Chantelle Shaw - The Sheikh Who Blackmailed Her - Desert Prince, Blackmailed Bride / The Sheikh and the Bought Bride / At the Sheikh's Bidding

He mimed a roll of drums and said dramatically, ‘My first food as a free and exonerated man.’ He shoved a large chunk into his mouth, rolled his eyes and groaned. ‘Heaven,’ he said, before adding, ‘The thing is, they don’t want me suing them for false imprisonment or something.’

Gabby’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘You’re not thinking of doing anything like that, are you, Paul?’ she asked uneasily.

‘All I want to do is go home.’

Gabby’s shoulders sagged in relief. ‘You’re booked on the six-thirty flight this evening.’

‘Six-thirty? That barely gives me time to use room service.’ Paul flung himself down on the nearest sofa and threw a grateful look at Gabby. ‘You’re a miracle-worker, sis.’ His expression sobered as he asked, ‘How are Mum and Dad?’

‘You can ask them yourself later today.’

‘It’s been tough on them.’

She nodded. ‘They’ve coped well enough.’

‘Is there cable? Do you think I could get the match?’ Paul wondered.

Gabby, thinking of the anxiety she’d suffered, imagining him in some cell with no window, regarded Paul with amused exasperation. He had just been through an experience that would have traumatised most and permanently scarred some for life, and all he could think of was a soccer match. And it wasn’t an act either.

It must be nice, she reflected wistfully, to go through life with such a laid-back attitude.

‘Was it terrible? Prison?’ Gabby asked, feeling as usual like the responsible adult present, even though Paul was six years older than her.

Paul began to scroll through the channels, stopping when he found a cartoon he proclaimed to be his favourite.

‘If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.’

‘Turn down the empathy, Gabby, it’s not good for your blood pressure. I’ve not got post-traumatic stress or anything. What is there to say? It’s not meant to be nice, is it? It’s prison. But it wasn’t as bad as it might have been, and I knew I’d get out. I hadn’t done anything, and anyhow I had the A team on the job.’ He shot her an affectionate grin.

Gabby responded, marvelling at the way he had shrugged off his imprisonment the same way he shrugged off anything unpleasant that ever happened to him. Paul was, she reflected, nothing if not resilient.

‘You look different.’

Gabby was amazed that he had noticed. ‘You think so?’

‘New dress?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed, thinking, New dress, new hair, new makeup … In fact when she had looked in the mirror before she had driven—or rather been driven—out of the palace earlier, she had hardly recognised the person who had looked back at her. If Paul, not the most observant of people, had noticed, the transformation must be even greater than she had thought.

‘It’s a different look,’ Paul observed, fingering the blue filmy fabric of the skirt that fell in soft folds to her knees.

‘But you don’t like it?’

‘Sure. I’m just used to seeing you in jeans. This makes you look a bit … um … untouchable,’ he decided, studying her new look.

‘Untouchable?’

Gabby was startled by the suggestion, but when she thought about it was not exactly displeased. The chances of Prince Hakim wanting to touch her were in her opinion fairly remote, and if she was cold and distant enough it would hopefully put him off her totally. Throwing many obstacles in the way of Rafiq’s plan could only be a good thing. And if, as she suspected, Rafiq was overestimating his brother’s sense of duty, it would not be long before Rafiq had to accept that people were not puppets.

But it was not her ability to be cold and distant to his brother that was troubling Gabby. Every time she thought of the way she had grabbed Rafiq and kissed him she wanted to curl up and die—and when she thought of him kissing her back the recognition that she hadn’t wanted him to stop was more than humiliating, it was beyond belief!

How was it possible? The feelings he had aroused in her were terrifying, the hunger and excitement totally alien to her nature. Why, of all the men she had ever met, was this angry, tragic, infuriating man the one who had awoken the dormant sensual side to her nature?

Of course he had a good side. She kept seeing his tired, beautiful face as Sayed had arrived at the Bahu encampment to escort her back to the palace yesterday. He cared so passionately about his people and his country that she couldn’t help but admire him and worry about him.

She clenched her teeth. No, she wouldn’t worry! The wretched man hadn’t even had the courtesy to let her know when or if he had returned to the palace. All she’d had was that stupid damned note this morning!

What was wrong with her? Was she one of those women who were attracted to what they couldn’t have?

No. For that theory to work she would have to want Prince Rafiq, and obviously she didn’t. Heat ignited low in her belly just thinking of him, but that was only a chemical reaction to a man who was the quintessence of everything male. Small wonder, really, that her hormones had been jolted out of their dormant state.

But she had them firmly under control now, so it was end of story, turn the darned page, Gabby, and get on with sorting out the next problem—namely, showing she was not queen material.

‘Well, maybe not untouchable, but …’ Paul replied.

‘Regal?’ Gabby suggested. Gabby, appalled by her thought, struggled with the urge to mess her hair and wipe off the beautifully applied make-up. All day she’d had the feeling of being trapped inside the body of someone else. Or maybe just trapped—which she was. Temporarily trapped.

Paul threw back his head and laughed. ‘You? Regal? Now, that is a good one.’ He chuckled at the joke, then asked, ‘What time did you say the flight was?’

Gabby told him and he consulted his watch. ‘So, no time for a nap?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t suppose it was easy to sleep in prison?’

‘Actually, there wasn’t a lot else to do—and you know me. I can sleep anywhere, any time. The King of the Catnap!’ he said, stretching out on the sofa and yawning. ‘Haven’t you got some packing to do or something? Shall I order a taxi?’

Gabby took a deep breath. ‘Actually, Paul, I thought I might stay on for a while.’

‘You’re not coming home?’

Home. The emotional lump of loss in Gabby’s throat swelled, and she blinked as she felt the prickle of tears behind her eyelids.

She could get on that plane with Paul.

She had given her word, but that had been under duress so it didn’t count. There was nothing barring the integrity Rafiq seemed so convinced she possessed stopping her. She could sleep in her own bed tonight.

The idea held a lot of appeal.

What was to stop her? Who was to stop her?

Rafiq? Even Rafiq would stop short of boarding an international flight and hauling her off—wouldn’t he? An image of Rafiq’s face—the carved cheekbones, the sensually sculpted mouth and the implacable dark eyes—flashed into her mind.

It was the face of a man who would stop short of nothing to achieve the goal he had set himself. The man was so fixated and stubborn that she was wasting her time telling him his plan was crazy, but she was sure that the passage of time would prove what he didn’t want to hear.

‘I thought I’d take an extended holiday,’ she said.

Just the odd twenty years or so, if things went according to Rafiq’s plan. But it wouldn’t—it couldn’t. Gabby clung to her conviction. The alternative was something she couldn’t bring herself to contemplate.

‘But you don’t go on holiday.’