The Desert Sheikh's Captive Wife

Blinking in surprise, Tilda studied the card, which contained an address and a time late the following afternoon. She sucked in a tremulous breath. Rashad was giving her the chance to plead her family’s case. But if she had not dutifully waited all those hours like a lowly supplicant for His Royal Highness’s attention, she would not have got the concession. Anger stirring afresh, she recognised how Rashad made her suffer: first the whip, then the reward—but only if appropriate humility was displayed.

Reclining back into the comfort of his limousine, Rashad thought about Tilda Crawford, defiantly clad in the sort of masculine clothes he had never liked. Why did she only dress up like that for his benefit? Nothing could detract from such striking natural beauty. Even with her mermaid’s mass of curling pale blond hair tied back, her turquoise eyes and the heart-shaped pout of her full pink mouth bare of cosmetic enhancement, she had held every male eye in her vicinity.

Rashad had enjoyed keeping her waiting. He knew what kind of woman she was and he would give no quarter when he dealt with her. In truth, being very tough came naturally to Rashad, who had found restraint and tenderness a much greater challenge. While engaged in picturing Tilda he discovered that a sense of unlimited power could also act as an aphrodisiac. The eager brunette by his side rested a slim, caressing hand on his lean, powerful thigh. With a languid forefinger Rashad depressed the button to screen the windows….

CHAPTER TWO

TILDA sat rigid-backed on the crowded bus that carried her the last mile to her destination. Garbed in what her mother persisted in calling her ‘Sunday best’—a long black coat that she wore every winter to go to church—she was striving not to let nerves get the better of her temper.

Unfortunately every time she recalled how Rashad had just ignored her at the hotel, a sense of grievance grew inside her. What had she ever done to deserve such discourteous treatment? After all, it was not as though she had even had the slightest suspicion that her mother had asked him for financial help. She pressed cold hands to her hot cheeks as though she could cool the mortified heat that that fact still awakened in her. The whole ghastly business was threatening to tear her apart.

Metropolis Enterprises was housed in a massive contemporary office block. The company comprised a long list of different businesses, which were displayed on the inaugural plaque in the foyer. The building had been officially opened by Prince Rashad Hussein Al-Zafar. She travelled up to the top floor in a glass lift. In the waiting area she sucked in a long desperate breath. For just a moment she thought she couldn’t do it, couldn’t face asking for time and understanding from a guy who had once torn her heart and her self-esteem to pieces.

‘Miss Crawford—come this way.’

Tilda straightened her stiff shoulders and followed the male PA. She was shown into a very large but empty office. Barely had the door closed behind her, however, than another opened across the room and Rashad entered.

His raw physical impact hit her like a tidal wave that swept away rational thought. His fabulously tailored black pinstripe suit oozed designer style, emphasising his wide, powerful shoulders, lean hips and long straight legs. Her heart felt as though it were pounding like mad somewhere in the region of her throat. Meeting eyes as amber gold as a hot sunset, she found it equally hard to catch her breath. For her it was like time rolling back and her response was immediate: her mouth ran dry, her slender length tensing with anticipation. It had been five long years since she had experienced that unsettling little clenching sensation way down low in her tummy and it seriously rattled her.

Surveying her only for the space of a heartbeat, Rashad came to a prowling halt by his desk. His lean strong face hardened on the unwelcome reflection that she bore more than a passing resemblance to some divine snow maiden. The high-necked long black coat provided a dramatic frame for the delicate perfection of her ivory skin and light blond hair. Scarcely divine, he adjusted with inner cynicism, regardless of the purity of her looks. Naturally she knew the effect of her startling beauty. Naturally that aura of artless innocence was a façade designed to ensnare foolish men. He knew that better than anyone.

‘Thank you for seeing me.’ Tilda shot that at him a little breathlessly, determined to show that she had better manners than he had demonstrated at the hotel.

