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

Why would he, when he had probably been fighting off women with a stick all his adult life? Or maybe not fighting? This possibility made her frown severely at her reflection.

Running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame the wild waves, she did not at first see the young woman who had appeared quietly in the room, and when she did she jumped.

‘Oh—I didn’t see you there.’

‘Sorry, miss.’ The girl bowed her veiled head. She was young and very pretty, and regarded Gabby with ill-concealed curiosity. ‘The Prince has asked me to show you to your rooms.’

I have rooms? Gabby decided not to question it, though the alteration in her status from unwanted intruder to honoured guest was hard to get her head around. In a lot of ways she had felt more comfortable when they were trying to throw her out. That at least had had the feel of normality, whereas what was happening now was deeply surreal.

‘Lead the way,’ Gabby said, wondering what she’d let herself in for.

Gabby tried, but all her attempts at making conversation with her guide drew only a nervous laugh or a startled look from the big fawn eyes, so eventually she lapsed into awed silence.

It was hard not to be awed by the sheer scale and splendour of the palace—a splendour that Gabby had not had the time to appreciate during her earlier flight.

The young girl led Gabby through a maze of wide corridors and splendid ornate courtyards to an area of the palace her earlier wanderings had not led her near. Here, the splendour went up to a new level.

They turned a corner, and Gabby drew a startled breath. The wall to her left was fitted with a vast floor-to-ceiling stained glass window. Light streamed through, casting a vibrant shadow that danced on the ceiling and trickled down like liquid gold fingers onto the floor.

The girl looked around in enquiry when Gabby stopped, apparently oblivious to the breathtaking magnificence.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Gabby said, gesturing to the glass panel.

The girl looked puzzled, but flashed Gabby a sweet smile. She gestured to a wide sweeping staircase that led to the floor above, the dozens of thin gold bangles on her wrist jangling musically.

She walked along the corridor so quickly that Gabby, whose legs felt like lead, lagged behind. At the far end she opened a door and gestured for Gabby to enter.

‘Your rooms, miss.’

The sitting room alone had about three times the floor space of the entire tiny flat her parents had converted for her on the top storey of the Edwardian house where she and Paul had grown up.

Their homing pigeon, her parents called her. Gabby had never felt any impulse to travel to far exotic places. Straight out of college a job in the local primary school had come up, and she had been delighted to get it. Some people were adventurous, but she just wasn’t one of them. She didn’t dream about faraway places. Ironic, really, because here she was, in a place more exotic than she’d imagined existed …

She did a full three-hundred-and-sixty twirl and let out a silent whistle. ‘This is incredible.’

Her guide smiled with pleasure and gestured towards the doors that were flung open onto a wide balcony.

‘You would like to see the view? Many admire it. When your Prime Minister stayed his wife took many photographs.’

Gabby smiled at the girl, impressed. Prime Minister! ‘No, thank you,’ she said. She had had enough of views—and this time there would be no strong male arms to pull her back from danger.

It was a classic case of out of the frying pan into the fire, because Rafiq Al Kamil did not represent safety except for Paul, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut and crossing her fingers as she murmured fiercely under her breath, ‘Please free Paul.’

A smile tugged the corner of her mouth as an image of her brother popped into her head. He was smiling, and then he wasn’t, and then he wasn’t blond and he wasn’t Paul.

Gabby opened her eyes with a snap, and rubbed her upper arms vigorously to dispel the rash of goosebumps that had broken out over her skin. The cold that had made her shiver had turned her thoughts in the dangerous direction of the heat that had burned through the layers of clothing when Rafiq had hauled her back from the brink.

It seemed to Gabby that she was still on the brink—the brink of going quietly crazy. She extended her hand to push back her hair and saw she was shaking again. She felt a surge of relief. She wasn’t going mad—she was just experiencing a severe blood sugar dip. She had felt like this before, when she had skipped a meal or two because she was busy.

Well, that accounted for some of it. But she had to admit missing a meal had never caused her to look at a man and feel the shameful slow burn of desire low in her belly.

