Emma Darcy: The Sheikh's Seduction

“Yes. He’s never given me reason not to.”

A question of trust...

“How long do you expect it to take...for my father to prove himself to you?”

He eyed her speculatively. “Did you watch the running of the Melbourne Cup yesterday, Sarah?”

“Yes. On television.”

“Then you must have seen with your own eyes that Firefly did not run the distance he should have been trained for.”

She frowned, remembering how the horse had tired. “I thought the jockey had misjudged his run.”

“No, it was more than that. The horse wasn’t up to the distance and he should have been.”

Firefly...

A suspicion wormed into Sarah’s mind.

Jessie still loved the horse...but what did her father feel about it?

“I’ll have Firefly entered in the Melbourne Cup next year,” Tareq went on. “If he runs as well as he should...”

“You can’t expect him to win!” Sarah cried in alarm, a rush of agitation smashing the odd numbness that had claimed her. “No one can guarantee a winner in the Melbourne Cup. The favourites hardly ever win.”

“I agree,” Tareq answered calmly. “As long as it’s a fine effort for the distance I’ll be satisfied.”

A year of her life. Then her fate—the fate of her family—hung on Firefly’s performance. Dear God! She had to talk to her father, make sure he understood. If he had some prejudice against the horse, he had to bury it or they would never get to the other side of this bargain.

A knock on the door.

Tareq rose to answer it. The timing was fortunate. Sarah struggled to contain a surge of panic. She had to remain calm, confident. Tareq was far too perceptive. He would pounce on any hint of a problem with Firefly, and if he pursued the truth and found out what had been hushed up, he might decide he had no grounds for even the tenuous trust Sarah had pleaded for.

It was room service arriving. The ordered food was set out on the coffee table. Tareq tipped the waiter and saw him out. “Try to eat, Sarah. We have a long day ahead of us,” came the sensible advice.

She had absolutely no appetite. Her stomach was in turmoil. Nevertheless, eating precluded any dangerous conversation so she started with the fruit which was relatively easy to slide down her throat. Melon, strawberries, fresh pineapple...she picked and nibbled, using up time.

Satisfied she was well occupied, Tareq moved back to the telephone on the desk and made a series of calls. Sarah didn’t listen to what was spoken. Her thoughts were too loud, clamouring over each other. What if she didn’t get the opportunity to be alone with her father? Would Tareq tell him what the test of his training was to be?

Suddenly there were many it’s and buts. Sarah fretted over them until it struck her that her father might actually prefer to be rid of Tareq’s horses, however crazy it was in a professional sense. Although he had held on to them after Jessie’s accident, being paid for their training, he might have had no heart in their doing well. Maybe even taking some dark satisfaction out of making sure they didn’t.

Yet surely that was at odds with a trainer’s character... the drive to win, to get the best results, to chalk up enviable records. On the other hand, it could explain her father’s drinking bouts. She had put them down to stress, though perhaps she had mistaken the cause of stress...a mind divided against itself.

It seemed stupid to have had Firefly not running the distance, with his owner—a man as astute and as knowledgeable about horses as Tareq—watching his failure to perform. Yet... weren’t there people who wanted to be caught, wanted whatever they were doing to end?

She should have waited to discuss the issue with her father. She should have...

Her heart jumped at another knock on the door.

Her father?

She leapt to her feet, spinning around to face...Peter Larsen...as Tareq admitted him to the suite. The two men stood murmuring to each other. With a muddle of anxiety running rampant in Sarah, the question shot from her lips.

“Did my father agree to the meeting?”

It startled both men into turning to her. Her heart kicked into a gallop. She concentrated on Peter Larsen. He was responsible for making the arrangements. His sharply inquisitive gaze told her nothing. He seemed more interested in pegging her into a newly revised slot than answering her question.

“Why wouldn’t he agree, Sarah?”

It was Tareq who spoke, drawing her attention to him, and once again the power of the man came at her full bore, his eyes like electric probes, making her whole body quiver inside. How was she going to cope with this man when he could affect her like this? He’d caught her so off-guard she was hopelessly stumped for an answer. Her frantic mind finally seized on one.

“Pride. You fired him yesterday. He might be angry about me interceding on his business. I didn’t think about him so much as...”

“He’s here. In Peter’s suite,” Tareq stated, removing her uncertainty. His face took on a ruthless cast as he added, “If he doesn’t agree to my terms, I’ll be a very surprised man. Don’t concern yourself with contingency plans, Sarah.”

He was set on the bargain. He wanted it to happen. He would make it happen. She could see it in his eyes. And she had the prickly feeling it had nothing to do with horses anymore. It had to do with her.

“Tell the Hillyards I’m on my way, Peter,” he said. nodding to the man who needed no other signal to do the sheikh’s bidding. “Sarah, it’s best you wait here while we settle this business with your father.”

She tore her gaze from him and stared at the door closing behind Peter Larsen, wanting to snatch him back, wanting the orders altered.

“Have you changed your mind?” Tareq asked quietly.

She flashed him an anguished took. “I want to be in on the discussion with my father. I might have done wrong...”

“Then it’s up to him to say so. You have done your part. The choice is now his.”

Cool, clear reason. Yet she sensed the fire of purpose in Tareq and knew instinctively it wouldn’t be deterred by anything. Tentacles of fear started weaving through her, clutching at her heart and mind. What had she set in motion? Where would it end?

“Speak now if you prefer not to go through with this, Sarah. I won’t take it kindly if you try to back out after I’ve made a settlement with your father.”

She took a deep, deep breath.

The equation was the same.

The future security of the children was at stake.

“As you said, it’s up to my father. If he agrees, my agreement stands.”

Again the flash of satisfaction in his eyes, curling her stomach.

“This may take some time. Please be at ease here. Use whatever facilities you like. Treat the suite as your own.”

He left her to stew over what was transpiring between the two parties.

It was over an hour before he came back, an hour of agitated pacing, of sick turmoil, of swinging through so many emotions, Sarah felt like a limp rag when he reentered the suite. She could tell nothing from his expression. It was guarded, controlled, yet he carried an aura of success.

“Well?” she challenged, on painful tenterhooks as to the outcome.

“I believe we’ve come to a clear and mutual understanding. Your father will continue training my horses. He and your stepmother would like to speak to you, Sarah. If you’ll come now...”

It was done.

Really done.

The next year of her life belonged to Tareq al-Khaima. He might not be dressed in traditional clothes but Sarah had no doubt he was a sheikh through and through, born to rule, used to dictating his own terms, determined that his will be carried out.

The only question left was...what was his will where she was concerned? Her soul trembled at the thought of finding out that reality.