‘Curiosity got to me,’ Rashad confided lazily, watching her long honey-brown lashes flutter down over the astonishing turquoise of her eyes, the slight downward pout of her curvaceous pink lower lip. In point of fact, she was still exquisite. A few inches taller and she would have rivalled any supermodel. Five years ago, he had had excellent taste in so far as appearance alone counted. He wondered if she would dare to say no to him now were he to reach for her and, that fast, the stinging heavy heat of arousal engulfed his groin. He gritted his even white teeth at the shock of that instantaneous sexual reaction and killed the frivolous thought that had preceded it. It had not occurred to him that he might still respond to her even when his strong self-discipline and intelligence were in direct opposition to that weakness.

By dint of not quite looking directly at Rashad, Tilda rescued what remained of her concentration and plunged straight to what she saw as the heart of the matter. ‘I had no idea that my mother had asked you to loan her money when we were seeing each other. If I had known at the time I would have stopped you getting involved in our family problems.’

Rashad was tempted to laugh out loud at such an implausible claim. As if! He strode over to the window, presenting her with his bold chiselled profile. He supposed her ludicrous assertion of ignorance was yet one more example of her old habit of always pleading innocence or having a viable explanation to cover her tracks. The leopard, it seemed, had not changed her spots. Nothing was ever Tilda’s fault or her responsibility.

Tilda moved closer in her eagerness to say all that she could in explanation before he could say anything. ‘Mum shouldn’t have asked you to help, but you shouldn’t have given it, either,’ she framed in an apologetic tone. ‘I mean, how on earth did you ever believe she could pay such a huge amount back? Why didn’t you at least tell me what you were thinking of doing before you did it?’

Rashad swung back to face her, for she was stretching credulity too far with that enquiry. A sardonic curve hardened his handsome mouth. ‘Surely that wasn’t part of your plan?’

Her delicate brows drew together in a slight frown of confusion. ‘Plan? What plan? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Rashad surveyed her with derisive cool and he had to admit that she put on a very convincing act. That expression of mystification in her wide turquoise eyes would have persuaded most men that she was speaking the truth. Unhappily for her, past experience had fully armoured Rashad against the lies she might well tell in an effort to awaken his compassion.

The silence felt claustrophobic to Tilda. She did not understand what was wrong or why he had made no response, but she did recognize the scorn gleaming in his narrowed dark gaze. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘It astonishes me that you should dare to come into my presence and criticise my generosity towards your relatives. That might be a wily move with some men, but I find your reproaches offensive.’

Something in that clipped, dark tone chilled her to the marrow and her tension climbed even higher. ‘I’m not denying your generosity and I have no wish to be offensive or ungrateful for the spirit that prompted you to give that money. But Mum had no reasonable prospect of ever repaying you and that should have made you think twice about what you were doing.’

His expressive mouth curled. ‘Your mother was offered the option of paying rent.’

Tilda recognised that the meeting was already going badly wrong and feared that she was letting her personal pride and animosity get in the way of making a proper clarification of the facts. ‘A lot has changed in our lives over the last five years, Rashad. My stepfather has gone. For a while, we lived in chaos. I’m afraid that my mother now suffers from—’

‘Stop right there,’ Rashad commanded with razor-sharp clarity. ‘I have no desire to listen to maudlin sob stories. We are not players in a soap opera, nor do we have a personal relationship. We are dealing with a business matter. Respect those boundaries.’

At that uncompromising rebuke, mortified colour mantled Tilda’s cheeks. Sob stories? Was that how her references to her family’s plight had struck him five years ago? When she had confided in him, had he viewed her trust in him as an inappropriate and unwelcome demand for sympathy? Yet not once had she told him about the serious shortage of money within her home! In the same way she had been too ashamed to admit that her stepfather was a good deal worse than just a work-shy bully and, indeed, had a criminal record.

‘Yes, I appreciate that, but—’

‘Do not interrupt me when I am speaking. It is very rude,’ Rashad sliced back without hesitation.

‘I was only trying to explain my mother’s position and why she has allowed this situation to get out of hand.’ Annoyed by that reprimand, Tilda had to make a real effort to remain focused and resist the urge to fight back in self-defence. But keeping her head was very difficult when Rashad was behaving like a stranger. It was a challenge to believe that he had ever been anything else. His English had become much more idiomatic and his manner towards her was brutally cold and distant. She had never been more conscious of his royal birth and background. Yet she still found it remarkably hard not to stare at him for his sheer strength of character had always drawn her even when she was struggling bone and sinew to resist him. Her painful awareness of just how much he had once hurt her was doing nothing to stabilise her emotions.

