Never Resist a Sheikh (International Bad Boys) Page 5

  Zakir eyed her. As intriguing as she was, the conversation now started to wear thin. He had other things to do today and had no time to have the same argument over and over again with this little redhead. He’d made his decision. It was final.

  Moving purposefully over to the edge of the pool, he put his hands on the edge and pushed himself out of it.

  She didn’t move, that fierce, obstinate look on her face, keeping her gaze firmly above his waistline this time.

  “You have told me your objections,” he said, his voice flat with command. “And I have listened. My decision stands, however.”

  She scowled. “But look, it doesn’t make any sense. I’m not nobility. I’m not beautiful. I don’t know anything about your customs. I’m from New York, for God’s sake. Marrying me isn’t exactly a smart move.”

  Now she was questioning his intelligence? Definitely, this conversation was over.

  Ignoring her, he strode over to the discreet control panel on the wall near where he’d left his towel and pressed a button that would call back in his guards.

  “Also, you’re still failing to take into account the fact that the American government is not going to be happy when they hear—”

  “The American government will not hear anything,” he interrupted. “Because I had Jamal cover our tracks. As far as they or anyone else is concerned, you are taking an unexpected sightseeing trip into the Al-Harahan desert that is likely to last more than two weeks. Now stop talking. My word is law here, little one. And the sooner you understand that the better.”

  As soon as he spoke the doors opened and a pair of his royal guards swept in.

  “Little one?” She didn’t seem to notice the guards, obviously too busy being incensed. “I’m not little.”

  Zakir gestured. “Take her to the sheikha’s quarters,” he ordered the guards in Arabic. “See to her every comfort.”

  The lines of her face tightened as she finally noticed the guards heading in her direction, her mouth firming.

  Smoky gray eyes met his. “Am I heading to the dungeons now?” she asked, the question laced with heavy sarcasm.

  “No, you are to be taken to the queen’s quarters, your every need seen to.”

  Defiance glittered in her eyes. “I will never be your queen.”

  Zakir bared his teeth at her, his patience at an end. “Yes, Miss Cartwright. You most certainly will.”

  Chapter Four

  Felicity paced back and forward over the polished stone floor, so furious she had to move, otherwise she’d spontaneously combust with rage.

  She wanted to smack the sheikh of Al-Shakhra full in his harsh, handsome face.

  She’d tried pleading with him and that hadn’t worked. Then she’d tried a bit of logic, but that hadn’t worked either. All she was left with now was sheer, bloody-minded determination.

  It felt like she’d just gone back in time four years, back to when her mother had invited the scion of a particularly wealthy and influential New York family to the Cartwright’s family Christmas party, telling Felicity she had to do her best to get to know him, because he would make her father an excellent son-in-law and that’s what her father really wanted.

  That had been the night Felicity had finally realized that making her father happy was all that mattered to her mother. That her mother didn’t care about Felicity’s PhD. Or the fact that she was many, many years ahead of her peers. Or that she’d won academic awards right, left and center, and had a brilliant future ahead of her.

  No, all that had mattered was using Felicity for her own ends, to stave off her parents’ divorce that had come anyway.

  And now this sheikh was wanting to use her, too, whether she liked it or not, putting everything she’d worked so hard for at risk.

  Over her dead, freaking body.

  It might come to that if you actually end up smacking him in the face.

  A little wave of cold swept through her.

  She couldn’t think why she wasn’t more afraid. Any sane woman would be, after what had happened to her. But although fear was certainly there, it was anger that had her in its grip.

  She wasn’t going to be used again. She simply refused.

  So what are you going to do? You’re his prisoner.

  Felicity stopped pacing, glaring around the room.

  The guards had marched her along a series of narrow corridors and magnificent staircases to a much bigger room. Actually, it was more like rooms since there was a series of them, all interconnecting.

  They were much bigger than the tiny, bare cell she’d woken up in and certainly much nicer. The floors were of polished stone scattered with thick, deep Persian-style rugs in blues and reds and golds. The windows were narrow, but there were a lot of them lining the walls, the casements so deep she could have lain down along them quite comfortably. Arched doorways connected the rooms, heavy curtains in place of doors leading into a surprisingly modern bathroom that had a heavily latticed wooden door.

  One of the rooms was full of low couches and floor cushions upholstered in rich silks. Another had bookshelves stacked high with books and other interesting object d’art. The bedroom had a massive, low bed with yet more cushions on it, and a glass door that led out onto a terrace.

  It was very luxurious all things considered.

  She hated it.

  Most especially because when the guards had first delivered her here, she’d seen that her laptop and her phone had been returned. And she’d leapt happily on the phone, instantly turning it on, only to find that there was no signal, none whatsoever.

  She’d spent a good hour trying to find one, but hadn’t got anything. Not even a flicker. It wasn’t surprising, of course, given the thick walls of the palace, yet even on the terrace outside the bedroom, where she’d almost been flattened by the heat of the sun and the yawning gulf of the valley beneath it, she hadn’t managed to find one.

  It was like there wasn’t a mobile network at all, which she simply couldn’t get her head around.

