The Sheikh Who Blackmailed Her. Susan Mallery

      Rafiq shook his head. ‘First you must eat something.’ He gestured towards the table. While she had been dressing the cold food had been removed, and fresh hot dishes were set in their place.

      ‘I’m not hungry.’ Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.

      He looked smug and walked across and lifted the lid on one of the dishes. An aromatic spicy smell drifted across to Gabby, whose mouth immediately began to water.

      ‘Sit.’

      Gabby thought about ignoring him, but decided the rebellion was pretty pointless. The sooner she humoured him the sooner she would find out what she had to do to secure Paul’s release.

      ‘And what are you going to do? Watch me eat?’ she asked as she sat down. If so, indigestion was assured.

      ‘I think I will join you,’ he said, gracefully lowering himself with the ease of long practice onto one of the very low divan seats around the circular table.

      ‘How cosy—a date, almost.’ She piled some food onto a plate and forked some into her mouth—it was delicious.

      She swallowed and felt a large pang of guilt. She was living in the lap of luxury, albeit temporarily, and Paul was probably on a diet of bread and water.

      ‘I don’t know about you, but I can eat and talk.’

      But not look at him and think straight. So she didn’t. She kept her eyes trained on her plate as she adopted a brisk, business-like tone.

      ‘They’re talking about putting my brother behind bars for twenty-five years, so as far as I’m concerned no price is too steep. Stop being so damned mysterious and tell me what you want. My soul?’ She laughed at the suggestion, but he didn’t join in—which did not seem like a good sign to Gabby.

      ‘What do you think of my country?’

      Gabby’s impatience showed as she snapped back, ‘I’ve not actually had a lot of time for sightseeing.’

      ‘I will call you Gabriella.’

      ‘And what will I call you?’ She could think of several things, but most of them would probably get her arrested for treason.

      ‘My name,’ he said, laying a hand lightly on his chest, ‘is Rafiq.’

      ‘I can’t call you that!’

      He looked mildly surprised by her appalled denial. ‘Why not?’

      Gabby, who couldn’t think of a single reason beyond the uncomfortable implied intimacy of using his name, ignored the question.

      ‘Look, why have you brought me here? What is this about? The food, the dress, the …’ She stopped, suddenly realising that there wasn’t a soul in the world who knew where she was. The fork stopped halfway to her mouth. She had lost her appetite. She’d practically been kidnapped and she hadn’t even noticed.

      ‘I told the man at the embassy …’ She scoured her memory and triumphantly produced his name. ‘I told Mr Park I would telephone him at six. If I don’t he will come and collect me.’

      ‘Really? He did not mention it when I spoke to him.’

      Her eyes widened. ‘You spoke to the man at the embassy? You told him I’m here?’ Gabby grimaced. When she had left the bespectacled diplomat she had promised she wouldn’t do anything rash. Her eyes suddenly widened ‘Did you make a complaint about me?’

      ‘I spoke to Mr Parker,’ Rafiq confirmed. ‘And I made no complaint.’

      Gabby expelled a relieved sigh. She didn’t want to alienate one of the few people who might be on Paul’s side, even if he was hopeless.

      ‘When I told him you were here it was news that caused him some alarm,’ he informed her. ‘He was under the impression that you were happy to let him act on your behalf.’

      Gabby wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, the man was about as much use as a wet lettuce leaf. All he could talk about were diplomatic channels and how these things take time. I couldn’t wait.’

      Something flickered in the back of his deepset eyes. Gabby was struggling to interpret it when he said, surprisingly, ‘It so happens that I share your sense of urgency.’

      She regarded him with a wary frown. ‘You do?’

      ‘I do, and for the record I am not trying to kidnap you, Gabriella.’

      Mortified colour flew to her cheeks. ‘I didn’t say that.’

      ‘But you thought it. The door is open.’ He gestured towards the double doors. ‘Or at least it will be if you decide to leave. You are quite at liberty to do so whenever you wish. There are no locks, no guards … But I feel I should remind you that it was you who sought me out—or at least my father. Which was a prime example of optimism winning out over common sense.’

      Gabby gritted her teeth in frustration and didn’t move. ‘Are you just playing with me? Is this some sort of game for you or are you actually going to help my brother?’

      ‘That is up to you.’

      ‘Rafiq, what do you want?’

      ‘You are a kindergarten teacher.’

      Her feathery brows shot up. ‘How on earth did you know that?’ she gasped.

      Ignoring the indignant question, he continued. ‘And you are not emotionally entangled at present. In fact you have never been seriously involved. I find this hard to believe,’ he admitted. However, if his information was accurate, it did remove one impediment that might have been an obstacle to his plan.

      Of course the perfect bride for a future king would be a virgin, but even his father, who attached a great deal of importance to such things, recognised that modern morality made this desirable rather than essential.

      The colour climbed to Gabby’s cheeks. ‘Look, where are you getting this information? How—?’

      ‘Do not be naive, Gabby. I have used the time while you were resting to make myself familiar with your brother’s case.’

      She gave a sigh of relief. ‘So you know he’s innocent?’

      ‘I do not know this.’

      She laid down her fork and fixed him with a narrow-eyed glare. ‘Well, I do know it.’

      ‘Shall we leave the matter of your brother’s innocence out of this discussion?’

      She regarded him in disgust. ‘You’re not the least bit interested in justice, are you?’

      ‘I do not make a habit of interfering with the judicial system of my country. However, in this instance I am willing to make an exception.’

      Gabby’s lip curled. ‘Yes, you’re an opportunist—I get that,’ she inserted impatiently. ‘But what do you want?’

      She saw the jolt of shock that stiffened his body at her less than deferential attitude. Sticking out her chin, she folded her arms across her chest and met his dark implacable gaze. She wasn’t going to pretend a respect she didn’t feel.

      ‘You want your brother released from prison, his name cleared and the slate wiped clean. I want my brother married.’

      Gabby struggled and failed to make the connection between the two. She shook her head and pushed away a silky skein of fair hair that had drifted across her face.

      ‘What does that have to do with me?’

      ‘I will help you achieve your objective if you help me achieve mine, Miss Barton.’

      ‘But how can I help? Do you want me to talk to your brother’s girlfriend?’

      ‘My brother does not have a girlfriend. Well, actually he has several, but none would make a suitable consort