Prince of the Desert Page 4

  ‘After all,’ Tariq continued, ‘this does happen to be my apartment.’

  His apartment?His apartment? She stared at him in shocked dismay. That couldn’t possibly be true! Could it? A horrible cold feeling of uncertainty and dismay was creeping over her. What if it was true? If it was, then obviously he wasn’t here because of her. He hadn’t come back because he wanted a repeat performance of last night’s sex, as she had so humiliatingly assumed.

  If it was true—But it wasn’t true. It couldn’t possibly be true; she wasn’t going to let it be true, she decided wildly, her normal facility for calm, rational, logical thinking disintegrating in the face of her emotional reaction to both him and his unwelcome information.

  But worse was to come. As she struggled to assimilate his unwelcome news he added sharply, ‘Since I’ve already added a generous bonus to what you were paid for last night—particularly generous under the circumstances—I fail to see why you are still here. Surely for a woman in your profession time is money? Or did you think I might be persuaded to keep you on for tonight as well?’

  ‘Are you trying to suggest that I’m a prostitute?’ Gwynneth demanded in disbelief.

  ‘Are you trying to suggest that you aren’t?’ His voice was as derisive as the look in his eyes. ‘Because if so you’re wasting your time. I know what you are, why you were waiting in my bed for me, and who arranged for you to be there.’

  ‘What? This is crazy!’ Gwynneth protested shakily. ‘Who—? Who—?’

  ‘Stop right there. I don’t want to hear another word. Pick up your money and go,’ Tariq ordered, then frowned as his mobile—the one he used only for calls from the gang—started to ring.

  ‘Wait,’ he told Gwynneth contradictorily, striding out of the kitchen and closing the door behind him, leaving her inside.

  ‘Get yourself down to the marina—pronto. Chad wants to see you—now.’ The familiar voice of one of the gang members rasped in Tariq’s ear.

  The call was disconnected before he could make any response. He looked at the closed kitchen door. At this delicate stage in the proceedings he couldn’t afford to antagonise the leader of the gang by refusing to obey him.

  What on earth had she got herself into? Gwynneth worried anxiously. Suddenly she was seeing last night’s uncharacteristic and admittedly very dangerous and foolish sexual adventure in a very different and sickeningly seedy and unpleasant light. She had been mistaken for a prostitute and she was about to be evicted from her own apartment. The situation she was in couldn’t have been any worse. Could it? What about the fact that not so very long ago she had virtually caught herself wondering if last night’s events might be repeated?

  The kitchen door was opening.

  Gwynneth took a deep breath.

  ‘You’ve got this all wrong. I amnot a prostitute.’

  She certainly wasn’t done up like one, Tariq acknowledged, unable to stop himself from looking not so muchat her asfor her, the moment he stepped into the kitchen. She wasn’t wearing make-up, her clothes looked more suited to an office worker, and no man looking at her would feel that she was making any attempt to be alluring. And as for last night…He had been the one pleasuring her, not the other way around.

  ‘I’d agree that you certainly aren’t a good advertisement for your profession,’ he agreed unkindly.

  ‘Why won’t you listen to me?’ Gwynneth protested. ‘I am not a prostitute! I’m—’

  ‘An escort?’ Tariq suggested silkily, and gave a condemnatory shrug. ‘It doesn’t matter what name you give what you do. It doesn’t change the fact that you sell your body to men for their sexual pleasure. Do your family know what you do? Your father?’ he demanded abruptly, without knowing why he should be asking her such a question—the kind of question that might almost suggest that he cared.

  ‘My father is dead.’

  So, like him, she was fatherless. That was no reason for him to feel the sudden surge of fellow feeling towards her, Tariq warned himself angrily.

  ‘So is mine,’ he told her coldly. ‘That is no excuse. Surely there is some other way you could support yourself? Have you no pride? No self-respect? No—?’

  ‘I don’t need an excuse. And as forme not having any pride—what about you?’ Gwynneth shot back, and took advantage of the sudden silence her attack had gained her to point out pithily, ‘After all, you didn’t exactly reject me, did you?’

  What she was saying was perfectly true, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept, Tariq admitted unwillingly.

  He could almost feel her angry defiance burning through the air-conditioned chill of the small kitchen. No woman who lived as this one did had the right to look and behave as she was. She was positively exuding righteous indignation, forcing him to see and react to her as a human being and not a piece of human merchandise. He had to put an end to this dangerous emotional connection she had somehow brought to life between them. Apart from anything else, he was going to be late for his meeting on the yacht.

  ‘You can stop right there,’ he told Gwynneth, crossing the kitchen and taking hold of her arm before she could evade him.

  Had he changed his mind? Was he, despite all he had said, going to drag her back to his bed right now and…? A shocking explicit thrill of female excitement shot through her, weakening her so much that she sagged slightly in his hold, leaning into him, her breasts pressing against the hardness of his arm. Without even having to think about it she leaned closer and harder, closing her eyes the better to relish her own pleasure at the sensual contact between her flesh and his. And in that hot darkness she was immediately transported back to the arousal-drenched hours of the previous night, complete with faithful audio as well as visual record.

