The Desert Sheikh's Captive Wife. Lynne Graham

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      ‘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?’

      ‘Why do you have such a low opinion of me?’ Frustration pounded through Tilda, her eyes bright with angry incomprehension again. ‘I understand that my family comes out of this looking like freeloaders, but when you won’t even let me explain why—’

      Intent dark golden eyes, heavily enhanced by spiky black lashes, slammed coolly into hers. ‘Let’s stick to business.’

      ‘OK. In one more year I hope to be fully qualified as an accountant.’

      Rashad raised a brow in surprise. ‘How novel…when you were with me, all you could talk about was being an artist.’

      It was on the tip of her tongue to point out that the need to earn a living and help her mother raise her siblings had soon put paid to that prospect. She had had to give up her place at art college and find a job instead. But that was not a sacrifice she had ever questioned or regretted.

      ‘I have the ability to earn a decent salary and start paying back what is owed,’ Tilda swore with an urgency that betrayed the depth of her concern.

      ‘You have an English saying. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Promises are not of interest to me. If you have nothing more concrete to offer, one might wonder why you went to so much trouble to bring about this meeting,’ Rashad drawled, soft and smooth as silk. ‘At least, if I didn’t know you I might wonder. Knowing you as I do, however, I suspect that you hoped to use your sex appeal as a bargaining chip.’

      Tilda was so hugely taken aback by that unjust accusation that her soft mouth opened and shut again. Her coat and her boots covered her head to toe and she wasn’t even wearing make-up. There was nothing provocative about her outfit. How did he think she should have presented herself? With a paper bag over her head and her body wrapped in a sack? Pure outrage lit her luminous blue-green gaze. ‘How dare you suggest that?’

      ‘But that’s what you do. Five years ago you were very careful to withhold your body and play the virgin card to keep me interested.’

      Absorbing those words, Tilda breathed in so deep she was vaguely surprised that she didn’t spontaneously combust in front of him. ‘So this is what you call sticking to business, is it?’

      Grim dark golden eyes clashed with hers. ‘But I was a business proposition as far as you were concerned. You set out to rip me off.’

      Tilda snatched in a jerky breath. ‘That’s outrageous!’

      ‘But true, nonetheless, and if you haven’t come here to settle the outstanding debt or at least tender a substantial part of it, why are you here?’ Rashad enquired very drily.

      Her hands clenched into tight fists of restraint for she recognised how he had backed her into a corner and cut off every avenue of escape. If she told the truth and admitted that she had hoped to awaken his compassion by explaining her mother’s circumstances, she would vindicate his accusation about her telling sob stories for profit. Her even white teeth set together. ‘I hoped that you would give us more time to pay.’

      Rashad strolled soundlessly towards her, his pronounced elegance of carriage contriving to hook her attention against her will. But then the very first thing that she had ever noticed about Rashad was the fluid, impossibly sexy grace of his every physical movement. At that memory a tiny betraying little quiver darted through her tummy, tensing her every muscle with defensiveness.

      ‘On what basis would I grant a request for more time?’ Rashad drawled lazily. ‘I’m a businessman. If you can’t raise the money now, there is little chance that you could produce it in the near future.’

      ‘You weren’t behaving like a businessman when you commented on the fact that I didn’t sleep with you five years ago!’ Tilda suddenly shot at him, fed up of playing the game solely by his rules. ‘You are totally biased against me!’

      Rashad strolled closer. He was so much taller that Tilda felt overshadowed by his proximity. ‘Don’t waste my time trying to distract me from the issue. I will ask you again—why are you here?’

      A faint aromatic hint of sandalwood caught at Tilda’s throat and her nostrils and threatened to send her spiralling down into a rich tide of recollection. She was trying to avoid meeting his dark golden gaze, but she could feel his scrutiny and it was as if heat pulsed wherever his brilliant eyes chose to rest. Her mouth tingled, her slender throat tightened. A languorous heaviness was seeping up through her lower limbs, coiling in her belly and sending fingers of awareness darting through her small full breasts.

      ‘For goodness’ sake, you know why I’m here,’ she argued half under her breath. Being that close to him made her feel dominated and she took a swift step back.

      Every imperious line of his lithe hard body taut with command and impatience, Rashad was determined to strip her bare of her manipulative pretences. He closed the distance between them again. ‘From my point of view it would appear that you have approached me with nothing to offer but yourself.’

      Hot pink flooded her cheeks and she was startled into a swift upward glance. She was so conscious of his potent authority and strength that she continued to back away from him without even being aware of what she was doing. ‘What on earth is that supposed to mean?’ she queried half an octave higher.

      ‘I don’t think you’re that naïve.’

      Taut with wrathful incredulity as he confirmed that he meant what she had assumed he could not possibly dare to suggest, Tilda stared up at him, turquoise eyes bright as jewels. ‘Are you suggesting that I would try to offer you sex?’ she gasped.

      Cynical amusement filled Rashad, for she acted the affronted virgin with such perfection. ‘In the absence of any other option, what else is there?’

      At that cruelly mocking confirmation, the anger inside Tilda just cut loose of her restraint and she tried to slap him. But unfortunately her victim had far faster responses and he caught her wrist in midair. ‘No…I don’t tolerate tantrums!’

      ‘Let go of me!’ Tilda gritted in a tempest of fury at having been both insulted and denied any right of reprisal.

      ‘Not until you calm down.’ Rashad retained a firm hold on her narrow wrist. He was angry with her but there was a dark, insidious excitement beginning to stir, as well. A desire for what he had once been denied, he told himself harshly. Yet why should he censure himself for what were only natural promptings? He had a powerful libido and she was a very beautiful woman. A mere seventy years earlier, his grandfather had enjoyed a harem of concubines. For a split second, Rashad allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to have Tilda Crawford entirely at his disposal at any hour of the day. His alone. The images that assailed him were so compellingly evocative that they were dispelled only with the greatest difficulty.

      ‘I said—let go!’ Tilda was so mad at being held captive like a disobedient child that she attempted to kick him. As he evaded that new potential angle of assault she yanked herself free with a suddenness that sent her careening into the piece СКАЧАТЬ