The Sheikh's Prize. Lynne Graham

between them.

      ‘I don’t want to be your best friend. I want to be your lover.’

      Saffy’s lovely face snapped tight and turned pale. ‘And we both know how that panned out five years ago,’ she reminded him flatly. ‘Let me go, Zahir. Bringing me here is reckless and illogical.’

      Zahir studied her with veiled eyes, a grimly amused smile tugging at the corners of his handsome male mouth. ‘Perhaps that’s why it feels so good.’

      Saffy had shot her last reasonable bolt and she was stunned by his indifference. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying.’

      ‘I have never been so sure of anything,’ he shot back in rebuttal.

      The last string of restraint broke free inside Saffy. She had had a very long, hot and tiring day and now Zahir was plunging her into the nightmare of her better forgotten past. ‘But you can’t be serious…you can’t really intend to keep me here against my will!’

      ‘I will do nothing that causes you harm,’ Zahir replied stubbornly.

      ‘But keeping me here against my will is causing me harm! What gives you the idea that you can do this to me?’ Saffy lashed back at him, her temper finally slipping its leash and her voice rising on a shrill note.

      ‘The knowledge that I have achieved it. Your colleagues have been informed that you have accepted a private invitation to spend another few days in Maraban. Nobody will be looking for you or concerned that anything is amiss,’ Zahir asserted with satisfaction.

      ‘You can’t do this to me!’ Saffy erupted, infuriated by his self-assurance, his evident belief that he had covered all bases. ‘And why? Nothing’s going to happen between us. You’re wasting your time!’

      ‘No man looking at you could possibly believe that I was wasting my time in at least trying,’ Zahir drawled with husky appreciation, his golden eyes resting on her delicate profile with possessive heat. ‘It is a risk I take with pleasure.’

      ‘But I don’t!’ Saffy slammed back at him in furious rebuttal. ‘I didn’t agree to this. Nobody tells me what to do or makes me stay somewhere I don’t want to be and nothing on this earth is capable of persuading me to get into bed with you again, so you can forget that idea right now!’

      ‘I will call Fadith to take you to your room…’ Zahir pressed a button on the wall with a graceful brown hand, his bold profile set in uncompromising lines.

      In outrage that he wasn’t even taking heed of her objections, Saffy swept up a china vase on a stand and pitched it at him. It fell short and smashed against the edge of the fire pit to break into a hundred pieces.

      Zahir enraged her by turning his handsome dark head and treating her to a slashing smile of very masculine amusement. ‘Ah, that takes me back years. I had forgotten how you liked to throw things at me when you lost control of your temper. I will see you later when it is time to dine.’

      And with that very cool and unruffled assurance, Zahir strolled out of the room and left her standing there in a tempestuous rage that she could do nothing more to vent with her target gone. Trembling from the force of her pent-up feelings, Saffy breathed in deep to find inner calm. He would pay; she would make him pay for this in spades!

      CHAPTER THREE

      FADITH REAPPEARED AND led the way down a corridor and up a flight of pale marble stairs. Shown into a room as traditionally furnished and comfortable as the room she had seen downstairs, Saffy breathed in deep. The furniture was ebony inlaid with gleaming mother-of-pearl and the bed was a fantasy four-poster hung in swirling silk that piled opulently on the floor at each corner. Saffy wandered into a bathroom with a sunken marble tub and every possible extra and suppressed a groan. As she returned to the bedroom Fadith was removing a tray from another maid’s grasp to set it on a table.

      ‘Thanks,’ Saffy murmured, reluctantly lifting the mint drink she recalled from the year she had spent in Maraban. Maraban, the land that time forgot, she reflected grimly. She asked if there was any water and was shown a concealed refrigerator in a cupboard. She pulled out a chilled bottle and unscrewed the cap.

      ‘Would you like a bath?’ Fadith asked her then, clearly eager to be of service.

      Saffy screened her mouth and faked a yawn before telling an outright lie to get rid of the younger woman. ‘Perhaps later. I think I’ll lie down and sleep for a while. It’s very warm.’

      Fadith pulled the blinds and scurried over to the bed to turn it down in readiness before departing. Playing safe, Saffy waited for a couple of minutes before heading off to explore. She had no intention of staying with Zahir and since there was no prospect of her being rescued she had to rescue herself. She walked across the vast landing on quiet feet, passing innumerable closed doors and peering out of windows into inner courtyards before finally heading downstairs. Ignoring the ground floor, she went down another flight into the basement, which she could see by the trolleys of cleaning equipment was clearly the servants’ area. It was easy to identify the kitchens from the clatter of dishes and the buzz of voices and she gave it a wide berth. She stared out through a temptingly open rear door at the line of dusty vehicles parked outside while wondering what the chances were of any of them having keys left inside them. She wasn’t stupid enough to think that she could walk out of the desert: she needed wheels to get back to the city. Without further hesitation she sped out into the heat and the first thing she saw was a four-wheel-drive full of soldiers at the far side of the courtyard. In dismay she dropped down into a crouch to hide behind a car. Of course there would be soldiers around to guard Zahir while he was in residence, she conceded ruefully. She inched up her head to peer into the car and then twisted to study its neighbour: there was no sign of keys left carelessly in the ignition. Meanwhile the soldiers trooped indoors. Saffy continued her seemingly fruitless search for a car to steal and dived behind a vehicle to avoid being seen when a couple of kitchen staff strolled out of the palace talking loudly.

      One of them wished the other a good journey home in Arabic and she recognised the phrase as the young man threw his bag into the pickup and jumped into the driver’s seat. He was going home? There was a good chance that he would be driving into the city. For a split second Saffy hesitated while she considered her options. The gates were guarded. It would be impossible for her to drive through them without being detected. Possibly stowing away in a vehicle being driven by a member of staff would be a cleverer move. Before she could lose her nerve, she scrambled over the tailgate and dived below the tarpaulin cover.

      But the pickup didn’t immediately move off as she had expected. In fact someone shouted to the driver and he got back out of the vehicle. She lay still, stiff with tension, listening to voices talking too fast for her to follow before the steps moved slowly away and she heard the driver moving back. Finally the door slammed again, the engine ignited and she expelled her breath in relief. Her original drive from the road down the track to the palace had been long and rough and lying on the rusty bed of the pickup, Saffy rolled about and wondered if the constant pitching gait of the vehicle would leave her covered with bruises. But she was willing to endure discomfort as the price of having escaped Zahir.

      What on earth had come over her ex-husband? Their marriage had been a train wreck and who in their right mind would want to revisit that?

      And the answer came to her straight away. Failure of any kind was anathema to Zahir, whose callous old father had expected his son to excel in every field and who had punished him when he botched anything. Zahir was trying to rewrite the past. Why didn’t he appreciate that that was impossible? People changed, people moved on…

      Although she had not moved on very far, a tart little voice reminded Saffy, who was bitterly conscious that she was still a virgin. And time rolled back for her as she lay there and the pickup rattled and roared across the sands, threatening to shake her very teeth loose from her gums. Saffy had been eighteen and working at a department-store beauty counter when she first met Zahir. She hadn’t wanted to go to university like her twin, had preferred to jump straight into work and start earning. Zahir had travelled to London