Desert Sheikh vs American Princess Page 7
She lurched toward him, her green eyes wide with flashing anger. "You will never control me."
"To that end," he said, "you will now take up residence in the guest room in my own apartments. If others cannot monitor your movements, I shall have to."
Which raised the question, who would monitor his movements? No, he could control himself, even if she slept in the next room. As tempting as Noelle was, her dislike of him and his self-discipline would overcome any attraction between them.
"What?" Anger narrowed her eyes to sea-green slits.
"Be sensible, Noelle." He bit out each word, wondering where his own hard-fought control had flown.
"Would you be sensible if you were in my position?"
Sensible. Yes, of course. He was always sensible. Never impractical. "Yes." He restrained the exasperation that had come out in the one word. "I would simply wait for my father's wire transfer."
"Right." She nearly laughed out the word. "And you're sure he'd send it? Your dad did have two spare heirs."
He shook his head. Comparing her father to his? He'd seen the way her father coddled and protected her in a way his father would never dream of. Hikmat Al Kalam had been no less psychopathic with his own sons than he was with anyone else. A fact Walid had only realized since he'd ascended the throne and began to understand how deeply the man had lied to everyone around him, driven wedges into friendships, put his own interests before even that of Askar.
But leave his eldest son to rot in another man's palace? Never would his father have done that. Such a thing would have meant the time he'd devoted into training Walid to be a psychopath himself had been a waste.
"Of course my father would have paid. For me."
She cocked her chin and squinted at him in that way she had when she had picked up on some item of information he had not meant to let spill. "For you? But not for your brothers?"
Some voice inside him wished to tell her how his father had devoted all his time and attention to himself and did not even bother educating his other brothers. Walid had received classes from three different tutors while Ithnan and Thalatha had been left to learn on their own. And would have learned nothing if Walid had not shared his books, spend afternoons teaching lessons he had learned in the morning.
Why he imagined he should share such a thing with Noelle Oldrich, a quite random woman who had come into his life and would leave it soon, he could not fathom. "We are not speaking of my father, but yours."
Something in Noelle relaxed. He saw tension flow from her body as she melted back against the leather limo seat. Her raised eyebrows lowered gradually. She became altogether smaller, her outgoing personality contracting in upon itself.
He did not find this attractive.
"You're right," she said, on an exhaled breath. "I should stop playing these games. I guess my time in the palace could even be a pleasant vacation if I relax and just go with it."
He refrained from sighing himself. "Precisely. You have nothing to fear from staying a few days in Askar, in luxury, with a mansionful of servants who wait on your every whim. This situation will not be so objectionable if only you stop objecting to it."
She nodded all the way through this speech. At first subtly, then with increasing agreement.
"I guess you're right. I'll just try to enjoy my time in Askar."
"Now you see things clearly. Now you begin to make sense," he told her. Perhaps he did not have to move her into his apartments at all. Not if she was compliant. If she agreed to be rational about the situation.
A silent pause passed between them as the vehicle rolled on. Silence that allowed him to think.
"And you making sense should trouble me. Kess ikhtak." The uncharacteristic swear released some of his tension, but not nearly all. "You have done it again, have you not? You have no intention of stopping your efforts to escape, do you?"
She shot him a devious smile. Infuriating. And somehow comforting. "Nope." She popped the P in the word childishly. "So easy to tell you what you want to hear. I think you keep falling for that one because you're such an honest person. Don't you lie to anyone? I mean, you came right out and told me you were kidnapping me. Who does that?"
"I dislike deception. My father lied with skill and ease. Occasionally to no good purpose that I could guess." The layers of lies he had found in his father's papers had been truly impressive, if you were impressed by such things. Discharging his father's debts had been what had placed Askar, and therefore Walid, in the current desperate financial situation.
Partially.
The rest was Walid's own fault.
"His consistent, constant lying made others distrust him, which was not to his advantage," concluded Walid. "As I now distrust you."
"Then you're learning," she said. "At least your dad never kidnapped you."
"No, that was my brother."
"Beg your pardon?"
Those words had come from him, he realized. How had they escaped him? Why should he say such a thing to Noelle, or to anyone else? Since he had learned the truth of his brother's childhood from his new sister-in-law, he had guarded the secret.
His dislike of lying didn't extend to keeping truths private when required. He often found that it was required.
"I misspoke. Please ignore what you think you heard." Though there was little chance of her doing what he asked, as usual.
"Your father kidnapped your brother. How does that work? Did one of your brothers live with your mom? Was it Ithnan or--who's the other one again? Thalassa?" She gnawed a pink lip, trying to work out the logistics.
"Thalatha." He might as well give in. Noelle had made acquaintances in the palace kitchen. He had no desire for her to receive her information about his past from that source. "My father felt that it was best that Ithnan be fostered in a country called Hidd from the age of eight. He remained there throughout his childhood."
Noelle cringed. Visibly cringed. "That's horrible, sending an eight-year-old to another country. Did he do stuff like that to you?"
