Imprisoned by a Vow. Annie West
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course not. Very few people insist on such traditions any more.’
She took a deep breath of cool air and surveyed the luxurious private jet. Already she felt better. Maybe after years locked away she’d simply lost her ability to deal with the Bakhari heat. The explanation buoyed her.
‘I can stand now. Thank you. I feel all right.’
Joss tilted a look from his superior height, scouring her face as if penetrating her secrets. His expression gave no hint of his thoughts. But then he was a self-made multibillionaire. He’d perfected the art of keeping his thoughts to himself.
A flicker of unease trembled under her skin. What did he see as he watched her? A business asset or something else?
Leila pushed her palm against his collarbone, trying to lever some distance between them. It didn’t work, only making her aware of his unyielding strength. Held in his arms, she suddenly felt not so much protected as vulnerable. Puny against his formidable masculinity.
It made her uneasy.
His gaze dipped to her mouth and her lips tingled as if she’d eaten chilli.
‘Joss! I said I can stand.’ Suddenly it was imperative he release her. She’d felt light-headed before but this was different. Something she didn’t want to explore. Something to do with him.
Smoothly he put her down, watching her intently.
Fortunately the strength had returned to her legs. She was herself again, able to walk, spine straight and legs steady, to the lounge chair the stewardess indicated.
Sitting straight despite its encompassing luxury, Leila turned to the hovering stewardess.
‘I’d like some water, please. And do you have anything for travel sickness?’
‘Of course, madam.’ The woman bustled away.
If Leila tried hard enough she might convince herself it was motion sickness she’d experienced out there after her first trip in a vehicle in ages. Or the effects of heat.
She watched Joss sit on the other side of the cabin. His gaze didn’t leave her as she took the medication and a healthy slug of water.
His scrutiny made her uneasy. It wasn’t like Gamil’s, which had always made her flesh crawl. But Joss’s steady regard seemed to strip her bare. Surely he couldn’t see the tumble of elation and anxiety she strove to hide? Concealing what she felt had been a matter of survival under Gamil’s cruel regime and she’d become adept.
Deliberately she put her head back and closed her eyes, reassured by the hum of the engines starting.
When finally she felt the plane take off she opened them to see Joss, head bent over a stack of papers, his pen slashing an annotation across the page.
Relief welled up inside her. He’d forgotten her, his curiosity had been temporary. Once they reached London he’d forget her entirely.
She turned to see Bakhara drop away and exhilaration filled her. Her new life had just begun.
CHAPTER THREE
‘I SEE YOU’VE made yourself at home.’
Joss sauntered into the kitchen. The sight of his wife setting a kettle to boil made the huge, functional room seem domestic, almost cosy.
It was the last place he’d expected to find her. Given the number of servants in her old home he’d imagined her reclining in bed and summoning staff to wait on her.
Leila swung round, eyes wide, and he felt the impact of her clear gaze like a touch. Intriguing. Yesterday he’d put the sensation down to curiosity and a tinge of concern when she’d all but fainted at his feet.
‘You surprised me,’ she said in a husky voice that purred through his belly. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’
Joss shrugged. ‘I’ve been known to make my own coffee occasionally.’ Hell, he’d spent enough time batching in rough-and-ready outback accommodation to know his way around a kitchen. He could feed a whole shift of hungry miners if need be. Plain, hearty fare that stuck to the ribs, not the sort of fancy delicacies a society princess like Leila ate. She was like his mother had been—used to being waited on.
‘I meant I didn’t expect to see you in the apartment.’ As his brows rose she added, ‘Not at this time of day. It’s only early afternoon.’
‘And tycoons never take time off?’ He watched her gaze skitter away across the gleaming floor before returning to his.
The connection ignited a tiny spark of sensation.
Joss ignored it. He was good at ignoring unimportant things. Things that didn’t figure in his plans.
‘I understand you’re a self-made man. You can’t have got where you are without working long hours.’
So, she’d been interested enough to find out that much.
‘You’re right.’ He strolled across the room, peeled off his jacket and dropped it on a stool near the enormous island bench. ‘My working hours are long.’
There was an understatement! He didn’t bother explaining that he enjoyed the cut and thrust of expanding his empire. That he revelled in the challenges of business despite the highly efficient teams he employed.
Business was an end in itself, giving total satisfaction. His commercial success gave him a purpose nothing else could. There was always a new goal, inevitably harder, more satisfying than the last. Hence his move into new territories with this Bakhari deal and his recent mining acquisition in Africa.
‘I’ll be working tonight, video conferencing with Australia, and I leave tomorrow to deal with a crisis.’ The rest of his London meetings would have to wait. An oil-rig accident took priority. ‘In the meantime it’s time for us to talk.’
‘Good idea.’ Leila nodded but her shoulders looked stiff.
Why was she tense? Because of him? Or was she ill again? He frowned.
Last night, arriving in Britain, she’d barely stirred when they landed, knocked out apparently by the medication she’d taken. He’d had to carry her to the car and again from the basement car park to the apartment.
He’d left it to his efficient housekeeper to get her to bed. Then he’d put in a couple of hours in his private gym and study before retiring in the early hours.
Yet instead of sleeping instantly as he’d trained himself to do, Joss had lain awake pondering the enigma that was his wife.
There’d been no mistaking her fragility as he’d held her in his arms. She’d weighed next to nothing when he’d scooped her up and onto his jet. He’d felt the bony jut of her hip and the outline of her ribs.
That had stirred long-buried memories. Of Joanna at fifteen—all skin and bone, turning in on herself rather than facing the selfish demands of their parents. Parents who’d never given a damn about either of their children, except as weapons in their vindictive, ongoing battle against each other.
Holding Leila, feeling the tremors running through her, evidence of the weakness she strove to hide, Joss had been hit by a surge of protectiveness he hadn’t known since he was ten, wanting to save the big sister who had wasted away before his eyes.
But Leila wasn’t Joanna. Leila wasn’t some wounded teenager. She was a grown woman, well enough to sell herself for an easy life of wealth.
It was no concern of his if she’d overdone the pre-wedding dieting. Yet he found himself checking. ‘You’re better today?’
‘Much better, thank you. The wedding preparations must have tired me more than I knew.’
The kettle boiled and clicked off. ‘Would you like something? I’m making chamomile tea.’ She favoured him with one of those small, polite smiles. The perfect