The Sheikh Who Claimed Her: Master of the Desert / The Sheikh's Reluctant Bride / Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife. Teresa Southwick
family don’t know you’re here?’ The man picked up the radio phone and held it out to her. ‘Don’t you think you’d better call them?’
No. Men like this, men like her brother Rigo, shared a common understanding. They would demand she return home immediately. Rigo might even insist on coming to fetch her, so once again she would be no more effective than a balloon, weightless and directionless as they batted her between them.
‘I’ll ring them if you don’t,’ he threatened.
‘No, please don’t.’ She reached out and then withdrew her hand, thinking better of touching him. ‘I don’t want to worry them.’ She mustered a steady stare. ‘Better to call them when I’m safely in Sinnebar and settled in a hotel, don’t you think?’
Worry them? Rigo would be down on her like a ton of bricks. Her brother only had to file a flight plan and he’d be over here. And what would that prove—that she was as headstrong and reckless as Rigo believed her to be? Her brother would never let her work for his charity then. And she had begged him for this chance to do a real job instead of accepting her brother’s generous allowance. It was a chance to do something for others instead of for herself. ‘The moment I’m safe on the mainland, I’ll ring them—I promise.’ She was taking a lot for granted by assuming the man would take her anywhere, but she had no option when there was everything to play for.
His eyes remained narrowed with suspicion, and then to her relief he shrugged. ‘You know your family better than I do.’
Yes, she knew Rigo. He could be a pain sometimes, but it was thanks to her brother she had enjoyed such a privileged childhood, which in Rigo’s language meant she could ride, ski, sail, fence and swim. More importantly, living with him had taught her how to survive a man like this.
As she watched him clear up the debris from the recent triage session, she offered to help. He ignored her. Closing the cupboard on his supplies, he turned to face her. ‘So all you wanted when you came on board was my food?’
‘What else?’ she said in bewilderment.
‘You weren’t thinking of stealing my yacht, for instance?’
Antonia’s cheeks flushed red. She had considered it.
He made a contemptuous sound, as if he already knew this, and then barked, ‘We’ll continue this conversation when you have no more excuses left.’
‘But, I—’
‘Not now,’ he snarled.
His tone only confirmed what she already knew—this was not a man to bend to her will, or to anyone’s will.
‘You will rest now,’ he said as if anything he commanded would happen immediately. ‘I’m prepared to give you time to get over the shock—but not much time. And don’t play me,’ he warned.
A shiver of awareness rippled down her spine. When he turned away, it was another opportunity to watch him again. Resting her chin on her knees, she realised that against all the odds she had grown calmer around him. Calmer and yet more unsettled, Antonia concluded, realising her libido had received an unusual boost. The man moved around the confined space with the confidence of someone who knew every inch of his territory intimately, and some of the openings were so small he had to raise his arms and coax his body through. He looked amazing at full stretch, like an athlete in the peak of condition. His air of command went with being super-fit, she supposed, though she found trying to pigeon-hole him in the outside world impossible. His frayed and faded shorts looked as if he’d hacked the legs off an old pair of jeans with the lethal-looking knife hanging from his belt, and his top had definitely seen better days.
She gave up trying to work him out. He could be crew or he could own the boat—either way, she had to build bridges and hope they stretched to the mainland. She waited until the next time he squeezed past to attempt to make her peace. ‘I apologise for trespassing on your yacht and for stealing your food and the knife. Please believe me when I say I would never have used the knife. And please don’t report me to the Sheikh.’
‘I thought I told you to rest,’ he said, showing no sign of having accepted her apology.
There was no chance of ‘playing him’, as he seemed to think, Antonia concluded, and he’d done nothing more than care for her as he would care for a stray dog, so she could forget the fantasies. Using her so-called womanly wiles had got her nowhere. And there was something more, something that made her shudder to think about it. While he was helping her, she was safe, but should he ever turn against her …
‘What happens next is up to you,’ he snapped as if he had read these troubled thoughts. ‘All you have to do is answer my questions promptly and honestly.’
And that was all? Did he know how intimidating and fierce he looked? ‘I will,’ she promised on a dry throat. If all your questions are connected to the attack, she hedged silently.
CHAPTER THREE
THE man might terrify her, but she was determined to hold her nerve; so much depended on getting to the mainland. If only she knew who he was it might be easier to talk to him, but she had searched for clues to his identity and found none on the yacht. There was plenty of food and drink in the tiny galley and all sorts of fancy technical equipment—and, now she put her shopping head on, she realised the blanket around her shoulder was cashmere. But the man remained a mystery. Apart from his working clothes, he wore a strap around his wrist formed of black twine, and the gold hoop in his ear which she found sexy, but neither item was unique.
It wasn’t much to go on. She should have noticed the name of his yacht, but she had been so traumatised when she’d clambered on board her thoughts had been solely concerned with survival. She hadn’t even paused to think who the yacht might belong to. Food, drink and a fast ticket back to the mainland had been her only concern. And if she had to steal a sleek, sexy racing yacht to get there, so be it.
‘I don’t have all day,’ he warned. ‘The least you can do is tell me why you’re here.’
Even if she had been prepared to tell him the truth it was hard to think straight with his sexuality overwhelming her. Command was instinctive for him, while she was a girl used to getting her own way; theirs could be an explosive partnership.
In the realms of fantasy only, Antonia cautioned herself firmly. She had been so absorbed in sleuthing it took her a moment to realise that he was holding out the most delicious-looking baguette. Slathered in butter, it had a wedge of cheese inside it so thick it would normally have fed her for a week. And she hadn’t eaten for … She couldn’t remember.
‘Is that for me?’ She granted him the first smile of the day as she reached for it.
He held it out of reach. ‘Talk first,’ he said brusquely. ‘You’ve had enough time to collect your thoughts. And if you can’t remember your own name …’ A quirk of his eyebrow was all it took to call her a liar. ‘Why don’t you start with your parents’ names?’
‘Both my parents are dead.’
‘And they had no name either, I suppose?’
Had she expected sympathy? Antonia’s skin prickled at this evidence of a man who was cold and remote. It underscored what she had already sensed about him, that you wouldn’t want him as an enemy, and as she stared into his eyes she wondered if she had never met anyone so removed from human feeling. He unnerved her to the point that she felt like voicing her mother’s name, almost as if it were a talisman that could protect her. But her mother’s name was too precious for that, and so she attempted a little sob instead. ‘Please, let me eat first. I’m s-so hungry …’
There was a moment of silence between them, and then, as if she had planned it, her stomach growled in anguish. ‘Please …’
She must have paled or swayed, or gasped for breath; all three were possible when the man was so close to her. ‘Eat, then talk,’ he conceded brusquely, handing over