Desert Mistress. HELEN BIANCHIN

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СКАЧАТЬ beg very prettily,’ Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed taunted mercilessly, and in that moment she truly hated him. ‘However, I suggest you direct all your enquiries through the appropriate channels. Such negotiations take time and require the utmost delicacy. And patience,’ he added with slight emphasis. ‘On the part of the hostage’s family.’

      ‘You could help get him out,’ she declared in impassioned entreaty.

      His gaze speared through her body and lanced her very soul, freezing her into speechlessness. There was scarcely a sound in the room, only the whisper of her breathing and she couldn’t have looked away from him if she’d tried.

      ‘We are close to the twenty-first century, Miss Dalton,’ he drawled. ‘You did not imagine I would don a thobe and gutra, mount an Arab steed and ride into the desert on a rescue mission with men following on horseback, taking water and food from conveniently placed oases along the way?’

      Kristi ignored his sardonic cynicism, although it cost her considerable effort not to launch a verbal attack. ‘I have a sizeable trust fund which is easily accessed,’ she assured him with determined resolve, grateful in this instance for inherited wealth. ‘Sufficient to cover the cost of hiring Jeeps, men, a helicopter if necessary.’

      ‘No.’

      The single negation sparked a feeling of desperation. She held one ace up her sleeve, but this wasn’t the moment to play it. ‘You refuse to help me?’

      ‘Go home, Miss Dalton.’ His expression was harsh, and his voice sounded as cold as if it had come direct from the North Pole. ‘Go back to Australia and let the governments sort out the unfortunate incident.’

      She wanted to hit him, to lash out physically and berate him for acting like an unfeeling monster.

      He knew, and for one fraction of a second his eyes flared, almost as if in anticipation of her action—and the certain knowledge of how he would deal with it. Then the moment was gone, and it had been so swift, so fleeting that she wondered if it hadn’t been a figment of her imagination.

      ‘You will have to excuse me. I have a party to host,’ he imparted with smooth detachment. ‘Rochelle will bring you something suitable to wear. Should you wish to return to your hotel, it will be arranged for a driver to transport you there. Otherwise, I can only suggest that you attempt to enjoy the rest of the evening.’

      ‘Please.’ Her voice broke with emotional intensity.

      His eyes flayed every layer of protective clothing, burning skin, tissue, seeming to spear through to her very soul. With deliberate slowness he appraised her slender figure, resting over-long on the curve of her breasts, the apex between her thighs, before sweeping up to settle on the soft fullness of her mouth. ‘There is nothing you can offer me as a suitable enticement.’

      Anger brightened her eyes, and pride kept her head high. ‘You insult my intelligence, Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed. I was appealing for your compassion. Sex was never a consideration.’

      ‘You are a woman, Miss Dalton. Sex is always a consideration.’

      A soft tinge of pink coloured her cheeks as she strove to keep a rein on her temper. She drew a deep, ragged breath, then released it slowly. ‘Not even for my brother would I use my body as a bartering tool.’

      His eyes narrowed with cynical amusement. ‘No?’

      She was sorely tempted to yell at him, but that would only have fuelled his amusement. ‘No.’ The word was quietly voiced and carried far more impact than if she’d resorted to angry vehemence.

      He turned towards the door, and the blood seemed to roar in her ears, then she felt it slowly drain, leaving her disoriented and dangerously lightheaded for an instant before she managed to gather some measure of control.

      ‘What would it take for you to make a personal appeal to Mehmet Hassan on my behalf?’ The words were singularly distinct, each spoken quietly, but they caused Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed to pause, then turn slowly to face her.

      His features were assembled into an inscrutable mask, and his eyes held a wariness that was chilling.

      ‘Who precisely is Mehmet Hassan?’ The voice was dangerously quiet, the silky tones deceptive, for she sensed a finely honed anger beneath their surface.

      She felt trapped by the intentness of those incredible eyes, much like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car, and she took a deep, shuddering breath, then released it slowly. ‘You attended the same school and established a friendship which exists to this day, despite Mehmet Hassan’s little-known link with political dissident leaders.’

      Dark lashes lowered, successfully hooding his gaze. ‘I know a great many people, Miss Dalton,’ he drawled, ‘some of whom I number as friends.’

      She had his attention. She dared not lose it.

      ‘You travel to Riyadh several times a year on business, occasionally extending your stay to venture into the desert with a hunting party to escape from the rigours of the international corporate world. You never go alone, and it has been whispered that Mehmet Hassan has been your guest on a number of occasions.’

      He was silent for what seemed to be several minutes but could only have been seconds. ‘Whispers, like grains of sand, are swept far by the desert winds and retain no substance.’

      ‘You deny your friendship with Mehmet Hassan?’

      His expression hardened, his eyes resembling obsidian. ‘What is the purpose of this question?’

      Steady, an inner voice cautioned. ‘I want you to take me with you to Riyadh.’

      ‘Entry into Saudi Arabia requires a sponsor.’

      ‘Something you could arrange without any effort.’

      ‘If I was so inclined.’

      ‘I suggest you are inclined,’ Kristi said carefully.

      Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed’s appraisal was all-encompassing as it slowly raked her slim frame. ‘You would dare to threaten me?’ he queried with dangerous softness, and she shivered inwardly at the ominous, almost lethal quality apparent in his stance.

      ‘I imagine the media would be intensely interested to learn of the link between Sheikh Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed and Mehmet Hassan,’ she opined quietly. ‘Questions would undoubtedly be raised, public opinion swayed, and at the very least it would cause you embarrassment.’

      ‘There is a very high price to pay for attempted blackmail, Miss Dalton.’

      She pulled the figurative ace and played it. ‘I am applying the rudiments of successful business practice. A favour in exchange for information withheld. My terms, Sheikh bin Al-Sayed, are unrestricted entry into Riyadh under your sponsorship. For my own protection, it is necessary for me to be a guest in your home. By whichever means you choose you will make contact with Mehmet Hassan and request his help in negotiating for my brother’s release. In return, I will meet whatever expenses are incurred.’ Her eyes never wavered from his. ‘And pledge my silence.’

      ‘I could disavow any knowledge of this man you call Mehmet Hassan.’

      ‘I would know you lie.’

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