Imprisoned by a Vow. Annie West
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call a doctor?’
Instantly she raised the bottle and sipped. She paused and drank again, colour returning to her cheeks.
Now he thought about it, he couldn’t remember her drinking at the reception, except when he’d raised the goblet to her lips. Nor had she done more than peck at her food.
‘You need food.’ He reached for the gourmet snacks beside the bar.
‘No, please.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry. The water is fine.’
Joss’s eyes narrowed on the sharp angle of her jaw revealed as she tipped her head back. Her slim throat worked as she took a long pull from the water bottle.
‘I’m feeling much better now.’ This time she almost convinced him. Her voice was steadier, her gaze direct. ‘What were you saying about a change of plans?’
‘We’re not staying in Bakhara,’ he responded, watching her narrowly. ‘Something has come up. I need to be in London tonight.’
He could go alone. But he’d just acquired a hostess with impeccable breeding, social standing and poise who’d be a valuable asset in his new business dealings. He intended to make use of her.
Besides, he saw no point in sabotaging the polite fiction they were a couple. Leaving his bride on her wedding night would be inconvenient front-page news. If she was to be of use to him, it would be at his side.
‘London? That’s marvellous!’
Leila’s incandescent smile hit him hard. It wasn’t the polite, contained curve of the lips she’d treated him to before but a wide brilliant grin. It was like the one she’d turned on him when he’d arrived a few hours earlier.
Its impact set his pulse tumbling.
She wasn’t beautiful. She was stunning.
How had he not realised? He’d thought of her as coolly elegant. Now her sheer dazzling exuberance rocked him.
With colour flushing her cheeks and throat, her lips parted in pleasure and her eyes dancing, she beguiled in a way no blatantly sexy supermodel ever could.
An unfamiliar sensation stirred in his chest and Joss was stunned to realise it was his lungs struggling to pump oxygen. Perhaps whatever ailed Leila was catching. His reaction to her was unprecedented.
‘I’m glad you’re so excited about a trip to London.’ His voice was gruff.
Joss had never been overcome by attraction to a woman. It was the way he was made. An emotional wasteland, one mistress had accused in tears after he’d crushed her fanciful hopes of happily ever after.
He desired women. He enjoyed the pleasure they provided. But they never caused a ripple in his life.
As for emotions…he’d been cured of those in his youth.
Growing up in a dysfunctional family, learning early the destructive power of so-called ‘love’, Joss had never wanted anything like it again. No emotions. No entanglements. No dependants. His gut clenched at the very idea of kids and a clinging wife. Only a deal like this, based on sound business requirements and no emotional expectations, could convince him to marry.
Joss was a loner to the core.
‘You’ve spent time in London, I believe?’ He should know more about the woman who was to be his hostess.
She nodded, her smile barely abating. ‘I was born there. Then we moved to Washington when my father took another diplomatic posting, then Paris and Cairo with short stints in between in Bakhara. We moved back to Britain again when I was twelve.’
‘And you enjoyed it?’ That much was obvious. ‘You have friends to catch up with there?’
Her smile faded and her gaze swept from his. It struck Joss she’d had her eyes fixed firmly on him all through their conversation. He felt an odd…lack now she’d turned away.
She shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’
‘So it’s the shopping you’re looking forward to?’
‘No, I…’ She swung to face him, but this time her lashes veiled her eyes. Did she realise how sexy that heavy-lidded look was? No doubt it was one she’d practised. ‘Well, of course, shopping is part of the London experience.’ Her mouth curved in a smile but this time it didn’t have the same wattage. Its impact didn’t resonate inside his chest.
Good. That earlier response was an aberration. He had no intention of feeling anything for his wife other than satisfaction at the benefits she brought to his balance sheet: fuel resources to exploit and her personal connections in the region.
‘I can see you’ll enjoy yourself in London.’ He’d wondered if he’d face an emotional plea to extend their stay in Bakhara after the wedding. It pleased him she was so reasonable. They’d deal perfectly together. ‘The jet is fuelled and ready to go as soon as we reach the airport.’
‘That’s—’ She stiffened and sucked in a gasp. ‘My passport! I can’t—’
‘You can. Your passport is waiting at the plane.’
‘Really?’ She leaned forward, her eyes searching. ‘You had no trouble getting it from…from the house?’
‘My staff did it. I assume there was no difficulty.’ Joss surveyed her curiously. He’d almost swear that was shock on her face. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Wrong?’ Her voice stretched high. ‘Of course not. I just…’ She shook her head. ‘Everything’s perfectly fine, thank you.’ She turned away to watch the retreating city as the car sped towards the airfield. ‘How long till we reach the plane?’
Joss leaned back in his seat, intrigued by the flicker of emotions he’d seen in his wife’s face. He’d pegged her for a woman of unruffled sophistication, with the poise of a socialite who took world travel and privilege for granted.
It was a surprise to find there was more to Leila than he’d expected. If he had the inclination he’d almost be tempted to discover more.
Almost.
He had higher priorities than learning about his wife on anything other than a superficial level.
‘We’re almost there.’
His words were music to Leila’s ears.
Escape, not only from her stepfather’s home, but from Bakhara, seemed too good to be true. Though she loved her homeland, she wouldn’t feel safe from Gamil till she was a continent away. She’d expected to stay in the country a few more weeks and had fretted over the possibility Gamil would find a way to convince Joss to leave her behind when he went.
The few times over the years when she’d succeeded in escaping the house she hadn’t got far. Gamil’s staff had found her and forcibly hauled her back, and each time the punishments had grown more severe. Gamil’s money and legal power as her guardian gave him control over her till she married or turned twenty-five. He’d restricted her travel, education, friendships and money.
Even now she was married, she’d feared he’d find some way to stymie her escape. But now—freedom! She could taste it on her tongue, sweet and full of promise.
The thrill was almost enough to dispel the strange queasiness she felt.
It had been over twelve months since she’d been allowed out of the front door. The clenching spasm of stomach muscles, the panic that had grabbed her throat and made her heart race as she’d left the house, had hit out of nowhere. She hadn’t even been able to wave farewell to the guests, every fibre concentrated on conquering that sudden tension.
As if she’d been afraid to step into freedom.
Ridiculous! For years she’d done nothing but plan how to get away.
It was just the rich food after sparse rations that had