Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Copyright

“Fifty thousand pounds sterling.”

“That was the amount Damien owed my family,” Kassim continued blandly. “When I went over to England to collect it, he couldn’t come up with the cash. Your ex-lover offered you to me instead. The man is a fool, Janene. You’re proving to be more of a bargain than I thought.”

ALEX RYDER was born and raised in Edinburgh, Scotland, and is married with three sons. She took an interest in writing when, to her utter amazement, she won a national schools competition for a short essay about wild birds. She prefers writing romantic fiction because at heart she’s just a big softie. She works now in close collaboration with a scruffy old one-eyed cat who sits on the desk when she doesn’t get it right, but winks when she does.

The Barbarian’s Bride
Alex Ryder

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS the usual kind of party—too noisy, too overcrowded, too smoky—and she could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. Right now she was standing by the French window, alone, feeling awkward and wishing that she was back in her own comfortable flat curled up on the settee with a cup of cocoa and a good book. The glass of champagne in her hand was warm and flat and she surreptitiously hid it behind the nearby cheese-plant, then looked around in quiet desperation for some sign of Damien. He’d promised that he’d only be gone for a minute or two but she’d had to fend off, politely but firmly, two advances already. It looked as if it was the open season on green-eyed redheads.

Suddenly there was a man’s voice in her ear, enquiring softly, ‘Miss Janene Peters?’

Oh, no! Not again! This would be the third. And they were even going to the trouble of finding out her name first. She longed for the safety of her flat even more.

She turned to look at the man who’d spoken, but the rebuff forming on her lips died as her mouth went dry. For a moment she could only wonder at the odd feeling of apprehension that sent a tingle down her spine. Recovering quickly, she offered him a bland smile and arched her brows questioningly. ‘Yes. That’s me.’

He held out a hand and smiled. ‘We’ve never met, but don’t be alarmed. I’m not quite as disreputable as I look. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Kassim Riffik.’

His fingers were long and tapering and his handclasp firm and cool, and again she felt that inexplicable tingle. He didn’t look like the type who went on the prowl for casual pick-ups. Tall, at least six feet two, he had the lean, dark and hungry look that would have kept most women awake at night. His complexion was the dark olive she associated with sun-scorched deserts, his thick hair raven-black and his eyes the most startling blue she’d ever seen, hard and brilliant as sapphires. Beneath a thin straight nose his mouth was wide and there was a suggestion of cruelty in those thin lips, although they were now drawn back in a friendly smile to reveal perfect white teeth. His suit of dark silk and his dazzling white shirt were handmade to accentuate the wide shoulders and slim hips.

‘May I get you a drink, Miss Peters? Something a bit more palatable than the one you’ve so cleverly disposed of.’

His voice was deep and resonant and his English tinged with a faint French accent. Aware that she’d been staring at him in awestruck silence for the last few seconds, she gathered her scattered wits together and stammered, ‘No—no thanks. It’s very kind of you but I—I’m waiting for my fianc£. He—he should be here at any moment.’

His gaze slid over her with slow and deliberate provocation, lingering for far too long on the amount of cleavage visible over her low-cut dress, and every nerve in her body twitched like a nervous candle-flame. Finally he drawled with quiet amusement, ‘Damien will be here shortly. I believe he’s involved in some kind of business deal with one of his clients. As a matter of fact, it was he who suggested that I keep you company until he can rejoin you.’

Her face and voice were suddenly stiff with embarrassment. ‘Oh… I see… Did—he say how long he’d be?’

In spite of his expression of sympathy there was a hard edge of irony in his voice. ‘No longer than necessary. I’m sure he misses every precious moment of your company.’ His blue eyes regarded her innocently, then he made an eloquent gesture with his hands. ‘Of course, I’ve no wish to impose my unworthy presence where it isn’t wanted. If you’d rather be on your own…’

She could recognise a piece of subtle manipulation as well as the next person. If she rejected his offer she was guilty of discourtesy, to say the least. On the other hand, if she accepted his offer, then, by implication, she wanted him to stay. The truth was that he was making her more nervous by the minute, but she could hardly tell him that without making a fool of herself. In spite of his expensive clothes and the veneer of civilisation, it wasn’t too hard to imagine him bare-chested, sword in hand, engaged in an orgy of rape and pillage.

Wondering if she was in danger of becoming paranoid, she said primly, ‘It’s thoughtful of Damien and very obliging of you, Mr Riffik.’

He grinned. ‘The pleasure is all mine, Miss Peters… or may I call you Janene? It’s much friendlier. You don’t mind, do you?’

Her mouth was going dry again and she gulped. ‘N— not in the least.’

‘Good.’ The white teeth flashed in another broad smile. ‘Then you must call me Kassim.’ Reaching past her, he deftly opened the French window, then took her by the elbow. ‘Let’s step outside. It’s much quieter and cooler on the balcony.’

A moment later, wondering why the thought of resisting had never even entered her head, she found herself outside, high above the late-night traffic of West London. Across the buildings to the south she saw the lights of Chelsea Bridge in the distance. Overhead, a jet, landing-lights piercing the thin clouds, thundered towards touch-down at Heathrow.

His hold on her elbow was light yet electrifying, and she swallowed nervously. There had been a time when she would have known how to deal with a situation like this. She might even have treated the whole thing as a joke and laughed it off. She might even have flirted with him a little, but those days were gone. The only things she wanted out of life now were stability and security, and she already had those with Damien. Marriage to Damien was going to be her salvation and anything that threatened it was a hazard to be avoided at all costs.

‘Have—have you known Damien for long?’ she ventured awkwardly.

He gave a slight shrug. ‘We know each other through our mutual business interests. It’s because of him that I’m paying this all-too-short visit to London.’

‘I see…’ It sounded plausible enough. Damien seemed to know so many people and he was forever introducing complete strangers to her. It was impossible to remember them all. She had no reason to doubt this stranger’s story but, if that predatory grin on his face was suddenly translated into action, she could easily side-step him and dash through the window back into the anonymity of the crowd.

‘And now we’ll talk about you, Janene,’ the dark stranger murmured softly. He reached for her hand and glanced at her engagement-ring. ‘Damien tells me that you’re to be married soon. How long have you known each other?’

‘We—we met six months ago,’ she answered haltingly, wishing he would talk about something else.

He stepped closer and, with her back to the balustrade and his body between her and the window, there was no chance of escaping. ‘How old are you, Janene?’

Right now she felt like a very nervous seven-yearold, but she answered shakily, ‘Twenty-four.’

His face was hovering over hers like a hawk over a helpless rabbit. Those blue eyes seemed to impale her, making her incapable of movement as he raised a hand to finger her thick red tresses. ‘You are breathtaking in your beauty,’ he whispered in a soft, husky voice. ‘In my country, such a desirable woman as you would have been a bride at sixteen. Lovers would have begged for a kiss from those sweet red lips. Men would have fought like tigers over you. Gold, silver and precious jewels would have been yours for the asking…flowers strewn at your feet.’ He paused, and studied her expression with amusement. ‘Ah! You are embarrassed and you think I am too effusive in my praise of your charms?’ He gave a throaty chuckle. ‘I know all about English women. Cold and remote and suspicious of anyone south of Dover. Breeding inhibits the true expression of their feelings.’