  That had given her a true taste of fear. Computers had been her escape since she’d gotten old enough to sense the tension that seeped into the very walls of her parents’ Manhattan townhouse, where speaking a word out of turn could signal the start of World War Three. Tech, code, the internet had all given her a way out, an outlet for her restless brain, and without them… Well, she felt even more of a prisoner than she actually was.

  Shoving the thought away, she turned as the sound of a heavy knock came from the door—a door with a guard outside it, which she knew because opening that door to see whether it was locked or not had been the first thing she’d done.

  She’d only just opened her mouth to respond when the door opened and a couple of heavily veiled women came in bearing trays of food. The women said nothing to her, only bowing before setting the food down on the low table beside the sofa.

  Clearly dinner was served and a pretty solid looking dinner it was, too. Rice and some kind of fragrant stew. Fresh, flat bread and a few dishes of vegetables. White and red wine in separate cut crystal decanters. A jug of iced water.

  Indeed, every need seen to, as Zakir had promised.

  A thought struck her suddenly. Not quite every need had been seen to, had it?

  “Excuse me,” she said as the women, relieved of their trays, began to head back toward the door. “I need to see the sheikh.”

  The women stopped and flicked a glance at her. Their faces were veiled so she couldn’t see their expressions, but their eyes were guarded, wary.

  “I need to see the king,” she said again, when they didn’t say anything.

  Another silence.

  Oh damn, they probably didn’t speak English.

  Another second of silence passed as Felicity tried frantically to think of some way of communicating with them, when suddenly they turned and went out the door.

  Great. So much for that idea.

  She’d taken a step toward the door, thinking of going out and demandi
ng to be brought to the sheikh anyway, when it opened again, a huge figure filling the doorway.

  Speak of the devil.

  The sheikh stepped into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. He was in the black combat pants and desert boots he’d been wearing earlier, but this time he also wore robes of a dark, deep blue swathed around him. A heavy black belt sat low on his waist and there was an honest to God sword hanging on his hip.

  He didn’t look much like a king. He looked more like some kind of desert warrior.

  His dark eyes gleamed beneath the blue cotton of his head-covering, the harsh lines of his face expressionless.

  For some reason she couldn’t possibly fathom, the room that had once seemed so large, now felt as small as a closet. As if by the very action of stepping through that doorway, he’d somehow changed the fabric of the space-time continuum. He’d even managed to do something to the oxygen in the room because it now felt as if she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. Like he was taking all of it just by being there.

  She couldn’t stop herself from looking down his massively built frame, remembering how he’d looked by the pool, when he hadn’t been wearing anything at all. Bare bronze skin. Heavily muscled as a gladiator. Power in every line of him. Quite awe-inspiring and…beautiful…

  “I was told you wanted to speak to me?”

  Felicity jerked her head up to meet his gaze, feeling the inevitable blush sting her cheeks. Which was weird. Why did she keep blushing around him?

  She’d never met a man she’d been all that attracted to. Her school had been a prestigious all girls school and even back then she’d found her friends’ obsession with boys annoying and inexplicable. Especially when there were so many more interesting things in the world to think about.

  In fact, she found most men dull. Many of them found her way too intimidating intellectually and she had no interest in dumbing herself down to make them happy. She wasn’t in the business of adjusting herself to meet other people’s expectations and she’d never regretted that decision, not once.

  Except maybe now. Because maybe then she’d understand why she couldn’t take her eyes off this particular man.

  Really? You’re attracted to him, idiot.

  But no, that couldn’t be. He’d kidnapped her. You weren’t supposed to be attracted to your kidnappers.

  She swallowed, suddenly dry-mouthed for reasons she couldn’t explain. “Yes. I…did. That was quick.”

  “I was passing by.” One black brow lifted imperiously. “This had better not be about returning you to Al-Harah. I have already had that discussion with you.”

  Pulling herself together, Felicity lifted her chin. “No, it isn’t. You told me that all my needs would be met. But they haven’t been.”

  That brow rose higher. “You have had food and drink delivered to you. There are items of clothing in the closets should you need them. Books on the shelves. What more could you possibly want?”

  Clothes, books, and food. Did he really think she was that simple? Felicity bit back the sarcastic comment that nearly came out, deciding on something a bit more conciliatory instead. “Well, as it happens, I would like an internet connection. You must have Wi-Fi, at least, in this place?”

  There was a silence.

  His gaze narrowed. “Wi-Fi?” He said the word like it was a foreign term he wasn’t familiar with.

  Felicity folded her arms. “You know what it is, don’t you? It’s a facility that lets—”

  “I know what it is.” His voice was flat, the edge of it sharp as a blade. “Why do you want it?”

  “I don’t just want it. I need it. Remember that company I told you about? I wasn’t kidding when I said I needed this deal. If I don’t show at this meeting, my employees’ jobs will be at risk. They depend on me. I have to make contact with them at least and I can’t do that without an internet connection.” She couldn’t get help without an internet connection either.

  There was another silence.

