Australia: In Bed with a Sheikh!. Emma Darcy
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Sarah. I won’t take it kindly if you try to back out after I’ve made a settlement with your father.”
She took a deep, deep breath.
The equation was the same.
The future security of the children was at stake.
“As you said, it’s up to my father. If he agrees, my agreement stands.”
Again the flash of satisfaction in his eyes, curling her stomach.
“This may take some time. Please be at ease here. Use whatever facilities you like. Treat the suite as your own.”
He left her to stew over what was transpiring between the two parties.
It was over an hour before he came back, an hour of agitated pacing, of sick turmoil, of swinging through so many emotions, Sarah felt like a limp rag when he re-entered the suite. She could tell nothing from his expression. It was guarded, controlled, yet he carried an aura of success.
“Well?” she challenged, on painful tenterhooks as to the outcome.
“I believe we’ve come to a clear and mutual understanding. Your father will continue training my horses. He and your stepmother would like to speak to you, Sarah. If you’ll come now…”
It was done.
Really done.
The next year of her life belonged to Tareq al-Khaima. He might not be dressed in traditional clothes but Sarah had no doubt he was a sheikh through and through, born to rule, used to dictating his own terms, determined that his will be carried out.
The only question left was…what was his will where she was concerned? Her soul trembled at the thought of finding out that reality.
THE STRETCH LIMOUSINE heightened Sarah’s awareness of what life with Tareq was going to be like. She sat beside him on a lushly cushioned, blue velvet seat, every luxury at hand—cocktail bar, television, radio, telephone—and tinted windows around them, forming a cocoon of privacy from the ordinary world. Even the chauffeur, having been given directions to the Hillyard farm at Werribee, was removed from them by a glass partition.
Tareq dominated her space, dominated her thoughts, dominated her every sense.
Her gaze was pulled again and again to the hands resting on his thighs; long-fingered, brown-skinned, elegantly formed yet suggesting a tensile strength capable of catching and holding anything they wanted to. The future of her family was in those hands now, and she was within very personal reach of them any time he chose to make physical contact.
Her nostrils kept picking up the subtle scent of some male cologne. She hadn’t noticed it in the hotel but in the close confines of the car, it intruded enough for her to try to define it, thinking it might define the man. Like the navy suit he wore, it was classy, understated, yet tantalising in suggesting something primitive overlaid with especially tailored sophistication.
Her ears were constantly alert for any movement from him, a shift towards her, a recomposure of himself. He seemed to have mastered the art of utter stillness, which made Sarah extremely conscious of her own little outbreaks of nervous fidgeting.
He hadn’t touched her since he’d drawn her into consenting to the bargain. He didn’t need to. He knew she was now tied to him by honour and integrity. She could feel his touch on her heart and mind and soul.
In her mouth was the sweet-bitter taste of what he had drawn from her father on her behalf, whether by threat or persuasion or simple instruction, she didn’t know. Susan’s tearful gratitude she could accept as a natural response, but her father’s halting speech had been a raw exposure of hidden hurts, intensely embarrassing.
It had touched on feelings they had never talked about, never acknowledged, and because nothing of that ilk had ever been said between them before, Sarah had difficulty in deciphering what was sincere or simply forced out of the situation. She couldn’t help thinking of the Christmas in Ireland where she’d spilled too much to Tareq…a kind stranger she’d never expected to meet again…a man who was acutely, dangerously perceptive.
“Did you tell my father to say those things to me?” she blurted out, wanting to know how pervasive Tareq’s influence had been in that last painful scene at the hotel.
Out of the corner of her eyes she saw his head turn towards her. Sarah had to summon up her courage to look directly at him, needing to maintain a protective shield around herself while she held his gaze.
“What things, Sarah?” he asked, the powerful blue eyes scanning for cracks in her hastily erected defences.
“About not letting me down again.”
“You think he didn’t carry any guilt over abandoning you to your mother’s whims when you were twelve?”
“Did you make him feel guilty, Tareq?”
A slight shrug. “Perhaps I tapped at his conscience in explaining why you felt you could approach me personally…the past connection between us.”
“You must have laid it on thick,” she accused.
He was completely unabashed. “Sometimes it’s very beneficial, very sobering, for people to be faced with the consequences of the decisions they make.”
There was a hard glint of ruthlessness in his eyes.
Her father had certainly been sobered up by the time she’d walked into Peter Larsen’s suite. His alcoholic bender the night before had left him looking drawn and haggard, his eyes redrimmed, but he’d spoken with convincing determination about making good on this second chance. Having accepted Tareq’s terms, whatever they were, he could hardly do anything else. He’d undoubtedly been made to face that his career in training was on the line.
It was the second part of his speech she questioned. He’d moved straight on to expressing-openly expressing—his regret in failing her as a father; his realisation that he’d selfishly accepted her ongoing assistance to his family, thinking only of their need instead of seeing she was putting her own life on hold; his hope that her new position with Tareq al-Khaima would be a door to a lot of opportunities for her; and finally, his fervent vow to live up to her good faith in him and be there for her if she ever called him in need.
They had to be lines fed to him by Tareq. Under duress. Although it was possible her father had taken them to heart. Either way, it was too late for a real rapprochement between them. Tareq was taking her away.
“I didn’t have much evidence of his caring for you, Sarah,” Tareq remarked, reading her thoughts with disquietening ease. His mouth quirked. “And what good is a hostage without a strong value of caring? I thought it worthwhile to add an appropriate load of guilt.”
Questions answered.
Sickened by his logic even as she recognised its truth, Sarah dropped her gaze and turned her face to the side window. They were out of the city and travelling through the countryside to the place she thought of as home. Except it had ceased being her home eleven years ago when her status had changed to occasional visitor. More recently she’d been the live-in family help. But she didn’t belong there. She didn’t belong anywhere.
Which had probably made it easy for Tareq to claim her with no one to protest, no one to fight for her. She was on her own. But that didn’t mean she was a pushover for anything he wanted. Her hands curled into determined fists. If he made unreasonable demands on her she would fight him.
Without looking at him, she asked, “What are the duties of a travelling companion?”
“To travel with me.” His tone was lightly amused.
Her nails dug into her palms. “Nothing else?”
“Oh, I daresay we’ll come to various little accommodations.”
“Like