The Sheikh's Captive Mistress (2 page)

“Well, we’re hoping on that. We think you’ll fetch and incredible ransom,” one-eye replied, his heavily accented voice sent shivers down her spine. His words just couldn’t be true.

“I can’t go to Yoman. You have to let me out!” she screamed, reaching for the door handle.

The thug beside her pistol whipped her with one of his smaller weapons and she spit blood and glared back at one-eye. “If you do this, you’ll have the U.S. military on your ass.”

“Or we’ll have a nice ransom at our sheikh’s behest. You’ll do as you’re told. We can’t kill you, but there are ways to that won’t leave marks, American bitch. So you think about that and do what we say.”

“I hate you,” she huffed, forcing back tears, but turning back to look at her reflection in the darkened glass. Her jaw was already purpling.

Eventually, the car stopped fully and the thugs pulled her out. Kashif, the one she’d injured, slipped riot cuffs over her hands to help limit her movement and chance to escape. Those thin plastic zip ties cut into her skin and made her bleed a little. The bites of pain were enough to finally bring tears streaming down her cheeks. Swallowing hard, Emma focused on the march across the airport tarmac. They must have clearance to a private airfield. There was no way Reagan National or Dulles was going to just allow terrorists to park on a runway and march her into a private damn jet.

She hesitated at the foot of the stairs. One of the many lectures they’d had her first week of college was about safety for abduction scenarios. Even if she hadn’t heard them, she knew from her father’s own security detail that once the kidnappers took you to a second location, your chances of being found alive plummeted. Add in the fact she was being whisked away to a foreign country far from her father’s power and reach, and Emma knew that getting on the plane could be a damn death sentence.

Emboldened, she took a step back and tried to bolt.

Immediately, all four of the men grabbed for her. She screamed, kicked at them, and even succeeded in biting Kashif’s hand deeply enough to draw blood. It didn’t matter. No matter how fiercely she fought, she was outnumbered by the men and their strength alone – let alone combined as a unit of four – was enough to overwhelm her.

“You assholes!” she screamed as they carried her up the stairs and into the jet. “Let me go!”

Kashif and one-eye had her legs and one of the others had her bound arms. She wriggled against them as they carried her up the steps, but she was as caught like a pig hanging from a spit before a luau. There simply was no escape.

Once the door of the plane slid shut, the icy chill that had been encompassing her veins was replaced by a dull numbness. She was resigned to this fate, there was no way for her to be saved, not now. Ironically, if this were under better and kinder circumstances, Emma might have enjoyed her surroundings. The cabin was gorgeous, with chairs made of the softest leather and a massive, wood-paneled console with a giant television.

She’d ridden on private planes a few times when her father took her on the campaign trail back in North Carolina. However, she’d never seen anything this beautiful.

“You should try and relax,” one-eye said, handing her a glass of sparkling water.

She sniffed and glared back at him. “I’m on a plane to Yoman, and I’ll never see my family again unless they find a way to pay your sheikh and even then there’s no guarantee he’ll give me back. Stop telling me to relax. Go fuck yourself!”

“It’s going to be fourteen hours. Just take a sip and try and calm down. We can fight you the whole way, make this unpleasant,” he finished, gesturing to her jaw. “Or we can all rest and you can save the time to scheme for when you arrive.”

“I like that idea.”

He grinned. “Besides, even if you broke away from us, there are few places for you to go at 30,000 feet. Just drink and try and rest.”

She took a tentative sip of the water and grimaced when it tasted a bit bitter. Maybe tap water from the plane wasn’t the best. However, after she drained her glass, she began to feel floaty and disoriented. As the plane took off to the sky, Emma’s head swam and her temples throbbed. The last thing she remembered was the sharp clink of her glass slipping through her fingers and hitting the ground.

***

The next thing that Emma could recall was the scorching hot air on her face as a car door was opened. When she blinked awake, she was convinced it was all a dream. Everywhere she could see was desert. Far into the horizon was nothing but massive sand dunes and the fading sunset. Sand grains swirled through the winds and bit into her cheeks, making her try and hide her face. This didn’t feel real. It couldn’t be. Not when she was in the searing desert with a giant castle before her. It was a titanic structure, filled with high turrets, rising to touch the clouds themselves almost. It reminded her of
Aladdin
and for the stupidest of moments, she thought of herself as Jasmine.

