Читать книгу Australia: In Bed with a Sheikh!: The Sheikh's Seduction / The Sheikh's Revenge / Traded to the Sheikh - Emma Darcy, Emma Darcy - Страница 10

THE STRETCH LIMOUSINE heightened Sarah’s awareness of what life with Tareq was going to be like. She sat beside him on a lushly cushioned, blue velvet seat, every luxury at hand—cocktail bar, television, radio, telephone—and tinted windows around them, forming a cocoon of privacy from the ordinary world. Even the chauffeur, having been given directions to the Hillyard farm at Werribee, was removed from them by a glass partition.

Tareq dominated her space, dominated her thoughts, dominated her every sense.

Her gaze was pulled again and again to the hands resting on his thighs; long-fingered, brown-skinned, elegantly formed yet suggesting a tensile strength capable of catching and holding anything they wanted to. The future of her family was in those hands now, and she was within very personal reach of them any time he chose to make physical contact.

Her nostrils kept picking up the subtle scent of some male cologne. She hadn’t noticed it in the hotel but in the close confines of the car, it intruded enough for her to try to define it, thinking it might define the man. Like the navy suit he wore, it was classy, understated, yet tantalising in suggesting something primitive overlaid with especially tailored sophistication.

Her ears were constantly alert for any movement from him, a shift towards her, a recomposure of himself. He seemed to have mastered the art of utter stillness, which made Sarah extremely conscious of her own little outbreaks of nervous fidgeting.

He hadn’t touched her since he’d drawn her into consenting to the bargain. He didn’t need to. He knew she was now tied to him by honour and integrity. She could feel his touch on her heart and mind and soul.

In her mouth was the sweet-bitter taste of what he had drawn from her father on her behalf, whether by threat or persuasion or simple instruction, she didn’t know. Susan’s tearful gratitude she could accept as a natural response, but her father’s halting speech had been a raw exposure of hidden hurts, intensely embarrassing.

It had touched on feelings they had never talked about, never acknowledged, and because nothing of that ilk had ever been said between them before, Sarah had difficulty in deciphering what was sincere or simply forced out of the situation. She couldn’t help thinking of the Christmas in Ireland where she’d spilled too much to Tareq…a kind stranger she’d never expected to meet again…a man who was acutely, dangerously perceptive.

“Did you tell my father to say those things to me?” she blurted out, wanting to know how pervasive Tareq’s influence had been in that last painful scene at the hotel.

Out of the corner of her eyes she saw his head turn towards her. Sarah had to summon up her courage to look directly at him, needing to maintain a protective shield around herself while she held his gaze.

“What things, Sarah?” he asked, the powerful blue eyes scanning for cracks in her hastily erected defences.

“About not letting me down again.”

“You think he didn’t carry any guilt over abandoning you to your mother’s whims when you were twelve?”

“Did you make him feel guilty, Tareq?”

A slight shrug. “Perhaps I tapped at his conscience in explaining why you felt you could approach me personally…the past connection between us.”

“You must have laid it on thick,” she accused.

He was completely unabashed. “Sometimes it’s very beneficial, very sobering, for people to be faced with the consequences of the decisions they make.”

There was a hard glint of ruthlessness in his eyes.

Her father had certainly been sobered up by the time she’d walked into Peter Larsen’s suite. His alcoholic bender the night before had left him looking drawn and haggard, his eyes redrimmed, but he’d spoken with convincing determination about making good on this second chance. Having accepted Tareq’s terms, whatever they were, he could hardly do anything else. He’d undoubtedly been made to face that his career in training was on the line.

It was the second part of his speech she questioned. He’d moved straight on to expressing-openly expressing—his regret in failing her as a father; his realisation that he’d selfishly accepted her ongoing assistance to his family, thinking only of their need instead of seeing she was putting her own life on hold; his hope that her new position with Tareq al-Khaima would be a door to a lot of opportunities for her; and finally, his fervent vow to live up to her good faith in him and be there for her if she ever called him in need.

They had to be lines fed to him by Tareq. Under duress. Although it was possible her father had taken them to heart. Either way, it was too late for a real rapprochement between them. Tareq was taking her away.

“I didn’t have much evidence of his caring for you, Sarah,” Tareq remarked, reading her thoughts with disquietening ease. His mouth quirked. “And what good is a hostage without a strong value of caring? I thought it worthwhile to add an appropriate load of guilt.”

Questions answered.

Sickened by his logic even as she recognised its truth, Sarah dropped her gaze and turned her face to the side window. They were out of the city and travelling through the countryside to the place she thought of as home. Except it had ceased being her home eleven years ago when her status had changed to occasional visitor. More recently she’d been the live-in family help. But she didn’t belong there. She didn’t belong anywhere.

Which had probably made it easy for Tareq to claim her with no one to protest, no one to fight for her. She was on her own. But that didn’t mean she was a pushover for anything he wanted. Her hands curled into determined fists. If he made unreasonable demands on her she would fight him.

Without looking at him, she asked, “What are the duties of a travelling companion?”

“To travel with me.” His tone was lightly amused.

Her nails dug into her palms. “Nothing else?”

“Oh, I daresay we’ll come to various little accommodations.”

“Like what?”

“You can unclench your hands. I’ve never taken an unwilling woman to bed with me.”

Smarting at his knowingness, she flashed him a furious glance. “It’s all very well for you, sitting in your control box.”