Her heart was thudding in her ears and she could feel herself being drawn under by those compelling blue eyes. With an effort she tore her mesmerised gaze from his, but his soft voice continued to provoke and inflame her.

‘It merely increases a man’s pleasure to strip the shell of cold reserve away bit by bit and release the storm of fire and raging passion beneath the surface. And there is a fire in you, Janene. I sense it. A raging volcano, ready to…’ Suddenly he spread his hands and heaved a sigh. ‘But I forget myself. A thousand pardons. You are promised to another. If it were to anyone other than my good friend, Damien, I would steal off with you in the night and take you to my tent, and there, under the stars, we would lie in each other’s arms and…’

She chanced a quick glance into those dangerous eyes and smiled in spite of herself. ‘Tent? Did you say tent?’

‘A mere figure of speech,’ he admitted with a crooked grin. ‘Some day you will see my humble abode… Well, it’s not that humble. Quite luxurious, in fact. I’m sure you’d be favourably impressed. You and Damien must be my guests some time.’

His display of dry humour made him seem just a little less threatening, and she murmured, ‘I’m afraid that you’ll have to ask Damien about that.’

He inclined his head. ‘But of course. It is always up to the man to make the decision and it is the woman’s place to defer to his wishes in all things. However, I’m sure he couldn’t deny you anything you’ve really set your heart on. He loves you greatly, is it not so?’

She detected something beneath the bantering tone— a subtle edge of interrogation—that once again put her on her guard. ‘He wants to marry me,’ she answered firmly. ‘I think that should answer your question.’

There was a moment of silent tension between them, then he gave a thin smile. ‘Yes. He would be a fool not to love a woman such as you. And since you’ve known him for six months and accepted his ring as a token of your promise, I can only assume that you reciprocate that love.’

She swallowed. ‘I’d never dream of marrying a man I wasn’t in love with.’

‘Of course not,’ he murmured. ‘And I’m sure you’ve thought long and deep about it—’

‘It’s getting chilly now,’ she interrupted prudently. ‘I’d like to go back inside now, if you don’t mind.’

He gallantly removed his jacket and draped it over her bare shoulders. ‘In a moment. Meanwhile, this will keep you warm.’

She could feel his body-heat on the material, and the protest she had been about to make died on her lips and her eyes fell away in confusion.

Her passive acceptance of the situation seemed to please him, and he said huskily, ‘You don’t belong with that crowd in there, Janene. A garden of weeds is the wrong setting for a rose.’

He leaned closer, and for a terrified moment she was certain that he was going to sweep her in a crushing embrace and kiss her. Would she have the strength or the will to resist? And, if she didn’t, would he take it as permission to go even further?

‘Look…’ she said, near to panic, ‘I—I don’t think that Damien had this in mind when he asked you to— to look after me.’

His dark eyebrows arched upwards, mocking her feeble protest. ‘Had what in mind? Surely it would please him to know how much I approve of his taste in women. He would surely take it as a compliment. Anyway, I’m sure he’s not the jealous type.’

He was just playing with words now…not to mention her feelings and peace of mind. ‘Well…just stop all this talk about how—how beautiful I am.’ She nodded in the direction of the window. ‘There are plenty of women in there a lot more glamorous than I am. There’s nothing special about me.’

‘Damien thinks there is,’ he countered smoothly. ‘When he told me about you he became quite lyrical. So lyrical, in fact, that I put it down to over-zealous exaggeration. Now, however, I can see that he didn’t do you sufficient justice.’

His persistent flattery was wearing away at her defences and she couldn’t deny the fact that her heart was beating faster than normal, nor that she was starting to feel light-headed. But then, a woman would have to be an unfeeling lump of clay not to be overwhelmed by that potent blend of polished charm and raw sex appeal.

Pulling herself together and trying to keep a firm grip on reality, she diverted the talk towards safer ground. ‘You said that you’d come to London to see Damien. Are you and he in the same kind of business?’

For some reason he seemed to find that suggestion amusing. ‘Not really, Janene. You could say that fate has caused our paths to cross.’

She kept the conversation going. ‘I see. And what exactly are your interests, Kassim?’ She’d never yet met a successful man who could resist the temptation to talk about himself, and she didn’t suppose that he’d be any different.

His blue eyes glittered and there was another flash of white teeth. ‘At the moment, my interest is in an enchanting woman with hair like the setting sun and eyes the colour of emeralds.’

Oh, God! she thought. Why was Damien taking so long? ‘I was referring to your business interests,’ she said with quiet reproach. ‘I just wondered what you did for a living.’

‘Oh, this and that,’ he said airily. ‘I have a few acres of poor land. Some camels, sheep and goats. I manage to scrape by.’

She fingered the material of the jacket around her shoulders and said drily, ‘That’s hard to believe, Mr Riffik. People who “scrape by” can’t afford Italian silk suits.’

‘Expensive clothes…’ he murmured. ‘My only vice.’

She doubted that very much, but had no intention of probing any deeper. He had the look of a man who was used to walking through the darker alleyways of life and emerging unscathed.

‘Where exactly are these few acres of poor land?’ she asked, determined not to let him hijack the conversation again.

His eyes were fixed appreciatively on her cleavage again, and he shrugged and said dismissively, ‘Morocco. A little country in the north-west corner of Africa. Right next door to Algeria. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?’

‘Yes…’ she murmured with mild sarcasm. ‘I did do geography at school.’ She racked her brains now and wished she’d paid more attention to her lessons. Morocco… Mountains and deserts…Casablanca… ‘Play it again, Sam’… Marrakesh!…the Marrakesh express—wasn’t that a song? And there was Fez! Was that a city or a funny red hat? She knew that a kasbah was a fort and that a souk was a market. And that was about the sum total of her knowledge about Morocco.

‘I always thought that Morocco belonged to France,’ she said, trying to sound intelligent.

His lips stretched in a smile. ‘The French, Portuguese, Spanish—even the Romans. Throughout history many nations have tried to impose their will on us but now at last our country belongs to its rightful owners. The Berbers. Or, as the Romans called us, the barbarians.’

She wasn’t the least bit interested in history or politics, but she managed a fair impression of a student thirsting for knowledge. ‘Barbary!’ she said suddenly. ‘The Barbary Coast! Pirates! I saw a film about it once.’

He laughed mockingly. ‘Praise Allah! You saw a film about it. Ah, where would we be without Hollywood? But you’re quite right, Janene. Corsairs came from Morocco. Your ancestors knew us very well. Our ships roved north as far as England. Women and children would be snatched from their beds at night and taken back to be sold as slaves.’ His hand came up and his long fingers gently caressed her cheek. ‘A woman like you would have fetched a king’s ransom.’

Her mouth was drying up again and a pulse was fluttering in her throat. The mental image she’d had of him as bare-chested with sword in hand hadn’t been far off the mark after all. That was exactly what he reminded her of: a dangerous pirate! With a heavy gold ring in his ear and a pointed beard, he’d look the part perfectly.

‘Of course,’ he went on in a tone of regret, ‘civilisation has caught up with us at last. The authorities won’t tolerate such behaviour in these enlightened times. They’ve taken all the excitement out of life.’

‘Thank God for that!’ she said drily.

