Handcuffed to the Sheikh, Too Page 4

  The guy with the long pinkie also had a deep groove in the bridge of his nose, barely visible above his headscarf. All had skin toasted by the sun. She looked for birthmarks and moles, but those stupid scarves hid everything else.

  The tension finally got to her. She couldn't take it anymore. "Why did you kidnap us?"

  "Shut up, whore." The bitterness and venom Gray Scarf blasted at her made her flinch.

  Without turning from Ithnan, the leader raised his hand at Gray Scarf in a wordless command to be quiet. Then he cocked his head in her direction. "Do you imagine we want your kind here, building your pipeline in our pristine desert?"

  Hmm, okay, he had a point. She wouldn't want a pipeline in her backyard either. But the decision was Ithnan's, not theirs. "I never thought about it, to tell you the truth. I guess a lot of people would be grateful for the jobs and the wealth. ADV has never had a leakage or a spill, and we're working to expand into solar and wind, both of which Zallaq has—"

  "The people do not want your influence in our country," Leader interrupted. "Kidnapping you will frighten your father away from Zallaq."

  She snorted. "You don’t know my father very well. He'll put the pipeline here just to piss you off. He won't be intimidated by you or anyone."

  Gray Scarf took a half-step forward. "Be silent, slut."

  Enough. Never mind the guns—no one talked to her that way. "What the hell is your problem? You guys kidnapped me out of my bed. How does that make me a slut?"

  Gray Scarf started to spew vileness at her in Arabic. Ithnan snapped a single word at him, his tone projecting authority.

  Leader seemed to respond to Ithnan's influence, which was odd. He said a few words to Gray Scarf, who shut his trap. Even without knowing the language, she couldn't miss the social dynamic. Everyone in the group followed Leader without question, except Gray Scarf, the rogue element. He had some questions, and his own agenda.

  One she was pretty sure she wouldn't like very much.

  Leader waved a finger at one of the red scarves, who came forward, something glinting in his hand.

  A key.

  The key to the handcuffs.

  She nearly cringed.

  As much as she had wanted her freedom from Ithnan before, she didn't want to be separated from him. His own brother might have told her not to trust Ithnan, but she trusted him a lot more than she trusted the kidnappers.

  "Miss Spencer, you will be photographed. Your picture will be sent to your father."

  As proof you are still alive. For now, he didn't have to say.

  The bottom dropped out of her stomach. Ithnan gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

  She met his amber djinni gaze for an instant, enough to transfer some of his royal confidence to her. He gave her a little nod, which she returned. Everything will be okay, he told her silently.

  She didn't want to be taken away from him, but no way would she let these terrorists see the fear threatening to consume her as a twist of the key clicked the cuffs open.

  THREE

  Ithnan watched the door close behind Gwendolyn as she was led away. Only after he was certain she was out of hearing range did he turn to the leader of the kidnappers.

  "I did not authorize anyone to insult Miss SpencerSpencer," he stated, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt.

  Mouna, as the man was called, unwrapped his scarf from his face and bowed low. "I cannot apologize enough, Your Majesty. I will speak to him about his behavior. It will not happen again."

  From Mouna's reaction, Ithnan realized his tone must have held the rage he had felt when the man in the gray scarf had said those vile things to a woman he considered his guest. She had cringed as if slapped. For an instant. Then she had pulled herself up and returned fire. He had found her response entertaining.

  Gwendolyn Spencer was turning out to be a more intriguing person than he'd given her credit for. She had spoken to him on the balcony in a way at odds with the persona she wore around her father, and now she had done the same to a man who could have killed her. At least, she thought he could kill her. In reality, the guns contained blanks. She was in no danger.

  Ithnan held out his arm to Mouna, who rushed to unlock his shackles. When he was free of the handcuffs, he rubbed his wrist.

  "Are the cuffs causing you discomfort?" Mouna asked.

  He shook his head. "No. But Miss Spencer is wearing short sleeves."

  "We will cuff her more loosely, sir."

