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

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СКАЧАТЬ regarded him with a wary frown. ‘You do?’

      ‘I do, and for the record I am not trying to kidnap you, Gabriella.’

      Mortified colour flew to her cheeks. ‘I didn’t say that.’

      ‘But you thought it. The door is open.’ He gestured towards the double doors. ‘Or at least it will be if you decide to leave. You are quite at liberty to do so whenever you wish. There are no locks, no guards … But I feel I should remind you that it was you who sought me out—or at least my father. Which was a prime example of optimism winning out over common sense.’

      Gabby gritted her teeth in frustration and didn’t move. ‘Are you just playing with me? Is this some sort of game for you or are you actually going to help my brother?’

      ‘That is up to you.’

      ‘Rafiq, what do you want?’

      ‘You are a kindergarten teacher.’

      Her feathery brows shot up. ‘How on earth did you know that?’ she gasped.

      Ignoring the indignant question, he continued. ‘And you are not emotionally entangled at present. In fact you have never been seriously involved. I find this hard to believe,’ he admitted. However, if his information was accurate, it did remove one impediment that might have been an obstacle to his plan.

      Of course the perfect bride for a future king would be a virgin, but even his father, who attached a great deal of importance to such things, recognised that modern morality made this desirable rather than essential.

      The colour climbed to Gabby’s cheeks. ‘Look, where are you getting this information? How—?’

      ‘Do not be naive, Gabby. I have used the time while you were resting to make myself familiar with your brother’s case.’

      She gave a sigh of relief. ‘So you know he’s innocent?’

      ‘I do not know this.’

      She laid down her fork and fixed him with a narrow-eyed glare. ‘Well, I do know it.’

      ‘Shall we leave the matter of your brother’s innocence out of this discussion?’

      She regarded him in disgust. ‘You’re not the least bit interested in justice, are you?’

      ‘I do not make a habit of interfering with the judicial system of my country. However, in this instance I am willing to make an exception.’

      Gabby’s lip curled. ‘Yes, you’re an opportunist—I get that,’ she inserted impatiently. ‘But what do you want?’

      She saw the jolt of shock that stiffened his body at her less than deferential attitude. Sticking out her chin, she folded her arms across her chest and met his dark implacable gaze. She wasn’t going to pretend a respect she didn’t feel.

      ‘You want your brother released from prison, his name cleared and the slate wiped clean. I want my brother married.’

      Gabby struggled and failed to make the connection between the two. She shook her head and pushed away a silky skein of fair hair that had drifted across her face.

      ‘What does that have to do with me?’

      ‘I will help you achieve your objective if you help me achieve mine, Miss Barton.’

      ‘But how can I help? Do you want me to talk to your brother’s girlfriend?’

      ‘My brother does not have a girlfriend. Well, actually he has several, but none would make a suitable consort for the future King of Zantara.’

      Gabby was struggling to follow, but immediately identified a discrepancy. ‘But aren’t you the future King?’

      He appeared to tense, but ignored the question and successfully diverted her attention by declaring, ‘I have decided that you would be a suitable bride for my brother.’

      Gabby blinked. ‘Is that meant to be some sort of twisted joke? My God, you never had any intention of helping Paul, did you?’ Throwing him a look of disgust, she folded her napkin with slow deliberation and got to her feet. ‘What do you and your friends do for after-dinner entertainment? Watch traffic accidents?’

      Rafiq rose to his feet and stood there towering over her. ‘You asked me about the succession. You are correct. I am next in line, but I will not be King, Miss Barton.’

      An expression of overt suspicion in her narrowed eyes, she folded her arms across her chest. What was this? she wondered. Another example of his warped sense of humour?

      ‘Why not?’

      A man born to be King, he looked the part—which was pretty rare in royal circles. He was regal down to his fingertips, and on the evidence so far he’d have no major problem with the ordering-people-around element of the job.

      Before she had finished reflecting on his princely attributes, he had covered the space between them in two easy strides. Planting a hand on the wall behind her head, he leaned over her.

      His sheer physical presence was incredibly intimidating, but Gabby was determined not to give him the satisfaction of showing him how painfully aware of him she was.

      ‘I need your word that what I am about to tell you will not leave this room.’

      The intensity of his manner unnerved Gabby even more.

      ‘Or what?’ she squeaked.

      He arched a brow and gave her a look of mock surprise. ‘You are in a position to threaten me?’

      Gabby, who was in a position to fall in a shaking heap at his feet, shook her head and gulped. Barely audibly, she forced her response past her frozen vocal cords.

      ‘No.’

      ‘I am next in line of succession. My father was not young when I was born, and five years ago he had two heart attacks. The second was fairly major and he had surgery. He could live for a long time or he might not.’

      Gabby was unsure how to respond to this information. She ducked under his arm and put some distance between them. ‘The same could be said of everyone.’

      ‘Not of me.’

      ‘Why? Are you going to live for ever?’ She gave a scornful laugh and began to turn. ‘I am dying, Gabby.’

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      HIS words made her swing back. ‘You’re sick, all right—sick in the sense of humour department.’ She pointed at her face. ‘Does it look like I’m laughing?’ She stopped.

      He wasn’t laughing either. Conscious of a knot of something close to panic building in her chest, she scanned his face, her unease growing.

      ‘My God!’ The colour drained from her face and her hand came up to cover her trembling lips. ‘You’re telling the truth!’

      ‘I СКАЧАТЬ