‘Hmm…’ His blue eyes gleamed with wicked amusement, then he murmured, ‘I imagine there are more than a few women in this cold land who wouldn’t object too strenuously if someone snatched them from their beds and took them to a warmer clime.’

‘We have tour operators for that kind of thing these days,’ she retorted. ‘Anyway, what’s wrong with the women in Morocco? Aren’t there enough to go round?’

He leaned down slightly, until his lips were only inches from her ear, and she felt the moist warmth of his breath as he whispered, ‘For men who have an insatiable desire for beauty, there never seem to be enough. But with a woman like you to share his life, a man could ask for nothing more.’

Her heart was palpitating and her legs felt weak, but she found the strength to raise her palms and push them hard against his chest. Enough was enough! It was time she began asserting herself and putting this brazen rogue in his place. ‘Now, look here, Mr Riffik…I don’t like the way you’re—’

‘Kassim,’ he whispered seductively in her ear. ‘Mr Riffik sounds far too formal. I would rather have our relationship on a more…intimate level.’

She pushed even harder and gasped, ‘I know you would! You’re making your intentions all too obvious. Now, will you please step back and give me room to breathe?’

He straightened up and gave a mock smile of contrition. ‘Please forgive me, Janene. You find the prattling of my foolish tongue disturbing. But please do not be alarmed. I would sooner be cooked slowly to perfection over a bed of hot charcoal than see any harm come to you. I would rather be cast naked into a pit of scorpions—’

‘All right!’ she said in exasperation. ‘Don’t make a meal of it. If it wasn’t for that look in your eyes I might be tempted to believe you.’

He shrugged and spread his hands in a gesture of supplication. ‘My eyes can only mirror the beauty they behold.’

Her green eyes glittered at him angrily. ‘Dammit! You’re doing it again!’ For a moment she wondered if Damien had put him up to this for some sort of gag, then she instantly rejected the thought. Damien would never dream up such an outrageous idea.

‘Look,’ she said with patient resignation. ‘You’re simply wasting your time with me, Kassim. You’re a very attractive man, I’d be lying if I—if I said I wasn’t pleased that you also find me attractive…’

‘Not just attractive. Positively alluring,’ he said with a grin.

‘But,’ she went on, ignoring the remark, ‘this ring on my finger means a lot to me. There’s only room in my life for one man, so if you’re looking for someone to seduce I suggest you go back inside and find someone more susceptible to your charms.’

He contemplated her in a thoughtful silence which dragged and stretched her nerves. ‘So,’ he said at last. ‘You don’t object to me personally. It’s simply the fact that you’ve promised yourself to Damien?’

‘No,’ she was forced to admit, ruefully. ‘I’ve nothing against you as a person. As I said, you’re quite attractive.’ She paused, then added drily, ‘A fact I’m sure you’re well aware of. On the other hand, you’re rather egotistical, but then, most men are as a rule.’

He stroked her cheek again with a long finger and gave vent to a sigh of desperate longing. ‘Ah…if only you would come with me to Morocco, Janene. I would drive every thought of any other man out of your mind.’

‘Yes,’ she replied tartly, ‘I’m sure you’d try your best, but don’t hold your breath. There’s as much chance of me going to Morocco as to the far side of the moon.’

‘One should never challenge the fates,’ he cautioned with a cynical smile. ‘We may meet again sooner than you think.’

Something in his eyes made her look away quickly and she made a mental note to stick to Damien’s side like glue from now on. If he had to meet clients in private, she was going to lock herself in the loo until it was safe to come out again.

‘I’m going inside now,’ she announced firmly.

His finger had traced its way lightly to the skin below her ear, sending tiny tremors through her nervous system. Reluctantly he straightened up and slid the jacket from around her shoulders. ‘I don’t think Damien realises how lucky he is, Janene,’ he murmured softly. ‘When you and I meet again there will be nowhere to run to. We’ll be alone. And then we’ll see what kind of a woman you really are beneath that shell.’ Taking her gently by the arm, he led her back inside.

‘So what did you think of Kassim, then?’ Damien asked, when he finally turned up to reclaim her a few minutes later.

She clung to Damien’s arm and stared after Kassim as he departed and disappeared into the crowd. ‘I—I don’t know,’ she stammered. ‘He’s a bit overpowering. I’m still trying to get my breath back.’

Damien grinned. ‘So he made a pass at you? I’d have been annoyed if he hadn’t. It’s his way of paying you a compliment. You know what these hot-blooded Mediterranean types are like.’

‘No, I didn’t. But I do now.’

Damien didn’t seem interested in pursuing the subject, and as he started leading her towards the bar she pulled him up. ‘I don’t want another drink, darling. I think I’d rather rather go home.’

He looked at her in surprise, then glanced at his watch. ‘It’s still early. I’ve got another chent to meet in half an hour.’

She gave him a weary smile. ‘Don’t worry about me, darling. I know how important your clients are to you. You stay and I’ll get a taxi home.’

‘No. I wouldn’t dream of it!’ he said indignantly. ‘You stand right here while I fetch your coat.’

She restrained him once more. ‘You’re going to make me feel guilty. The fact is that I’ve got a bit of a headache. I need an early night for a change. You stay here and enjoy yourself.’

He frowned. ‘I’m not here to enjoy myself, Janene. I hate these damn parties, if you want to know the truth. But mine isn’t a nine-to-five job. Really important deals aren’t done in offices…’

She soothed his ruffled feathers with an understanding smile. ‘I know, I know. They’re done over expenseaccount lunches and at social events and parties like this. But you’ll never get rich standing here talking to me. Now, just phone for a taxi while I go upstairs and get my coat.’

He looked at her uncertainly for a moment, then he kissed her on the cheek. ‘You’re a girl in a million, Janene. I’ll make all this up to you when we get married.’

Thirty minutes later she was back in the peace and quiet of her flat. After a shower, she wrapped herself in a bath-robe and settled down in front of the electric fire with a hot, milky drink.

Her encounter with Kassim had left her feeling tense and jumpy, and when the phone suddenly rang she almost leapt off the settee in agitation.

‘Hi. How’s the headache?’

She relaxed at the sound of Damien’s voice. ‘Still there. I’ve taken a couple of aspirins.’ There was a lot of background noise. ‘Did you meet your client?’

‘Yes. And now I’m leaving.’ He hesitated a moment, then went on hopefully, ‘Would you like me to drop round? I can fill your hot-water bottle. Fetch your teddy.’

She smiled to herself. Damien wasn’t a demanding lover. He was considerate, and sex provided them with mutual satisfaction. It could be the very therapy that she needed right now. ‘Well…it sounds like a wonderful idea, darling,’ she murmured. ‘But I really am tired. And I wouldn’t want to fall asleep in the middle of youknow-what.’

‘Yeah… That would really put a dent in my pride.’ His voice was filled with wry amusement. ‘In that case, I’d better not take the chance.’

Feeling that she had somehow to make it up to him, she suggested quietly, ‘Perhaps tomorrow? We can stay in. I’ll make dinner and get some wine.’

‘Sorry, darling. It sounds great, but I won’t be able to make it.’ There was a genuine note of regret in his reply. ‘I’m leaving first thing in the morning. I have to go north for a few days on business and I won’t be back till Saturday.’

