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‘Was,’ he inserted, cold and sharp. ‘The important word there is “was”.’
‘What are you talking about?’
Needing to see him to look into his face, meet his eyes, to try and read just what was going on inside his handsome head, she made herself turn to confront him and immediately wished she hadn’t. The dark glaze of his eyes was like black ice, making her stomach lurch. At the same time she felt the clench of her nerves in another, very different sort of response. A very female, very sensual sort of reaction. One that made her throat ache in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
One that was the last thing she wanted, or should even acknowledge she was feeling.
‘The man who was coming,’ he repeated with a dark emphasis. ‘But isn’t any more.’
‘And how do you know...’ Clemmie began, only to find that her voice failed her, the rest of the question fading away into an embarrassing squeak. This man knew too much about her situation—but from what sources?
Suddenly, she was nervous in a new way. One that had thoughts of diplomacy, peace treaties, international situations and strong tensions between countries running through her head. Her hands felt damp and she ran them down the sides of her thighs to ease the sensation, her heart clenching painfully as she watched his dark eyes drop to follow the betraying movement.
His eyes lingered in a way that made her shift uncomfortably from one foot to another on the terracotta-tiled floor.
‘I know because I organised it,’ was the emotionless response. ‘My father ordered what was to happen and instructed Adnan to come and fetch you. He also had the photo of the man he’d put in charge of this sent to you so that you knew who was coming. At least those were the original arrangements—but then everything changed.’
‘Changed?’
It felt as if her blood was weakening, the strength seeping out of her so that she almost imagined there would be a damp pool collecting on the floor at her feet. Adnan was the name of the man Sheikh Al Khalifa had said he would send. The man who was to see her safe to Rhastaan. And she needed her safety to be guaranteed.
Not everyone was as pleased about this prospective marriage as her father. Sheikh Ankhara, whose lands bordered Rhastaan, and who had always wanted the throne for his own daughter, had made no secret of the fact that he would sabotage it if he could. It was because of a possible threat from him that Sheikh Al Khalifa—my father, Karim had said—had taken charge, organising a trusted man to escort her to Nabil.
But now Karim was saying that he had changed those arrangements. Did that mean that something had gone wrong?
‘Do you want to sit down?’
Her feelings must have shown in her face. Perhaps the blood had drained from there too.
‘Here.’
He had crossed to the sink, snatching up a glass and filling it with water from the tap.
‘Take this...’
He pushed it into her hand then closed his own hand around hers as her shockingly nerveless fingers refused to grasp it, coming dangerously close to letting it drop and smash on the tiles.
‘Drink it.’ It was a command as he lifted the glass to her lips.
She managed a little sip, struggling to swallow even the small amount of water. He was so shockingly close. If she breathed in she could inhale the scent of his skin, the faint tang of some aromatic aftershave. His hands were warm on hers, sending pulses of reaction over her skin, and if she looked up into his dark eyes she could see herself reflected in their depths, a tiny, pale-faced thing with huge eyes that gave away too much. She didn’t like how the image made her feel diminished in a way that was as powerful as her awareness of the force and strength of the long body so close to hers, creating a pounding turmoil inside her head.
‘Your—did you say your father?’
A sharp, curt nod of that dark head was his only response. He was still holding the glass of water to her lips, not pushing it at her, but making it plain that he believed she needed more. It was a toss-up between easing the painful tightness of her throat or risking making herself sick as she struggled to swallow.
She managed another sip then pushed the glass away. The brief slick of her tongue over her lips did little to ease the way she was feeling. Particularly not when she saw that darkly intent gaze drop to follow the small movement and she actually saw the kick of his pulse at the base of his throat. Was it possible that he was feeling something of the same heated reaction as the one that had seared through her at his touch?
‘And who, precisely, is your father?’
‘You know his name—you talked of him just now.’
‘I talked of Sheikh Al Khalifa, but he can’t...’ Another nod, as sharp and hard as the first, cut her off in mid-sentence and she had to shake her head violently, sending her dark hair flying as she tried to deny what he was saying. ‘No—he can’t... Prove it!’
A faint shrug of those broad shoulders dismissed her challenge but all the same he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a wallet and flipped it open, holding it up in front of her.
