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

She looked at him through her fingers. Was he dense, or what? ‘Because I was …’

‘Naked?’ he suggested, looking amused. ‘Better to be embarrassed, Gabby,’ he declared, ‘than dead. If it helps, I have seen naked women before.’ None of them were imprinted on his retina, though.

‘It doesn’t,’ she hissed, thinking of women with Hollywood gloss and perfect bodies he no doubt normally swept into his arms. She wanted badly for the floor to open up and swallow her. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get dressed.’ He didn’t move, so she added pointedly, ‘Without an audience.’

‘Of course.’ He inclined his head and turned to leave her.

‘And … thank you,’ she called, as he stood with his hand extended towards the door.

He swung back. ‘It was my pleasure.’

‘That’s what bothers me,’ she muttered as the door closed. He must have heard her because she heard him laugh, which just about made her humiliation complete.

Gabby was tempted to put her own clothes back on, but her shirt had just about disintegrated.

‘Damn,’ she muttered, shaking out the dress that had been left for her. The floor-length gown unfolded with a soft swish. Her eyes widened. ‘Wow!’

A dreamy expression drifted across Gabby’s face as she gazed at it. Layers of the finest silk in varying shades of blue, it was just about the loveliest thing she had ever seen. She had never in her life imagined wearing anything like it.

It probably wouldn’t fit.

It did.

It fitted perfectly. Gabby found herself smiling stupidly as she looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror. She swung her hips and the dress belled out from her knees, the silk swishing seductively against her skin.

‘My God, I almost have a cleavage!’

Not that the illusion was going to fool the man waiting for her in the next room. He already knew that she wasn’t exactly lushly endowed. Although she had read somewhere that when it came to the naked female form men did not demand the perfection that women imagined …

Her expression sobered abruptly and she took a step back. Paul was rotting in a prison cell and she was wondering what the Crown Prince of Zantara had thought about her naked—wondering what he would say when he saw she scrubbed up quite well. How shallow and selfish did that make her?

Not to mention delusional. An infant-school teacher from Cheshire would not even register on his radar.

She shook her head and refused to think about the heat she had seen in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, she walked into the salon. The first thing that hit her was the smell of food—she was ravenous—and then she turned, and the second thing hit her.

Rafiq Al Kamil was sitting on one of the sofas. He rose politely to his feet when he saw her. Ineffably elegant, he radiated a confidence that was totally unaffected—an integral part of him, as was the raw sexuality that hit an unprepared Gabby with the impact of a physical blow.

What a time to discover a weakness for tall, dark and brooding, Gabby thought as she struggled to mentally shift gear. She was ashamed that she had to struggle. Her brother’s dilemma should be the first thing on her mind—not some stranger who had made the whole brooding hero thing his own.

He didn’t speak, just stared at Gabby—who stared back. She felt his eyes as they slid down her body, and she lifted a self-conscious hand to the silk bodice of the dress.

‘My clothes were a write-off. This isn’t really my style, but thanks.’ She lowered her eyes. What was she doing thanking the man? It wasn’t as if he’d picked it out personally.

‘It is an improvement.’

The iridescent shades of blue in the gown she wore reflected but did not outshine the brilliance of her blue gaze. Her skin, scrubbed clean of make-up and dirt, was revealed as flawless and porcelain-pale, and her hair, freshly washed and still damp, fell down her back in soft rippling waves

‘Anything would be.’ She shrugged.

‘That is not what I meant,’ Rafiq said, as he struggled to erase the image in his head of her in the bathtub, her pale skin gleaming and wet. It wasn’t just his body that was weakened, it seemed, but also his brain.

Was he going to say what he meant?

She noticed that his glance had dropped to the creamy vee that hinted at her cleavage, and to hide the fact her heart had started hammering she let her hair fall forward to hide the flush on her cheeks.

‘It is true that what you are wearing is not suitable for travelling in the backs of delivery trucks. You appear uncomfortable … are you still embarrassed?’ He sounded mildly amused by the possibility. ‘Shall we agree to forget the … incident ever happened?’

‘It was a total non-incident as far as I’m concerned,’ she grunted. ‘So, tell me what this is about. What do you want?’ Not your body, Gabby, so stop fantasising.

Rafiq shook his head. ‘First you must eat something.’ He gestured towards the table. While she had been dressing the cold food had been removed, and fresh hot dishes were set in their place.

‘I’m not hungry.’ Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.

He looked smug and walked across and lifted the lid on one of the dishes. An aromatic spicy smell drifted across to Gabby, whose mouth immediately began to water.

‘Sit.’

Gabby thought about ignoring him, but decided the rebellion was pretty pointless. The sooner she humoured him the sooner she would find out what she had to do to secure Paul’s release.

‘And what are you going to do? Watch me eat?’ she asked as she sat down. If so, indigestion was assured.

‘I think I will join you,’ he said, gracefully lowering himself with the ease of long practice onto one of the very low divan seats around the circular table.

‘How cosy—a date, almost.’ She piled some food onto a plate and forked some into her mouth—it was delicious.

She swallowed and felt a large pang of guilt. She was living in the lap of luxury, albeit temporarily, and Paul was probably on a diet of bread and water.

‘I don’t know about you, but I can eat and talk.’

But not look at him and think straight. So she didn’t. She kept her eyes trained on her plate as she adopted a brisk, business-like tone.

‘They’re talking about putting my brother behind bars for twenty-five years, so as far as I’m concerned no price is too steep. Stop being so damned mysterious and tell me what you want. My soul?’ She laughed at the suggestion, but he didn’t join in—which did not seem like a good sign to Gabby.

‘What do you think of my country?’

Gabby’s impatience showed as she snapped back, ‘I’ve not actually had a lot of time for sightseeing.’

‘I will call you Gabriella.’

‘And what will I call you?’ She could think of several things, but most of them would probably get her arrested for treason.

‘My name,’ he said, laying a hand lightly on his chest, ‘is Rafiq.’

‘I can’t call you that!’

He looked mildly surprised by her appalled denial. ‘Why not?’