Her heart sank. Everything seemed to be going wrong. First that dark stranger with his thinly veiled threat, and now the prospect of being left on her own for the best part of a week.

Damien’s voice came again, cautiously optimistic. ‘I thought it would be a good idea if you went down to the cottage in Kent. It would give you a chance of a rest. I can drive straight down there and join you on Saturday. Then we can spend the following week together.’

She immediately brightened up. ‘That’s a brilliant idea, darling. I’ll pack a few things and leave the day after tomorrow.’

They spoke for a few more minutes, discussing details, then she hung up. Finishing her drink, she went to the window and peered down into the darkened street below. Finally, satisfied that there was no one remotely looking like Kassim Riffik hanging about in the shadows, she drew the curtains, put the safety-chain on the door and went to bed. All right, she told herself firmly, perhaps she was being childish—but there was no sense in taking any chances.

CHAPTER TWO

IN THE morning, over breakfast, Janene made up her mind to leave for the cottage that very day. There was no point in staying here alone with nothing to do. If she went down today she could give the place a good clean and airing, and perhaps do a bit of decorating before Damien arrived.

But first there was the lunch-date with Sally. She wasn’t looking forward to it, but she didn’t like breaking promises. It wasn’t that she had anything against Sally. They’d been the best of friends, as well as being business partners, in the past. But it was the past she was trying to forget, and a meeting with Sally would only resurrect buried memories and guilt.

She tidied the flat, changed from jeans and sweater into her favourite pale cream linen suit, then packed her suitcase. Finally she locked up the flat, then went downstairs and put her suitcase in the boot of her car. Knowing the futility of trying to find a parking space in the West End, she left the car in the mews garage and went in search of a taxi.

The Red Candle Grill and Bar had been a favourite haunt of theirs in the old days, and as her eyes got used to the subdued lighting she saw that the place hadn’t changed much.

Neither had Sally. Still the same restless, youthful energy, although she had to be in her late twenties by now. Still the same mass of tight, black curls, and large, pink-framed glasses. She was wearing a smartly cut business suit in charcoal-grey and at the moment she was somehow managing to look pleased and slightly annoyed at the same time.

‘So what’s the matter?’ she demanded as Janene settled herself opposite. ‘Have I got the plague or something? Four times I phoned last week and four times you said you were busy. We’re old friends, right? Old friends should never be too busy for a chat and a meal together.’

Janene lowered her eyes and murmured, ‘I’m sorry. Things have been a little hectic lately.’

‘Hmm… Busy social life, eh?’

The scepticism in the voice made her wince. She should have known better than to try to fob Sally off with a lie. Sally was too perceptive.

Sally tossed the menu across the table. ‘I’m having the veal.’

‘Then I’ll have the same. I hope it’s as good as it used to be.’

‘It is. Take my word for it.’ Sally beckoned a waiter, gave the order, then settled back in her seat with her martini. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me how the business is doing?’

She smiled. ‘Of course. How are things?’

‘Huh!’ Sally snorted. ‘I wish you hadn’t asked, but since you have I’ll tell you. I’m standing on tiptoes and the water is up to my chin.’ She sighed and shrugged. ‘It’s tough for everyone in this damned recession. I shouldn’t complain. At least I can still afford to eat here.’ She laughed. ‘Do you remember the greasyspoon we used to eat in up in Camden?’

Janene nodded and felt a tug of nostalgia for the old days. Camden, in North London. That was where it had all started…

They’d first met while browsing around the stalls in the street-market, and they’d taken an instant liking to each other. Over coffee and hamburgers in a cafe, they’d bemoaned the limited choice of goods on offer in the market and had decided there and then to go into business for themselves. They’d pooled their capital and opened a stall specialising in unusual costume jewellery and accessories. Within two years they’d owned a string of boutiques across London.

In those days she’d been just as single-minded and aggressive as Sally, and they’d carved their way to success through a hostile world of reluctant bank managers and cut-throat competitors.

In her case, at least, the real reward hadn’t been the money but the feeling of independence and accomplishment. Much to the consternation of her staid and rather old-fashioned parents, she’d always rebelled against the idea that it was a man’s world, and a woman’s role was to settle down and be a good little housewife.

They had been pleased about her success, of course, but she had sensed their underlying disappointment. They had wanted grandchildren, but their only child was more interested in a career than motherhood. She hadn’t even had a boyfriend—at least none she cared to date on a regular basis.

It had been guilt just as much as a spirit of generosity that had prompted her to treat them to a month’s holiday in Florida, all expenses paid. And it had probably been a wish not to hurt her feelings that had made them accept.

She’d driven them to Heathrow, hugged them both, told them to have a wonderful time and not forget to write, and then watched as the jet thundered down the runway and rose gracefully into the air…

‘I want you back in the business with me.’

Sally’s voice broke into her thoughts and she blinked. ‘What?’

‘I want you back in the business,’ Sally repeated impatiently. ‘We can come to some agreement right now. Come on, Janene. What do you say? We were a great team once. We can do it again.’

The waiter arrived with the meal and Janene heaved a mental sigh of relief. ‘Let’s eat first and give me time to think about it,’ she prevaricated.

Resuming her career was the last thing in the world she intended doing, but she hated the thought of letting Sally down. It had been the realisation that something like this might happen that had made her reluctant to come in the first place.

Respecting her wishes, Sally didn’t pursue the matter until they were having coffee, then she asked abruptly, ‘Well? Have you thought about it? Do we have a deal or not?’

All through the meal her mind had been grappling with the problem, and now she said, ‘I’d like to help you all I can, Sally. If you’re going through a bad patch, I’d be glad to help out financially. You only need to ask.’

Sally eyed her in frustration, then, in her usual straightforward manner, got straight to the point. ‘That isn’t the reason for this meeting, Janene. You’re the one that needs help, not me. It’s been a year since that—that terrible accident. You should be over it by now. You can’t let it affect your whole life.’

‘I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she muttered into her cup.

‘Of course you do!’ Sally said in irritation. ‘You keep blaming yourself and that’s silly. You’ve put your head under the blanket and you’re determined to keep it there. I’m giving you the chance to grab hold of life again.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But it’s surely worth a try. At least, if you’re busy, you won’t have time to brood.’

Janene had been listening, dull-eyed, but now she summoned up a smile and said with affection, ‘Sally, you’re a wonderful friend. No one could ask for any better. But there’s really no need to worry about me. The fact is that I’m getting married shortly.’

Sally’s eyes widened and her mouth opened in astonishment. ‘Janene! That’s marvellous!’ She leaned across the table in excitement. ‘You’ve got to tell me all about him. I’ll bet he’s absolutely gorgeous. What’s his name? Is he rich? Not that that matters, but it helps. Where did you meet him?’

She laughed. ‘Hold on! One thing at a time. First of all, his name is Damien. He’s tall, with brown hair and grey eyes. He works for himself. He’s a financial adviser and I met him six months ago.’

‘Six months ago! And you’ve been keeping him to yourself all this time! Why didn’t you let me know?’

‘I—I was getting around to it,’ she murmured. ‘Anyway, I want you to be my bridesmaid at the wedding. Will you?’

‘Just try and stop me,’ Sally threatened, bubbling over with enthusiasm. ‘When is the wedding?’