‘Mrs Morrison’s personal circumstances are irrelevant,’ Rashad declared. ‘Five years have passed. There has not been a single attempt to service the loan advanced for the settlement of her debts, nor has there been rent paid according to the tenancy agreement. Such an abysmal record speaks for itself.’

As Rashad reminded Tilda of those embarrassing realities an uncomfortable flush washed her fair complexion. ‘I recognise that Mum has dealt with all this very badly, but unfortunately I wasn’t aware until this week that you owned the house and had also loaned her money.’

At that declaration, his lean bronzed features took on a forbidding aspect. ‘Another unlikely excuse? It is hard to credit that you believe the same scam could work twice.’

‘Scam?’ Tilda echoed with an uncertain laugh. ‘What scam?’

‘Did you think I wouldn’t appreciate five years ago that you were doing everything you could to profit from our relationship? It was a scam aimed at milking my interest in you for as much money as you could get. You softened me up with your tear-jerking tales and very prettily you did it. Then your mother begged me to help her to protect you and your siblings from your evil stepfather’s spendthrift ways!’

Tilda studied him in horror. ‘I just can’t believe that you can think that of me or Mum! I only ever told you the truth. I did not try to milk your interest in me—what a disgusting term!’

‘What else did you do? Nor are your sensibilities as refined as you like to pretend. Why don’t we look at the facts? When I first met you, you were working in a bar and dancing in a cage.’

Her turquoise eyes flashed with the blue-gold of a flame in the hottest part of the fire. Temper leapt up so high inside her that she was momentarily left breathless by the impact. Her slim white hands clenched into fists. ‘I wondered when you were going to get around to mentioning that again. Since when was bar work on a level with prostitution? I wasn’t a lap dancer or a stripper. The one time in my life I danced in a cage for a couple of hours and you never let me live it down!’ she launched at him furiously. ‘I should never have got involved with you. You were prejudiced against me from the start!’

Brilliant dark eyes gleamed warning gold beneath the lush black fringe of his lashes. ‘The past is not up for discussion—’

‘Except when it’s you making a point?’ Tilda was seething at the humiliation of having that ghastly cage episode flung in her teeth five years after the event. So much for Rashad acting like a stranger! Rashad, she thought suddenly, hadn’t changed one little bit. He could always be depended on to remind her of the worst possible moments in her life. ‘I’m not an immoral or dishonest or greedy person and I never have been!’

Rashad was dimly surprised to register that he was enjoying himself. She was the only woman who had ever dared to raise her voice in his vicinity or tried to argue with him. Once that trait had thoroughly irritated him but now he recognised it for the novelty and the weakness it was. His self-discipline absolute, he elevated a winged ebony brow in mocking encouragement. ‘Is that so?’

‘Of course it is…’ Tilda pushed a trembling hand through the silky stray curls clinging to her warm forehead. ‘For some reason you’ve put together a whole nasty scenario that didn’t happen. There was never any plan to get money off you.’

‘So…why, in your considered opinion, am I half a million pounds poorer from having known you?’

When Rashad mentioned that particular sum, consternation knocked the breath and the temper out of Tilda. ‘Half…a million pounds?’ she whispered shakily.

‘The sale of the house will recoup some of that loss and the property has at least appreciated as an asset,’ Rashad drawled with a complete calm that she found extremely threatening. ‘But I assume the rent will never be paid and as for the loan—’

‘It can’t all come to half a million pounds!’ Tilda gasped strickenly.

‘Rather more. That is a conservative quote,’ Rashad delivered drily. ‘I’m surprised that you haven’t already worked out the exact amount. I seem to recall that you have a head for figures as good as any calculator.’

Her soft full mouth pursed for she could recognise an insult no matter how well veiled it was. ‘But I haven’t had access to all the documentation involved.’

‘In your role as innocent bystander, naturally not,’ Rashad slotted in with an unconcealed derision as frank as a shout of disbelief. ‘No matter, I intend to reclaim the debt in full.’

Realising that events were running on without her, Tilda was in a panic. ‘You mustn’t. If you were willing to give us more time—’

‘Until the next millennium?’