Читать книгу Desert Mistress - HELEN BIANCHIN, Helen Bianchin - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

KRISTI felt the color drain from her face. ‘How dare you suggest—?’

‘Save your breath, Miss Dalton. An investigation fell into place immediately after your second phone call to my office,’ Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed informed her with deadly softness. His gaze never left her features as he listed the schools she’d attended, her educational achievements, her parents’ names and the cause of their accidental death, her address, occupation, and a concise compilation of her inherited assets. ‘Your visit to London was precipitated by a desire to accelerate the release of your brother, Shane, who is currently being held hostage in a remote mountain area,’ he concluded in the same silky tones.

Anger surged through her veins, firing a helpless fury. ‘You knew why I was trying to contact you, yet you denied me the courtesy of accepting one of my calls?’

‘There seemed little point. I cannot help you, Miss Dalton.’

The words held a finality that Kristi refused to accept. ‘Shane was unfortunate to be in the wrong place at the wrong time—’

‘Your brother is a professional news photographer who ignored advice and flouted legal sanction in order to enter a forbidden area,’ Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed declared hardly. ‘He was kidnapped by an opposing faction and taken beyond reach of local authorities, who would surely have instigated his arrest and incarcerated him in prison.’

‘You consider his fate is better with a band of political dissidents?’

His mouth curved into a mere facsimile of a smile. ‘That is debatable, Miss Dalton.’

Concern widened her eyes and robbed her features of their colour. The image of her brother being held captive kept her awake nights; then, when she did manage to sleep, her mind was invaded by nightmares. ‘I implore you—’

‘You beg very prettily,’ Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed taunted mercilessly, and in that moment she truly hated him. ‘However, I suggest you direct all your enquiries through the appropriate channels. Such negotiations take time and require the utmost delicacy. And patience,’ he added with slight emphasis. ‘On the part of the hostage’s family.’

‘You could help get him out,’ she declared in impassioned entreaty.

His gaze speared through her body and lanced her very soul, freezing her into speechlessness. There was scarcely a sound in the room, only the whisper of her breathing and she couldn’t have looked away from him if she’d tried.

‘We are close to the twenty-first century, Miss Dalton,’ he drawled. ‘You did not imagine I would don a thobe and gutra, mount an Arab steed and ride into the desert on a rescue mission with men following on horseback, taking water and food from conveniently placed oases along the way?’

Kristi ignored his sardonic cynicism, although it cost her considerable effort not to launch a verbal attack. ‘I have a sizeable trust fund which is easily accessed,’ she assured him with determined resolve, grateful in this instance for inherited wealth. ‘Sufficient to cover the cost of hiring Jeeps, men, a helicopter if necessary.’

‘No.’

The single negation sparked a feeling of desperation. She held one ace up her sleeve, but this wasn’t the moment to play it. ‘You refuse to help me?’

‘Go home, Miss Dalton.’ His expression was harsh, and his voice sounded as cold as if it had come direct from the North Pole. ‘Go back to Australia and let the governments sort out the unfortunate incident.’

She wanted to hit him, to lash out physically and berate him for acting like an unfeeling monster.

He knew, and for one fraction of a second his eyes flared, almost as if in anticipation of her action—and the certain knowledge of how he would deal with it. Then the moment was gone, and it had been so swift, so fleeting that she wondered if it hadn’t been a figment of her imagination.

‘You will have to excuse me. I have a party to host,’ he imparted with smooth detachment. ‘Rochelle will bring you something suitable to wear. Should you wish to return to your hotel, it will be arranged for a driver to transport you there. Otherwise, I can only suggest that you attempt to enjoy the rest of the evening.’

‘Please.’ Her voice broke with emotional intensity.

His eyes flayed every layer of protective clothing, burning skin, tissue, seeming to spear through to her very soul. With deliberate slowness he appraised her slender figure, resting over-long on the curve of her breasts, the apex between her thighs, before sweeping up to settle on the soft fullness of her mouth. ‘There is nothing you can offer me as a suitable enticement.’