‘Well, we haven’t actually got round to fixing the date yet,’ Janene confessed quietly. ‘Damien is very busy at the moment.’

Sally’s eyebrows rose a fraction. ‘I see… You mean, he’s going to marry you when he can spare the time?’ Giving her head a slight shake of disapproval, she took another sip of her coffee, then laid her cup down and sighed in apology. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. At least he sounds as if he’ll be a good provider.’ She smiled brightly. ‘So? When am I going to meet him? Just let me know the time and place. I’ll dust off one of my old boyfriends and we’ll have a foursome. Dinner, then a nightclub.’

The idea appealed to Janene. ‘I’d like that, Sally. I really would like you to meet him. I’ll be out of town for a few days, but as soon as I get back I’ll get in touch and let you…’ Her voice trailed off and the colour drained from her face as she caught sight of the man at the bar.

Sally eyed her with concern. ‘What’s wrong? Do you feel ill?’

The man had his back to them, but he was tall and slim and had raven-black hair and a way of standing… He turned to greet a companion and Janene let out a sigh of relief. ‘It—it’s nothing,’ she stammered. ‘I thought I saw someone I met at a party last night.’

Sally turned in her seat. ‘Do you mean that dishylooking guy at the bar?’

‘Yes. But I was wrong.’ This was ridiculous, she fold herself. She was acting like a nervous idiot. The chances of her ever running into Kassim Riffik again were negligible. He was probably back in Morocco by now, where he belonged.

‘So, what did this man at the party do to scare you?’ asked Sally, eager for a bit of gossip. ‘And don’t say that he didn’t. You looked as if you’d seen a ghost a moment ago.’

‘Nothing,’ she answered firmly. ‘It was all in my imagination.’ Before Sally could interrogate her any further on the subject, she called the waiter over and settled the bill with her credit card. ‘It’s my treat,’ she announced to Sally. ‘And don’t argue.’

The first boutique they’d opened, The Cat’s Eye, was only a few minutes’ walk away and Sally insisted on dragging her along to see her latest range of stock. The manageress took the opportunity for a break, and as Janene took her place behind the glass-topped counter she felt a stirring of familiar excitement.

She was busy casting a professional eye over the display when a customer came in, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to switch on her sales technique. Ten minutes later the woman, who’d only come in for a pair of ear-rings, happily left with a matching bracelet and necklace.

‘You haven’t lost the touch,’ Sally remarked in approval. ‘And you were really enjoying yourself. Go on…admit it. You feel at home behind that counter, don’t you?’

Janene looked around the boutique regretfully, then shook her head. ‘My mind is made up, Sally. I’m getting married.’

‘Yes—’ Sally gave a despondent shrug ‘—so you’ve told me. But if things don’t work out… Well, you know where to come.’

It was just after five in the evening when Janene arrived at the cottage in the depths of the Kent countryside. On the way she’d stopped at the supermarket in Ashford and loaded up the Volvo with enough tinned and frozen food to last a fortnight.

Isolated and hidden behind high hedges, the cottage was half timbered, with a thatched roof and strong shutters on the windows. An ideal retreat from the world. It had belonged to her parents, and she’d spent many happy weekends here as a child.

A few weeks after her parents’ funeral she’d come down, intending to spend some time on her own, but the memories it evoked were too painful and she’d fled back to London after only one night. For a while after that she’d toyed with the idea of selling the cottage, but then she’d met Damien and he’d persuaded her to change her mind. The cottage was a sound investment, he’d said, and though the market for this type of property was depressed at the moment it was bound to pick up sooner or later.

The place smelt damp and musty after being closed up for so long, but she soon had a log fire blazing in the hearth, then, arming herself with a bottle of red wine and a glass, she went into the kitchen and began preparing a light supper. The memories weren’t so bad now. She was learning to live with them.

The following day was warm and sunny and, throwing the windows and doors wide open, she vacuumed and scrubbed and polished the place from top to bottom. By evening she was stiff and aching, but everything was done to her satisfaction, and she rewarded herself with a long, luxuriating soak in the bath.

That night, relaxing with a glass of wine in front of another blazing fire, she was glad that she’d taken Damien’s advice to hold on to the cottage. Instead of selling it, she’d keep it. When they were married, this would be the ideal place to relax and unwind. The nearest house was half a mile away, so there were no noisy neighbours to disturb the peace and tranquillity. And eventually, of course, they’d be able to bring their own children here. Her parents would have liked that if they’d still been alive.

A sudden noise from outside caught her attention and drew her to the window. She peered out into the night but saw nothing. It had sounded like a rattle from the gate at the foot of the path, and she opened the door and called out nervously, ‘Who’s there? What do you want?’

There was no answer from the menacing darkness, and she strained her ears. From the woods to the left there was a fluttering of wings and the hoot of an owl. The river at the back of the cottage gurgled softly.

She stood for a moment longer, her breath quick and nervous, then, biting her lip, she closed the door and made sure that it was securely locked and bolted.

Pouring herself another glass of wine, she sat down by the fire again and told herself not to be such a coward. It had probably been nothing more sinister than a fox out foraging for scraps. It was that man Riffik who was to blame for the state of her nerves. All that talk about corsairs snatching people from their beds. Well, there was little chance of an ocean-going boat making its way up that tittle river.

No, she decided. She had nothing to fear from him. Damien had been right. Kassim Riffik was the hot-blooded Mediterranean type. All talk and come-to-bed eyes. Chatting up strange women was just a way of life to men like him, as natural as eating and drinking.

Her thoughts turned to Damien. She was going to have to be firm and get him to agree to a date for the wedding. When she’d had to make that ridiculous excuse to Sally about him being too busy at the moment, she’d felt embarrassed. After all, it only took half an hour at the most to get married in a register office. If he could afford to take a week’s holiday and come down here, he could surely afford the time off for a half-hour ceremony.

The heat of the fire and the wine she’d drunk were making her drowsy. The sensible thing to do was to go to bed, but she was too comfortable sitting right here, and slowly her eyelids began to droop. Her last thought before she fell asleep was that she’d have to check all the window-latches before she retired for the night…

The fire was low, although the room was still warm, when she opened her eyes. There was a strange prickling sensation in her arm, but she ignored it as she stared up at the dark stranger who was bending over her.

‘Hello, Janene. How are you feeling?’

His features were slightly blurred, but there was no mistaking those blue eyes. ‘I knew I was going to dream about you,’ she mumbled. She felt as if she was floating on a warm, spongy cloud.

‘Yes. I said we’d meet again, didn’t I?’

‘I know you did. That’s why I’m dreaming about you.’ She was pleased at how clever she was to have worked that out.

‘Can you stand?’ he asked quietly.

‘Of course I can stand,’ she said indignantly. She struggled to her feet and swayed. Peering into his face, she said, ‘There! I’m standing.’

‘Hmm…’ He shook his head doubtfully. ‘I think I’d better carry you.’

She smiled. ‘Go ahead.’ He lifted her easily and, as he cradled her in his arms, she clasped her hands around his neck. ‘I suppose you’re going to take me through to the bedroom now.’ His lips were enticingly close and she felt reckless and abandoned. After all, this was her dream and she could do anything she damn well pleased.

‘Do you want me to take you to bed?’ he asked softly.