‘My name is Karim Al Khalifa,’ he said slowly and carefully, as if explaining to a difficult and not very bright child. ‘Shamil Al Khalifa is my father—he is also the man whose envoy you were expecting. Isn’t he?’ he demanded when she could only stare at the driving licence, the bank cards in blank silence.
‘But if he—’ Clemmie shook her head slowly, unable to take it all in. ‘Why would he send you—his son...?’
Because if this Karim was the Sheikh’s son then that meant he must be a prince in his own right, as rich and powerful—possibly more so—as Nabil, who was the reason for this situation in the first place.
‘I was expecting a member of his security team. Someone who would make sure that I travelled safely to Rhastaan and...’
‘And met up with your prospective groom,’ Karim finished for her, making it clear that he really did know all about the situation; that he was well aware of what was going on.
‘Things made it—imperative—that the arrangement we’d put in place could not go ahead as we planned. Plans had to be changed at the last moment.’
‘But why?’
‘Because it was necessary.’
And that was all the explanation she was going to get, Clemmie was forced to acknowledge as Karim pushed himself upright, straightening his long back and flexing his broad shoulders. He strode to the sink, tossed what was left of the water into it and placed the glass on the draining board. The air around Clemmie suddenly felt uncomfortably cold without the warm strength of his body so close to hers.
‘And those plans mean that we don’t have any time to waste.’ He flung the words over his shoulder, not even troubling to turn and face her as he spoke. ‘I hope you’ve packed as instructed, because we have to leave now.’
‘Now?’ That brought her to her feet in a rush. As instructed. Who did he think he was?
‘No way. That’s not happening.’
‘Oh, but I assure you that it is.’
She’d planned on arguing against this. Or, at the very least, she’d hoped to discuss it with the man who was due to arrive at her cottage. Her birthday was still nine days away. Less than a month, but that made all the difference.
‘The contract that was drawn up between my family and the rulers of Rhastaan only comes into effect on December third. The day I turn twenty-three.’
‘That day will come soon enough. We’ll be in Rhastaan by the time you come of age.’
So he did know everything about her. Was it supposed to reassure, to let her know that he really was in control of the situation? Because reassure was the last thing it did. She had known that one day someone would come for her. It had been decided, signed and sealed thirteen years before, when the son of the Sheikh of Rhastaan was five, and she not quite ten. They had been betrothed, contracted to each other, to be married when Nabil reached adulthood. She had had some years of freedom, time to complete a university course, while their parents waited for her prospective husband to become old enough to wed and to hold the throne of his own kingdom. And now that time was up.
But not yet. Please, not yet.
Clemmie had thought that she would be able to argue with the man who had been sent. That she could at least pull rank just a little, insist on having a day or two’s grace before she had to leave. The man she had thought was coming to collect her—an older man, a family man, she had hoped—might be someone she could appeal to. Someone who would give her that breathing space and let her have a chance of fulfilling her promise to Harry.
But this dark, sleek, dangerous panther of a man—would he listen to a word she had to say? Would he give her any sort of chance? She doubted it. Especially when she couldn’t tell him—or anyone—the whole truth. She didn’t dare. It was vital that she kept Harry’s existence a total secret. If anyone ever found out about him then the little boy’s future was at risk.
So how could she persuade him?
‘I need more time. A few days.’
You have to be joking, the look he turned on her said without words. It made her feel like some small, crawling insect just within crushing reach of his feet in their highly polished handmade shoes. A small, crawling female insect. And from the way he looked down his straight slash of a nose, the burn of contempt in the blackness of his eyes, she knew just which of those words he considered to be the greatest possible insult he could toss her way.
She made herself face him, her eyes locking with his, burning with the defiance she felt towards his arrogant decree.
‘And who precisely are you to order me around?’
‘I told you—I am Karim Al Khalifa, Crown Prince of Markhazad.’
He obviously thought that his cold statement would impress her but he couldn’t be more wrong. She’d spent so much time as she grew up with the royal family who were destined to be her family one day. It had been a sterile, regimented existence, with very few moments of freedom. Her father had been determined that she knew how to behave, how to follow court protocol. She had been trained for her role. When she married they would be more than equals, and soon she would be queen.
