Carol Marinelli - Captive For The Sheikh's Pleasure

Maggie walked over to a low table that was laden with fruits and delicacies. There were ornate jugs that were filled to the brim and beside them were jewelled goblets, but though thirsty she did not take her fill.

‘Help yourself.’

A deep voice jolted her. Maggie did not move and neither did she look around. The voice was so rich that it seemed to come from all sides and she was not certain of its direction.

‘No, thank you,’ Maggie said, and was both surprised and pleased that her voice did not waver.

‘Turn around,’ he told her. ‘Or do you not have the courage to repeat your demands to my face?’

‘Demands?’ Now she spun and immediately wished she hadn’t, for Maggie had been braced to face a monster. Instead, what she saw was a man more beautiful than any she had ever seen.

And Maggie did not want him to be.

Absolutely she did not want that to be her first thought as she faced her captor.

And she knew that this man was her captor.

Not the henchmen who had dragged her sleeping from her bed and brought her here; she knew now that they had followed his orders.

Maggie was certain that he gave orders, for it was crystal clear to her that he was a leader.

He was taller than most and wore dark layered robes; on his head was a black kafeyah tied with a braided rope. His clothes were immaculate, as if not so much as a grain of sand would dare to sully him.

Though unshaven, he was far from dishevelled; in fact, he was impeccably groomed. His face was chiselled, and though his eyes were an intense hazel, it was his mouth that drew her eyes.

‘I assume you know why you are here?’ he said and his English surprised her—or rather the clipped, well-schooled accent did.

She looked from his mouth to his eyes that flashed irritation at her lack of response, but she stared back without blinking.

Maggie refused to show fear.

And she refused to answer him.

She would say nothing until it was clear why she was here, Maggie had decided.

‘Did you really think that there would be no repercussions, Suzanne?’

And then she reversed her decision not to speak.

Of course it might be far safer to say nothing, but there was one thing this man just had to understand because Maggie was finally starting to—it really was all a mix-up. Perhaps a less than simple mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. Here was the rational explanation she had been searching for earlier.

And once he knew that, she would be free.

So she cleared her throat and stated her case.

‘I’m not Suzanne.’

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