‘I don’t mind,’ she replied, her eyes fixed firmly on his mouth. ‘After all those things you said to me at the party, it might be interesting to find out if you’re as good as you think you are.’

He gave a deep, throaty chuckle. ‘I am. But we don’t have time at the moment. That pleasure will have to wait till later.’

She frowned. This dream was getting disappointing. ‘Later might be too late,’ she said grumpily. ‘I could wake up at any minute.’

‘And if you did happen to wake up, you’d undoubtedly slap my face and demand to be put down immediately?’ he asked with a touch of irony.

She thought that over for a moment, then nodded. ‘Yes. I’d have to, wouldn’t I? I mean…I’m getting married to Damien very soon. I’d be cheating on him.’ His mouth was still close to hers and she wanted desperately to feel it against her own. Then slowly the dream began to fade, and she descended into a warm cocoon of darkness.

* * *

Someone was shaking her shoulder gently and she murmured sleepily, ‘Go away. I’m tired.’

The shaking persisted, and a woman’s voice with a French accent said, ‘We will be landing soon. I have brought you some tea. Drink it and you’ll feel better.’

Janene cautiously opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. Another dream. She was in a tiny lounge…sitting in a comfortable seat. The windows were small and she looked out. ‘Well! This was a new twist! She’d never dreamt of being in a plane before.

‘Please…take your tea.’

The girl was smiling at her. A pretty little stewardess in a light grey uniform. A door at the front of the lounge opened and Kassim entered. He took the cup from the stewardess and waited until she had departed back to the galley, then he said matter-of-factly, ‘This is mint tea. It’s very refreshing. I’m sure you’ll like it.’

Her eyes grew wider and the first stirrings of panic rose in her throat. This wasn’t a dream! This was real! She could even smell the mint in the tea from here. Looking at him in utter disbelief, she spluttered, ‘You—you’ve kidnapped me!’

A hint of mockery glinted from his blue eyes. ‘Yes…I suppose it appears that way to you.’ He offered her the cup once more. ‘Do you want this or not?’

‘You’ve kidnapped me!’ she repeated in a voice of incredulity. ‘You came to the cottage last night! I—I thought I was dreaming.’

‘That would be the effect of the drug.’ he said calmly. ‘But you’ve no need to—’

‘You drugged me?’ She shot to her feet in outrage and dashed the cup from his hand.

He surveyed the broken china and stained carpet at his feet, and shook his head. ‘Tut, tut. I didn’t realise that English girls went in for smashing crockery. I thought it was only volatile Italian ladies who did things like that.’ He looked up and gave her an apologetic shrug. ‘I merely administered a sedative which—’

‘You stuck a damned needle in my arm,’ she accused him hotly. ‘I remember feeling it now.’

He went on smoothly, ‘As I was saying, a sedative which is perfectly safe and non-addictive. It’s the same thing they give to patients in hospital a few hours before an operation. It soothes and calms the nerves.’

‘So now you’re a doctor, are you?’ she fumed.

‘I studied medicine in Paris for five years,’ he informed her casually, then added, ‘Anyway, it was imperative that I got you to safety before the police arrived.’ He smiled at her look of incredulity and explained, ‘I was informed at the very last minute by certain…friends of mine that officers from the Drug Squad were due to swoop on the cottage at five a.m.’

She snorted. ‘Well, if that’s the best you can come up with—’

‘Damien dealt in cocaine,’ he informed her quietly. ‘A lot of the stuff is cached somewhere in your cottage.’

She stared at him in angry silence for a moment, then snapped, ‘I’ve never heard such rubbish in my life. I don’t believe a word of it. You’re making it up.’

‘And that’s precisely why I had to sedate you,’ he pointed out. ‘There was no time to argue with you, or to search the cottage and get rid of the stuff before the police arrived.’ He paused, then went on reflectively, ‘I’ve no doubt that you’d have been able to prove your innocence eventually, but you might have had to spend a few uncomfortable weeks in custody. I sincerely regret having had to resort to such tactics, but I had no alternative.’

‘Oh, you’re going to regret it all right!’ she promised heatedly. ‘Assault and kidnapping and—and slanderous accusations against an innocent man. As soon as we land I’m going to report you to the authorities. You’ll probably spend the rest of your life in prison.’

His eyes were unwavering, and his thin lips stretched and twisted into a cynical smile. ‘I’m sorry to dash your hopes for my downfall. When we arrive at our destination, you’ll find that I’m the only authority there is.’ He paused and studied her expression, then added drily, ‘However, if you submit your complaints to me in writing I’ll attend to them in due course.’

She sat down in defeat and glared up at him. It was a long time since she’d felt as outraged as this. Things like this weren’t supposed to happen in this day and age. At least, not in England. My God, you weren’t even safe in your own house at night! Suddenly she lurched to her feet again and strode towards the lounge door.

His arm shot out and restrained her. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘To see the pilot,’ she snapped, struggling to get past. ‘I’m going to tell him what’s happened and demand that he turn back and take me home immediately.’

His dark face hovered over hers and he teased softly, ‘How beautiful you look when you’re in a temper. There’s a glow on your skin and a positive sparkle in your eyes.’

‘Let me pass!’ she demanded furiously.

He lowered his arm and shrugged. ‘Go ahead. But you’ll be wasting your time. This is my plane and the pilot only obeys my orders.’

She drew in her breath. ‘Your plane?’

He flashed his white teeth at her in a smile of affirmation, then said, ‘Perhaps you’d like to sit down now and I’ll have “my” stewardess fetch you another drink.’

She slumped down in her seat and looked up at him bleakly. She was beginning to remember, with some embarrassment, the things she’d said to him last night in her dream-state, before the sedative had taken full effect.

‘What happened after I passed out last night?’ she asked suspiciously.

He pressed a bell for the stewardess, ordered another cup of tea, then drawled, ‘After you passed out I carried you outside, put you in a car, drove you to a private airfield and lifted you aboard this plane.’

‘And that’s all that happened?’ she asked doubtfully.

His blue eyes narrowed and became icy. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting that I took advantage of your condition?’

‘Why not?’ she retorted. ‘You’ve done everything else. I wouldn’t put it past you.’ She stared back at him resentfully. ‘You say that you studied medicine and that you own this plane. That means you’re a man of intelligence, at least. If that’s the case, can you tell me why you’re doing a stupid thing like this? I’ve got a good idea what you’ve got in mind, but it won’t do you any good.’

He raised a mocking eyebrow. ‘Don’t be too sure. I recall the conversation we had at the party. You told me that you had nothing against me as a person and that, in fact, you found me quite attractive.’

Her mouth dropped open in protest, then she reminded him acidly, ‘I also called you egotistical. That was the understatement of the year, now I come to think about it. A dangerous and conceited oaf would have been nearer the mark.’

‘My faults are many,’ he conceded with a crooked grin. ‘But in time you will learn to overlook them. After those amorous overtures you made to me last night, I have every confidence in our future relationship. You and I, Janene, are going to give each other exquisite and eternal pleasure.’

His reference to last night made her inwardly cringe, but she said coldly, ‘So it doesn’t mean anything to you that I’m in love with another man?’

His deep laugh grated across her raw, exposed nerves. ‘You may have intended to marry Damien, but I doubt if you were ever seriously in love with him.’