But this just…it was a dream.

She’d been wishing for adventure and was too drunk on vodka. Emma was sure she’d wake up any minute back in her apartment with a crazy story to tell Parker and Alexis. It didn’t matter that her eyes watered from the sharp gusts or that her jaw throbbed from where it had been hit. This wasn’t real.

It was even less so when she was scooped out of the car by strong arms. At first, she was so tired that she didn’t bother to look up, only buried her face deep into his chest. Even through the fabric of his clothes, she could feel the density of his muscles and the strength of his arms. Whoever was carrying her smelled amazing. Surely, she had to smell like a camel who’d galloped through the sands for three days, such was the heat and her sweating. The same couldn’t be said about her stranger. His skin was cool and scent delicious. He smelled of jasmine and turmeric, of heady musk and everything purely male.

It made her mouth water.

Despite everything, if her crazy dream gave her a man who smelled and felt like this, then Emma could almost forgive it. But this moment of being carried from the car and up the castle steps couldn’t last forever. Eventually, she felt herself being set down upon a mattress as soft as any she’d ever felt before. Emma sank into it. Looking up, she finally got a full glimpse of whichever servant had been assigned to carry her.

It was then she finally faced the hard truth that this wasn’t a dream.

Her imagination was too limited to come up with a male specimen this superlative.

He was tall, well over six feet, with broad shoulders. The man was olive-skinned, as well, but he didn’t have a bushy beard, instead it was something trimmed neatly and kept close to his face. There was something ungodly sexy about it, and she suddenly wished he’d rub those sideburns over her bare stomach so she might feel the sharp tickle of that beard on her. His eyes were piercing, a beautiful hazel mixed with flecks of gold. Gifted also with a strong chin and high cheek bones, he would have been at home on any catwalk in Milan or Paris.

“I…which servant are you?”

He laughed and it called to something deep and primal in her, made her stomach flare with heat and other parts of her quiver. “I’m your husband. Sheikh Munir Yassin.”

Those words had a more powerful effect on Emma than a slap to the face, or a gun butt to the chin, as the case may be. She leapt off the bed or, well, she tried to. Her legs were caught in yards of thin silks and tumbled to the floor. Her apparent “husband” tried to come near her, and she pushed herself away, holding her hands up and growling in frustration when they were still bound by the cable ties.

“Damn it! You can’t just steal people!”

The sheikh – she wouldn’t deign to call him husband even in her thoughts – knelt beside her and pulled out a switch blade. Flinching, Emma curled into a ball and prepared for the worst. Instead, a surprisingly soft hand stroked her cheek. She glared up at him, but didn’t dare spit at him, even if a massive part of her wanted to.

“Do you think so little of me,
Habbibi
? I would never harm you,” he punctuated the statement by using his knife to cut her ties free.

Still keeping her eyes trained on him, Emma rubbed at her wrists, enjoying the feeling of blood flowing freely again, even if pins and needles seemed to travel up her fingertips now with that rush. “What’s a
habbibi?”

“It means ‘beloved,’ and, in time, I hope that you will come to see that I mean that.”

“You can’t mean anything. You stole me from my family, my friends. Hell! You took me away from my whole life.”

“But I’ve made you a queen. In a few weeks, we’ll be officially married and you’ll rule all that you see, never want for anything.”

Bile rose in her throat, and Emma shook a bit. “One-eye.”

“Excuse me?”

“Um the tallest kidnapper, the one with the injured eye,” she corrected, feeling her cheeks flush with heat. That was beyond stupid. They had abducted her, ruined her life. She owed them nothing, least of all respect. “Anyway, he said it was a ransom.”

“Yes, I told them that. I wasn’t sure that they’d listen to my actual request. My father still lives and my half-brother, as well. I wasn’t sure they’d understand what I wanted, that they’d endorse a Western bride. They were much more sold on the idea of a ransom for sweetening the treaty between Yoman and your country.”

