Captive For The Sheikh's Pleasure

‘The people need to grieve in their own time,’ Ilyas had said. ‘I shall marry when the time is right, not when you decide.’ He’d glanced over at Mahmoud, whose face had paled as Ilyas had delivered this challenge to the absolute authority of the king.

‘I said that I would like you to marry,’ the king had bellowed, the command inherent in his tone.

‘Marriage is a lifetime commitment and one I am not yet willing to make. For now, the harem shall suffice.’ He’d looked over at Mahmoud again and moved on the meeting. ‘Next item.’

* * *

Ilyas was stern yet fair, level rather than cold, and the people of Zayrinia adored him and silently longed for the day he was king.

As the king’s health had declined, Ilyas’s power had subtly risen, though not enough for his liking. But on this particular Friday, as Mahmoud stated that a fresh crisis threatened the palace, it was Ilyas who took control.

‘It is already being dealt with,’ Ilyas informed his father calmly, though the amber in his hazel eyes flashed with irritation. Why the hell had Mahmoud raised his younger brother’s latest indiscretions in front of the king?

‘But what sort of party was it?’ the king asked.

‘It was just a gathering,’ Ilyas smoothly answered. ‘You yourself said that you wanted Hazin to come home more often.’

‘Yes, but to attend to royal duties,’ the king said, and then looked at his aide and asked again, ‘What sort of party was held on his yacht?’

Ilyas could very well guess the type of debauched gathering that had taken place.

His brother was famous for them.

Almost.

The palace had their work cut out concealing the scandals that Hazin left in his wake and the king had recently decided that enough was enough. King Ahmed al-Razim was more than prepared to disinherit his youngest and strip him of privilege and title.

Most would say Hazin deserved it.

Ilyas was not swayed by others, though.

Not even by his father, the king.

‘I discussed it with Hazin before he left,’ Ilyas informed his father. ‘He assured me that it was just a day out with friends before he headed back to London.’

‘And did you remind him that if there is one more whisper of scandal the London apartment will be off limits to him?’ King Ahmed checked. ‘Did you tell him that his accounts shall be severed and there shall be no more access to the royal jets and yachts?’

‘Yes, I told him,’ Ilyas responded.

‘Perhaps if he has to work for a living he might spend his money more wisely.’

‘Hazin is wealthy in his own right,’ Ilyas reminded his father.

‘Few could be wealthy enough to support his habits,’ the king hissed. ‘It had better be dealt with, Ilyas.’ He strode out of the office and, once the doors parted and closed behind him, a worried Mahmoud spoke.

‘Your father needs to know that the palace is being blackmailed in order to keep Hazin’s secrets. If this gets out it will be a disaster,’ Mahmoud insisted. ‘Hazin has been given enough rope—there have been too many last chances.’

‘I said that I shall deal with it,’ Ilyas warned.

‘King Ahmed needs to know! These people need to be paid off. I have been his senior advisor for almost half a century—’

‘It must be almost time for retirement, then,’ Ilyas cut in, and he watched as Mahmoud puffed in indignation. ‘The palace must not give in to threats.’ He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘I don’t believe there even is a sex tape.’

‘I am not so sure,’ Mahmoud said and, now that the king was gone, he admitted to more. ‘Unless the payment is made by midday on Monday they will release the footage. The woman has made contact again.’

Ilyas read through the messages that had been coming through to the private server for the past week, but the demands were more specific now—stating the sum of money required and where and when it was to be deposited to prevent the release of the tape.

‘She is bold,’ Mahmoud said.

Ilyas did not agree with the advisor’s findings.

‘No,’ he said, again reading the message. ‘If this Suzanne believes that she can bribe me she is a fool.’

He examined the attached photos and knew at first glance that they had been taken aboard his brother’s yacht.

A stunning redhead with green eyes and delicate-looking pale skin had been photographed in a willow-green bikini.

There was another photo, grainy as if it had been taken from afar and zoomed in, that showed her lying on a bed as Hazin walked into what Ilyas knew to be the royal cabin.

