The Sheikh's Captive Mistress (11 page)

“Emma, you don’t have to marry me,” he said, his voice soft and sad.

She blinked up at him and her large eyes were wide and startled. “I know we have to work to negotiate, but there has to be another way. If I could just talk with Daddy, make him see what a good man you are and how badly your people are suffering from the attacks. He’d understand. He values family just like you do.”

“So you’re saying you want to stay?” She leaned up and kissed him, emphasizing her attraction to him by biting at his lower lip. What a fiendish minx she was. Emma knew that it drove him nuts. Munir moaned under her ministrations, but kept his focus on the debate at hand. “I’m serious. We do need to do this right. It’s not truly love if I keep you like a pet. If you want to leave, if life in Yoman is too tough or scary for you, well, after Kashif’s attack I cannot blame you.”

She shook her head and stared deeply into his eyes, her own like clear pools or a virgin spring he wished he could lose himself in forever. “That’s nothing.”

“Don’t knock that aside.”

“It was scary, and I might need to see doctors later just to talk about it or with you, I get that, but I helped save myself and the people I care about here had my back. I know I can trust you and Basheera and Naseem no matter what, and that’s a good thing. Besides, we both know Kashif is going nowhere from now on. I…” she swallowed and bit her lower lip. He tensed beside her, afraid he was about to be delivered a world class blow off. “I
love
you, Munir. I’d like to think that you’re my
habbibi,
too, that we’re beloved to each other.”

Happiness filled his heart, warmed in a way even the highest desert sun never could aspire to. Leaning forward, he gave her a long kiss, feeling his tongue play with her own. When he pulled back, that mischievous fire was back in Emma’s sapphire eyes.

“I love you.”

“Then I love you and nothing can stop that,” she said, burrowing into him and whining a bit when the limo pulled up to the correct position at the palace’s livery. “Oh man, I was just getting snuggly back here!”

“We have all night for that,
habbibi
,” he said, laughing.

But then as the door opened, the laugh died in his throat.

Before him stood Senator Alan James, a man with blue eyes just like his daughter’s, but these were angry like blue hell fire. “Get out of the car and give me back my daughter!”

Munir would have questioned it, fought for her, but the senator was flanked by a phalanx of Navy SEALs, and his father was nodding solemnly behind everything. Hurrying out of the car, he held Emma’s arm as they both stood before their fathers and a lot of United States military personnel.

“Senator James, I can explain,” Munir started.

The senator eyed his daughter and snapped his fingers. Two large men with bulging muscles and crew cuts stalked forward and pulled Emma from him. She screamed and fought it, but was soon ushered over to stand guarded behind her father.

“Daddy, I can explain this. I know it’s hard to believe, but I love him.”

The senator’s nostrils flared. “Former Sheikh Shadid called and told me what his son had done, how he stole you without his father’s consent for a bargaining chip. Darling, what you feel right now? It’s called Stockholm Syndrome, so just let Daddy take care of this.”

“Daddy, please!” she shouted, tears streaming down her cheeks. “That’s not what happened at all. The old sheikh masterminded all of this and now he’s ratting out Munir. Please, you have to listen.”

Her father shook her head and walked up to Munir. “I should bomb this Godforsaken country into rubble for all the pain you’ve caused my family, all the fear you put us through, thinking our daughter was dead. Just look at her! Did you put your filthy hands on her?” he demanded.

Munir ignored the way flecks of spittle hit his cheeks from James’s impassioned shouting. “Sir, if you give us time to explain. My brother tried to do some things, but we stopped him. I’m in love with your daughter and wish to make her my queen.”

There was a slug to his solar plexus and Munir went down hard, no longer able to breathe. Behind him, in the assorted crowd of palace guard and military men, Munir heard his father chuckling.

The bastard refused to lose.

“You’re so many terrible things, son, now just shut up. Your father and I will negotiate the treaty and I’m taking Emma home, away from this barbaric desert shit pile, and if you know what’s good for you, you won’t so much as
look
at her until we’re gone.”

Everything felt flat.

That was what struck Emma the most. Nothing felt right.

