The Sheikh Who Claimed Her: Master of the Desert / The Sheikh's Reluctant Bride / Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife. Teresa Southwick
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turned to use the radio.
‘More than I expected,’ he conceded as he prepared to place the call. ‘You did well.’
He could feel the heat of her gaze on his back as he fired off orders. He had become part of her desert fantasy, he guessed. Too bad; he wasn’t interested. There were plenty of women who knew the score, and this girl wasn’t one of them. Breaking radio connection, he turned to face her again.
‘Okay?’ she said hopefully.
‘Okay,’ he confirmed. ‘So now it’s all about you.’ He ran a cool stare over her. ‘Let’s start with your name and what you’re doing here.’
No name. She could have no name. Signorina Antonia Ruggiero must have no name. Whoever he was, this man was successful; successful people knew other people. And people talked. How good would it look for her to be branded a thief? Or, worse still, a demented creature with a knife? Before she’d even begun the work she’d set out to do.
‘You’re European,’ the man observed in a voice that strummed something deep inside her. ‘Although, like me, I suspect you were educated in England. Am I right?’
She took in the fact that his husky, confident baritone was barely accented even though he had spoken Sinnebalese fluently. ‘Yes, that’s right.’ Her own voice sounded hoarse.
‘Where in England were you educated?’ His keen eyes watched her closely, and the intensity of expression in those eyes warned her not to lie to him.
‘I went to school in Ascot.’
‘Ascot?’ There was a faint note of mockery in his voice. He’d heard of the very expensive girls’ school there. ‘So you’re a very proper young lady?’
Not in her head. One flash of this man’s muscular back when he changed his top confirmed she was anything but proper. ‘I try,’ she said primly.
‘What is such a well-brought-up young lady doing on my yacht, stealing my food and threatening me with a knife?’
His relentless stare sent ribbons of sensation flooding through her, making it hard to concentrate—but this was her best, maybe her only, chance to get to the mainland and it was crucial to forge a relationship with him. She also had to persuade him not to report her to the authorities to avoid being arrested the moment she landed. ‘I was hungry—thirsty. Your yacht was here; I took my chances.’
She flinched when he laughed. Short and sharp, it held no hint of humour.
‘You certainly did,’ he agreed. ‘Didn’t you think to call out when you came on board? You could have made some attempt to locate the owner before you stole his food.’
‘I did call out, but no one answered.’
His lips curved as he propped his hip against the bench where she was sitting. ‘So you helped yourself to whatever you felt like?’
‘I didn’t touch anything outside the galley.’ Must he move so close and tower over her?
‘And that makes it right?’
‘I’m sorry.’ She sounded childlike—plaintive, even—but was lost for something else to say.
‘Next time I’m in Ascot, I’ll wander into your house and see what I fancy taking, shall I?’
‘I don’t live in Ascot.’ The angry words shot from her mouth without any assistance from her brain and her reward was an ironic grin.
‘So, we’ve ruled out Ascot,’ he said.
Before he could delve any further, she swayed and clutched her throat.
‘Feeling faint?’ he demanded caustically, refusing to be fooled by her amateur dramatics for a single moment.
‘I’m fine,’ she assured him, matching him stare for stare. Whatever it took, she wasn’t about to let him see how badly he affected her.
‘You’re not fine,’ he argued, narrowing his eyes. ‘You’ve had a shock and need time to get over it.’
She hoped that meant a reprieve, and shrank instinctively from his intense maleness as he eased away from the bench.
‘Relax.’ His lips tugged with very masculine amusement. ‘You’re safe with me.’
Did he mean that to be reassuring, or was he insulting her? And was she safe? Could he be trusted? For once, she didn’t know what to think. The man’s manner was dismissive and abrupt, and his appearance … Well, that was rather more intimidating than the pirates.
There could be no guarantees, Antonia concluded, even if he had bathed her wounds. So was the flutter inside her chest a warning to be on her guard, or awareness of his sexuality?
‘Are you travelling alone?’
A shiver of apprehension coursed through her as she stared into his eyes. Why would he ask that? ‘Yes,’ she admitted cautiously. ‘I’m travelling alone—but people know where I am.’
‘Of course they do,’ he said sarcastically. ‘So your family allows you to wander the world without their protection?’
This time she couldn’t hold back. ‘They trust me.’ She was not defending herself now, but Rigo, the older brother who had cared for her since her mother had died six months after giving birth to her, her father having passed away shortly after that.
But the man pursued her relentlessly. ‘And breaking the law is how you repay your family for their care?’
‘I’ve already apologised to you for coming on board,’ she fired back. ‘I explained I had no option but to board your yacht.’
His hands signalled calm as her voice rose. ‘Lucky for you I was moored up here.’
She balled her hands into fists as a last-ditch attempt to keep her temper under control, but all it gained her was another mocking stare. But what a stare … She couldn’t help wondering how it would feel to have that stare fire with interest, or darken with desire.
‘I hope you’ve learned your lesson,’ he snapped, shattering that particular illusion.
‘Oh, I have,’ she assured him meekly. It was time to stop dreaming and accept the facts. She was far too young and inexperienced to interest a man like this. He thought her fragile and foolish, and couldn’t know her determination. She wasn’t fragile, and this trip was her chance to prove she wasn’t foolish. To prove to the brother she adored—who protected her, perhaps a little too much—that she could survive without his supervision. Not that she’d made the best of starts, Antonia conceded as the man held her gaze.
‘Tell me more about your family,’ he prompted.
Being the object of such an intense stare was both alarming and seductive, but she wouldn’t tell him anything that might risk her mission. She hadn’t come to Sinnebar on her own behalf, or as part of some ill-thought-out adventure, but to persuade the authorities in the country to open a branch of her brother’s children’s charity. Rigo’s work had already helped so many sick and disadvantaged children, and she had pledged to help him expand the reach of his charity across the world.
And there was a second reason, Antonia conceded silently. Coming to Sinnebar would give her the opportunity to track down information about the mother it broke her heart to think she couldn’t remember—not her voice, her touch, what she looked like or even the scent of her hair. She knew nothing at all about the woman who had given birth to her, beyond the fact that her mother had been very young when she’d died, and that before marrying Antonia’s father and moving to Rome she had apparently spent some time at the royal court in Sinnebar.
‘I’m waiting to hear about your family,’ the man said, slicing through her thoughts.
Antonia composed herself before replying, knowing it was important not to let anything slip. Rigo had drummed it into her from