  Tariq looked down into the face turned up towards his own. Her eyes were closed and her lips were open; even her skin seemed to shimmer with sensual luminosity. He had been wrong, he realised savagely as he felt his own body react to her. She was not just good at her chosen profession. She was exceptional. He couldn’t remember any woman arousing him either so immediately or so intensely—and certainly not both at the same time. His fingers bit into the softness of her arm as he made to shake her off, but still he couldn’t drag his gaze from the temptation of her parted lips. Nor could he stop himself from wanting to reach out and fill his free hand with the weight of one of the soft warm breasts she had pressed so deliberately and enticingly against his arm. Was it because of last night that he was having so much trouble rejecting the images his mind was conjuring up? Because of how she had made him feel then that he wanted her so immediately and fiercely now?

  Despite the coolness of the kitchen Tariq could feel sweat dampening his flesh whilst his mind raced with the turmoil of his emotions.

  ‘Forget it,’ he told her brutally, and pushed her away, keeping only a tight hold on one wrist.

  Gwynneth’s eyes snapped open, and she sucked in a distressed breath as reality crashed back down. ‘Forget what?’ she demanded, recouping. ‘Forget that you’ve insulted me—verbally, physically and emotionally?’ The numbing effect of her original shock and his sensual appeal had worn off now, leaving her sick with fury and disbelief.

  ‘Forget those unsubtle plans you’re hatching for tonight,’ he corrected her. ‘Because I’m telling you now, you won’t be spending it my bed.’

  No, she wouldn’t. Because it wasn’this bed. It was hers, and she had the documents to prove it—or at least she hoped she did. She didn’t have anywhere else to stay, and she certainly wasn’t going to be bullied into moving out of the apartment by a man who had mistaken her for a prostitute!

  ‘Let go of me!’

  For a moment she thought he was going to ignore her, that instead he would pull her close to him again and…

  The angry hiss of his breath as he exhaled told her she was wrong.

  ‘I have to go out now,’ he told her flatly. ‘And you had better not be here when I get back.’ The last thing he wanted was to be seen leaving the a
partment with a woman of her type—otherwise he would have physically removed her himself.

  And how will you do that?a small, cynical inner voice mocked him.Via the bedroom?

  Silencing it, he continued, ‘If you are, then I shall inform the police of your presence and your profession. And since, as I am sure you already know, prostitution is against the law in Zuran, you will be deported and refused future entry to the country.’

  Now, abruptly, fear was crawling through her veins and locking onto her anger, feeding off its strength and smothering it.

  ‘You can’t do that,’ she protested, adding emotionally, ‘You’re making a mistake!’

  Tariq’s mouth compressed. ‘No. You are the one who is doing that.’

  Gwynneth swung away from him to conceal her expression. Thinking that she was going to walk out on him, Tariq stepped in front of her. Immediately it was as though they were locked together inside an invisible bubble of sensual tension—or so it seemed to Gwynneth as she tried to make her lungs work properly and her heart slow to its normal rate. She couldn’t seem to look anywhere but at the man standing in front of her, to do anything but remember last night—feel anything but the intense arousal that she was feeling.

  What was it about her that had this effect on him? Tariq wondered savagely. At no time in the whole of his life had he wanted to take hold of any woman and kiss her until the only words her lips could frame were his name and a plea for more.

  Hold me…touch me…make me yours.Gwynneth could feel the words pounding through her veins with every thud of her heartbeat, filling her mind and her senses. So much so that she felt as though they were written into her flesh. Her angry pride fought with the liquid heat of her desire and was overwhelmed by it as it flooded over the rigid barriers trickling through every tiny hole it could find to reunite in a fast-flowing surge that took her across the no man’s land that was the space between them and into the heat zone of Tariq’s body. She could sense the command going from his brain to his muscles to lift his arms so that they could enfold her. And once they had…

  There was a ringing sound inside her head. No, not inside her head. The noise was coming from the mobile Tariq was lifting to his ear as he turned away from her. Who was calling him? A woman? Something previously unknown and darkly dangerous ripped at her emotions.

  ‘Where are you? You were supposed to be at the marina ten minutes ago.’

  ‘I’ve been delayed,’ Tariq answered, looking briefly at Gwynneth and wondering how much she was being paid to spy on him as well as go to bed with him before he added coolly, ‘Chad will understand why when I explain.’

  ‘You’d better hope he does. Otherwise you’re going to be in big trouble. Get yourself down here, double-quick.’

  There was no time for him to argue with Gwynneth. Nor to do anything else with her either. Like what? There wasn’tanything he wanted to do with her.

  Liar, an inner voice goaded him as he opened the kitchen door. He ignored it as he paused to warn her, ‘Remember what I told you. When I get back I don’t want to find you here. If you are, you know what you can expect.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  GWYNNETHtottered over to the table and sank down thankfully into one of the chairs. Her legs felt boneless, her heart was racing, her forehead was damp with sweat and her mouth was dry. Classic signs of fear—or sexual excitement.

