By Request Collection Part 3. Robyn Donald

said gently, ‘My sweet one, I don’t want the staff to know I have been with you. Let me go now.’

      Humiliation woke her properly. Keeping her eyes closed, she mumbled, ‘Oh, of course.’

      Rafiq heard the note of chagrin in her voice and gritted his teeth as he dressed. All he wanted was go back to her, lose himself in her warmth and her passion, but he needed to check the castle security.

      Something he should have done before he came to her room.

      When Lexie woke the next morning it was to a lonely breakfast out on the terrace. Forcing fresh fruit salad and toast past her lips took effort and concentration.

      She’d asked where Rafiq was, and had been told that he was working at the citadel. Well, of course; rulers had to rule, and no doubt that was what Rafiq did every day.

      But once more she faced the bitterness of rejection. Was she being too sensitive? Probably. Last night had been the high point of her life so far, yet clearly to him it had meant so little he hadn’t even bothered to join her for breakfast.

      ‘Stop it,’ she muttered, startling a small bird that had settled on the edge of the balustrade. Her mouth quirked as it opened its bright orange wings and fluttered to a safer perch on a potted gardenia not too far away. ‘Sorry, birdie, it’s not your fault.’

      This was all so new to her, but obviously it wasn’t to Rafiq. And she’d been the lucky recipient of his overdeveloped sense of responsibility, so she shouldn’t be surprised or disappointed at his absence.

      She was finishing a cup of delicious local coffee when she heard the chatter of a helicopter coming fast from the capital.

      A pang of embarrassment clutched her. What had seemed so natural and thrilling last night suddenly appeared in a different light. Would Rafiq think she’d been forward and needy when she’d writhed in desperate rapture in his arms? Or when she’d explored his body with greedy adoration? Or, most pathetic of all, when she’d pleaded with him to stay with her?

      Was he secretly despising her? Or wondering how to get rid of her?

      And did he realise—as she had when she’d woken that morning—that their mutual passion had been so great they’d forgotten to take any precautions against pregnancy? She’d counted the days of her cycle, relaxing when she found it was highly unlikely she’d been fertile, even though the thought of carrying Rafiq’s child under her heart melted her bones.

      Heat stung her skin. She got up and walked nervously to the shade of an arbour, watching the black dot that was the chopper grow rapidly as it headed purposefully towards the castle.

      Should she go down, or wait for Rafiq here?

      She decided to wait.

      The maid Cari appeared, obviously looking for her. And just as obviously flustered, holding her handbag. ‘Miss, it is the Emir—he has sent the helicopter to pick you up. From the upper terrace!’

      Joy flooded through her. ‘Oh—I’d better go, then!’

      Wondering why on earth Rafiq had chosen that particular landing ground, she accepted the bag and hurried with the maid up onto the upper terrace, where the water lilies held their satiny cups up to the sun.

      Noise filled the air and she had to half close her eyes against the wind blasting from the rotors as the chopper landed. Someone inside pushed back the door, painted with the stallion of the royal house of Moraze in all its menace and grace, the crown on its head glittering with fire.

      The same man beckoned. Without hesitation, Lexie ran across.

      Strong hands hauled her inside and stuffed her into a seat. The chopper took off instantly, and the door closed before she had time to fix her seatbelt. Frowning, she did up the belt and turned towards the man next to her.

      An odd apprehension kicked her beneath the ribs when Felipe Gastano lifted a thumb to her and mouthed words she couldn’t hear.

       CHAPTER TEN

      GASTANO’S smile broadened as Lexie shook her head and put her hands to her ears. When he tossed her a pair of earphones she clapped them on, only to realise they weren’t connected to the communications system.

      Ice touched her skin. Something, she thought feverishly, was wrong. Rafiq didn’t like the count; he wouldn’t have sent him for her.

      Her eyes flicked to the man piloting the chopper. He wore an official flying suit, the emblem of the rearing horse clear on it. Only this horse had wings. Chastened, Lexie let out a small huff of air.

      She was being over-dramatic. After all, what on earth could there be to be afraid of? This was a Moraze Air Force helicopter, and the pilot was clearly a serviceman. Besides, Felipe was no threat to her.

      So why did she now feel an instinctive unease in his presence?

      Folding her hands tensely in her lap, she looked down at the countryside, the green of sugar cane fields giving way to the jungle of the escarpment. Perhaps Felipe had been offered a chance to see the famed horse herds?

      Indeed, once they’d reached the plateau, she leaned forward and to her delight saw a herd below. They didn’t seem alarmed; after a quick gaze upwards they resumed grazing, as though the helicopter was a regular sight in their sky. For some reason, that made her feel better.

      But when the chopper headed for a collection of buildings, she frowned as it banked and dropped towards the ground.

      It looked like ruins. Some sort of industrial complex, not very big—a sugar mill on a back country road, perhaps. Indeed, when she looked down she could see that there had once been a house there, but it had been burned to the ground.

      Startled, she searched for signs of people, but nothing moved in the shrubby vegetation around the stone buildings. The cold patch beneath her ribs increased in size.

      What was going on?

      The chopper landed with a slight bump and a whirl of dust. The engines changed pitch, and Gastano indicated that she get out.

      Lexie made up her mind. She shook her head.

      Felipe’s smile widened. He groped in a bag at his feet to produce a small, snub-nosed black pistol that he aimed straight at her.

      The colour drained from her skin. Instead of words the only sound she could make was a feeble croak of disbelief, and then something hit her, and in a violent pang of pain she lost consciousness.

      Lexie huddled on the stone floor, reluctantly accepting that this was no nightmare; tied at the wrists and the ankles, she was propped up against a wall in what looked like an abandoned sugar mill somewhere in Moraze. Forcing herself to ignore the thumping of her head and the nausea, she tried to work out what had happened.

      Why had Felipe snatched her from the castle?

      A swift glance revealed that she seemed to be alone, but instinct stopped her first impulsive attempt to free her hands. Instead she strained to hear—something, anything!

      But the only sounds were placid, country noises—a distant bird call, low and consoling, and a soft sigh of wind seeping through the empty windows, sweet with the fragrance of flowers and fresh grass.

      A second later she stiffened. A faint whisper—alien, barely there—grated across nerves already stretched taut. Lexie froze, trying to draw strength from the solidity of the stone building, the fact that fire and desolation and the inexorable depredations of the tropics, hadn’t been able to turn it into a complete ruin.

      That faint, untraceable sound came again and once more she strained to pinpoint it. Was it a thickening of the atmosphere, a primitive warning that bypassed more advanced senses to home in on the inner core that dealt with raw, basic self-preservation?

      Or was she fooling herself?

      Slowly,