"I received all the training necessary to lead Askar," he told her. Not a lie. Nothing like the truth in its entirety.
"Including instructions on when it's okay to abduct people."
If he were a religious man, he would have looked to the heavens for guidance on dealing with this woman. "My brother was..." How to explain what he had learned about Ithnan? How his brother had been deprived of freedom and education, and, when he had tried to escape, was beaten? "Treated poorly. You may have anything you desire. Your circumstances are not similar."
"I can have anything I desire?" She brightened, but he sensed something false about the expression. "I'd like you to take me to the American embassy, please."
"You will be escorted directly to Deira International Airport the moment your father pays his debt. For now, that is not possible."
"Then you're being a bitch to me just like your dad was a bitch to your brother."
Thunder pounded between his ears. How dare she charge him with such a crime--he who had fought so hard to be unlike his father? Under his father's regime, if she had spoken in such a manner, she would disappear and no one would ever hear from her again. All he wished was her comfort and safety, yet she refused to believe he had any positive qualities. Had he not provided everything she could wish? How could he convince her that being quiet and complacent would get them through this ordeal?
She acted as if she would be a prisoner in his arms forever. Arms. Where had that thought originated? Palace. Prisoner in his palace.
He needed to persuade her. He needed to look into her eyes so she could see his sincerity.
He reached over and snapped open her seatbelt.
"Hey!" she protested as he dragged her out of her place. And onto his lap.
Her face was a mere inch from his own, and her eyes could not help but graze his own, his overlong nose, and fall to his lips. And remain there.
The smell of her seized his senses, the scent of orchids and other exp
ensive flowers. She had tightened her hair into a knot at the back of her head, but she should never do that. She should keep it loose so it would brush over the back of his hand.
He flicked off the elastic confining her hair easily and let the gold silk fall.
Yes. This was better.
The runner's muscles in her buttocks tightened against his groin. He could not help but respond, his blood flowing downward.
Her face was inches from his own. Her lips--her lips were far too tempting.
Kissing her was a terrible idea. There were so many reasons he should not taste those shapely lips.
He did it anyway.
He curled his hand around the nape of her neck, pulled her down to him, and pressed his lips to hers. To his surprise, she didn't resist. She flowed, she molded against him, pressing her body against his chest as if she wanted to join him inside his clothes. Her eyelids fluttered shut, soft sweeps against his cheeks. Her nose seemed to fit perfectly alongside his own.
Sweetness enveloped him, a warm pleasure starting in his chest and radiating outward from there. Mixed with her own savory essence was the taste of sugar, a hint of sweetness.
More of it. He wanted more.
He intensified the kiss, pressing her mouth, demanding entry. She responded with equal intensity, wrapping her arms around his neck, drawing him tight.
His hands slipped to the waistband of her shirt and delved inside. Acres of smooth skin covered her back and he explored all of it, every plane and curve, each bump and indentation of her spine.
Hungrily, he entered her mouth, wanting to draw her into him, to taste and take every part that she would give him. And tonight, when she was in his bed, make her lose control...
No. No.
He drew back abruptly, leaving her with a stunned, half-open mouth.
No, there would be no bed, and no loss of control. She represented one thing to him. Her father's debt, and that was all.
He pushed at her hips, and she took the cue to scramble back to her side of the limo.
He dared not look at her, but kept his eyes forward. In his peripheral vision, he could not help seeing that one of Noelle's scarlet blushes was descending from her hairline. She drew her arms around herself. If she had been a cartoon, steam would rise from her ears.
"I apologize for being unprofessional. I assure you such a loss of control will not occur again." He managed to make these words sound certain and convincing. However, the hardness in his trousers was less certain and not at all convinced.
"Whatever." Noelle turned to look out the window at the passing scenery.
She had every right to be angry, he admitted to himself. But all this had been caused by her attempt to escape. He had failed in every way to convince her that she need not escape when her freedom would come to her in short order.
Ah. Inspiration struck him. He had failed to persuade her. But reassurance from another source...
"I know what you require to assure you that you will leave Askar soon. You lack confidence because you have not spoken to him."
"Spoken to who?" she demanded.
He did not answer her, but brought out his smart phone and began to text instructions to his secretary.
*****
As it turned out, rearranging a state-of-the-art sound system was pretty easy these days. Components were small and portable. Easy to lift and place wherever you wanted.
Right up against an overconfident sheikh's bedroom wall, for example.
Noelle checked out her work. The thin black wireless speakers looked great facing the shared wall between her new bedroom and the sheikh's. She'd dragged the chest of drawers over to raise the height a little--maximum impact.
The chest that now held a lot of her clothes. They'd been moved into this room, the one adjoining Walid's, by the time Walid had dragged her back to the Red Palace. A done deal. That was three days ago.
I only hope they're loud, matey, said Bonnie. Is it time to fire the cannons yet?
Yup, she told the voice in her head. But what to play?
Walid deserved this. Oh yes. He definitely did, with his arrogant orders and his assumption that everyone would just do as he said.
And then he'd kissed her.
And then he'd stopped kissing her.