Anger brightened her eyes, and pride kept her head high. ‘You insult my intelligence, Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed. I was appealing for your compassion. Sex was never a consideration.’

‘You are a woman, Miss Dalton. Sex is always a consideration.’

A soft tinge of pink coloured her cheeks as she strove to keep a rein on her temper. She drew a deep, ragged breath, then released it slowly. ‘Not even for my brother would I use my body as a bartering tool.’

His eyes narrowed with cynical amusement. ‘No?’

She was sorely tempted to yell at him, but that would only have fuelled his amusement. ‘No.’ The word was quietly voiced and carried far more impact than if she’d resorted to angry vehemence.

He turned towards the door, and the blood seemed to roar in her ears, then she felt it slowly drain, leaving her disoriented and dangerously lightheaded for an instant before she managed to gather some measure of control.

‘What would it take for you to make a personal appeal to Mehmet Hassan on my behalf?’ The words were singularly distinct, each spoken quietly, but they caused Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed to pause, then turn slowly to face her.

His features were assembled into an inscrutable mask, and his eyes held a wariness that was chilling.

‘Who precisely is Mehmet Hassan?’ The voice was dangerously quiet, the silky tones deceptive, for she sensed a finely honed anger beneath their surface.

She felt trapped by the intentness of those incredible eyes, much like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car, and she took a deep, shuddering breath, then released it slowly. ‘You attended the same school and established a friendship which exists to this day, despite Mehmet Hassan’s little-known link with political dissident leaders.’

Dark lashes lowered, successfully hooding his gaze. ‘I know a great many people, Miss Dalton,’ he drawled, ‘some of whom I number as friends.’

She had his attention. She dared not lose it.

‘You travel to Riyadh several times a year on business, occasionally extending your stay to venture into the desert with a hunting party to escape from the rigours of the international corporate world. You never go alone, and it has been whispered that Mehmet Hassan has been your guest on a number of occasions.’

He was silent for what seemed to be several minutes but could only have been seconds. ‘Whispers, like grains of sand, are swept far by the desert winds and retain no substance.’

‘You deny your friendship with Mehmet Hassan?’

His expression hardened, his eyes resembling obsidian. ‘What is the purpose of this question?’

Steady, an inner voice cautioned. ‘I want you to take me with you to Riyadh.’

‘Entry into Saudi Arabia requires a sponsor.’

‘Something you could arrange without any effort.’

‘If I was so inclined.’

‘I suggest you are inclined,’ Kristi said carefully.

Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed’s appraisal was all-encompassing as it slowly raked her slim frame. ‘You would dare to threaten me?’ he queried with dangerous softness, and she shivered inwardly at the ominous, almost lethal quality apparent in his stance.

‘I imagine the media would be intensely interested to learn of the link between Sheikh Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed and Mehmet Hassan,’ she opined quietly. ‘Questions would undoubtedly be raised, public opinion swayed, and at the very least it would cause you embarrassment.’

‘There is a very high price to pay for attempted blackmail, Miss Dalton.’

She pulled the figurative ace and played it. ‘I am applying the rudiments of successful business practice. A favour in exchange for information withheld. My terms, Sheikh bin Al-Sayed, are unrestricted entry into Riyadh under your sponsorship. For my own protection, it is necessary for me to be a guest in your home. By whichever means you choose you will make contact with Mehmet Hassan and request his help in negotiating for my brother’s release. In return, I will meet whatever expenses are incurred.’ Her eyes never wavered from his. ‘And pledge my silence.’

‘I could disavow any knowledge of this man you call Mehmet Hassan.’

‘I would know you lie.’

If he could have killed her, he would have done so. It was there in his eyes, the flexing of a taut muscle at the edge of his cheek. ‘What you ask is impossible.’