The D.C. area was already in the nineties. It was June, after all, but that was nothing compared to the one hundred and twenty days in Yoman. Everything was too cold. Even out for lunch in Georgetown with Parker, Alexis, and Allison, she wore a huge sweater. It garnered her so many confused looks in at the café. But it was more than that. Life in the States was sterile, too clean, and smelled like
nothing
. The hustle and bustle of Yoman was different, always had an air fragrant with spices. She’d gone to the market once or twice with Basheera as her guide and she’d been overwhelmed by the smell of fresh meat roasting on a spit, the variety of turmeric and other spices, and the fresh dates and palm fruits.

In this café, all she smelled was the slightest hint of bleach from the last time the barista had cleaned.

It didn’t feel real. Nothing could feel real but the strong arms of Munir around her waist or the enticing tickle of his side burns against her cheek. In the month since her father had “rescued” her, Emma looked normal. The few patches of hair that had been torn by Kashif were back and her bruises had healed. In fact, this was the first time she’d been out with her friends (and in Allison’s case, tolerated acquaintances). Her mother had insisted she couldn’t leave the house until she “looked respectable” again.

That was her mom, always worried about the proper Southern lady appearance.

“I just can’t believe it!” Alexis said, her eyes wide with concern. “If you’d come with me and Allison, that wouldn’t have happened.”

Her younger sister chewed at a lettuce leaf, after all it was the
only
kind of food she ate – rabbit food. Allison regarded Emma and shrugged. “You should have just come, not been so damn stubborn.”

She sighed and forced her anger down. Emma was out because the gossip mill around D.C. was starting to talk, claiming her abuse had made her some kind of terrible post-traumatic stress disorder shut in. It wouldn’t help if she strangled Allison, even if that girl deserved strangulation on a good day. Emma bit into her Panini and relished the cheese as she did. Allison shook her head, and, for once, she didn’t care. Munir had loved her curves, declared that they made her more womanly and not less.

“It wouldn’t have mattered. He sent trained guards for me, and they’d have found me away. I’m here now, and I’m safe.”

Parker shook her head and drank her peach bellini. “It still sounds impossible. Abduction like that is stuff you hear on the news, things that can totally scare you. It’s just so, like, totally impossible.”

She shrugged and sipped her Coke. “But it was real, and Munir was-”

“Munir?” Allison questioned, a nasally whine coloring her words. “Don’t you mean Sheikh Yassin?”

“We were closer than that,” she said, trailing her fingers over the table’s surface, remembering the way his green eyes had shone with mischievous flecks of gold when she’d pleasured him in the hot tub in Dubai. The memory made her flush with heat, finally warm after so many long, empty days.

But it was hollow.

Like her.

“We understand that you think that, sweetie,” Alexis said her voice sing-song and syrupy sweet.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her so-called friend mouth “Stockholm Syndrome” to her sister, Allison. Everyone thought she was nuts – that some deep dark emotional trauma had made her
think
she’d fallen in love with Munir. It was just that everyone was wrong. Emma wasn’t the same girl who’d been stolen. She knew exactly what she wanted in life and what made her feel loved. The number one thing on both these counts was that Munir was it, the way he made her feel happy, the way he made her feel loved.

That was home.

Not Georgetown or even back near Raleigh were her father’s mansion was.

“I’m not sick and I’m not crazy,” she snapped, jerking her head up and pushing the plate away from her. “He was amazing.”

“He’s a barbarian, like a crazy jihad guy,” Parker said.

“And he stole you, some romance,” Allison said.

Alexis bit her lip. Of all her friends, the other girl meant the best, was the kindest, but even she didn’t believe Emma. No one did, not anymore. “You know how those countries treat women.”

“He was a perfect gentleman.”

Allison rolled her eyes. “He was trying to get into your pants. Of course he was putting on the moves. Frankly, Emma, you need to snap out of this fantasy in your head. You’re sick; he abused you, and your friends and family just want you back.”

She threw the napkin on the table and stood up. Glaring down at Allison, she balled her hands at her sides. “You’re not my friend, and you never were. I didn’t go with Alexis that night because I know you’re a rancid bitch who talks about me behind my back, so I guess I should be grateful that you’re at least saying things to my face this time.”