  What on earth was happening to her? A man—a stranger—a naked stranger—walked into her bedroom, and instead of screaming for help she went to bed with him. That same man accused her of being a prostitute and she still let herself be aroused by him.Let herself? Since when, in the whole of this nightmarish scenario, had what purported to be the thinking, reasoning part of her had any say inanything ? Why hadn’t she insisted on him listening to her? Why hadn’t she made him understand just how wrong he was?

  She would have to inform the young man who was trying to help her what had happened. Well, at least some of what had happened, she amended mentally. Why hadn’t she insisted onhim , her co-owner, giving her his name? That way at least she would have had something concrete to pass on to the authorities. Was he the rightful owner of the apartment or was she?

  She looked for her handbag. It was on the worktop. She found the card the young official had given her and tapped his phone number into her mobile.

  He answered her call almost immediately. Introducing herself, she asked anxiously if he remembered their meeting, exhaling in relief when he assured her that he did. Quickly she told him what had happened.

  ‘You say this man claims that he too is the owner of the apartment?’ the young official questioned.

  ‘That’s what he said,’ Gwynneth confirmed unhappily.

  ‘We have no record as yet of anyone else lodging a claim against this apartment,’ he assured her.

  ‘So that means that I am in the clear to stay here, does it?’ Gwynneth pressed him.

  ‘Certainly,’ he agreed promptly. ‘We know that your apartment block is one of those involved in this unfortunate fraud, but as yet no one else has come forward to claim ownership of your particular apartment. However, as I explained to you, that does not mean another potential owner does not exist,’ he cautioned.

  ‘But until they actually present themselves to you and make a legal claim the apartment is notionally at least mine?’

  ‘You are certainly free to make use of it until such time as we have ascertained who in factdoes own it,’ he corrected her gently.

  Well, at least that meant that she didn’t have to give in tohis bullying, Gwynneth reassured herself later, in an attempt to quell the anxiety that was causing her to feel so on edge.

  Hemight believe he had the upper hand, with his threats to tell the police about her and have her deported, but he was the one who was going to look foolish when he was forced to accept the truth. And she was going to make sure that hedid accept it, Gwynneth decided vigorously. No matter what it took. No way wasany man going to be allowed to make the kind of assumptions about herhe had made, without her defending herself from them.

  It felt bittersweet now to look back on her waking moments this morning and her dread that he might have realised how new she was to everything they had shared, and that from that he might have thought that he was something—someone—special. Ridiculously, she had even begun her defence against that. How naïve she had been, believing that all she had to protect herself from was a choice between two fears: one, that she had inherited her father’s sexuality, the other that somehow or other in touching her fleshhe had also touched her heart. She had thought then in her naïveté that nothing could be worse than being forced to defend herself with one of these two choices. But now she knew better.

  How could he possibly believe that what had happened between them last night had been motivated on her part by money? Surely he had to have been able to see that she wasn’t like that—that she couldn’t cold-bloodedly sell her flesh for some man to use whilst she distracted herself from what he was doing by counting up the financial benefit she was going to gain. Behind her anger and her disbelief, and her fears about the apartment and the future of Teresa and Anthony, there was also a growing feeling of shocked misery and pain.

  She wanted her self-respect back; she wanted back the person she had been beforehim . And as for her leaving the apartment—no way was she going anywhere. Not now.

  ‘Ah, Tariq. Good. I’m glad you’re here…finally.’

  Chad Rheinvelt’s smile and voice were as smooth as the satin skin of the half-naked girl he was caressing as he lounged in his chair in the main cabin of the luxurious yacht. Several other members of the gang were also in the cabin, standing with their arms folded across their chests or slouching against the cabin walls. Bully boys, heavies, enforcers—it didn’t matter what label you put on them, their appearance made it obvious what they were, Tariq reflected grimly.

  ‘I’ve got a job for you,’ Chad told him. He had slipped his hand into the girl’s skimpy top and she w
as now squirming in supposed delight as he played with her breast whilst his men looked on.

  The girl he was fondling might easily have been Gwynneth.

  Tariq’s raw, savage emotional response to that knowledge caught him off guard. What the hell was he doing, allowing himself to react like this to a woman who sold her body to any man who could afford to buy it?

  ‘You’ve told us all about your high status in Zuran. Here’s your chance to prove it. I need official sanction for a few friends of mine to make a long-term stay in Zuran—no questions asked. And I need it quickly.’

  ‘A few friends?’ Tariq questioned.

  Chad turned to the girl, who was now sliding one slim brown hand along his inner thigh, her tongue-tip pressed wetly against her bottom lip. Tariq could feel his belly curling with contempt and revulsion.

  ‘Jeni here is one of them. Fancy her? Regretting that you turned down my offer to send her to you now, are you? Your loss. She’s pretty good. The girls who work for me are all tried out first by one of us, and if they’re especially good they might be lucky enough to have a few of us put them through their paces—eh, Jeni?’ Chad was laughing as he tweaked her nipple, his erection straining openly against the cloth of his shorts.