She felt herself flushing, and was on the point of retaliating with some crushing remark when the stewardess returned and handed her a fresh cup.

Conscious of Kassim’s blue eyes stripping and caressing her in anticipation, she sipped the tea, then laid down the cup and averted her head to stare out of the window. Far below, she saw green rollers and white surf washing along countless miles of deserted golden beach. Inland there was nothing but scrub growing in a barren landscape of red earth and rock.

‘Would you mind telling me where we are?’ she asked bitterly.

He chuckled. ‘The far side of the moon,’ he said, reminding her of the sarcastic statement she’d made at the party. Satisfied that he’d scored a point, he went on, ‘What you see below you is the Atlantic Ocean and the coast of south-west Morocco.’

She simmered away in silence for a few more minutes as he settled himself in the seat beside her. Dark, suspicious thoughts were tormenting her mind and the more she tried to ignore them the more persistent they became. Undoubtedly she’d get to the truth sooner or later, but her more immediate problem was how to deal with this situation.

Her nerves tautened and her leg twitched as he placed his hand on her thigh, just above the knee. ‘Don’t be discouraged by the view, Janene,’ he whispered in a voice of silky seduction. ‘I’m offering you much more than rocks and sand. You will shortly find yourself in a private little corner of paradise.’

His hand began gently stroking her thigh, but, instead of telling him to stop, she said unsteadily, ‘I—I don’t care what it’s like. You—you can’t keep me there against my will.’

‘I won’t need to,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘Once you have drunk at my well, no water will ever taste as sweet again. You will stay because you will be a prisoner of your own awakened desires.’

Her chest was getting tight, and she gulped, ‘Are all Moroccan men as conceited as you are? If they are, then I pity the poor women who have to put up with it.’

‘Not conceited, my little English rose. Just confident in the knowledge that we are experts in the art of physical pleasure. In our culture, it’s a man’s duty to recognise and cater for a woman’s needs.’ He gave her thigh a final squeeze, then said, with tongue in cheek, ‘There is nothing I would like better than to give you a demonstration here and now, I myself have a desire that needs urgent consummation, but my appetite shall remain under control for the moment.’ His hand came up and slid sensuously across her stomach, causing her heart to race. He reached for her seatbelt, and gave her a wide and wicked smile. ‘We’ll be landing shortly. Allow me to strap you in.’

CHAPTER THREE

THE plane was banking gently to the left, giving her a good view of the scene below. Atop a craggy headland that thrust its way out into the sea in defiance of the crashing rollers were the ruins of an ancient fort. This crumbling reminder of a dark and violent past overlooked a busy harbour which was filled with colourful fishing-boats. Behind the ruins lay the town, a sprawling, disorganised jumble of square white buildings and narrow, twisting alleyways. Beyond the town, terraced riverbanks were green with fruit and palm-trees, while down at the river-edge women pounded their washing on stones.

The ‘airport’ was nothing more than a cleared strip of scrubland about two miles east of the town. In a cloud of dust the plane touched down and rolled to a halt in front of a huge, barn-Jike shed.

Kassim undid his seatbelt, then helped her to her feet. The stewardess opened the door, and as Janene looked out she saw the heatwaves shimmering in the air.

The driver of a stretched limousine already had the rear door opened and, as soon as she and Kassim were settled in the air-conditioned interior, he sped towards the town.

Acutely conscious of her helpless situation, she sat in prim, tight-lipped silence. Perhaps the way to deal with him was to treat him with total indifference, to retreat into a world in which he played no part. The ultimate snub. No one could put up with that for long. Least of all a man with an ego as big as his.

Then again, she wondered uneasily, was it really possible to ignore a man whose eyes could strip you at a glance and whose slightest touch sent flames of desire rampaging through your body? Well, she’d never been put to the test yet, but she knew she was going to find out before long.

The car approached the town in a swirl of red dust, and slowed down as its progress was hampered by the other traffic making its way into town: tall, robed men leading camels, or donkeys laden with baskets, or small herds of sheep and goats. Soon the streets became narrower and more crowded until, within the town centre proper, the pace was reduced to a mere crawl as the car inched and snaked its way through the crowded alleways.

Even with the car windows closed, she could hear the bedlam of noise. Above the tinny blare of hundreds of transistor radios, merchants cried their wares and customers haggled over prices. Women, laden with baskets, babies clinging to their backs, drew their robes tighter and pushed their way through the jostling mass of humanity.

Beyond the market-place the road widened and, directly ahead of her, overlooking the squat, whitewashed houses, Janene could see the ruined fort. Suddenly the driver made a sharp left-hand turn and drew up outside a massive, iron-studded door set in a stone archway. At a blast from the horn the door swung inwards and the car entered a large courtyard.

At Kassim’s prompting, she reluctantly got out and studied her surroundings in silence. The walls were high, and as she heard the servants close and bolt the heavy door she bit her lip. The feeling of being trapped and at this man’s mercy tightened a knot in her stomach.

Taking her firmly by the arm, Kassim led her past an ornamental fountain and colourful flowerbeds towards another door. With a display of gallantry, he opened it and ushered her through into an inner courtyard and, despite her resolution to maintain an air of indifference, her eyes widened and she stifled a gasp. The surrounding walls were covered in decorative tiles, while masses of flowers made a glorious blaze of colour: datura, dahlias, sunflowers, oleanders, and geraniums in tall, clay pots. Right at the centre there was a sunken swimming-pool in sea-green marble. At the far side of the courtyard an archway led to the interior of the house. She took a quick glance around, impressed by its elegance and décor—priceless carpets on the floor and solid mahogany, French-style furniture. In the air hung the sweet smell of cedarwood.

Kassim peeled off his jacket and tossed it carelessly aside. ‘This is the end of our journey, Janene. Do you think you’ll be comfortable here?’

She tried her best to ignore him, but was finally forced by his insistent stare to offer a nonchalant shrug.

His eyes glittered with amusement. ‘Too overcome with awe to find your tongue?’ he asked solicitously. ‘Ah, well, that’s understandable. C’est magnifique, n’est-cepas?’

It certainly was, she thought darkly, but he’d probably stolen it.

He took her by the arm again. ‘Come along and I’ll show you the rest of the place.’

A marble stairway led to the upper part of the house. Throwing open a door, he invited her inside. It was cool and dark until he opened the shutters on the window overlooking the pool in the courtyard below.

‘This will be our bedroom,’ he announced cheerfully.

‘What the hell do you mean, “our” bedroom?’ she demanded fiercely, her vow of silence shattered.

‘What’s wrong? Isn’t the bed large enough?’ he enquired, with a mocking lift of his dark eyebrows. He eyed the bed doubtfully. ‘You may be right. In the throes of passion we may end up on the floor. I’ll have it changed immediately.’

‘I’m not sleeping anywhere with you,’ she said hotly. ‘If I have to be incarcerated in this Hollywood film-set, I demand a room of my own.’

His blue eyes taunted her. ‘I’m sure I can persuade you to change your mind. Just think of all the fun you’ll be missing.’

She folded her arms, tapped her foot and glared at him.

