At The Sheikh's Command

Malik stood beside her as she sank down into the soft comfort of the leather-covered settee, his height and strength so much more imposing from this lower position.

‘Please…’

She had to find some way of speaking in more than monosyllables! Abbie reproved herself. But simply being in this man’s presence seemed to have tied her tongue into knots and scrambled her brain so that she couldn’t think straight.

‘Wine? Or mineral water—or something stronger?’

‘Mineral water, please.’

She would do well to keep a clear head and not muddle her thoughts even further with alcohol.

Or perhaps some alcohol would relax her.

‘No—wine, please—red. Anything, really. I don’t mind. Whatever you’ve got will be fine.’

Well, at least she was talking in sentences of a sort, but now there was the risk of her tongue running away with her. Clamping her lips shut, Abbie tried again for control, only to find that any hope of it eluded her as she saw the small, almost unconscious hand gesture that Malik made, the automatic inclination of his head towards a dresser on which a selection of bottles and glasses stood.

And the immediate move into action that was the result.

She had barely even noticed the man who had been standing at the far side of the room. He had been so still and silent that he had almost blended in with his surroundings, his navy blue shirt and jacket toning with the dark velvet of the ceiling to floor curtains. But now he moved forward, a result of Malik’s brief, almost imperceptible summons.

Silent and smooth, he moved to the tray of drinks, opening bottles and pouring without another word needing to be said, then handing them to his prince with a bow.

This was what it would be like all day every day for Malik, Abbie thought on a wave of shock. This was what he was used to, what was normal to him. He was accustomed to be waited on hand and foot, his slightest whim attended to, almost before he had even realised it.

And this would be her life too if…

No, she couldn’t think of that now! It would destroy the little composure she had managed to gather together.

But of course it was totally impossible that she could not think of it! It was all that had been spinning round and round in her thoughts ever since the moment that her father had told her the conditions that had been offered to enable Andy’s release.

‘The Sheikh of Barakhara needs a wife. He has chosen you to be that wife. If you say yes, then he will drop all charges against Andy and free him as soon as it can possibly be managed.’

Her father had believed that she couldn’t possibly agree to the demands he was making. He had assumed that she would refuse to have anything to do with the idea. That she would declare she would rather die or face prison herself. But then, of course, her father had no idea that she had ever met the Sheikh—met Malik in person.

And he had definitely no suspicion at all of the effect that Malik had had on her.

Something had happened in the time they had been apart, Malik told himself as he took the two glasses—one of wine and one of water—from Ahmed and carried them over to the coffee table before which Abbie was sitting. She had changed—or at least her mood was very different from the sparky, vibrant young woman he had met earlier that day.

There was a stiffness about the way that she held herself, a wariness in those enormous eyes and she looked as skittish as one of his thoroughbred Arabian mares, as if she might turn and run from him at the slightest suggestion of anything that might spook her. As he put the glasses down her eyes flicked up to his face, very quickly, and then away again, twice as fast. And her ‘Thank you,’ was so faint as to be almost inaudible.

Well, he knew how to handle an uncertain woman. He was almost as much of an expert in it as he was in soothing a nervous horse. It needed patience, consideration, but the end result was worth it. He would get what he wanted in the end.

And what he wanted out of Abbie was a long night’s pleasure. She was to be his relaxation after a day from hell. From the way that she had responded to him earlier, he had anticipated that it would be a lot easier than it now seemed likely. But he could wait. He had all night.

But first he needed to work on the atmosphere a little—make things easier, more comfortable for both of them.

‘Leave us.’

A wave of his hand gestured towards the door, indicating that Ahmed and the security guard should leave. Abbie would relax much more if they were alone. The bodyguard would have to remain at the door but at least they would be spared his inhibiting presence in the room.