  "Not necessary. I will see to her." An excellent idea, actually. She seemed more comfortable with him, but he still sensed she did not exactly like him.

  "If I may, sir, we were expecting a single prisoner. A man."

  Ithnan eyed Mouna with suspicion. Why did the man care who he was guarding? Did he have some ulterior motive? "That is not your concern."

  His plan had undergone a last-minute alteration. Mouna was correct. He had planned to hold Sullivan Devoe hostage. And then stage a dramatic rescue. His sources had told him enough of the man that he would have responded by building his pipeline in Zallaq out of gratitude, and to prove he was not intimidated.

  Ithnan had intended to oversee the entire operation, to disappear into the desert, leaving Jibril in charge of Zallaq, and emerge the triumphant victor.

  But then Gwendolyn Spencer had given him back his jewel. Another plan had instantly replaced the first. Take Devoe's daughter instead. Stage his own kidnapping as well. Earn her trust and ensure her safety. She would advocate for the pipeline with her father. He could invoke Zallaq's ancient laws as an additional incentive.

  "I am concerned with the man in the gray scarf," Ithnan said. "I dislike his treatment of Miss Spencer."

  Mouna twitched with nervous energy. "I am certain he poses no threat."

  "I leave nothing to chance," Ithnan said. "You will remove him."

  "Your will is done," Mouna said, reaching into his back pocket to bring out an untraceable cell phone.

  Ithnan nodded approval as he took the phone. No one could be permitted to threaten his gambit. Or Miss Spencer.

  In three days, he reflected as he dialed another untraceable phone—one in Jibril's possession—the pipeline would be his.

  ***

  Gwendolyn glared at the men who held guns on her, forcing Ithnan to lock both of them into the handcuffs again. Bastards.

  She'd been ready to help Ithnan jump the guys, take their guns, and run. But His Majesty didn't return her insistent looks when he'd been escorted back to their room. The gamble wouldn’t work without him, so she had to relax and let the handcuffing happen.

  "We could have taken them," she told Ithnan, once their captors had left.

  "And I am happy you are safe as well," he responded.

  She frowned. Yes, yes, she should feel grateful no one had hurt either of them. Except normal human beings didn't hurt each other. Why should she be appreciative of someone with a gun not assaulting her? That way lay Stockholm syndrome.

  "You're okay?" she asked. And when he nodded, she added, "Did you find out anything else?"

  "I am afraid not," he informed her. "I believe their leader was merely amusing himself at having the king under his control. He was... I believe it is called 'gloating' in English."

  "They made me hold up today's newspaper and took my picture." The scene had been surreal, something out of a movie. Except Liam Neeson wasn't on his way to rescue them.

  "Is your wrist sore from the handcuffs?"

  His change of subject was a blatant attempt to get her mind off their situation. Not a bad idea. No point being afraid. Fear wouldn't help them live through their kidnapping, and wouldn't help them escape.

  "No," she told him. "My wrist isn't sore."

  "It will be." He pulled the pocket square out of his tuxedo jacket. "Come."

  She let herself be guided to the edge of the little bed. While they'd been out of the room, someone had come in and cleaned and made the bed. The coverlet was well worn and faded, but clean.

  Ithnan c
aught her hand and turned it over. His thumb brushed the pulse point of her wrist. The casual action made her shiver, despite the sweaty heat of the room. She became all too aware she was trapped, alone, with the most blisteringly hot man she'd ever seen in her life.

  She fought the urge to stiffen, to pull her hand away from the instant physical reaction. If Ithnan was any other man—and if they weren't in real danger—she might have enjoyed the sensation, but there were so many reasons to fight any sort of attraction here. First, her father was deceiving him. Second, he was probably only being nice to her because they were stuck with each other. Third, she barely knew him. Fourth, his world was so different than her own. Not the part where he was from a different culture, but the wealth and power. The expectations and perfection. Sure, she muddled her way through when she was with her father, but she didn’t belong in those circles.

  Those were only the highlights. The list of reasons she needed to stay away from him went on.