‘Crown Prince, hmm? So why are you here, running errands—’
He hadn’t liked that, not one bit. A flame of anger had flared in those polished jet eyes, turning them from ice to fire in the space of a heartbeat. And, contradictorily, that chilled her own blood till she felt it might freeze in her veins.
‘I am here representing my father,’ he snapped, cutting her off before she could complete the sentence. ‘Not running errands. And as my father’s representative I insist that you pack your bags and get ready to leave.’
‘You can insist all you like. I’ve no intention of going anywhere with you so I suggest you just turn around and walk out that door.’
‘And I have no intention of leaving—at least, not without you.’
How could that gorgeous, sensual mouth make a simple statement sound like the most terrible threat since time began? And the husky appeal of his accent only added to the horror of the contradiction.
‘I’ve come for you. And I’m leaving with you. And that is all there is to it.’
CHAPTER TWO
WAS SHE REALLY going to make this more difficult than he had ever thought? Karim found it hard to believe that this slip of a girl was going to make things so very problematic for him.
And the worst part of it was that he couldn’t even tell her the truth. He couldn’t reveal to her just what was behind his coming here, the problems and dangers that had meant he had to deal with this himself, rather than leave it to Adnan who, although a member of the security team, was not the right man for the job. Definitely not once Karim had found out that he was secretly in the pay of Ankhara.
His eyes narrowed as he looked into Clementina’s face assessingly, wondering just how much he could tell her. How much did she know about Sheikh Ankhara and his ambitions to put his own daughter on the throne of Rhastaan? Karim had no doubt that if Adnan had been the one to collect her, as had originally been planned, then there would have been some unfortunate ‘accident’ on the journey back. Anything to ensure that she didn’t make it to her wedding.
Clementina didn’t look like the type of delicate flower who would go into some sort of emotional meltdown if she realised the risks involved in getting her out of here and taking her back to Rhastaan, handing her over to her husband-to-be. On the contrary, she had been hissing and spitting defiance at him ever since he had arrived, like some beautiful, hostile, wild cat that had been driven into a corner and trapped there, her back against the wall. And just because she was sleek-boned and soft-haired, he would be all sorts of a fool if he let himself think of her as any sort of kitten rather than a fully grown cat. She was far more likely to lash out and scratch him viciously if he tried to touch her, rather than purring and preening under his caress.
Just for a moment the thought of her arching that elegant back to meet his hands, or rubbing the softness of her hair against his face made his breath knot in his throat, his blood heating as his body tightened in the sort of purely carnal hunger he hadn’t known for some time.
Hell, no! This was not the way he had expected to feel about this woman. It was the last thing he should feel about the betrothed bride of the young King of Rhastaan. It went against all the laws of honour and trust. It threatened the reasons why he was here right down to the very roots that had founded them. It was why he had had to move away from her earlier, when the purely instinctive move to offer her a drink of water had suddenly turned into some sort of brutal sensual endurance test. He hadn’t been able to stay there, so close that he could feel the warmth of her body, see the pulse of her blood beating blue under the fine skin at the base of her throat. When she moved, some delicate scent had slipped into the air and combined with the soft brush of a wandering strand of her dark silky hair across his face, which caught on the roughness of the day’s growth of dark stubble to create a burn of response that was almost more than he could endure.
Suddenly he wanted her so much that it hurt. He had never wanted a woman so much and yet she was the last woman he could ever, should ever feel that way about. She was not available; not for him.
She was forbidden to him.
So the best damn thing that he could do was get her out of here, on the jet where she would be safe and hidden again, on their way to Rhastaan, and deliver her to her bridegroom just as soon as he possibly could.
‘So—are you going to pack?’ he demanded, his voice rough with all that he was fighting to hold back.
He wouldn’t even meet her eyes though he could tell that was what she wanted. She sought to confront him face to face, challenging everything he said.