The message warned that the more explicit footage taken inside the cabin would be shocking, but Ilyas wasn’t buying it.

‘If they had more they would already have sent it.’

‘They have more,’ Mahmoud said as Ilyas moved to the next photo.

It was a full frontal of his younger brother in a less than regal pose.

Hazin was completely naked, though, in fairness, Ilyas could see he was just rinsing off, presumably after a swim.

‘This is nothing that our long-suffering public has not already seen. There are more full-frontal naked pictures of Hazin circulating on the Internet than I care to count. It’s nothing.’

Well, hardly nothing—Hazin took after his brother in that department and this particular image made no secret of that fact.

There was another issue, though.

‘This was taken in Zayrinian waters.’ Mahmoud pointed out exactly what Ilyas was thinking. ‘You can even see the palace in the distance. The king promised his people that there would be no more scandal from Hazin.’

It was his father who was the fool, then.

Hazin and Ilyas might be similar in certain departments but were completely different in nature. Ilyas simply didn’t deal in emotion and so rarely encountered it that, if he did, it held little sway on his decisions. He was always focused and supremely composed while his brother, on the other hand, ran wild. Hazin was a loose cannon who chose to live the life of a playboy, yet, Ilyas was certain, after the warning he had served his brother prior to his visit, he would not have brought this behaviour home on this occasion.

Right now, Hazin was aboard the royal jet and heading back to London, oblivious to the latest development in the unfolding scandal.

‘Sit tight,’ Ilyas told Mahmoud. ‘If there is any further contact I am to be informed. Not my father,’ he added.

He could see Mahmoud’s silent struggle as to whether or not he should brief the king.

Over and over Ilyas had warned Hazin to be mindful of long-range lenses but these images looked like they had been taken from a phone.

Probably not a professional, then.

But, no, he would not be swayed.

Ilyas again flicked through the photos. Despite his blasé response to Mahmoud, the naked image alone could prove extremely damaging. The people more easily dismissed Hazin’s transgressions while overseas, but, Ilyas knew, they would not be so forgiving if Hazin brought scandal home.

Then he looked at the woman, uncertain if she was this Suzanne woman or just the lure used to tempt Hazin.

He could actually see how his brother might have been taken in.

She was stunning.

Her long, wavy red hair was swept back by the wind and her body was not the manufactured kind that so often attended parties such as this.

She was incredibly pale with a dusting of freckles on her arms and thighs. Her body was slender and her curves subtle and very feminine, while in the picture her lips were full and parted in a smile.

Yet it did not reach her eyes and Ilyas was certain the smile she wore was a false one.

Yes, she was the smiling assassin indeed.

‘Do nothing without my instruction,’ Ilyas reiterated. ‘And contact me if necessary.’

‘I am going to the hammam.’

‘Your Highness.’ Mahmoud nodded and bowed as Ilyas departed.

The palace was beyond exquisite.

The huge, sprawling, ivory marble construction appeared, from an external vantage, to be set on a long red canyon on the edge of the Persian Gulf. It looked down on the bustling city while the westerly wing overlooked the endless desert.

The palace was a true masterpiece and had been built around a natural oasis that existed to this day. It was vast and contained within it many residences, as well as formal function areas and spaces for worship.

It held more secrets, though, for it was not just set on the cliff—it had actually been carved from within.

The tunnels beneath were all lined with ancient drawings and detailed mosaics. Ilyas descended first the carved marble steps, which soon gave way to steps carved into the bedrock.

Here the air was cooler. Ilyas walked through his private tunnel, the path lit by huge pillar candles. With the sound of cascading water in the distance he hoped the gnawing of concern in his gut would soon melt away.

The hammam was divine, and certain areas were accessible from several routes but few were allowed to venture where Ilyas did now.

It was a world few knew existed.

