Hostage Of The Hawk. Sandra Marton
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‘Permit, Mr Hassan? I don’t think that’s quite the correct word, do you?’
‘English is not my first language, Miss Bennett, but I learned it at quite an early age. “Permit” was the word I intended.’
‘But the decision’s not Khalil’s. It’s Abu’s.’
‘Is it?’ He smiled lazily. ‘If that were completely true, you wouldn’t be here.’ He smiled lazily. ‘You’re concerned that Khalil will interfere with the project, isn’t that right?’
What was the sense in denying it? Joanna shrugged her shoulders.
‘We think he might try, yes.’
‘And have you stopped to consider why he might do that?’
‘Perhaps he hasn’t given enough thought to how much this project will benefit his people.’
The arrogance of the woman! Khalil forced his smile not to waver.
‘He is selfish, you mean?’
Joanna looked up, caught by the man’s tone. He was still smiling, but there was something in that smile that made her wary.
‘Well, perhaps he doesn’t see it that way,’ she said cautiously, ‘but—’
‘But you do, and that’s what matters.’
‘You’re twisting my words, Mr Hassan.’
‘On the contrary. I’m doing my best to get to the heart of your concerns. What else am I to tell him, apart from a warning about his selfishness?’
Joanna stared at him. Was he asking her to be more direct about the bribe money? It galled her to make such an offer but reason seemed to be failing. Sam had warned her that this was the way things were done in this part of the world, but—
‘Don’t lose courage now,’ he said coldly. ‘Be blunt, Miss Bennett. It’s why you came here, remember?’
‘Tell him—tell him we won’t tolerate any harassment of our workers.’
‘I see. You worry he might have them beaten. Or shot.’
There was a lack of emotion in his words, as if having men hurt were an everyday occurrence.
‘We are not “worried” about anything, Mr Hassan,’ she lied, her tone as flat as his. ‘This project will go ahead, no matter what your Prince does. We simply want to encourage Khalil’s co-operation.’
His nostrils dilated. He yearned to take the woman’s slender shoulders in his hands and shake some sense into her.
‘Really?’ he said, and if Joanna had not been so caught up in her own determination to succeed, if she had not already decided that the only thing that would close the deal was the enormous bribe Sam had suggested, she’d have heard the note of warning in that single word. ‘And how are you going to do that, Miss Bennett?’
Joanna gave him a look laced with contempt, then unclasped her evening bag and took out the envelope her father had given her.
‘With this,’ she said bluntly, and slid the envelope across the table towards him.
He bent his head and looked at it. His anger made the words on the paper a meaningless blur but then, what this female Judas was offering didn’t matter. She had accused him of being obstinate, selfish and despotic, and now she had sought to buy him off as if he were a common thief.
‘Well?’ Her voice was impatient. ‘Is it enough?’
Khalil silently counted to ten, first in Arabic, then in English, and then he took the envelope and stuffed it into his pocket.
‘Oh, yes,’ he said, the words almost a purr, ‘it is enough. It is more than enough.’
She’d done it! She’d won the co-operation of the infamous Prince Khalil—well, Bennettco’s bribe had won it, which stole away most of the pleasure. Concentrate on the victory, she told herself, on what this will mean to your future...
He rose to his feet. ‘Come, Miss Bennett,’ he said softly.
Joanna looked up. He was holding out his hand and smiling. Or was he? His lips were drawn upwards, but would you really call what she saw on his handsome face a smile?
‘Come?’ she said, smiling back hesitantly. ‘Come where?’
‘We must celebrate our agreement with champagne. But not here. This place is for tourists. I will take you somewhere much more authentic, Joanna.’
Joanna? Joanna’s heart thudded. Don’t go with him, she thought suddenly, don’t go.
‘Joanna?’
That was ridiculous. She had done it, she had closed the deal her father thought couldn’t be closed. What on earth could there possibly be to fear?
Smiling, she got to her feet and gave him her hand.
He led her through the restaurant, pausing only long enough to say something to their waiter, who bowed respectfully all the way to the front door. Outside, the night seemed to have grown darker. He was holding her elbow now, his grip firm, as he led her towards a low-slung sports car at the kerb.
Suddenly, Joanna thought of something.
‘Did you say we were going to have champagne?’
He nodded as he handed her into the car, came around to the driver’s side, then slipped in beside her.
‘Of course. It’s a celebration. Why do you sound surprised?’
Joanna frowned slightly. ‘Well, I’m just—I guess I am surprised. I didn’t think your people drank wine.’
He smiled. ‘Believe me, Joanna,’ he said, ‘you are in for a number of surprises before the evening ends.’
He stepped hard on the accelerator and the car shot into the night.
CHAPTER THREE
EVERYONE Joanna knew had had the same reaction to the news that she was going to Casablanca.
‘Oh,’ they’d sighed, ‘how incredibly romantic!’
Joanna, remembering the wonderful old Humphrey Bogart-Ingrid Bergman movie, had thought so too. But after a week she’d decided that things must have changed a lot since the days of Rick and Ilse. Casablanca was ancient and filled with history, it was beautiful and mysterious, but it was also the economic heart of Morocco which meant that in some ways it was not only prosaic, it was downright dull.
The man beside her, though, was quite another story. She gave him a surreptitious glance from beneath her lashes. There was nothing dull about him. She’d never met a man like him before, which was saying a great deal. The circles in which she travelled had more than their fair share of handsome, interesting men but even in those circles, this man would stand out.
Joanna’s gaze flew over him, taking in the stern profile, the broad sweep of his shoulders, the well-groomed hands resting lightly on the steering wheel. He seemed so urbane, this Mr Hassan, so at home in his well-tailored suit, his pricey car, and yet she could easily imagine him in a very different setting.
Her lashes drooped a little. Yes, she thought, she could see him in her mind’s eye, dressed in long, flowing robes, mounted on a prancing black stallion, racing the wind across the desert under a full moon.
‘You’re so quiet, Miss Bennett.’
Joanna’s eyes flew open. They had stopped at a light and he was looking at her, a little smile on his lips. For some reason, the thought that he’d been watching her without her knowing made her uncomfortable. She sat up straighter, smoothed her hair back from her face, and gave him a polite smile in return.
‘I was just enjoying our drive,’ she said.
She