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

So this was what the end result of centuries of breeding looked like … She had to admit that even to someone who felt a natural repugnance for arranged marriages he was a pretty good advert.

A mortified flush climbed to her cheeks. ‘You’re the Crown Prince?’ she said, feeling stupid.

He inclined his head in regal acknowledgement and drawled sardonically, ‘A poor second, I realise, to the King, but my father is at present out of the country. You don’t look very pleased,’ he mused, studying her flushed face and sparkling eyes. ‘Is this not what you wanted? A chance to plead your brother’s case at the highest level?’

Despite the fact she had what she wanted, instead of taking this heaven-sent opportunity to ingratiate herself and plead Paul’s case, she remained on her feet and shouted angrily, ‘Why didn’t you tell me who you were?’ Adding, ‘And how do I know you even are who you say you are? You could be anyone.’

A look of astonishment chased across his lean features. ‘You wish me to prove who I am?’

Their eyes connected, and Gabby’s short burst of irrational anger subsided. She shook her head, retracting the challenge before taking the seat he had previously proffered. She would have infinitely preferred the dark wood chair beside it to this low divan that would not have looked out of place in a harem.

How did harems work?

Did he have one?

The questions popped unbidden into her head, and it was hard to mentally drop the theme as she watched him lower his long, lean length into the slatted designer chair she would have preferred herself. It was not exactly difficult to see him in the role of desert predator.

‘Would you like some refreshment?’

She shook her head, and took a deep breath before launching into her practised impassioned plea. He didn’t interrupt, even when—despite her intention to make her argument with dispassionate cool and not come across as a hysterical female—her voice became suspended by tears and she had to wipe her wet face on the hem of her shirt.

‘And so,’ she finished, having presented what she hoped was a compelling argument, ‘my brother was foolish—really stupid,’ she conceded. ‘But he didn’t do anything criminal. You could say he’s the victim here.’

‘You could. But I would not.’ If the man she spoke of had been a youth, a teenager, he might have felt more sympathy, but it was incomprehensible to Rafiq that a man of thirty could be as naive as the man she described.

Gabby bit her lip. ‘He made a mistake. But he doesn’t deserve to go to jail for twenty-five years. If it helps, I can promise to make his life a living hell if you let him come home.’

Gabby could see no softening in his attitude as he wondered aloud, ‘Does your brother appreciate what a powerful advocate he has in you, I wonder?’

Frustration robbed her retort of diplomacy. ‘I’m not here to ask for favours. I’m here to demand justice. And if that doesn’t work—’

He raised a brow. ‘Demand?’

‘All right,’ she conceded, back-pedalling. ‘I’ll grovel and tell you you’re marvelous—even though you don’t seem to have heard a word I’ve said.’ Had anything she’d said made any impact on him? ‘Oh, and I have these,’ she added, lifting her bottom from the divan and extracting the papers she had stuffed in her back pocket. ‘Character references. I’m not saying that Paul is a saint, because he isn’t, and quite honestly he doesn’t have the sense he was born with. But there isn’t an ounce of vice or malice in him,’ she promised sincerely. She smoothed the papers before extending her hand.

There was a pause before Prince Rafiq took them from her, but he made no attempt to look at them. His eyes remained directed with an intensity she found unnerving on her face.

‘Aren’t you going to look at them?’

‘I’m sure they show your brother in a favourable light. You would hardly bring me anything that did not do so.’

Frustration bubbled up in Gabby. ‘If you weren’t going to take me seriously why did you let me waste my time talking?’

‘Because I wanted to see how much your brother’s freedom means to you.’

‘Like a lab rat, you mean?’ she suggested, her tone of polite enquiry at stark variance with the militant sparkle in her eyes. ‘You were dangling candy?’

His eyes slid over her body and he gave a shrug. ‘I can think of more flattering analogies,’ he observed drily.

‘Don’t tell me—dog? Donkey …?’ He, she thought, her eyes sweeping his face from under the protective sweep of her eyelashes, would be something lean, sleek and unpredictable … A panther, perhaps—although there was something wolfish about him now, as he bared his teeth in a smile that left his remarkable eyes cold.

Ignoring her cranky interjection, he conceded, ‘I wanted to gauge what you might do to gain him a pardon.’ His dark eyes narrowed as he scanned her face. His voice was soft as he asked, ‘What would you do, Miss Barton?’

Gabby shook her head in bewilderment. ‘What do you mean, do?’

‘I mean what price do you put on your brother’s freedom?’

She felt the first flicker of real hope, but remained cautious as she asked, ‘Are you saying you could get Paul released?’

‘I could.’

‘But will you?’

The pause stretched, and Gabby held her breath.

‘That is … negotiable.’

Shaking with relief, she surged to her feet. If he had been anyone else she would have kissed him. Her eyes brushed his mouth, and the image that flashed in her head sent her stomach into a rollercoaster dip.

She tried to pretend the heat rush was an air-conditioning fault rather than hormones, and trained her gaze on a relatively non-fantasy-provoking area of his anatomy. Although there was nothing aesthetically unpleasing about middle of his chest.

‘I’ll do anything!’ she pronounced.

CHAPTER FIVE

HER unquestioning response caused Rafiq to experience an inconvenient spasm of guilt.

‘This is something you should think about,’ he cautioned.

He could not be fairer—there was no question of deception or taking advantage of her obvious fatigue. She could choose to walk away. He would not stop her.

Gabby frowned as he rose to his feet and stood there, towering over her. She hastily followed his example—but with a lot less towering and none of the co-ordinated animal grace that epitomised all his movements.

‘I don’t have to think about it. I would do anyth—’ Her confident assurance was cut short by the single finger pressed to her lips. Gabby’s blue eyes flew wide. The contact didn’t just silence her tongue, it shut down every link between her brain and her limbs. She was literally paralysed … with lust?

Gabby immediately dismissed this laughable theory. She was clearly suffering the physical symptoms of stress and exhaustion—he wasn’t even her type.

Why exactly, asked the voice in her head, do you feel the need to tell yourself that again? It’s not as if you’re fooling anyone, it pointed out, least of all him.

Gabby’s wide blue gaze lifted to the Prince’s lean face. Previously she had been so mesmerised by him that she had failed to notice how deep the lines bracketing his mouth were, how tightly the smooth golden flesh was drawn across the sharp planes and angles of his face, how there was a grey tinge to his complexion.

She felt a flash of concern that vanished the moment their glances connected. This man was the very last person in the universe who needed her sympathy.

‘Do not commit yourself until you know what the price is …’ His finger left the cushiony softness of her pink lips and trailed lightly across her cheek before falling away.

The menace in his cryptic advice sent a shiver of fear trickling down Gabby’s sweat-dampened back. She asked apprehensively, ‘What do you mean, price?’

‘Miss Barton, there is no such thing as a free lunch. Speaking of which—I will arrange refreshments.’