Alexis’s eyes were wide, and she brought her hand to her chest in horror. “She didn’t mean it.”

“Stop defending her. She
always
means it,” Emma snapped. “I’m done with this – and with you. You’re all shallow and awful, and I’m sick of being the good old dependable one. You know what? I’m
not
that, not anymore.”

And with that, Emma stormed back to her apartment.

***

It had taken weeks for her to even start unpacking her bags from Yoman. There were a few bits of clothes that he’d given her, as well as spices and other treats that Basheera had insisted on gifting her with. The older woman had cried even harder than she had about leaving. Still, once she was back in D.C., it felt too final to unpack, as if when she did that then Emma was finally admitting that she’d never go back to Yoman and that everything that had happened had been a dream or like a mirage in the desert sands.

Still, she had to admit that after a month and her father’s constant tirades on the phone and her disconnection about at home, that she was here, that D.C. was her home again.

That is, if such a cold and isolating place could ever be home after Munir’s embrace.

As she opened the first box, she grinned as she pulled out the bath oils and the potpourri balls inside. There were a few dried dates and figs, as well, preserved for her as a “taste of home.” The second box contained mostly the jeans and t-shirts that she’d had brought to her. The final box was surprisingly light for its size, and she wasn’t sure what was left in Basheera’s care packages for it to be.

Then she pulled out the first golden veil of the finest silk and wanted to cry. It was all there – the entire collection of veils as well as the castanets and belly necklace that she’d danced for Munir in. The tiara wasn’t and she blinked back tears. One of Kashif’s thugs had crushed it under his boots when they’d taken her that morning. Still, all of it was there, including a picture of her and Munir at the skiing attraction, smiling broadly at each other.

She wasn’t even sure how that had come to be in the box. Sure they sold it as a quick money-making addition to the park, but she didn’t remember Munir grabbing it.

“How is this possible?”

“I thought you deserved it,” a familiar voice rumbled.

Confused, Emma turned and found Munir standing before her, resplendent in a tailored suit that hugged his masculine shoulders alluringly. At first, Emma’s heart quickened and she was scared that now she really was going nuts, hallucinating things that weren’t truly there. Munir – or the hallucination, dear God – was lounging in the doorway. It was then that her nose caught up with her eyes, that she caught the familiar mix of his pure masculine musk and jasmine that typified her lover.

Elated, she jumped up off the bed and rushed into his arms, hardly believing she was finally feeling his strong arms around her again. Breathing in deeply, she relished his scent, the way his sideburns grazed and tickled her cheeks, even the strength of his biceps under her.

“I don’t understand?” she asked, frowning.

“I told you it would take time to clean house. I sat down with Father and showed him the dirty laundry that Naseem was able to reveal to me, the skeletons buried and old betrayals to our most formidable allies. I explained that if he didn’t stop his machinations and if he didn’t call your father and explain everything about us and what Kashif did…”

“You mean what you saved me from?” she breathed.

He blushed, and she loved the way the flush came over his olive skin. “Yes, and your father wasn’t happy, and he’ll probably never be.”

“I see,” she said, sagging in his grasp. “Then is this a more formal goodbye?”

“No,
habbibi
,” he said, getting to his knees and showing her the velvet case in his left hand.

Her heart stilled, and Emma could hardly believe her eyes. “Munir?”

He opened the case to reveal a large diamond ring, set in a platinum band and cut in a style that reminded her of Victorian times. “This was my mother’s.”

“Oh, you don’t have to, if that’s all you have of her.”

Munir grinned up at her. “And that is why I love you – that fierce, yet selfless heart of yours. I have other things of her, so please,
habbibi
, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

“Yes!” she said, a little embarrassed at the enthusiasm of her reply. But she’d been sleepwalking like a zombie for the last month, and now everything was back in color again for her. “I’ll marry you, my sheikh.”

He stood and slipped the diamond on her finger. It glittered gorgeously there as if it had been made for her finger. Munir leaned into her ear and whispered, “I want to see you wearing that,
only
that, my beloved.”