  Not the least of which was his own brother telling her she couldn't trust him.

  "Miss Spencer? Are you well?"

  No, I'm not. Could you please go sit over there? Somehow. Let me just gnaw these handcuffs off with my teeth.

  She forced a smile. "As well as a person who's being held hostage can be. Please forgive me if I'm rude. I’m having trouble dealing."

  He nodded, bent over her hand, and produced the pocket square. To her surprise, he wrapped the fabric around her handcuff. The black silk, matched to the tuxedo that probably cost more than most people's used cars, made a soft barrier between her skin and the harsh metal.

  Odd. He'd given her his pocket square last night, to wipe the lipstick off her tooth. Did he have a closet full of spares or something?

  He concentrated on his task with the intensity of a scientist, experimenting with twisting and untwisting the fabric to cover the maximum surface area of the metal. With each touch, she felt more and more sensitive. Who knew the wrist was an erogenous zone? He hadn't wrapped half the cuff when her blood was pounding in her ears.

  She'd never realized how defenseless you could feel when your wrist was in someone else's power. A primitive instinct. The veins were close to the surface there, exposed.

  Ridiculous. He wasn’t some kind of vampire, waiting to pounce on her vulnerability.

  Time to distract herself.

  "I guess room service came," she said, indicating the food left on the table for them. A simple meal. Some rice and lentils accompanied by a bowl of green things. "I hope you're hungry. I can never eat when I'm stressed."

  "You will eat." He spoke with an annoying assurance. "You must keep up your strength. Consider this a command from the throne."

  "Right," she said, trying not to grit her teeth at his arrogant assumption. "So, earlier. Why did you say you're used to captivity?"

  He stopped his work for the tiniest fraction of a second before continuing as if the question hadn't fazed him.

  "Nothing," he dismissed. "I told you such a thing to make you feel more at ease."

  Now who was the bad liar?

  "Nope. You meant what you said." She kept her tone light, mischievous, but she was dead serious. "If you don't tell me now, I'll keep asking until you spill. Save us both the trouble."

  "No."

  Firm. Confident. Like a wall coming down, but not threatening or intimidating. Shrug. She wouldn't have felt threatened or intimidated anyway.

  "On some level, you want to tell me, you know."

  "I doubt that." He continued wrapping the cuff, but his defensive shields were engaged.

  "Are you kidding me?" She didn't suppress a small smile. She'd imagined Ithnan was more self-aware. "A guy like you doesn't accidentally blurt out things for no reason. You mean every word you say. You wouldn't have opened that door if some part of you didn't intend to walk through, even subconsciously."

  Now he stopped his work. She found herself looking into his golden djinni eyes. "Then I am closing the door."

  She had to exert mental effort to not give in to those compelling eyes. "Used to captivity," she quoted. "Hmm. So you've been kidnapped before, then."

  He said nothing.

  "Maybe a bunch of times," she guessed. Nope, he didn't react. "Or for a long time."

  A tiny muscle near his mouth twitched.

  "Okay," she continued. "For a long time, then."

  His eyes narrowed. "How did you guess?"

  "Your face looked a little less blank than usual." Would he get tired of the game and just tell her? She paused to give him the chance, but nope. He stayed silent.

  Well, she could do keep it up all day. And they had all day to spare. "What else, what else..." She tapped her chin with her left index finger, exaggerating the gesture. "Recently?" She flicked her gaze toward him, but saw no confirmation. "No, not recently. When you were younger, then."

  "Enough."

  She suspected Ithnan didn't know he had stopped wrapping the handcuff with his pocket square and was now grasping her wrist. His subconscious gesture spoke of a need to control. She had hit close to the mark.

  If she'd had any doubt he would never hurt her, she wouldn't have pressed on. He wouldn't, though. She trusted her instincts on that.

  "I'll stop pushing when you start telling me what I want to know," she told him. "You couldn't have been taken prisoner in the last couple of years. My father said you'd been in your uncle's court since you were a teenager. But that doesn't make sense either. No one would abduct a kid—"

  Her heart stopped. Too late, her throat closed, cutting off her stupid, stupid words. How colossally dumb was she, anyway?

