derision. He imagined meeting up with Stefan, Rocco and Christian in some swanky bar somewhere and regaling them with the story of what had happened this evening. The Columbia Four, he and his three trusty comrades were so named because they had met at Columbia University, shared their larger than life experiences whenever they got together, each one more than living up to the youthful motto they had adopted: memento vivere, remember to live. This year was certainly proving to be a momentous year for all of them, all three of his friends having married in quick succession, the last wedding, Stefan’s, having taken place just a month ago.

Now, as the last remaining bachelor, it was up to Zayed to provide the outrageous entertainment. And he could make a good story of tonight. The lilac-eyed beauty huddled in his bed, him leaping on top of her, pinning her down, nothing but a skimpy towel around his waist to protect his modesty. He could imagine them roaring with laughter, slapping him on the back, ordering another round of drinks from one of the elegant hostesses to toast his hilarious escapade.

Except that Zayed didn’t feel like laughing, and he certainly didn’t feel like celebrating. Something about the look in Nadia’s dazzling eyes as she had been escorted from the room by a servant niggled at him, haunted him. He still had no idea what she was doing here. What would make a young woman like that do something so debasing, so extreme, so downright dangerous? Reaching thoughtfully for his glass, Zayed raised it to his lips. Despite her provocative behaviour, the more Zayed thought about her, the more sure he was that she was not at all what she appeared to be. The haughty tilt of her chin, the imperious way she had spoken to him, the delicate, pale-skinned hands that looked as if they had never seen a day’s toil in their life, all added up to a very different creature from the one who had virtually prostituted herself in his bed.

Tomorrow he would find out. And with a jolt of surprise he realised he was already looking forward to it. Infuriating she might be, but this Nadia was also a very beautiful, intriguing, not to mention sexy young woman. Something the very male part of him was refusing to ignore.