Emma Darcy: The Sheikh's Seduction

“Boys?”

“My half-brothers. Twins. They’re seven now but they were only five when I came back to Werribee to help.”

“You were asked to do so?”

“No. Susan wrote about Jessie.”

“Where were you then?”

“London. I’d just finished my finals at university.”

“And you dropped everything to help them?”

He made it sound incredibly self-sacrificing but it wasn’t. “I’ve always loved Jessie. How could I not come when she had to face never walking again?”

He frowned. “You stayed with her...all this time.”

“I was needed.” It was the simple truth.

His eyes bored into hers and she felt the reconnection. It was a weird sensation, as sharp and quick as a switch being thrown, making her nerves leap and jangle, an invasion she had no control over.

“The child belongs to its mother, Sarah,” he said quietly. “She is not the answer to your loneliness.”

Her heart pumped a tide of heat up her neck and into her cheeks; burning, humiliating heat. He knew too much about her. He was plucking at her most vulnerable chords. It had felt good to be needed. And wanted.

Her reluctance to cut herself off from those feelings had influenced her choice to stay in her father’s home longer than was strictly necessary, but she did realise it was time to move on. Though this latest disaster confused the issue.

“I can’t desert them now. Don’t you see?” she pleaded. “My father will be ruined if you take your horses away. What will happen to the children?”

“It is not your responsibility,” he retorted harshly. “Your father brought this outcome upon himself.”

“Did he? Did he?” she cried, and plunged into a passionate defence. “Was it his fault his wife got cancer? Was it his fault Jessie was crippled? There were astronomical medical bills and the house had to be renovated to accommodate a handicapped child, a special suite built on with all the aids for Jessie to learn to be independent, a special van bought to transport her. There were so many adjustments to be made, and the continual cost of physiotherapy, masseurs... Do you wonder that my father was distracted from doing his job properly?”

Sarah was out of breath from the frantic outpouring of words. Her eyes clung to Tareq’s, begging understanding. If he could see through her so easily, couldn’t he see this, too?

Or did he see an ongoing problem?

“But things are better now,” she hastily declared. “Susan’s been cleared of the cancer. She’s fine. No trace of secondaries. And Jessie has made fantastic progress. It’s amazing how much she’s learnt to do for herself. The boys have become good at helping her, too. So you see...my father no longer has so many worries on his mind. He could concentrate on the training if you’ll just give him another chance.”

Her plea seemed to be falling on deaf ears. There was no visible reaction to it on Tareq’s face, no trace of sympathy. She needed some response, some hint of whether he was reconsidering his stance or not.

His brick wall silence tore at her nerves. It went on for an agonising length of time. Sarah fought against a mounting sense of defeat. Was there anything more she could say that might touch him?

“Leave us, Peter.”

The quiet command startled her into jerking her head around. She’d forgotten the presence of Mr. Larsen behind her. He was still there, a witness to everything that had been said. His gaze was locked on Tareq, the chilling light eyes slightly narrowed, as though trying to discern the reason behind the command, or perhaps sending a silent warning that a witness was a wise precaution against trouble.

Whatever he thought, he left without a word, not even glancing at Sarah. The door clicked shut after him, emphasising the continued silence and making Sarah intensely aware she was alone with Tareq. She spun her attention back to him, fighting a rush of inner agitation. Her heart beat chaotically as he started walking towards her.

“You fight very eloquently on your father’s behalf,” he said, though he didn’t look impressed. “I find that quite remarkable since he didn’t fight for you. He gave you up, freeing himself to marry again without any encumbrances and have this family you care so much about.”

“Whatever my father’s shortcomings, the children are innocent,” she argued, inwardly quailing as Tareq came closer and closer. “It’s more for their sake that I’m asking you to reconsider your decision.”

He stopped so close she had to tilt her head back to look up at him. His eyes burned into hers with mesmerising intensity. “And if I don’t reconsider, you are willing to give them more devoted service. More of your time,” he said, stroking her cheek with feather-light fingertips as though seeking to get under her skin and feel all she was.

Sarah’s legs turned to jelly. His nearness was overpowering, his touch insidiously weakening both her mind and body. She’d never experienced anything like it in her life. Movement was beyond her. She could hardly think.

He raked back some curls and tucked them behind her ear, his eyes simmering into hers, holding them captive to his will. “I like your giving heart, Sarah. It’s a rare thing in today’s world.”

She swallowed hard, trying to rid herself of the constriction in her throat. “Can’t you give, too, Tareq?”

“Perhaps.”

“You were once kind to me,” she pleaded.

“And I’ll be kind to you again, though you may not appreciate the form it comes in.”

“What do you mean?”

“A bargain, Sarah. You want me to give your father another chance. I want something in return.”

She literally quaked. He was still fiddling with her hair, winding curls around his fingers, tying her to him. It took all her willpower to force out the words, “What is it you want?”

“For the length of time it takes for your father to prove he can be trusted to do his best by my horses, you will stay with me. Let us say...you will be a hostage to his conscientious efforts to redeem himself.”

Dear God! He did mean to tie her to him! Sarah tried to rally her wits out of their state of shock. “You mean...like a prisoner.”

“No need to be so grim. You can be my travelling companion...my social secretary...”

Euphemisms for current mistress? Or was her imagination running riot, along with her hormones?

“Staying with me should not be a hardship,” he assured her. “I’ll pay you a generous salary for your devoted service.”

“Like what?” Sarah’s mind was spinning, unable to decide what was real or unreal. How devoted was the service to be?

“What did your father pay you for all the hours you gave to his family?”

She flushed. “It’s my family, too.”

“Two years of unpaid labour, Sarah? Two years of putting your life on hold with nothing to show at the end of it?”

“Is there a price on love, Tareq?”

“Oh, yes.” A taunting twist of his mouth mocked her naivety. “There’s always a price. You’ve been paying it. And you’d pay more. So make up your mind as to where it’s best paid, Sarah. You continue to give yourself to your family with potential ruin on their doorstep, or you give yourself to me, securing the second chance you’ve been pleading for.”

“Why does it have to be this way?” she cried. Why did he want her with him?

“It’s a question of trust,” he answered, a relentless beat in his voice. “I don’t trust your father. He betrayed the confidence I placed in him. If you trust him to come good on another chance, you have nothing to fear from this bargain and a lot to gain.”

That was the crux of it. Testing her trust in the trust she was asking him to give. She saw the hard ruthlessness in his eyes and knew there was no mercy in him. If he didn’t get the performance he wanted, he would extract compensation, one way or another.