  The sheikh stared at her, his gaze utterly opaque, and she had the feeling he was trying to see right inside her, like an X-ray. It was vaguely uncomfortable and she wanted to look away, but she forced herself to hold it.

  “Do you think me stupid, Miss Cartwright?” The words were soft, but there was a certain menace to them that made her heartbeat start to accelerate, reminding her that this wasn’t one of her soft-bodied, male colleagues. This was a king. This was a warrior. A man infinitely more dangerous than any other man she’d ever met and underestimating him was a supremely stupid thing to do.

  Helplessly, a strange fascination shifted inside her chest. She did love investigating a mystery or working out a complicated puzzle. And she’d bet everything that this man would be one hell of a puzzle. A potentially deadly one.

  “N-no. Of course not.”

  “Then why are you asking for something that will enable you to call for help?”

  Okay, so yes, she’d been stupid to think he wouldn’t make that connection. Which annoyed her since she wasn’t accustomed to feeling stupid.

  Be careful, Felicity. Be very careful how you answer.

  She blinked. “How about…if I promise not to call for help?”

  His features hardened. “This conversation is at an end.” And he turned in swirl of blue robes for the door.

  You idiot. That’s really all you could think of?

  “Wait.” The word burst from her, before she could stop it. “You can’t just leave me here.”

  He paused and gave her a single, searing glance. “I do not appreciate being treated like a fool. My kingdom is ancient and my people hold to the old ways, but that does not mean we are idiots, Miss Cartwright.”

  A wave of heat went through her, but this time it wasn’t embarrassment, it was shame. Because he wasn’t wrong. And she’d underestimated him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said thickly. “I didn’t mean to.”

  He said nothing, those black eyes of his settling on her, and she had no idea what he was thinking.

  And somehow the words kept on coming. “It’s just…I’ve been kidnapped and drugged. I’m in a strange country and I’m worried about my company. And I just need to make sure it’s all okay because we had this meeting and it’s important and I have people who depend on me…” She stopped, hating how pathetic she sounded.

  There was a silence.

  Then he said, “Tomorrow will we have breakfast together. You will tell me your needs and I will tell you mine. Perhaps we will come to some arrangement where we both get what we want.”

  Okay, so that was something, wasn’t it? “And what is it that you want?”

  His black eyes gave her a slow, intense look, from the top of her head all the way down to the boots on her feet, sending a shiver right down her spine.

  “I want your surrender, Miss Cartwright,” he said in that rough, harsh voice of his. “Nothing more. Nothing less.”

  * * *

  Zakir didn’t normally bother with a formal breakfast, preferring to eat something in his office directly after his morning training since he always had too much to do. But he was willing to alter his schedule for the day to fit in with Felicity’s, to give them a chance to talk in a more peaceful atmosphere.

  He’d arranged for breakfast to be served in one of the Stone Palace’s open courtyards, one that overhung the valley and gave a magnificent view from the cliffside down to Harjah, the capital city of Al-Shakhra. A fountain played and potted olive trees provided some greenery. It was a pleasant place, yet for him it wasn’t nature that gave him peace, but the cool space of the training room and the ritual of the blade. Or the martial arts forms he practiced, or the punching bag he rained blows upon.

  Physical exercise was a meditation and one he needed if he wanted to keep his baser desires in check. Which wasn’t usually a problem.

  And yet as he watched Felicity Cartwright move from the darkness of the corridor into the brilliant sunshine of the courtyard, guards flanking her,
he was aware again of that stirring of desire inside him, heavy and slow as a hibernating creature waking from sleep.

  There wasn’t any reason for it. She was dressed once more in jeans and a T-shirt, and sneakers, the clothes unfeminine and ridiculous for a hot desert country. But as she walked over to where the table had been set, he found his gaze drawn to the swell of her small, round breasts then down farther to the graceful indentation of her waist. Her legs seemed slender and in perfect proportion to her figure, not that he really could tell since the denim obscured their shape. Then there was the bright blaze of her hair in a glossy braid down her back, and he found his mind wondering if the curls between her thighs would be the same color…

  The desire tightened and he shifted in his chair, the combat pants he favored for everyday wear suddenly more constricting than they had been.

  It irritated him. He was stronger than this, much stronger. Yes, the mornings were his weakest time as they were for any man, but after he’d dealt with any inconvenient erections in the privacy of his shower, he thought no more about it. And he certainly didn’t find himself getting hard for a woman he barely knew, let alone one small, pale, and very sarcastic redhead.

  She seemed a little subdued as she came across the courtyard to the table he’d had set up under the shade of white canvas awning. Her skin was pink, a few beads of sweat on her brow. Already the heat was punishing and it was only nine a.m.

  “Good morning, Miss Cartwright,” he said cordially, as she approached. “I trust you slept well?”

  One of her guards reached out to pull her chair out, but she’d already taken it herself and was sitting down, pushing herself in. “Fine,” she muttered, giving her guards a resentful look. “If you don’t count waking up to find I was still a prisoner, that is.”

  Zakir dismissed the guards with a gesture. “You might have felt better if you’d put on one of the robes in the closet. They’re much cooler than what you have on.”