A faint smile lifted the comer of her mouth. ‘Difficult, but not impossible.’

The sound of a discreet knock at the door, and seconds later Rochelle entered the room with a swathe of black draped over her arm.

‘Perhaps we can arrange to further this discussion at a more opportune time?’ Kristi offered with contrived politeness. ‘It would be impolite to neglect your guests for much longer.’

Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed inclined his head. ‘Indeed. Shall we say dinner tomorrow evening? I will send a car to your hotel at six.’

A tiny thrill of exhilaration spiralled through her body. ‘Thank you.’

His eyes were hooded and his smile was barely evident. ‘I shall leave you with Rochelle,’ he declared formally, then, with a dismissing gesture, he moved into the passageway and closed the door behind him.

‘I think these should be adequate,’ Rochelle indicated as she held out the evening trousers and an elegant beaded top.

They were superb, the style emphasising Kristi’s slender frame and highlighting the delicate fragility of her features.

‘Do you feel ready to rejoin the party? Sir Alexander Harrington has expressed anxiety as to your welfare.’

‘Thank you.’

It really was a splendid gathering, Kristi acknowledged silently some time later as she sipped an innocuous fruit punch. She had attended many social events in the past ten years in numerous capital cities around the world, with guests almost as impressive as these, in prestigious homes that were equally opulent as this one. Yet none had proved to be quite as nerve-racking.

Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed was not a man to suffer fools gladly. And deep inside she couldn’t discount the fact that she was indeed being foolish in attempting to best him. Twice in the past hour she had allowed her gaze to scan the room casually, unconsciously seeking the autocratic features of her host among the many guests.

Even when relaxed he had an inherent ruthlessness that she found vaguely disturbing. Yet familial loyalty overrode the need for rational thought, and she dampened down a feeling of apprehension at the prospect of sharing dinner with him the following evening.

A strange prickling sensation began at the back of her neck, and some inner force made her seek its source, her gaze seeming to home in on the man who silently commanded her attention.

Dark eyes seared her own, and the breath caught in her throat for a few long seconds as she suffered his silent annihilation, then she raised one eyebrow and slanted him a polite smile before deliberately turning towards Sir Alexander.

‘Would you like to leave, my dear?’

Kristi offered him a bemused look, and glimpsed his concern. ‘It is getting late,’ she agreed, moving to his side as they began circling the room to where their host stood listening to an earnest-looking couple conducting what appeared to be an in-depth conversation.

‘Sir Alexander, Miss Dalton.’ The voice was pleasant, the tone polite.

‘It has been a most enjoyable evening,’ Sir Alexander said cordially, while Kristi opted to remain silent.

‘It is to be hoped the effects of your accident will be minimal, Miss Dalton,’ Shalef drawled, and she responded with marked civility,

‘Thank you, Sheikh bin Al-Sayed, for the borrowed clothes. I shall have them cleaned and returned to you.’

He merely inclined his head in acknowledgement, and Kristi found herself mentally counting each step that led from the lounge.

As they reached the foyer, instruction was given for the Rolls to be brought around. Within minutes they were both seated in the rear and Ralph began easing the vehicle down the long, curving driveway.

‘I trust you were successful, my dear?’

Kristi turned towards Sir Alexander with a faint smile. ‘To a degree, although he was aware of the deliberate orchestration. We’re to dine together tomorrow evening.’

‘Be careful,’ he bade her seriously. ‘Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed is not someone with whom I would choose to cross words.’

A chill finger feathered its way down her spine. A warning? ‘Shane’s welfare is too important for me to back down now.’

A hand covered hers briefly in conciliation. ‘I understand. However, as a precaution, I would suggest you keep me abreast of any developments. I feel a certain degree of responsibility.’

‘Of course.’

