The Sheikh Who Claimed Her. Barbara McMahon

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СКАЧАТЬ looked as if he’d hacked the legs off an old pair of jeans with the lethal-looking knife hanging from his belt, and his top had definitely seen better days.

      She gave up trying to work him out. He could be crew or he could own the boat—either way, she had to build bridges and hope they stretched to the mainland. She waited until the next time he squeezed past to attempt to make her peace. ‘I apologise for trespassing on your yacht and for stealing your food and the knife. Please believe me when I say I would never have used the knife. And please don’t report me to the Sheikh.’

      ‘I thought I told you to rest,’ he said, showing no sign of having accepted her apology.

      There was no chance of ‘playing him’, as he seemed to think, Antonia concluded, and he’d done nothing more than care for her as he would care for a stray dog, so she could forget the fantasies. Using her so-called womanly wiles had got her nowhere. And there was something more, something that made her shudder to think about it. While he was helping her, she was safe, but should he ever turn against her …

      ‘What happens next is up to you,’ he snapped as if he had read these troubled thoughts. ‘All you have to do is answer my questions promptly and honestly.’

      And that was all? Did he know how intimidating and fierce he looked? ‘I will,’ she promised on a dry throat. If all your questions are connected to the attack, she hedged silently.

      CHAPTER THREE

      THE man might terrify her, but she was determined to hold her nerve; so much depended on getting to the mainland. If only she knew who he was it might be easier to talk to him, but she had searched for clues to his identity and found none on the yacht. There was plenty of food and drink in the tiny galley and all sorts of fancy technical equipment—and, now she put her shopping head on, she realised the blanket around her shoulder was cashmere. But the man remained a mystery. Apart from his working clothes, he wore a strap around his wrist formed of black twine, and the gold hoop in his ear which she found sexy, but neither item was unique.

      It wasn’t much to go on. She should have noticed the name of his yacht, but she had been so traumatised when she’d clambered on board her thoughts had been solely concerned with survival. She hadn’t even paused to think who the yacht might belong to. Food, drink and a fast ticket back to the mainland had been her only concern. And if she had to steal a sleek, sexy racing yacht to get there, so be it.

      ‘I don’t have all day,’ he warned. ‘The least you can do is tell me why you’re here.’

      Even if she had been prepared to tell him the truth it was hard to think straight with his sexuality overwhelming her. Command was instinctive for him, while she was a girl used to getting her own way; theirs could be an explosive partnership.

      In the realms of fantasy only, Antonia cautioned herself firmly. She had been so absorbed in sleuthing it took her a moment to realise that he was holding out the most delicious-looking baguette. Slathered in butter, it had a wedge of cheese inside it so thick it would normally have fed her for a week. And she hadn’t eaten for … She couldn’t remember.

      ‘Is that for me?’ She granted him the first smile of the day as she reached for it.

      He held it out of reach. ‘Talk first,’ he said brusquely. ‘You’ve had enough time to collect your thoughts. And if you can’t remember your own name …’ A quirk of his eyebrow was all it took to call her a liar. ‘Why don’t you start with your parents’ names?’

      ‘Both my parents are dead.’

      ‘And they had no name either, I suppose?’

      Had she expected sympathy? Antonia’s skin prickled at this evidence of a man who was cold and remote. It underscored what she had already sensed about him, that you wouldn’t want him as an enemy, and as she stared into his eyes she wondered if she had never met anyone so removed from human feeling. He unnerved her to the point that she felt like voicing her mother’s name, almost as if it were a talisman that could protect her. But her mother’s name was too precious for that, and so she attempted a little sob instead. ‘Please, let me eat first. I’m s-so hungry …’

      There was a moment of silence between them, and then, as if she had planned it, her stomach growled in anguish. ‘Please …’

      She must have paled or swayed, or gasped for breath; all three were possible when the man was so close to her. ‘Eat, then talk,’ he conceded brusquely, handing over the baguette.

      She dropped her gaze to hide her relief as she crammed the delicious roll into her mouth, going to heaven and back in the space of a couple of gargantuan bites.

      ‘Steady—drink something.’

      He took the top off a bottle of water, which she grabbed from him gracelessly and gulped down.

      ‘Take a few minutes to let the food settle.’

      His words might have seemed considerate, but the look on his face was not. He was telling her she had better not take longer than he expected to pull herself round. Brusque or not, his manner thrilled her. Why did it always have to be the pretty boys who wanted her, when what she wanted was a real man who could stare her in the eyes—a man like this man, who made her body tremble?

      Clearly, his thoughts were not running in tandem with her. Far from returning her interest, he simply dumped another blanket on top of her in passing. He couldn’t have been more unromantic if he’d tried, while her head was full of him touching her in quite a different way.

      ‘You need to sleep,’ he said brusquely. ‘You’re still in shock. We’ll talk later.’

      Sleep? Was he serious? He obviously thought he only had to issue a command and her eyes would close immediately. ‘Sleep here?’ She stared dubiously at the narrow bunk.

      ‘Yes, of course here,’ he rapped with a frown that would have sent grown men scurrying for cover.

      ‘I’m not sure I can sleep,’ she said honestly.

      ‘You can try,’ he insisted.

      She reluctantly dragged the blanket close. Like the man, it held the fresh tang of the ocean, and like him it felt wonderful against her skin. But as she curled up on the bunk all her bravado fell away, leaving just longing and loneliness. However formidable he seemed, and however much of a threat he posed, he had made her feel safe. And that was such a good feeling, Antonia reflected, biting back tears.

      She was physically and mentally exhausted, Antonia reasoned, impatient with herself for the weakness. Her emotions were in tatters, and no wonder, when in the short space of time she’d known him this brute of a man had turned her life plan on its head. She’d carried a mental image with her of returning to Rome in triumph after opening branches of Rigo’s charity across the Middle East. Eventually, she would return home and settle down—probably with some nice, safe man her brother had chosen for her. After which, life would go on pretty much as it always had, with lots of pats on the head for Antonia and not too many problems to worry her. And of course, her husband, like her brother, would adore her.

      But now …

      How was she supposed to lose her innocence to some lesser man now? The man had ruined her prospects of a nice, cosy future. And as for sex …

      ‘Relax,’ he insisted as she squirmed beneath the blanket. СКАЧАТЬ