Captive For The Sheikh's Pleasure. Carol Marinelli

      ‘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