She turned with an over-bright smile to the girl. ‘Do you think I could have a cup of tea?’

‘Your meal will be here presently. I will make sure that there is tea, miss. You will have time to bathe, if you wish, and there are fresh clothes in the bedroom.’

Gabby smiled in acknowledgement of the offer, even as she thought no thanks.

Once alone, she explored. She bounced on the enormous bed and pulled back the counterpane to admire the finest Egyptian cotton linen, then pressed a selection of buttons on a panel she discovered. One of them caused curtains to silently swish across the windows, and another filled the room with the sound of a blues tune that had always been one of her favourites.

She didn’t have a clue how to switch it off, so she let it play. The background sound was soothing, and it actually made her feel a bit less lost. She turned up the volume, thinking she needed all the help she could get. She was so totally out of her depth. The question was, how long could she carry on treading water before she sank like a stone?

The entire suite of rooms was sumptuously furnished, but it was the bathroom that really made her eyes pop. The sight of an utterly decadent sunken bath that could have fitted an entire soccer team brought a wistful gleam to her eyes …

The girl had said there was time. What could be the harm?

She turned on the taps and struggled to recall the title of the song now playing as she began to strip off her soiled clothes.

She took a little while to select a bath oil she liked from the vast selection on offer, before tipping in the contents of a blue crystal flagon. The room was immediately filled with the aroma of roses as the water foamed.

Gabby inhaled and smiled in anticipation as she walked down the flight of shallow steps that led into the foaming water. In the middle of all this craziness, taking a bath seemed so marvellously normal.

She actually giggled as the water begin to lap around her ankles, then waded deeper, dropping to her knees and scooping the water in both hands. She threw it over her back and shoulders, wincing a little as it touched her bruises and grazed skin.

Then with a sigh she switched off the gushing water and stretched out, resting her head on a conveniently situated padded headrest. The effect on her body was almost instant. She could actually feel the tension begin to ease from her body as if by magic. Smiling, she ducked her head under, and emerged moments later, with water streaming down her wet face. Pushing her saturated hair from her face, Gabby lay back again.

As she floated in the warm scented water a self-protective instinct kicked in, and her overtaxed brain went numb. Staring up at the elaborate gold-embellished carvings on the ceiling, Gabby didn’t feel concerned when they began slipping in and out of focus. Her eyelids felt as though they had lead weights attached—so heavy that finally she had to close them.

Just for a minute …

The combination of warm water and music had the obvious effect. Her mind emptied and she slept.

Rafiq consulted his watch as he knocked on the door of the guest suite to announce his presence. It had been an hour since he’d left Gabriella Barton, and he had not wasted that time.

Considering the time factor, the file that now lay on his desk was actually quite comprehensive. What he had read about her brother suggested, rather to his surprise, that the young man might actually be innocent. Skimming the pages, he had seen that Paul Barton was a perfect example of arrested development.

Innocent, perhaps, but Rafiq had little sympathy. He saw nothing to admire in the hedonistic existence of those who drifted aimlessly through life, avoiding responsibility and leaving chaos in their wake, expecting other people to pick up the pieces.

He knew all the essential facts about Paul Barton. But the information on his sister—the information that actually interested him—was less complete. It was frustrating, but he could fill in the gaps later. As nothing he had read negated his plan or made it unworkable, he was pushing on regardless.

When there was no reply to his knock he stepped inside. The music system was playing some moody jazz piece he was vaguely familiar with, but the salon was empty. The food attractively laid out on a low table was untouched and cold.

‘Miss Barton! Gabby!’ He flicked the ‘off’ switch on the music system and repeated his call. When this elicited no response either, he moved to the bedroom door and knocked loudly.

When this too yielded no result, he went inside. The canopied bed was not disturbed. The only sign that the room had been entered was the neat pile of fresh clothes he had left instructions for the maid to provide, which still lay folded on a chair.

He called out again. She had to have heard him. The novelty of being ignored did not amuse him—rudeness never amused him—and her not responding was irritatingly childish.

He laid his hand palm flat on the bathroom door, and it swung inwards.