A natural cave waterfall was the centrepiece and the constant torrent provided a stunning audio-visual backdrop. There were several pools and smaller waterfalls that ran into larger cave pools beneath the hammam. When the light struck right, the entrance to one of the cave pools glowed a deep red from un-mined rubies. By day, occasional shafts of sunlight beamed in and created a natural cathedral; by night it was the stars and moon that showered the waters with their light. It was a royal retreat indeed.

Ilyas stripped out of his robe and dropped into a deep plunge pool, fully immersing himself. But as he rose to the surface his tension refused to relent.

Despite his calm reaction in front of Mahmoud, Ilyas was deeply concerned.

Ilyas knew he appeared as cold and indifferent as his father but he had not been chipped from the same block of ice.

He did not want Hazin to be disinherited, yet he knew that day was approaching. Despite his best efforts, nothing seemed to be able to divert the train wreck in motion.

There was nothing he could do except remain vigilant, but for now Ilyas did his best to relax.

Rarely did he have an entire weekend to do with as he pleased.

Usually there were several engagements to attend and often he travelled overseas, both forging new relationships and attempting to repair the disastrous ones his father’s rule had created.

Summoning one of the masseuses, Ilyas walked over to the large marble stone at the centre of the area and lay on his stomach as his skin was rubbed with salt.

Soon he would get up and rinse off under the waterfall. He looked out to the desert from his privileged vantage point—few even knew it existed, for there was an uninterrupted view of desert sands and sky.

Later he would make his selection from the harem.

His father still regularly pushed him to select a bride but Ilyas consistently refused.

And who could blame him!

Along one of the tunnels he could hear the distant sounds of laughter from the harem and there was a velvet rope above him that at any moment he could pull. As he lay there, with his head on his forearm and sex on his mind, Ilyas thought of the woman in the photo that Mahmoud had handed him earlier.

Deft hands were working the small of his back but it was not the skill of the masseuse that had Ilyas shift his position on the cold marble stone.

It was the thought of the woman and her blaze of red hair and pale freckled skin that had him hardening.

‘Your Highness.’ The sound of Mahmoud’s voice was not in the least welcome. ‘I apologise for disturbing you.’

Unless Hazin’s plane had crashed or his father had passed, Mahmoud had no business disturbing Ilyas in the hammam. ‘What now?’ he asked angrily.

‘The woman in the photo, the one...’

‘What about her?’ Ilyas snapped. He certainly did not need a refresher course on the woman to whom Mahmoud referred, for she was currently on more than his mind.

‘I have just found out that she is still in the country. Apparently she is booked on a tour tonight.’

‘Then you were right the first time,’ Ilyas growled. ‘She is a fool.’ For no one with any sense would remain in the country having served such an explicit threat.

‘We have traced her phone and it would seem that she is attending the star-gazing trip.’

‘There shall be few stars tonight since there is a simoom expected.’ It was not due here until tomorrow but the red of the sky was foreboding. ‘There should be no tourists out in the desert tonight.’

‘The tour went ahead. She is out there, Your Highness,’ Mahmoud said, and gestured to the desert.

Ilyas knew that some of the tour operators ignored warnings. It was an ongoing issue but not one that concerned him now.

‘I am sure she is calling our bluff but we have a team investigating.’ Ilyas dismissed him but then he wavered. His father had made it exceptionally clear that Hazin was on his final warning.

If there was the slightest truth behind this threat, the results for Hazin would be dire indeed.

‘Bring this Suzanne to me.’

‘Here?’ Mahmoud was aghast. ‘If the king gets wind—’

‘Not here,’ Ilyas interrupted. ‘Have her taken to the desert abode. I shall speak with her there.’

‘You could well find yourself stranded.’

Ilyas was more than used to the tricks of the desert and always enjoyed his time there. He drew on it for strength and wisdom, and the thought of being stranded didn’t trouble him in the least.

‘Perhaps this Suzanne should have considered that before firing off her threats.’

