Captive For The Sheikh's Pleasure. Carol Marinelli

then.

      There had been a more logical explanation then and there had to be one now.

      Maggie simply could not fathom what it was.

      â€˜What do you want from me?’ she asked one of the men, but either he did not understand or simply chose not to answer.

      The helicopter was circling and she could feel them hover and then be lifted by a gust of wind. She could see the tension on the features of the men as the pilot fought to land them in the storm.

      There was a complex beneath, the white of a large tent with a collection of smaller ones dotted around the main one, like surf on the ocean. And the sand moved in waves beneath them, not unlike the sea itself. Finally they landed and Maggie breathed a sigh of relief.

      She was hauled from the helicopter and a large hand pushed her head down as she was dragged through the sands.

      The air was cold, the sand stung her cheeks, and then she was pushed, or did she simply stumble?

      Maggie pulled herself up to her knees, anticipating being hauled back to her feet and determined to do it herself.

      It took a moment to fathom she was now alone.

      The sound of the chopper combined with the shrieking wind was deafening and she put her hands over her ears, battling with too many thoughts and sensations to attempt to think clearly.

      The flashing lights were lifting, the helicopter was taking off again, and Maggie covered her eyes as she realised she had been left there alone in the shifting sand.

      The sharp grains blasted her cheeks and stung her eyes as she tried to gauge her surroundings. Squinting, she could just make out the white of a tent in the distance.

      It was huge.

      Bigger than the circus tent she had been to as a child.

      And in the midst of terror, as so often happened, a happier memory flashed to mind—sitting with her mother, eating a sticky treat, laughing and laughing...

      She hadn’t known then just how precious that time was; it had seemed so natural to be content then. Now, though, she was a fighter and, if Maggie wanted to survive, then there was little choice but to make her way to the tent for protection.

      Or perhaps not?

      Briefly she turned from the tent and considered simply walking away and forcing them to come and get her.

      Whoever they were.

      Two steps into her journey away from the tent she gave up on the idea. There was no way she could last out here on her own.

      The winds shrieked around her as Maggie reluctantly headed towards the tent, for it was like walking through molasses.

      She reached the entrance and pulled a heavy drape aside, dreading what she might find—more henchmen? More captives? Her imagination was working overtime, but not for a second had she considered that she might step into luxurious beauty.

      The inside of the tent was softly lit and the sound of screeching winds was mercifully muted as the drape closed behind her. She caught strains of music and the scent of incense, and felt an irresistible pull to follow the length of the corridor ahead.

      Thick carpet had replaced the sand and was soft on her bare feet; the walls were lined with a stream of tiny bells that made a soft tinkling sound as she ran her hands along them.

      No one came to find her.

      She walked further and came to an entrance covered by a veil of sheer fabric and she thought she must be at the centre.

      Still, nothing made sense, for she had never seen such beauty before in her life. The floor was spread with rugs and was scattered with cushions. Gorgeous tapestries hung on the walls and light from many lamps danced along them. In the centre was an enclosed fire with a flue that led to the high roof of the tent. The only indication of the stark weather conditions outside was the gentle billowing of the roof as she looked up.

      Maggie walked over to a low table that was laden with fruits and delicacies. There were ornate jugs that were filled to the brim and beside them were jewelled goblets, but though thirsty she did not take her fill.

      â€˜Help yourself.’

      A deep voice jolted her. Maggie did not move and neither did she look around. The voice was so rich that it seemed to come from all sides and she was not certain of its direction.

      â€˜No, thank you,’ Maggie said, and was both surprised and pleased that her voice did not waver.

      â€˜Turn around,’ he told her. ‘Or do you not have the courage to repeat your demands to my face?’

      â€˜Demands?’ Now she spun and immediately wished she hadn’t, for Maggie had been braced to face a monster. Instead, what she saw was a man more beautiful than any she had ever seen.

      And Maggie did not want him to be.

      Absolutely she did not want that to be her first thought as she faced her captor.

      And she knew that this man was her captor.

      Not the henchmen who had dragged her sleeping from her bed and brought her here; she knew now that they had followed his orders.

      Maggie was certain that he gave orders, for it was crystal clear to her that he was a leader.

      He was taller than most and wore dark layered robes; on his head was a black kafeyah tied with a braided rope. His clothes were immaculate, as if not so much as a grain of sand would dare to sully him.

      Though unshaven, he was far from dishevelled; in fact, he was impeccably groomed. His face was chiselled, and though his eyes were an intense hazel, it was his mouth that drew her eyes.

      â€˜I assume you know why you are here?’ he said and his English surprised her—or rather the clipped, well-schooled accent did.

      She looked from his mouth to his eyes that flashed irritation at her lack of response, but she stared back without blinking.

      Maggie refused to show fear.

      And she refused to answer him.

      She would say nothing until it was clear why she was here, Maggie had decided.

      â€˜Did you really think that there would be no repercussions, Suzanne?’

      And then she reversed her decision not to speak.

      Of course it might be far safer to say nothing, but there was one thing this man just had to understand because Maggie was finally starting to—it really was all a mix-up. Perhaps a less than simple mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. Here was the rational explanation she had been searching for earlier.

      And once he knew that, she would be free.

      So she cleared her throat and stated her case.

      â€˜I’m not Suzanne.’

       CHAPTER FOUR

      HER REVELATION DID not send him scurrying to apologise, although Maggie doubted that this man had ever scurried or apologised to anyone in his life, though she stated her case again. ‘There’s been a mix-up. You see, I’m not Suzanne.’

      â€˜Of course you’re not.’ He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘I hardly expected you to use your real name.’

      â€˜But I know who she is...’ Maggie was starting to see how it had happened. Oh, she had no idea what Suzanne was up to and what he might want with her, but she could now see what had occurred tonight. ‘I used Suzanne’s ticket to go on the desert tour. It was a last-minute change of plan.’

      â€˜So where is she now?’

      â€˜I’m