It was after midnight when Ralph slid the Rolls to a halt outside the main entrance to her hotel, and an hour later she lay gazing sightlessly at the darkened ceiling, unable to sleep. There was still a slight rush of adrenalin firing her brain, a feeling of victory mixed with anxiety that prevented the ability to relax. Would Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed present a very clever argument in opposition to her bid to have him take her to Riyadh? Call her bluff regarding her threat to inform the media of his friendship with Mehmet Hassan? She had seventeen hours to wait before she found out.

Kristi stepped out of the lift at precisely five minutes to six and made her way to the foyer. It was raining heavily outside, the sky almost black, and the wind howled along the space between tall buildings and up narrow alleyways with a ferocity of sound that found its way inside each time the main entrance doors swung open.

An omen? It wasn’t a night one would have chosen to venture out in, not if a modicum of common sense was involved. The occasional blast of cold air penetrated the warmth of the central heating like icy fingers reaching in to pluck out the unwary.

Kristi drew the edges of her coat together, adjusted the long woollen scarf, then plunged her hands into her capacious pockets.

Where would they dine? There was an excellent restaurant in the hotel. She would feel infinitely safer if they remained in familiar surroundings.

She watched as a black Bentley swept in beneath the portico. The driver emerged, spoke briefly to the attendant, then strode indoors to receive the concierge’s attention, who, after listening intently, gave an indicative nod in Kristi’s direction.

Intrigued, she waited for him to reach her.

‘Miss Dalton?’ He produced ID and waited patiently while she scrutinised it. ‘Sheikh bin Al-Sayed has instructed me to drive you to his home in Berkshire.’

Her stomach performed a backward flip, then settled with an uneasy fluttering of nerves. His territory, when she’d hoped for the relative safety of a restaurant in which to conduct negotiations.

The success of her ploy rested on one single fact: information that was known to only a privileged few. Her source had extracted a vow of secrecy—a promise she intended to honour despite any threat Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed could throw at her.

The large vehicle escaped the city’s outskirts, gathered speed, its passage becoming much too swift for Kristi’s peace of mind.

It was stupid to feel so nervous, she rationalised as the Bentley slid between the heavy wrought-iron gates and progressed up the curved drive. Insane to feel afraid when the house was staffed with a complement of servants. Yet she was consumed with a measure of both when the door opened and Rochelle ushered her inside.

‘May I take your coat?’ With it folded across one arm, she indicated a door to her right. ‘Come through to the lounge.’

The room was measurably smaller than the large, formal lounge used for last night’s party, Kristi observed as she followed Rochelle’s gesture and sank down into one of the several deep-seated sofas.

‘Can I get you something to drink? Wine? Orange juice? Tea or coffee?’

Hot, fragrant tea sounded wonderful, and she said as much, accepting the steaming cup minutes later.

‘If you’ll excuse me?’ Rochelle queried. ‘Sheikh bin Al-Sayed will join you shortly.’

Was it a deliberate tactic on his part to keep her waiting? In all probability, Kristi conceded as she sipped the excellent brew.

He had a reputation as a powerful strategist, a man who hired and fired without hesitation in his quest for dedication and commitment from his employees. The pursuit of excellence in all things, at any cost. Wasn’t that the consensus of everything she’d managed to learn about him? Admires enterprise, respects equals and dismisses fools.

But what of the man behind the image? Had the contrast between two vastly different cultures caused a conflict of interest and generated a recentment that he didn’t totally belong to either? Little was known of his personal life as a child, whether his mother favoured a strict British upbringing or willingly allowed him knowledge of his father’s religion and customs.

If there had been any problems, it would appear that he’d dealt with and conquered them, Kristi reflected as she replaced the cup down on its saucer.

‘Miss Dalton.’

She gave a start of surprise at the sound of his voice. His entry into the room had been as silent as that of a cat.

‘Sheikh bin Al-Sayed,’ she acknowledged with a calmness that she was far from feeling. If she’d still been holding the cup it would have rattled as it touched the saucer.

‘My apologies for keeping you waiting.’

