Sandra Marton - Hostage Of The Hawk

‘Oh, yes,’ he said, the words almost a purr, ‘it is enough. It is more than enough.’

She’d done it! She’d won the co-operation of the infamous Prince Khalil—well, Bennettco’s bribe had won it, which stole away most of the pleasure. Concentrate on the victory, she told herself, on what this will mean to your future...

He rose to his feet. ‘Come, Miss Bennett,’ he said softly.

Joanna looked up. He was holding out his hand and smiling. Or was he? His lips were drawn upwards, but would you really call what she saw on his handsome face a smile?

‘Come?’ she said, smiling back hesitantly. ‘Come where?’

‘We must celebrate our agreement with champagne. But not here. This place is for tourists. I will take you somewhere much more authentic, Joanna.’

Joanna? Joanna’s heart thudded. Don’t go with him, she thought suddenly, don’t go.

‘Joanna?’

That was ridiculous. She had done it, she had closed the deal her father thought couldn’t be closed. What on earth could there possibly be to fear?

Smiling, she got to her feet and gave him her hand.

He led her through the restaurant, pausing only long enough to say something to their waiter, who bowed respectfully all the way to the front door. Outside, the night seemed to have grown darker. He was holding her elbow now, his grip firm, as he led her towards a low-slung sports car at the kerb.

Suddenly, Joanna thought of something.

‘Did you say we were going to have champagne?’

He nodded as he handed her into the car, came around to the driver’s side, then slipped in beside her.

‘Of course. It’s a celebration. Why do you sound surprised?’

Joanna frowned slightly. ‘Well, I’m just—I guess I am surprised. I didn’t think your people drank wine.’

He smiled. ‘Believe me, Joanna,’ he said, ‘you are in for a number of surprises before the evening ends.’

He stepped hard on the accelerator and the car shot into the night.

EVERYONE Joanna knew had had the same reaction to the news that she was going to Casablanca.

‘Oh,’ they’d sighed, ‘how incredibly romantic!’

Joanna, remembering the wonderful old Humphrey Bogart-Ingrid Bergman movie, had thought so too. But after a week she’d decided that things must have changed a lot since the days of Rick and Ilse. Casablanca was ancient and filled with history, it was beautiful and mysterious, but it was also the economic heart of Morocco which meant that in some ways it was not only prosaic, it was downright dull.

The man beside her, though, was quite another story. She gave him a surreptitious glance from beneath her lashes. There was nothing dull about him. She’d never met a man like him before, which was saying a great deal. The circles in which she travelled had more than their fair share of handsome, interesting men but even in those circles, this man would stand out.

Joanna’s gaze flew over him, taking in the stern profile, the broad sweep of his shoulders, the well-groomed hands resting lightly on the steering wheel. He seemed so urbane, this Mr Hassan, so at home in his well-tailored suit, his pricey car, and yet she could easily imagine him in a very different setting.

Her lashes drooped a little. Yes, she thought, she could see him in her mind’s eye, dressed in long, flowing robes, mounted on a prancing black stallion, racing the wind across the desert under a full moon.

‘You’re so quiet, Miss Bennett.’

Joanna’s eyes flew open. They had stopped at a light and he was looking at her, a little smile on his lips. For some reason, the thought that he’d been watching her without her knowing made her uncomfortable. She sat up straighter, smoothed her hair back from her face, and gave him a polite smile in return.

‘I was just enjoying our drive,’ she said.

She glanced out of the window as the car started forward. They were passing the Place des Nations Unies, deserted at this hour except for a solitary pair of strollers, a man and woman dressed in traditional garb, she walking barely noticeable inches behind. Like a respectful servant, Joanna thought with a grimace, or a well-trained dog...

‘She is not being obedient, Miss Bennett,’ the man beside her said, ‘she’s simply gawking at the sights.’

Joanna swung towards him. He was looking straight ahead, intent on the road.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘That couple.’ He glanced at her, an insolent smile curled across his mouth. ‘You were thinking the wife was following her husband out of custom, but I assure you, she wasn’t.’

He was right, but what did that matter? Joanna gave him a frigid look.

‘Do you make a habit of reading people’s thoughts, Mr Hassan?’

‘It isn’t difficult to read yours. You seem convinced we classify our women as property in this part of the world.’

She smiled tightly. ‘Your definition, not mine.’

He laughed. ‘A diplomatic response, Joanna—but then, your father would not have sent you on such a delicate mission if he hadn’t been certain of your ability to handle yourself well.’

Some of the tension flowed from Joanna’s posture. He was right. This had been a delicate mission, and she’d carried it off successfully. Let the Hassans and Khalils of this world have their baksheesh and bribes. What did it matter to her? She’d set out to snatch success from the jaws of defeat and she’d done it, despite the arrogant high-handedness of the man next to her.

‘You’re quite right,’ she said pleasantly, folding her hands neatly in her lap and watching as the dimly lit streets spun by, ‘he wouldn’t have.’

‘He has no sons?’

‘No.’ Her smile grew saccharine sweet. ‘I know you must think that makes him quite unfortunate, but—’

‘I suspect it simply makes him all the fonder of you.’ He glanced at her, then looked back to the road. ‘You must be very important to Sam Bennett, not only as vice-president of Bennettco but as the jewel of his heart.’

Joanna looked at him. She was neither, she thought with a little pang, not the vice-president of Bennettco nor even the jewel of her father’s heart. It was Bennettco itself that was his love, it always had been, but now that she’d pulled this off...

‘Am I right, Joanna?’

She swallowed. ‘Yes,’ she said quickly, ‘I’m as important to him as you are to Prince Khalil.’

His head swung towards her. ‘As I...?’

‘I mean, you must be very important to Khalil, for him to entrust you with negotiating such important matters.’

‘Ah.’ He smiled. ‘Of course. You are wondering if my word is Khalil’s bond.’

‘No. I wasn’t. It never occurred to me to doubt—’

‘I promise you, he will abide by my judgement.’ He looked towards her, and suddenly his smile fled. ‘I will not repudiate anything I do this night.’

Joanna’s brows rose a bit. ‘I’m sure you won’t,’ she said politely.

The man wasn’t just arrogant, he was contemptuous as well. ‘ I will not repudiate anything I do this night ‘! It was almost laughable. How could he say that when he was only the Prince’s minister?

Khalil would be even worse, Joanna thought with a sigh, rigid and imperious and completely egotistical. It was probably a good thing he hadn’t agreed to meet with her. As it was, she’d had difficulty holding her temper with Hassan. Heaven only knew how she’d have been able to deal with someone even ruder.

But she didn’t have to worry about that any more, she thought, permitting herself a little smile. She’d done the impossible, pulled the coup that would set her firmly on a path she’d always wanted, and if she’d have been happier managing it without pushing a bribe under Hassan’s nose, well, so what? If that was how things were done here, who was she to ask questions? She had succeeded, and now she and Hassan were going to drink a toast to their agreement.