Was she really so irresponsible, so careless of the consequences of her actions, that she would defy him out of sheer perversity? That she would put everything so many people had worked towards in jeopardy on a selfish whim? She had been given a touch of, if not freedom, then at least the chance to run on an exceptionally loose rein for a while. But even the most magnificent thoroughbred was the better for a little restraint, a strong grip on the bridle, a light touch of spurs, to keep it under control. Clementina Savanevski, soon to be Queen Clementina of Rhastaan, could not be allowed to run wild any more. And if anyone could be relied on to bring her under control then he was the man to do it. That was one of the reasons why his father had sent him on this mission in the first place.
‘Well?’
‘I am packed,’ she surprised him—stunned him—by saying. He had been expecting further defiance, further rebellion. In fact, if he was honest he was actually a touch disappointed that she wasn’t digging in her neat little heels, bringing up that small chin once more and letting her glorious amber eyes clash with his in pure defiance. He’d expected it, and anticipated the thrill of battle that would come from bringing her back under control.
‘You are? Then it’s time...’
‘But not to leave here,’ she disconcerted him by adding. ‘I’ve only packed an overnight bag.’
‘That won’t be adequate.’ She knew that; why was he even having to say it? ‘You need to pack everything you want to take with you. You’ll not be coming back here again.’
‘Oh, but there you’re wrong.’
Something had set her soft mouth into a surprisingly hard determined line, and the way she shook her head sent the dark hair flying again, tormenting his nostrils with that subtle floral scent.
‘I’m only going away for one night this time—and then I will be back. I’ll do my proper packing then. Look...’ she broke in hastily when he opened his mouth to reject her outrageous statement and tell her just what he thought of such stupidity ‘...I can explain.’
‘You can try,’ Karim growled, fighting the urge to grab her by the arms, bundle her out of the door, into his car and drive away from here just as quickly as he could. That would meet one of the demands of this mission and get her on the road back to Rhastaan as soon as he could.
But it would also defeat the other part of the plan, which was to move her from A to B with as little fuss and publicity as possible. If he virtually kidnapped her—because that would be how she would interpret his actions—then she would react strongly, possibly go into meltdown and panic completely. She would certainly not go quietly—not this woman. If she started screaming for help or calling for the police, even here in this small village, she would soon draw too much unwanted attention to who they were and where they were going.
‘You’re not going anywhere. Not for one night—not for any time at all.’
‘But... Please...’
Hastily, she seemed to adjust her frame of mind, altering her tone to match so that it was suddenly disturbingly soft and cajoling. Obviously, she had decided to try to entice him round to her way of thinking. And the shocking thing was the way that just hearing that low, almost gentle tone changed his mood. He wanted to hear more of that voice, could imagine it murmuring to him in bed, whispering temptation in the heated darkness of his room. And that was not an image he needed in his mind right now.
‘Haven’t you ever wanted—needed—to keep a promise? So much so that you would do anything at all to make sure you did just that?’
‘What?’ His brows drew together in a dark frown. ‘Of course I have.’ It was why he was here now. ‘But...’
‘Then you’ll know exactly how I’m feeling right now. I made a promise...’
‘To whom?’
‘To Har—to someone,’ she corrected hastily, obviously horrified that she had almost blurted out the truth. ‘Someone who really matters to me.’
She had been about to give someone’s name. A man’s? Harry? Someone who really matters to me.
‘Nothing matters—’ Karim’s tone was harsh and unyielding. His face seemed carved from stone, not a muscle moving to reveal any sympathy or understanding. ‘Nothing should matter more than the promises you made—your commitment to Nabil.’
‘I know all about my commitment to Nabil and, believe me, I mean—’ Something caught in her throat, making the words tangle there, tight as a knot, so that she had to struggle to force them out. ‘I mean to honour it.’
She had no choice. None at all. Not unless she wanted to risk the ruin of international relations between two powerful kingdoms. The possible outbreak of hostilities. The destruction of her family’s reputation. Hadn’t her father drummed it into her from the moment he had signed the documents? He had made it sound as if it was her sacred duty. She had been fifteen before she’d realised just how much he was getting out of it himself, that the luxury they lived in had been bought from the sale of his own daughter.
‘But not yet.’
‘You will be twenty-three in nine days’ time.’ Could his voice be any more cold, any more inflexible? ‘You do not have any more time to delay. You’ve had your freedom, been let off the leash for a while; now it is time to consider your duty.’
‘Consider my duty!’
