Annie West - Imprisoned by a Vow

Joss turned to the silent woman sitting opposite.

She was the epitome of Middle Eastern modesty melded with elegant Western sophistication. From her sleek, dark chignon to the high heels that had restricted her walk to a delicate, swaying glide she was the real thing.

Class. Leila had it in spades.

He didn’t need the opulent black pearl pendant or the matching bracelet of massive pearls to tell him she was accustomed to luxury. She wore them with a casual nonchalance only those born to an easy life of privilege could achieve.

She seemed suitable. Her ownership of those enormously rich oilfields made her eminently suitable. It was the only reason he was considering marriage: to get his hands on what would be the key to his next major venture. Besides that she had connections, and the right background to be useful. Yet Joss never left anything to chance.

‘I’d like to know your daughter better,’ he said. ‘Alone.’

ANNIE WESThas devoted her life to an intensive study of tall, dark, charismatic heroes who cause the best kind of trouble in the lives of their heroines. As a sideline she’s also researched dream-worthy locations for romance—from bustling, vibrant cities to desert encampments and fairytale castles. It’s hard work but she loves a challenge. Annie lives with her family at beautiful Lake Macquarie, on Australia’s east coast. She loves to hear from readers and you can contact her at www.annie-west.com or at PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

Recent titles by the same author:

CAPTIVE IN THE SPOTLIGHT

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Helen Bianchin.

For all your support and generosity—thank you!

‘MARRY A STRANGER!’

‘Don’t sound so surprised, girl. You can’t expect me to support you for ever.’

Leila bit back a retort that her stepfather’s pockets were lined with the fortune he’d acquired by marrying her mother. She’d had years to learn open defiance wasn’t worth the savage retribution that followed. Now wasn’t the time to let him know he hadn’t broken her spirit despite his best efforts.

‘As for marrying a stranger, you’ll wed the man I choose and there’s an end to it.’

‘Of course, Stepfather. I understand.’ She’d heard servants’ gossip that Gamil had his eye on another bride. He wouldn’t want an inconvenient stepdaughter, a reminder of his previous wife, on hand. ‘It’s generous of you to organise this when you have so many business matters to deal with.’

Gamil’s eyebrows lowered. His eyes narrowed as if he detected the sarcasm she hid behind a calm façade.

Leila had become adept at concealing emotion: grief, fear, boredom, anger…particularly anger. It burned inside her now but she held it in check. Now was not the time.

But soon! It struck her that an arranged marriage to a foreigner who’d take her far away was the chance she’d prayed for. Her previous attempts to escape had met with humiliating defeat and ever-tighter restrictions. But what could Gamil do once she was married?

It was her chance for freedom.

A thrill of excitement raced down her spine and she had to work to keep her face expressionless. Looked at like that, marrying a man she didn’t know in a cold-blooded business deal was a heaven-sent opportunity.

‘It goes against the grain to let him see you like this.’ Gamil waved disparagingly at her bare arms and legs, her new high heels and the delicate silk dress flown in especially from Paris.

Even without a mirror, Leila knew she looked as good as she ever would. She’d been bathed, waxed, coiffed, manicured, pedicured, scented and made up by experts.

A sacrificial virgin to Gamil’s ambition, primped and polished for a stranger’s approval!

Leila doused a furious surge of indignation. She’d learnt long ago life wasn’t fair. And if this preposterous scheme meant escape and the chance to lead her own life…

‘But it’s what he’ll expect. He can afford the best in everything, especially women.’

Trust Gamil to see women as commodities to be bought. He was a misogynist through and through. Worse, he was pathologically controlling, revelling in his power.

His cold eyes pinioned her and Leila’s skin crawled at the hatred in them. One day she’d be free of this brute. Until then she’d do whatever it took to survive.

‘You’ll do nothing to disappoint him. You hear?’

‘Of course not.’

‘And watch your tongue! None of your clever remarks. Stay silent unless asked a direct question.’

Gamil needn’t have worried. Leila didn’t speak when Joss Carmody entered the formal sitting room.

Her breath snagged as her gaze climbed a big frame to his rugged face. His strong features weren’t chiselled but hewn, all tanned angles and sharp edges, stark lines and deep grooves. His black hair, though brushed back, curled overlong at the collar. She had the impression of unruly wildness, combed into temporary decorum, till she met his eyes and realised this man was anything but lacking in control.

He surveyed her with the keen alertness a banker devoted to his financial reports.

Joss Carmody’s eyes were indigo dark, like the desert sky just before the first stars winked awake. They held hers and she felt a curious squeezing sensation high in her chest. Her pulse sped as she stood, mesmerised.

Whatever she had expected it wasn’t this .

A moment later he turned to discuss business with Gamil. Oil of course. What else would bring an Australian resources tycoon halfway around the world? Or make him consider marrying her?

The land she’d inherit on marriage held the region’s last and largest untapped oil reserves—a unique holding Gamil used to further his own prestige.

She watched Joss Carmody sit down, cradling a cup of strong coffee, effortlessly dominating the room.

Surely even tycoons took more interest in their potential brides than this? His utter indifference rankled. Surprising how much it rankled. After years under her stepfather’s brutish regime it shouldn’t bother her.

Why should a stranger’s indifference matter? She should be grateful he had no personal interest in her. She couldn’t have gone through with this if he’d looked at her the way Gamil had once stared at her mother—with that hot, hungry possessiveness.

Joss Carmody didn’t see her , just a parcel of arid, oil-rich land. She’d be safe with him .

Joss turned to the silent woman sitting opposite.

Her green-grey stare had surprised him when he arrived. He’d sensed intelligence, curiosity and, could it be, a hint of disapproval in that gaze? The idea intrigued.