He didn’t offer a reason, and she didn’t feel impelled to ask for one. Her eyes were cool and distant as they met his, her features assembled into a mask of deliberate politeness.

‘You’ve finished your tea. Would you care for some more?’

The tailored black trousers and white chambray shirt highlighted his powerful frame—attire that verged on the informal, and a direct contrast to the evening suit of last night.

It made her feel overdressed, her suit too blatant a statement with its dramatic red figure-hugging skirt and fitted jacket. Sheer black hose and black stilettos merely added emphasis.

‘No. Thank you,’ she added as she sank back against the cushions in a determined bid to match his detachment.

‘I trust the burn no longer causes you discomfort?’

The skin was still inflamed and slightly tender, but there was no sign of blistering. ‘It’s fine.’

He accepted her assurance without comment. ‘Dinner will be served in half an hour.’

‘You do intend to feed me.’ The words emerged with a tinge of mockery, and she saw one of his eyebrows slant in a gesture of cynicism.

‘I clearly specified dinner.’

Kristi forced herself to conduct a silent study of his features, observing the broad, powerfully defined cheekbones and the sensual shaping of his mouth. Dark slate-grey eyes possessed an almost predatory alertness, and she couldn’t help wondering if they could display any real tenderness.

A woman would have to be very special to penetrate his self-imposed armour. Did he ever let down his guard, or derive enjoyment from the simple pleasures in life? In the boardroom he was regarded as an icon. And in the bedroom? There could be little doubt that he would possess the technique to drive a woman wild, but did he ever care enough to become emotionally involved? Was he, in turn, driven mad with passion? Or did he choose to distance himself?

It was something she would never know, Kristi decided with innate honesty. Something she never wanted to know.

‘Shall we define what arrangements need to be made?’ It was a bold beginning, especially when she felt anything but bold.

One eyebrow rose in a dark curve. ‘We have the evening, Miss Dalton. An initial exchange of pleasantries would not be untoward, surely?’ It was a statement, politely voiced, but there was steel beneath the silk. A fact she chose to heed—in part.

‘Do you usually advocate wasting time during a business meeting?’ Kristi proffered civilly.

‘I conduct business in my office.’

‘And entertain in your home?’

‘Our discussion contains a politically delicate element which would be best not overheard by fellow diners, don’t you agree?’ he drawled, noting the tight clasp of her fingers as she laced her hands together.

She drew a deep breath and deliberately tempered its release. ‘We are alone now.’

His smile held no pretension to humour. ‘I suggest you contain your impatience until after dinner.’

It took a tremendous effort to contain her anger. ‘If you insist.’

He registered the set of her shoulders as she unconsciously squared them, the almost prim placing of one silk-encased ankle over the other. ‘Why not enjoy a light wine? Diluted, if you choose, with soda water.’

It might help her relax. She needed to, desperately. ‘Thank you. Three-quarters soda.’

Why couldn’t he be older, and less masculine? Less forceful, with little evidence of a raw virility that played havoc with her nervous system? Last night he had dominated a room filled with guests and succeeded in diminishing her defences. A fact she’d put down to circumstance and acute anxiety. Yet tonight she was aware that nothing had changed.

His very presence was unnerving, and she consciously fought against his physical magnetism as she accepted the glass from his hand.

‘You are a photographer,’ Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed stated as he took a comfortable chair opposite. His movements were fluid, lithe, akin to those of a large cat. ‘Did you chose to follow in your brother’s footsteps?’

Conversation. That’s all it is, she reminded herself as she took an appreciative sip of the spritzer. It was cool and crisp to the palate, pleasant.

‘Not deliberately. Shane was the older brother I adored as a child,’ Kristi explained, prey to a host of images, all of them fond. ‘Consequently I was intensely interested in everything he did. Photography became his obsession. Soon it was mine,’ she concluded simply.

‘Initially within Australia, then to various capitals throughout the world.’

‘Facts you were able to access from my dossier.’

