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

‘The modern way is to speak of marriage as a partnerships of equals.’

‘And it isn’t?’ Gabby prompted, thinking that everything he was saying showed that at heart the ‘modernising’ Prince was nothing but a barbarian.

‘One partner needs to take the lead.’

‘You mean a leader and a follower?’ No prizes for guessing which one he would be, but she wasn’t exactly flattered that he tarred her with the same brush.

‘I mean someone who is capable of making decisions and living with the consequences—someone who is capable of putting duty ahead of their personal desires and needs.’

Despite herself Gabby was fascinated by this insight into his belief system. ‘Is that what you’ve done?’ What, she wondered, were the desires this man had denied for the sake of duty? A woman?

She shook her head and gave a hard laugh. ‘Sorry—stupid question. It’s what you’re still doing. You don’t have a clue what I’m talking about, do you?’ she added studying his face. ‘Most people who knew they only had weeks to live would want to cram all the things they wanted to do but never had an opportunity to into that space of time.’

‘I have led a privileged life and enjoyed opportunities beyond those that most people can dream of.’

She knew her heart ought to be aching for herself, for the choice he was forcing her to make, but instead she felt that irrational organ ache for him.

‘The sort of life that you want me to embrace?’ she suggested, tears thickening her voice to a husky whisper as helplessness swelled like a lump of lead in her chest.

Rafiq refused to acknowledge the misery in her voice, and reminded himself he was offering her a life that many would envy. His first duty was to secure the future and security of his country.

‘It is your choice.’

Anger like blue flame flared in her eyes as she shook her head emphatically from side to side, fixing him with a sparkling sapphire stare.

‘You know I don’t have any choice.’

Rafiq refused to acknowledge the surge of guilt he felt as their eyes connected. ‘There is always a choice, Gabriella. I am not forcing you to do anything.’ It might be wise if he kept not just a physical distance between them but an emotional one too. Empathy could cause problems.

‘Amazing, isn’t it? But I’m not mad about this entire sacrificial lamb thing. I’m not thanking my lucky stars I met you either. But why are you even wasting your time with this obsession?’

‘You call it obsession and I call it duty, Gabriella.’

She threw up her hands and covered her ears. ‘Will you stop calling me that?’ she yelled.

‘Is it not your name?’

‘Not the way you say it! Gabriella!’ she spat in disgust, trying and failing to imitate his rich, resonant tone. ‘I’m Gabby—plain Gabby. Not Queen of the May or Queen of anywhere else. When I marry I don’t want to be some man’s keeper.’

He quirked a dark brow. ‘You have some fantasy of being dominated?’

The suggestion caused angry colour to rush to her face—or was that anger more closely connected with the graphic erotic mental image she blinked so hard to clear?

‘No, I have some fantasy of being loved and cherished!’ she yelled back, her voice shaking with the strength of her feelings. Despite that brief mental lapse, she had never had fantasies about lying naked beneath a man with a body that gleamed like oiled silk.

If she hadn’t known he was totally incapable of it, she might have called the flicker of emotion that crossed his face guilt.

‘My brother is a basically good man.’

‘If he’s nothing like you that’s a head start,’ she agreed, keeping her emotions and her imagination in check as she regarded him with cold disdain. ‘So what’s the plan? Are you going to use blackmail with him too?’ she wondered, pretending great interest as she watched his lean face darken with annoyance. ‘Are you going to play the “dying wish” card?’

The moment the words left her lips she wished them unsaid, and when she saw him flinch she felt even worse.

As she struggled to cling to her antagonism her stomach took a sickly lurching dive in utter rejection of the thought of this vital man being prematurely robbed of his life. Gabby had never met anyone who embodied life and vitality more. It was impossible for her to look at him and believe that he was dying.

Tears welled in Gabby’s eyes and began to roll down her cheeks as she bit her lip.

Misinterpreting her silent misery, his undertaking to keep his distance forgotten, Rafiq started forward, his hand extended.

Gabby blew her nose and backed away, fending him off with one hand.

‘I really don’t want a shoulder to cry on—least of all yours,’ she spat. ‘Let’s face it—you’re not sorry. If any of your remorse or sympathy was genuine—if you gave a damn for anything but your duty and your country—you wouldn’t be doing this … Oh, and have a I mentioned it is a totally crazy idea?’

‘We are both in a position we don’t want to be, Gabriella. I ask this: meet my brother. He is at present out of the country, but I expect him back in two days’ time.’

She regarded him warily. ‘Just meet?’

‘Think of it as a first date.’

‘But you expect there to be a second?’

‘It is no secret, Gabriella. I have made it clear what my wishes are. My brother needs support; you are a strong, resourceful woman.’

If she really was as resourceful as he imagined she would be able to think of another way to gain Paul’s freedom. ‘And you’ll let Paul go home?’

He nodded. ‘There are formalities to be—’

‘How long?’ she cut in.

‘Thirty-six, forty-eight hours … and then he will be on a plane back to England.’

Gabby released a shuddering breath. The sooner the better, as far as she was concerned—before Rafiq woke up to the insanity of his scheme. And she had no doubt he would. This was just his way of trying to cope with what was happening to him. Playing along and humouring him felt almost like cheating.

‘I’ll meet your brother.’

She could tell from his satisfied smile that he had never doubted her agreement.

‘Fine. Until then I suggest we put the time at our disposal to good use.’ His dark gaze drifted down her body, and he felt the lustful kick of his libido. Had the circumstances been different, that ‘good use’ would have involved a bed.

He inhaled and reminded himself that circumstances were not different, and it was not a good idea for a man to undress—even mentally—the woman destined to be his brother’s bride.

‘What sort of good use?’

Her frown, he reflected, would have been even more suspicious had she known of the carnal mental images he struggled to banish from his head.

‘There are things about my country—the formalities that a princess must—’

Her jaw dropped. ‘You want me to learn which fork to use?’