Ilyas flicked his hand to tell Mahmoud to get to work and carry out his orders and then he went to reach for the rope above to select his concubine. His hand halted midway as he changed his mind and instead rose from the table and walked over to the running water, where he rinsed off.

He would deal with this impossible woman first, and then he would select from the harem.

CHAPTER THREE

MAGGIE DIDN’T WANT to admit it.

Even to herself.

But, after all the effort to get here, the much-awaited star-gazing trip wasn’t all she had hoped it would be.

Unlike everything else she had experienced here in Zayrinia, the trip to the desert had proved more than a little touristy.

In truth, the journey deep into the desert had taken less than an hour and that allowed for all the time it had taken to mount and dismount from their camels.

‘At the wishes of the Bedouins,’ one of the guides explained, ‘we are forbidden from going any further.’

A couple complained rather loudly but the guide explained that there was nothing that could be done.

Yet.

‘We have put in several formal requests for the law to be changed,’ he said. ‘The final decision rests with the king.’

Having lined up and been served dinner, the group had sat on rugs by a huge fire and watched belly dancers as the sun had started to set.

But as the sun dimmed, so too did the hopes of a night of stargazing. The sky was overcast and the visibility was low due to the gathering sandstorm in the east.

It was still rather spectacular, though.

The sand and dust carried by the wind turned the tiny new moon pale crimson and Maggie watched, awestruck, as it drifted behind and then peeked out of the huge rolling clouds.

The tales around the campfire were interesting too, and the guide used his hands as he told expressive tales.

‘Beneath the palace there is a river where, to this day, the water runs red. It marks the spot where a young prince was denied marriage to his lover and died of a broken heart.’ Maggie was wide-eyed.

‘Since then,’ the guide told them, ‘the crown prince does not court. Love is for lesser mortals. A king must think only with his head.’

‘Does the water really run red?’ asked a woman to the side of Maggie, but the guide had moved on to another tale.

‘The palace is built on the ruins of what once was a harem,’ he explained. ‘The concubines feasted and rested until summoned by a bell. There were many wild and decadent times but it was considered far safer than allowing a virile prince loose in the land with his heart. It is said that the winds that are heard at night are, in fact, the sounds of debauchery carrying across time...’

And the winds were starting to gather.

The campfire tales were halted and the guides gathered in a confab. Maggie guessed they were deciding if the trip should simply be cancelled. But then the annoying couple loudly pointed out that in the event of adverse weather conditions a full refund would be given.

The tour would go ahead!

People were soon being guided to their designated sleeping areas but Maggie continued to stand by the fire. Beyond it was a huge canyon and atop that the outline of the palace. She thought of days long gone and the stories of long-dead royals who were given everything except for love.

Even without stars, Zayrinia, Maggie decided, was beautiful beyond words.

‘Suzanne!’

Maggie only turned when the name was called for a third time and only because of the impatient tone, but then she realised the summons was aimed at her.

Ah, yes, for tonight, she was Suzanne.

The organiser waved her over and gestured to the area that would be Maggie’s home until sunrise.

It was a small, tented area, with a simple mattress where she could either lie and continue to view the night sky or, as was strongly suggested, she could pull the canopy over.

Maggie nodded and thanked him. Refusing to give in just yet, she kept the canopy open, and kicking off her shoes bedded down for what remained of the night.

There appeared not a single star in the sky.

To her left, the couple who had argued about everything were now complaining about the hard mattress and there was a man snoring to her right.

Of all the many highlights of her year, Zayrinia had become her favourite. She had instantly felt somehow drawn to the land.

That in itself was rare for Maggie.

She had learnt not to get attached to people, let alone locations, yet there was something about Zayrinia that entranced her.

It really did, Maggie thought as she gazed up at the dark, heavy sky.

While there wasn’t a star to be seen, the clouds billowed and raced so swiftly it was as if the sky had been placed on fast forward, and soon the sounds of her fellow tourists were drowned out by the cries of the wind whistling through distant canyons.

It really had been the most amazing year. One that Maggie would never have embarked on had it not been for her mother.