‘Hmm…’ he drawled. ‘Your skin has gone that wonderful colour again. Is it only your face that’s affected, or does that flush spread over your entire body? I must satisfy my curiosity.’ He raised his hand and beckoned her closer with his finger. ‘Come here, my little English rose.’

‘Stop calling me that,’ she grated. ‘I’m not your little anything.’

He derided her with a sardonic smile. ‘There’s no sense in postponing the inevitable. You’re only making things awkward.’

‘Good!’ she snapped. ‘I intend to be as awkward as I can until you stop all this nonsense and let me go home.’

He spread his arms and looked surprised. ‘But this is your home from now on. What do you have in England to compare with luxury and comfort such as this?’

‘Control of my own life, for one thing,’ she retorted. ‘Freedom of choice and freedom to go where I like.’ She paused, then added bitterly, ‘And the right not to be dictated to by anyone.’

‘Control of one’s own life is an illusion,’ he replied smoothly. ‘We are all the victims of fate and circumstance. One can only make the best of what one is given.’

She gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘I’m not interested in entering into a philosophical debate with you.’

‘Good,’ he drawled. ‘Women shouldn’t concern themselves over such matters. As for freedom…you can leave the house any time you like. I shall provide a suitable escort for you. You can go into the town or down to the beach.’

‘And my escort will make sure I go no further?’ she asked drily.

‘You would get lost in the desert,’ he pointed out in a tone of dire warning. ‘If you were lucky, you would die of thirst. If you were unlucky, you would be caught by some tribe of wandering outcasts who’d make you wish that you had died of thirst.’ He appealed to her with a fiendish smile that made her think of a shark getting ready for lunch. ‘On the other hand, if you stay here you will be given anything your heart desires. Within reason, of course.’

The resentment in her green eyes turned to resigned acceptance. ‘All right…’ she said in a dull voice. ‘Is it within reason to ask for something to eat? I’ve had nothing since supper last night.’

He looked contrite, but it was probably just an act. The only thing he seemed to take seriously was his avowed intention of getting her into bed.

‘A thousand pardons,’ he intoned. ‘I am remiss in my duties as a host.’ He strode over to the wall and pressed a button to summon a servant, then grinned at her, ‘What would you like to order, Janene? A plate of figs? Some almonds? Goat-cheese?’

‘No, thanks,’ she said grimly. ‘I’d like orange juice, coffee, toast and marmalade and two soft-boiled eggs.’

He gave an ironic little smile. ‘A typical English breakfast. You’d rather cling to familiar customs than face the unknown?’

‘I’ve had goat-cheese and I don’t like it,’ she informed him coldly. ‘And I’ll also need fresh clothes. You didn’t give me the opportunity to pack before you drugged me.’

‘Clothes will be provided,’ he assured her smoothly.

‘I don’t mean those funny black robes I saw the women in town wearing,’ she warned. ‘Jeans will do fine.’

‘Determined not to go native?’ he asked mockingly. ‘A pity. I think a caftan or haik would suit you.’

She was about to tell him that the native clothes she’d seen so far were the drabbest she’d ever encountered, when she caught sight of the young girl gliding silently into the room. Slim, with large, dark, liquid eyes, she was dressed in a robe of shimmering turquoise with gold edging. A headscarf of the same material was drawn under her chin and tied on top.

She smiled shyly at Janene and bowed to Kassim.

For a while he stood talking to her in some strange, guttural tongue, then she bowed again and drifted out of the room, as silent as a falling leaf.

‘Well, Janene, breakfast will be served by the poolside in half an hour.’ he informed her briskly. He pointed to the door. ‘You can shower and freshen up there, meanwhile. Kebira will fetch you something suitable to wear.’

‘Kebira?’

‘The servant-girl you just saw. From now on she is your personal maid.’

She looked at him in surprise, then said firmly, ‘I don’t want a personal maid. I’m quite capable of looking after myself.’

‘Are you really?’ he asked with cynical amusement. ‘That isn’t the impression you’ve given me up till now. When you’re left to your own devices you seem to get yourself into all kinds of trouble.’ He saw the red spots of anger on her cheeks, and went on in a placating tone, ‘Come, now, Janene. It isn’t much to ask. As my consort, it’s only fitting that you should have a personal maid. Besides, Kebira will feel terribly insulted and depressed if you reject her. In her eyes, it is a great honour to be chosen for such an important position in the household.’

She rolled her eyes heavenwards, then said scathingly, ‘Kidnapping and emotional blackmail. There’s nothing you’ll stop at to get your way, is there?’

He shrugged. ‘A talent I inherited from my illustrious ancestors. Now, I suggest that we bathe together and enjoy the pleasure of—’

‘I’ll bathe by myself,’ she cut in icily. ‘You can go and cool off in the swimming-pool.’

He heaved a sigh of disappointment, then gave a philosophical shrug. ‘No matter. I can wait. The greater the hunger, the more satisfying the meal.’ His blue eyes taunted her mercilessly, then they hardened. ‘It would be inadvisable to try my patience too long, however. I’m a man who doesn’t take kindly to being thwarted in his ambitions. That is another trait I inherited from my ancestors.’

As he strode from the room his threat still rang in her ears, making her skin prickle, and she hurriedly locked herself in the bathroom.

Everything she’d seen about this house so far spoke of pampered luxury, and the bathroom was no exception. There was a sunken bath in coral-pink marble, large enough to keep a school of dolphins happy, and, unless she was mistaken, the taps were solid gold. The walls and ceiling were covered in dazzling ceramic tiles, as were the two shower-stalls. An adjoining room held a sauna and an exercise area with more equipment than would be found in the average gym. Behind a partition she found dozens of coloured bath-towels and robes. There was even a selection of shower-caps, and, grabbing what she needed, she made her way to one of the showers and began undressing.

As soon as the water ran hot she stepped under the shower and closed her eyes in relaxation. After a few moments she began lazily soaping herself, and her thoughts turned to Kassim. Disturbing yet exciting thoughts. In her imagination he was here beside her, his dark and lithe body naked and glistening. As they moved over her breasts, her hands became his hands. She threw her head back and her body became taut and receptive to the waves of sensual pleasure sweeping—

Suddenly her mind snapped into place, and, angry at her weakness and lack of self-control, she turned the shower off. Dammit! She was the one who should have been cooling off in the pool.

Kebira was waiting patiently in the bedroom with a selection of underwear and clothes spread out on the bed. She immediately smiled and began chattering away excitedly.

Janene returned the smile and raised a restraining hand. ‘Hold on, Kebira! Can’t you speak English?’

The large, liquid eyes blinked solemnly.

‘Français?’

Another blink. ‘Oui, madame. Un—un peu.’

‘Never mind. I only speak it un peu myself. We’ll get along fine in sign-language.’ She looked at the display on the bed and wondered where all the brand-new underwear had come from. His harem’s wardrobemistress, probably. The underwear was mostly silk, and there were fabulously coloured robes and caftans, blouses and skirts. But not a pair of jeans in sight.

She eventually settled for black silk trousers and a white silk blouse. The trousers were loose and baggy and tied at the ankles, and the blouse was covered in exotic embroidery.

When she had completed her dressing, she examined herself critically in front of a large mirror until Kebira dragged her by the hand, made her sit at a dressingtable, then attacked the mass of red hair with a silverbacked hairbrush.

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