Desert Prince, Blackmailed Bride. Kim Lawrence

a man who allowed his passions to rule him, but it was easy to understand why some men finding themselves in his position might chose to blot out the bleak reality of their situation. They might turn to alcohol, jump in the driver’s seat of a fast car or sit astride a horse and try and outrun the devils within.

      And then others might bury themselves physically and mentally in the soft body of a desirable woman…

      His eyes brushed the slender white column of her neck before reaching the full curve of her wide mouth. His chest lifted as he dragged in a fractured breath. A woman like this one.

      ‘Do you imagine that the men outside are going to go away? Why can’t you admit defeat gracefully?’

      ‘There’s nothing graceful about defeat,’ she retorted scornfully.

      Her apparent inability to see that she had lost irritated him. But the irritation melted into antagonism as the memory of the raw desire, the tidal swell of devouring hunger that had washed over him moments earlier surfaced.

      ‘Not admitting you have lost does not make it any less a reality.’

      Nice sermon, admitted the ironic voice in his head. Is it intended for her or you, Rafiq?

      Gabby compressed her lips, regarding him with seething resentment. Did he think she didn’t know that her situation was impossible? Did he think she didn’t know she only had herself to blame?

      Her lips curled into a derisive smile. ‘Lost…? I’m not playing a game.’

      ‘You are delaying the inevitable.’

      ‘Thank you for that pearl of wisdom,’ she snapped sarcastically. ‘If you want to be helpful you could go out there and tell them I’m not here…’

      ‘Why would I lie for you?’

      Gabby scowled at him. ‘Maybe they don’t know you’re here either?’

      ‘I imagine they will be shocked to find me present.’

      The admission drew a hah from Gabby. ‘I thought as much! You’re not meant to be here either, are you?’

      His lashes, jet and lustrously curled, swept downwards, concealing the satirical gleam in his dark eyes from Gabby as they brushed the slashing angle of his cheekbones.

      ‘This room is off-limits to everyone but the Crown Prince.’

      The information made her examine her surroundings with fresh interest. ‘Really?’ Her voice echoed her surprise. ‘A sort of bolthole?’ she mused.

      Compared with the parts of the palace she’d seen, this was as plain as a monk’s cell—a well-read monk who liked comfy chairs.

      ‘Maybe he gets bored with the glitter? He likes books,’ she added, running her finger along the spine of a thick leather-bound volume open on the table. She read the title and her eyebrows shot up. ‘Not what I’d call light reading, so he’s not just a pretty face.’

      ‘You are familiar with the Prince?’

      Gabby laughed and folded her arms across her chest. ‘What do you think?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘If you must know, I read an article.’

      ‘Was it a critical article?’

      The suggestion drew a laugh from Gabby.

      ‘Hardly! Either your Prince Rafiq has just stepped directly off Mount Olympus, or someone paid the journalist to write nice things, or she had a massive crush on him—because nobody is that marvellous. Personally it made me queasy to read all that gushy stuff.’

      The odd look on his face made her recall the embassy man’s warning.

      ‘The people here are very protective of their royal family, so avoid saying anything that could offend.’

      ‘Gushy…? I must have missed that one.’

      The admission was delivered in a flat tone, but she had the impression that far from being offended he was amused. It just showed that the embassy man had been wrong—people here did have a sense of humour.

      His dark eyes scanned her face. ‘I am going to open the door you know. Sooner or later.’

      Gabby gave a resigned sigh, compressed her lips and nodded. Short of sprouting wings, there was no other way out, and he was right: she was delaying the inevitable. It had also crossed her mind that the longer she kept the men outside waiting the less likely they were to be sympathetic.

      Sympathetic? Ever the optimist, Gabby. They’ll probably fling you into a cell next to Paul.

      ‘I suggest you stay there, be quiet, and restrain any impulses you have to do something dramatic or foolish.’

      ‘I suppose you’re going to be in trouble too…?’ She struggled to feel some genuine sympathy, but it was hard when he didn’t look perturbed by his predicament, and she couldn’t rid herself of the suspicion that he was the type of man who liked to break the odd rule once in a while just for the hell of it.

      Under a tightly controlled surface, she decided, studying the lean hard lines of his face, he had a combustible quality. But then he was a man of contradictions. Like his mouth, she thought, her eyes straying in that direction. The stern upper lip and the full sexy lower lip, sending two opposing messages…

      ‘I am already in trouble.’

      The cryptic response made her frown. ‘I’ll make it clear you didn’t help me or anything.’

      He inclined his dark head, and something she could not interpret flickered at the back of his eyes. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘Why are you here?’

      ‘Why are you here?’ he shot back seamlessly.

      ‘I was looking for someone.’

      ‘The Crown Prince?’

      ‘At a pinch he’d do, I suppose, but, no—not really. I need someone with more clout.’ A choking sound made her tilt her head to look at him.

      ‘I think you’ll find that the Crown Prince has a little…clout.’

      ‘Maybe,’ she conceded, dismissing the absent royal with a shrug, and a worried glance towards the door that was the only thing between her and total failure—maybe even imprisonment. ‘But he isn’t here, is he? There’s just you and me.’ Which sounded a lot cosier than it was. ‘No insult intended, but I need someone important to hear what I have to say. Don’t panic—I won’t bore you with the details.’

      Without the belligerence she seemed much smaller, more delicate, and the bleak note of resignation in her flat voice stirred something he refused to recognise as concern.

      ‘I will tell you if I’m bored,’ he promised.

      ‘Nice offer.’ If he meant it—which she doubted. ‘I came here to see the King.’

      It sounded so absurd, even to her, that Gabby wouldn’t have been surprised if he had laughed. He didn’t, though she was willing to bet he would look pretty incredible if he did laugh, or even smile, she thought, trying to imagine the lines bracketing his stern, incredibly sexy mouth relaxing. Actually, now she thought about it, it might be easier to concentrate if he didn’t laugh.

      ‘There are official channels to receive an audience with the King, if that is your plan.’ He did not add that there was also a long list for those waiting to be granted an audience with his father.

      ‘I’ve no time for official channels and plans,’ she admitted. ‘I’m kind of winging it.’

      The desperation in her manner was tinged with obstinacy as she looked around the room. There had to be another way out. She refused to believe that her attempt to save her brother could end in such ignominious failure.

      ‘Are you sure there isn’t any other way out of here? What about the balcony?’ Without waiting for a response, her