It wasn’t the lack of stars that had tears pool in her eyes, or the knowledge that her trip was drawing to a close.

The threat of tears was reserved for the very reason she was here.

Maggie missed her mother so much.

Erin Delaney had fallen pregnant when she was just seventeen and Maggie had never known her father.

Even though she had been a single, teenage mum, Erin had given her daughter a very happy childhood.

Still now, when Maggie felt alone or scared, thoughts of innocent, happy times would come to mind.

Maggie lay there remembering a time they had come from the baker’s and had got caught in the rain. They had ducked under the awnings of a shop that had, though Maggie hadn’t really understood then, been a travel agent.

‘You need to see the world, Maggie,’ her mother had said as they’d looked at a huge map in the window.

‘I like it here.’

‘I know you do, but there’s a whole world outside London. I was going to go travelling and see it for myself...’

‘But you had me instead.’

‘You’re the best mistake I ever made!’ Erin smiled. ‘But seriously, Maggie, you make sure you see the world. I’m saving up hard and next year we’re going to Paris.’

They hadn’t got there, though.

After a short, hard-fought battle with cancer, Erin had passed away. She’d had little money but she had left a small sum for Maggie to inherit when she turned twenty-one and it had been accompanied by a letter. In it Erin had told her daughter that she had been and still was deeply loved. Erin had said that she hoped Maggie would consider spreading her wings and taking in this wonderful world in a way that she had not.

The money had been enough to cover the airfare, but it had taken Maggie two years to save up enough to take the trip.

She had taken the train first to Paris and from there Maggie had travelled through Europe before heading to America and then Asia and Australia and home via the Middle East.

And now on the final leg of her journey, Zayrinia had won her heart.

On Monday she would be on her way back to London and a week after that she would be back working at the café.

Maggie fought to keep her eyes open, for she wanted to savour every last moment. But the day had started early and an awful lot of it had been spent in the sun. Maggie’s eyes were soon closing.

At first she thought the rustle of the tent was just the wind but then Maggie felt a hand on her shoulder. For a brief second she thought it must be the guide telling her to wake up, but then the hand gripped her tighter, roughly, and even before Maggie thought to scream, she felt a hand clamp over her mouth.

It all happened so quickly—one moment Maggie was sleeping, the next she was being dragged under the canvas and through the sand.

She fought and kicked but there was more than one person and the wind was her enemy now, for it drowned the sounds of the struggle she made. She smelt body odour and felt the rough fabric of their clothes against her cheeks. But their grip on her arms and thighs only tightened as she twisted to free herself.

All to no avail.

It took less than a minute to be bundled into a vehicle and Maggie fought each second of it even as she was driven away.

‘What do you want?’ she asked as the hand was removed from her mouth, but there was no answer.

The vehicle came to a halt and she was dragged out. Maggie thought she had already tasted fear, but that was nothing compared to how the sand stung as it whipped at her cheeks and the wind took her breath away as she cried out at the lights from a helicopter.

‘Yalla! Yalla!’ a man urged loudly, and Maggie knew they were being told to hurry.

‘Please...’ she begged, not just because she was being kidnapped, but because surely it was way too windy to fly. Nothing she said or did made a difference; Maggie knew she was outnumbered and knew somehow that it was better to save her energy than to fight.

And still she refused to cry.

Careful what you wish for!

Just a few hours ago, Maggie had silently bemoaned the fact she was not deeper in the desert, and now she watched as it spread like a never-ending ocean beneath them.

It was not the first time Maggie had been wrenched from her bed.

Memories were stirring and she tried to stuff them down, but as they grew stronger she gave in, for there was strange comfort to be had in remembering those days.

As she looked through childhood memories with adult eyes, she found she could make sense of things. Time had given her perspective; what had happened to her made far more sense now than it ever had when she had been living through it.

The memories came thick and fast now. The drenching light and her bedroom full of strangers had, in fact, been the first responders when her mother had taken a serious turn for the worse.