And then he'd apologized for kissing her, like it was something to be ashamed of.
She should be the one ashamed, not him. Kissing her kidnapper. Like he deserved anything but contempt from her.
Yeah, he probably gave you jerkface cooties, Bonnie said.
Noelle unclenched aching teeth. Stupid sheikh.
Wish I had my running jams, she thought darkly.
Yeah, that'd be great. Put The Beastie Boys on repeat and he'd hoist the white flag.
I was thinking more of Twisted Sister's We're Not Gonna Take It. Because we aren't. But the playlist is on my iPhone, and he has my iPhone.
What time is it?
Two a.m., she responded.
Using the remote, she scrolled through the MP3s on the thumb drive sticking out of the stereo. The display screen showed a ton of albums by Arabic artists she'd never heard of. Maybe they were great for irritating people, but maybe he loved them, how was she supposed to know?
One more swipe and there it was. Title in Arabic and English.
Perfect. She chortled internally.
I hate this song, Bonnie complained.
That's why it's perfect.
Noelle cranked the volume as far as it would go and tapped Play. Sweeping orchestral music filled the room. String instruments mourned out a slow dirge, providing the backdrop for an aching flute melody that seeped into the brain.
Since the lyrics had been translated to Arabic, she didn't actually recognize them, but she found herself singing along in English.
Near, far, whereeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeever you aaaaaaaaaare...
In Noelle's head, Bonnie stuck fingers in ears and winced in pain.
I believe that the heart does go on...
The headache-inducing verse just went on.
Oooooooooooonce moooooooooooooooore you ooooooooooohpen the doooooooor...
Wow. She thought no one could spread a vowel like Céline, but this Arabic lady trilled the syllables like it was her job, and no one else's.
And you're here in my heart...
And my heart will go on...
What did not go on was the music. The remote was ripped out of her hand by a now wide awake Walid.
Well, that didn't take long.
He powered off the music and just looked at her.
For once, a scruff of beard dusted his chin, a scrapey two a.m. shadow. He seemed to have forgotten his shirt, too. Seemed he'd been hiding a nice pack of abs under those three-piece suits. They displayed pretty well above his deep red pajama bottoms. The finest silk, of course. What else would a king sleep in?
Now the yelling would start. Well, not yelling. Walid didn't do that. The orders. The requests for her to be rational. The assurances her father would pay the debt, which Walid hadn't figured out would never happen.
All those things were useless. She would get out of here, no matter what it took.
She lifted her chin in defiance. Crossed her arms over her chest.
We're not going to take it, Bonnie said.
Walid opened his mouth to start in on her. And then shut it. He placed the remote on the chest of drawers and, to her astonishment, let out a long sigh.
He scratched his fingers over his scalp in a way that just seemed... tired.
A bitter taste soured the back of her throat. He probably had, oh, a country to take care of in the morning or something, and here she was keeping him from his sleep. Which was the point, of course. But now, her rebellion seemed petty. A child who wanted attention throwing herself to the floor and wailing she didn't want to eat her vegetables.
No. She would not apologize. He'd kidnapped her and deserved to lose a little sleep. And anything else she could dream up to punish him.
Then he was at her back, his arm around her waist. The floor fell away from beneath her feet.
She managed not to yelp out a protest. Or to kick at him ineffectually like the heroine in some black-and-white romantic comedy.
Her pajama top rode up, leaving his palm curling around the skin of her hip. Each finger seemed to burn an indent into her side. She found herself sucking her tummy in, for no reason she could think of.
He threw her onto the bed, rolling her onto her side. And quickly followed himself, stretching out at her back.
Are we going to take this? Who does he think he is? Bonnie asked.
The pillow felt so puffy and comfortable beneath her cheek. The mattress sank pleasantly under her hip, and was just firm enough.
Exhaustion crept over her. Her keyed-up energy seemed to fall away, a gentle fuzziness oozing into her brain to take the place of the buzzing energy.
Walid pulled a light sheet over both of them and resumed his place as a dulling heat at her back. He just fit there, his chest pressed to her back, his legs curled up against hers.
Letting him do this was a bad idea. Yet his body felt so good, so male. So reassuring. He was trying to control her, placate her. No way should she let it work.
But her mouth opened in a wide, uncontrollable yawn. By the time her jaw closed, she was asleep.
*****
Noelle pushed her oversized Prada sunglasses up into her hair and wrapped her swimsuit cover-up a little tighter around herself as she lowered herself into a chair in Walid's mysterious boardroom.
Trust Walid to have a mysterious boardroom in his palace.
Because of course he wouldn't have just a regular boardroom, with wide windows to let the light in. No, he'd have to have a dark and secret one. No windows, dramatically overlong table, walls painted deep gray, freaking huge television screen that dropped down from the ceiling.
She crossed her legs, dangling one strappy cork platform sandal over the other. If this was supposed to intimidate her... Well, it was working, but no need to show him that. Because even if he had only sent guards to fetch her to this place, Walid would be around here somewhere, watching from the shadows.