He laughed, his eyes dancing, teasing, enjoying his control. “Are you a virgin, Sarah?”

“That’s none of your business!” she cried, futilely willing the rush of hot blood to her face to recede.

“Just curious. You’re so uptight…”

“There’ve been plenty of men interested in me.”

“Was the interest returned?”

She thought of the “precious” young men her mother had lined up as “catches” for her before she’d left London. Compared to Tareq al-Khaima they were bloodless boys. She was swimming with a shark in these waters. Which raised the question of how many willing women he’d gobbled up along the way.

“Let’s talk about you,” she said defiantly.

“By all means. What do you want to know?”

“No doubt you’ve had quite a love-life.”

“A little correction there. I don’t think love has ever entered into it. Desire, certainly. Satisfaction, yes. Mutual pleasure definitely attained…”

“All right!” she cut him off, disturbed by the images running through her mind. “Let’s say sex-life.”

“Ah, yes. Well, I can’t deny having had considerable experience.”

The smile lurking on his mouth was tauntingly sensual. Sarah could feel her blood heating up again. She had no difficulty in believing he was a very sexy man when he put his mind to it. If he put his mind to it with her…but it would be madness to succumb even if she did wonder what it might be like with him. Where could it lead? He was a sheikh, tied to a culture that was very foreign to her.

“Won’t it put other women off, having me tagging along with you everywhere?” she commented archly, wondering if he’d looked down the track to see the consequences of his decision.

“Not at all. You’d be surprised,” he said cynically.

He was right. Even marriages didn’t stop some people from going after what they wanted.

“What about your family? It could give them the wrong impression.”

His mouth curled with some private satisfaction. “They will think what I tell them to think. Where my family is concerned, it suits me very well to have you with me, Sarah.”

His ruthless streak was showing again. This time it piqued her curiosity. “Why?” she asked, wondering if he was at odds with them.

He weighed the question, his eyes regarding her speculatively. Eventually he said, “My background is similar to yours…a broken marriage, my mother returning to England, the agreement that I be educated there at Eton and Oxford. It got me out of the way for my father’s second wife and the family they had together.”

No wonder he had been sympathetic to the child she had been, cut adrift between two worlds and not really belonging to either. He really had understood and possibly empathised with her sense of apartness, her loneliness, the feeling of being a shuttlecock in an adult game that sought only personal gratification.

“The difference is…the complication is…I’m my father’s eldest son, despite my mixed heritage,” he said sardonically. “The sheikhdom had to pass to me when he died.”

“Did you want it?”

A flash of ruthless possessiveness in his eyes. “I was entitled to it.”

And no one was going to take that away from him, Sarah interpreted.

“Though the truth is…I am not in tune with my people. For years now, my uncle has ruled in my absence while I maintain a diplomatic role. It has suited us both very well. But circumstances change. My oldest half-brother will soon marry the daughter of a very powerful family. Ahmed and Aisha make a formidable coupling. If they work against me, it could stir some political instability. My uncle is pressing for me to marry a woman of his choice to cement my position.”

Sarah inwardly recoiled against the concept of an arranged marriage although she knew it was done and accepted in eastern cultures. For Tareq, it would seem the most sensible decision to make.

“You don’t want that?” she queried.

A flash of steely pride. “No one dictates my life anymore, Sarah.”

She could well believe it!

“Naturally I will be attending my half-brother’s wedding. And you’ll be with me. It neatly disposes of any machinations my uncle might have in mind.”

So Tareq had a purpose for her. Sarah could see it was very convenient for him to have a woman on tap who’d agreed to stay with him for a year. No possibility of a refusal to accompany him. No running away, no matter how sticky the situation.

The bargain he’d offered her suited him on many levels.

“I suppose you’ll want us to pretend to be…” lovers teetered on her tongue and she quickly withdrew it as a possibly dangerous suggestion. “…closer than we really are in front of your family.”

Amusement sparkled. “I don’t think any pretence will be necessary.”

Did he mean to seduce her before then? Sarah’s heart flipped over. Her whole body started churning as she remembered how he’d measured her desirability. Then, when he’d offered the bargain, she’d stood like a mesmerised idiot, letting him touch her. Had that assured him he could make her willing?

“You’ll soon get bored with me, you know,” she fired at him, hating the thought he was confident of arranging everything his way. She might have agreed to being his companion but she wasn’t his slave!

His amusement broke into a laugh that tap-danced all over Sarah’s nervous system. “I can’t remember when I’ve felt so challenged by a woman. But you could be right. A year is a good test.”

A year…

God help her!

She turned to look out the window again, knowing more now but not exactly comforted by the knowledge. They were passing by familiar Werribee landmarks. Soon she would be saying goodbye to all this, leaving the safe little world where she had been closeted for two years.

Her heart began to ache. She would miss Jessie and the boys. Though Tareq was right. They were Susan’s children, not hers. All the same, it didn’t mean she couldn’t love them…her half-sister and half-brothers. They were the only family she had.

Tareq had capitalised on her feeling for them.

She was risking herself for their sake and they’d probably never know. Not that it mattered. She knew. Regardless of what happened to her, something good had been achieved. Jessie and the twins would not become the flotsam of a broken family.

Like her.

Like Tareq.

Except no one in their right mind could think of Tareq al-Khaima as flotsam.