The Desert Sheikh's Captive Wife. Lynne Graham

pride and animosity get in the way of making a proper clarification of the facts. ‘A lot has changed in our lives over the last five years, Rashad. My stepfather has gone. For a while, we lived in chaos. I’m afraid that my mother now suffers from—’

      ‘Stop right there,’ Rashad commanded with razor-sharp clarity. ‘I have no desire to listen to maudlin sob stories. We are not players in a soap opera, nor do we have a personal relationship. We are dealing with a business matter. Respect those boundaries.’

      At that uncompromising rebuke, mortified colour mantled Tilda’s cheeks. Sob stories? Was that how her references to her family’s plight had struck him five years ago? When she had confided in him, had he viewed her trust in him as an inappropriate and unwelcome demand for sympathy? Yet not once had she told him about the serious shortage of money within her home! In the same way she had been too ashamed to admit that her stepfather was a good deal worse than just a work-shy bully and, indeed, had a criminal record.

      ‘Yes, I appreciate that, but—’

      ‘Do not interrupt me when I am speaking. It is very rude,’ Rashad sliced back without hesitation.

      ‘I was only trying to explain my mother’s position and why she has allowed this situation to get out of hand.’ Annoyed by that reprimand, Tilda had to make a real effort to remain focused and resist the urge to fight back in self-defence. But keeping her head was very difficult when Rashad was behaving like a stranger. It was a challenge to believe that he had ever been anything else. His English had become much more idiomatic and his manner towards her was brutally cold and distant. She had never been more conscious of his royal birth and background. Yet she still found it remarkably hard not to stare at him for his sheer strength of character had always drawn her even when she was struggling bone and sinew to resist him. Her painful awareness of just how much he had once hurt her was doing nothing to stabilise her emotions.

      ‘Mrs Morrison’s personal circumstances are irrelevant,’ Rashad declared. ‘Five years have passed. There has not been a single attempt to service the loan advanced for the settlement of her debts, nor has there been rent paid according to the tenancy agreement. Such an abysmal record speaks for itself.’

      As Rashad reminded Tilda of those embarrassing realities an uncomfortable flush washed her fair complexion. ‘I recognise that Mum has dealt with all this very badly, but unfortunately I wasn’t aware until this week that you owned the house and had also loaned her money.’

      At that declaration, his lean bronzed features took on a forbidding aspect. ‘Another unlikely excuse? It is hard to credit that you believe the same scam could work twice.’

      ‘Scam?’ Tilda echoed with an uncertain laugh. ‘What scam?’

      ‘Did you think I wouldn’t appreciate five years ago that you were doing everything you could to profit from our relationship? It was a scam aimed at milking my interest in you for as much money as you could get. You softened me up with your tear-jerking tales and very prettily you did it. Then your mother begged me to help her to protect you and your siblings from your evil stepfather’s spendthrift ways!’

      Tilda studied him in horror. ‘I just can’t believe that you can think that of me or Mum! I only ever told you the truth. I did not try to milk your interest in me—what a disgusting term!’

      ‘What else did you do? Nor are your sensibilities as refined as you like to pretend. Why don’t we look at the facts? When I first met you, you were working in a bar and dancing in a cage.’

      Her turquoise eyes flashed with the blue-gold of a flame in the hottest part of the fire. Temper leapt up so high inside her that she was momentarily left breathless by the impact. Her slim white hands clenched into fists. ‘I wondered when you were going to get around to mentioning that again. Since when was bar work on a level with prostitution? I wasn’t a lap dancer or a stripper. The one time in my life I danced in a cage for a couple of hours and you never let me live it down!’ she launched at him furiously. ‘I should never have got involved with you. You were prejudiced against me from the start!’

      Brilliant dark eyes gleamed warning gold beneath the lush black fringe of his lashes. ‘The past is not up for discussion—’

      ‘Except when it’s you making a point?’ Tilda was seething at the humiliation of having that ghastly cage episode flung in her teeth five years after the event. So much for Rashad acting like a stranger! Rashad, she thought suddenly, hadn’t changed one little bit. He could always be depended on to remind her of the worst possible moments in her life. ‘I’m not an immoral or dishonest or greedy person and I never have been!’

      Rashad was dimly surprised to register that he was enjoying himself. She was the only woman who had ever dared to raise her voice in his vicinity or tried to argue with him. Once that trait had thoroughly irritated him but now he recognised it for the novelty and the weakness it was. His self-discipline absolute, he elevated a winged ebony brow in mocking encouragement. ‘Is that so?’

      ‘Of course it is…’ Tilda pushed a trembling hand through the silky stray curls clinging to her warm forehead. ‘For some reason you’ve put together a whole nasty scenario that didn’t happen. There was never any plan to get money off you.’

      ‘So…why, in your considered opinion, am I half a million pounds poorer from having known you?’

      When Rashad mentioned that particular sum, consternation knocked the breath and the temper out of Tilda. ‘Half…a million pounds?’ she whispered shakily.

      ‘The sale of the house will recoup some of that loss and the property has at least appreciated as an asset,’ Rashad drawled with a complete calm that she found extremely threatening. ‘But I assume the rent will never be paid and as for the loan—’

      ‘It can’t all come to half a million pounds!’ Tilda gasped strickenly.

      ‘Rather more. That is a conservative quote,’ Rashad delivered drily. ‘I’m surprised that you haven’t already worked out the exact amount. I seem to recall that you have a head for figures as good as any calculator.’

      Her soft full mouth pursed for she could recognise an insult no matter how well veiled it was. ‘But I haven’t had access to all the documentation involved.’

      ‘In your role as innocent bystander, naturally not,’ Rashad slotted in with an unconcealed derision as frank as a shout of disbelief. ‘No matter, I intend to reclaim the debt in full.’

      Realising that events were running on without her, Tilda was in a panic. ‘You mustn’t. If you were willing to give us more time—’

      ‘Until the next millennium?’

      ‘Why do you have such a low opinion of me?’ Frustration pounded through Tilda, her eyes bright with angry incomprehension again. ‘I understand that my family comes out of this looking like freeloaders, but when you won’t even let me explain why—’

      Intent dark golden eyes, heavily enhanced by spiky black lashes, slammed coolly into hers. ‘Let’s stick to business.’

      ‘OK. In one more year I hope to be fully qualified as an accountant.’

      Rashad raised a brow in surprise. ‘How novel…when you were with me, all you could talk about was being an artist.’

      It was on the tip of her tongue to point out that the need to earn a living and help her mother raise her siblings had soon put paid to that prospect. She had had to give up her place at art college and find a job instead. But that was not a sacrifice she had ever questioned or regretted.

      ‘I have the ability to earn a decent salary and start paying back what is owed,’ Tilda swore with an urgency that betrayed the depth of her concern.

      ‘You have an English saying. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Promises are not of interest to me. If you have nothing more concrete to offer, one might wonder why you went to so much trouble to bring about this meeting,’ Rashad drawled, soft and smooth as silk. ‘At least, if I didn’t know you I might