  Of course people abducted kids. It was even in the word kidnapping, after all.

  She looked at Ithnan with new eyes. She'd seen him as perfect, in control, powerful. Which he still was. But behind his mask, she now saw a little kid who had lost all control in his life. Where had his father, the ruler of Askar, been? And who had taken the young prince?

  She wanted to ask these questions, and a lot more. But she recognized she stood on sinking ground. She should never have forced the issue, treated getting the information out of him like a game. To Ithnan, his past was no game. Bringing those days (or months? Or years?) back to his mind could put them in danger. They both needed to focus, to bring all the clarity they could to the table so they could deal with their abductors and get the hell out of here.

  "Our conversation is over," he announced.

  He didn't need to say anything. She already knew what an epic mistake she'd made dragging his past into the light.

  ***

  "It is time for bed," declared His Majesty.

  Bed. Yikes.

  She'd been fighting yawns for... who knew how long? They had no way of telling the time. But Ithnan's declaration of bedtime made adrenaline splurt through her, and she came close to announcing she wasn't tired.

  There would be touching. A lot of touching. Every muscle in her body tensed.

  Ithnan stood up from the little table where they'd sat since eating another meal that tasted like dust to her, extending his hand. She didn't really need any help, but if he wanted to be a gentleman, she didn't mind the gesture. No one else worried about treating other people with kindness and humanity around here. In his tuxedo, which was beginning to show wrinkles from being worn for over twenty-four hours straight, he certainly looked the part.

  "Do you think they'd give us a deck of cards if we asked for them?" she asked, just to make conversation.

  "If we were in my palace, you would have anything you desired brought to you instantly." He didn’t speak like he was bragging, but as a matter of fact. But was there a hint of longing in his tone? Maybe. He had to be missing the modern conveniences, the servants to see to his every need. "Do you wish to play cards?"

  She shrugged. "The day would go faster. Give us something to do besides staring at the walls. What I'd love is a book of Sudoku. Brutally hard ones. And to brush my teeth."

  Ithnan reached
for the light switch. She took one last look toward the bed, judging the distance. Then the room went dark.

  Whoa. Not just dark, pitch black. Her eyes rebelled at the complete dark. She reached for the closest thing for comfort, a fistful of Ithnan's dress shirt. She moved closer, seeking the sensation of touch to make up for the sudden blindness.

  He'll eat you alive, the darkness seemed to say, in Thale's voice.

  "You are afraid of the dark, Gwendolyn?"

  She let his shirt go. It took effort, but she stepped away from him, back to a respectable distance.

  "No," she said. At least the black hid the blush she felt creeping up her neck. "I just wasn't expecting the room to be quite so dark."

  "There is only one small window," he pointed out. "Perhaps we should leave the light on."

  "My eyes will adjust. I'll sleep better in the dark."

  She might be blind, but she could hear his thoughts, him wondering if she was faking stoicism. Thinking maybe he should overrule her and turn the light on to let her save face. He was probably pretty good at overruling people.

  She decided to overrule him before he got the chance. The bed was four steps away, she'd guessed. She tugged on her right hand as she moved, forcing him to come along with her. Okay, "forcing" was a strong word, considering he had about fifty pounds of lean muscle and at least six inches on her. But she pulled, and he followed.

  Since he couldn’t see her anyway, she abandoned her pride to reach down as they approached. No reason to bump into the bedframe and bruise her ego even more than it had been bruised by the kidnapping, the pajamas, and falling out of bed in front of Ithnan.

  "Here we are," she announced, when she felt the metal frame against her hand. "How you want to do this?"

  "You will sleep on your right side. I will put my left arm beneath your head. Your left arm will cross in front of your chest and my right arm will rest on your left side. I will lie behind you, on my right side as well."

  She repressed a snort. "You've given the arrangements a lot of thought."