He lifted his tumbler and took a long draught of his own drink. ‘A concise journalistic account.’ His eyes speared hers, dark and relentless beneath the slightly hooded lids. ‘Words which can’t begin to convey several of the offbeat assignments you were contracted to undertake.’

‘Photographs, even video coverage, don’t adequately express the horror of poverty, illness and famine in some Third World countries. The hopelessness that transcends anger, the acceptance of hunger. The utter helplessness one feels at being able to do so little. The impossibility of distancing yourself from the harsh reality of it all, aware that you’re only there for as long as it takes to do your job, before driving a Jeep out to the nearest airstrip and boarding a cargo shuttle that transports you back to civilisation, where you pick up your life again and attempt to pretend that what you saw, what you experienced, was just a bad dream.’

‘Until the next time.’

‘Until the next time,’ Kristi echoed.

He surveyed her thoughtfully for several long seconds. ‘You’re very good at what you do.’

She inclined her head and ventured, with a touch of mockery, ‘But you can’t understand why I failed to settle for freelancing and filling the society pages, in a photographic studio, as my parents did.’

‘The lack of challenge?’

Oh, yes. But it had been more than that—a great deal more. The photographic studio still operated, as a mark of respect for their parents, run by a competent photographer called Annie who doubled as secretary. It was an arrangement which worked very well, for it allowed Kristi freedom to pursue international assignments.

‘And a desire to become your brother’s equal.’

She digested his words, momentarily intrigued by a possibility that had never occurred to her until this man had voiced it. ‘You make it sound as if I wanted to compete against him,’ she said slowly, ‘when that was never the case.’

‘Yet you have chosen dangerous locations,’ he pursued, watching the play of emotions on her expressive features.

Her eyes assumed a depth and dimension that mirrored her inner feelings. ‘I don’t board a plane and flit off to the other side of the world every second week. Sometimes there are months in between assignments, and I spend that time working out of the studio, attending social events, taking the society shots, sharing the family-portrait circuit with Annie.’ She paused momentarily. ‘When I undertake an assignment I want my work to matter, to encapsulate on film precisely what is needed to bring the desired result.’ The passion was clearly evident in her voice, and there was a soft tinge of pink colouring her cheeks. ‘Whether that be preserving a threatened environmental area or revealing the horrors of deprivation.’

‘There are restrictions imposed on women photographers?’

It was a fact which irked her unbearably.

‘Unfortunately feminism and equality in the workforce haven’t acquired universal recognition.’

‘Have you not once considered what your fate might have been if it had been you, and not your brother, who had taken a miscalculated risk and landed in the hands of political dissidents?’ Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed queried with dangerous softness as he finished his drink and placed the glass down on a nearby side-table.

Topaz-gold chips glowed deep in her eyes as she subjected him to the full force of a hateful glare. A hand lifted and smoothed a drifting tendril of hair behind one ear. ‘Shane refused to allow me to accompany him.’

‘Something for which you should be eternally grateful,’ he stated hardly.

Kristi caught the slight tightening of facial muscles that transformed his features into a hard mask. Impenetrable, she observed, together with a hint of autocratic arrogance that was undoubtedly attributable to his paternal forebears, and which added an element of ruthlessness to his demeanour.

‘It would appear that, although a fool, your brother is not totally stupid.’

‘Don’t you dare—’

She halted mid-sentence as Rochelle entered the room unannounced. ‘Hilary is ready to serve dinner.’

Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed nodded briefly, and Rochelle exited as soundlessly as she had appeared.

‘You were saying?’

‘You have no reason to insult my brother,’ she asserted fiercely.

He smiled, although it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Familial loyalty can sometimes appear blind.’ He stood and moved towards her. ‘Shall we go in to dinner?’

‘Kristi tried to bank down her resentment as she vacated the chair. ‘I seem to have lost my appetite:

‘Perhaps you can attempt to find it.’