“But I can’t marry you!”

“You will, believe me you will. I know my father will come around and this will solidify my power. Just keep away from my brother from now on. Kashif is a loyal soldier for the most part, but he’s never been kind to women.”

She swallowed and it felt like shattered seashell shards falling down her throat. Kashif? The one who had already enjoyed striking at her? No, she’d never let him know anything, not that animal.

“So he’s not as refined and advanced as you, what with kidnapping your bride from thousands of miles away!”

“Do you shout everything you say, dear one?”

“Don’t ‘dear one’ or
habbibi
me. You’ve ruined everything. I won’t marry you. I won’t do anything for you,” Emma said, standing and suddenly feeling tiny and small.

Again, her guestimate had been correct and he had to have at least a foot on her, if not more. He towered over her, and she shuddered. If he wanted to hurt her, as muscular and imposing as he was, then Munir would have no problem with that at all.

Sighing, he stroked her cheek again. “
Ha…
Emma, you will see in time how much I love you, how much you have to gain from being my queen. However, make no mistake, you’ll never go home again. This is where you belong now – with me.”

She didn’t notice until then how close he’d leaned into her with his speech. His lips were only a few inches from hers, and she was overwhelmed again by the scent of him, by the jasmine mixed with turmeric. Overwhelmed by that musk that drove a more primal and traitorous part of her wild. Emma forced herself to stand still, screamed in her own mind how he was nothing but a kidnapper and a damn coward, even hiding his plans from his father. Anything she could do or say to keep herself from kissing him.

She shouldn’t have worked so hard.

Munir leaned in the rest of the way and grabbed her neck. His lips were on hers then, hungry and demanding. Emma yielded to his power and felt his tongue invade her mouth, soon stroking her own. One of his hands reached lower, grabbing onto her ass and squeezing her ample hip. She moaned despite everything and felt a part of her revel in the way his tongue danced with her own.

The kiss only lasted a few moments, and he was the one to break it off.

When he did, there was a knowing smirk on his face.

“
Habbibi
, you are not as recalcitrant as you think.”

Emma blinked back at him and her mind snapped back to itself.
No, I’m not easy like this, won’t be won over by lines and a damn kiss.
She reached back and slapped him.

“Go to hell.”

He laughed and rubbed at his cheek. “Feisty, everything I hoped for. I can play this game far longer than you can, Emma. Now off to your quarters.

***

Munir paced across the expanse of his bedroom. While he was able to keep up the façade of confidence and unrestrained sexuality with Emma for a time, it was easier to relax when she was gone. He burned for the feisty American, wanted her to feel the same fires in her soul that he felt for her. From the moment he’d seen her on press footage about her father and his family, he’d been attracted to her. How could one not be? Those soft curves, that gorgeous blonde hair, so light it was almost white, and big blue eyes he could stare into for days. But it was deeper than that. The biggest problem was that, truly, he meant it when he said he wanted her to be his sheikha, his queen. If she refused him forever, actually did hate him, he would never be able to bear it.

But that wasn’t the persona she needed to see. Like his father before him, Munir would remain calm and collected. He would broadcast all the confidence he needed to make Emma love him. Even if most of that image was based on bravado, he would master that attitude. After all, a true king would be regal and confident in his bearing at all times. He just had to learn to do that more. His father had always had a gift for that. Even Kashif commanded a room when he consulted with the soldiers. Munir always felt, though, that he was acting a part, that he was too gentle underneath. He’d spent his whole life trying to squelch that side of himself, to be the leader his father so badly wanted.

“Oh, Allah, let this work,” he said, quietly to himself, turning to see Naseem, his oldest and most trusted guard enter the room.

The other man had lost his left eye stopping an assassin from killing his father a few years before Munir had even been born. The milky white eyeball and the long scar remaining added an air of menace, making him a mythic figure in his own right. Everyone in the kingdom of Yoman knew who Naseem was and what he had willingly borne for the Yassin family.

No one fucked with him, either.

“Naseem, I was relaxing.”