His.
Only ever his.
‘I am displeased,’ he said, with a silky and dangerous menace. ‘Would you care to explain what he is doing there? Or do you make a habit of entertaining young men in your apartment?’
No, she would not care to explain herself, but she knew him well enough to realise that prevarication would be pointless. If any other man had spoken to her in that tone of voice she would have slammed the phone down. But this was a man like no other.
She thought about the dreams she had once cherished. Dreams about him which had taken on the quality of nightmares when she had learned the truth about him. At least living in America had allowed her to pretend that she was a different person from that foolish dreamer—and after a while it had became second nature to her and the pretence had become real. She was a different person.
And she would not let him spoil it now!
‘What do you want, Rashid?’ she sighed.
‘I think that perhaps it was a mistake to allow you to study in America,’ he observed in a hard voice.
‘I disagree.’
‘You dare to disagree with your sheikh?’ he questioned mockingly, but Jenna realised that there was a hard ring of truth to his imperious question.
I dare to defy you! she wanted to shout, but if she did that then it would be all-out war—and there would only be one winner. She forced herself to put the sound of pleasure into her voice. Once it would have been genuine—there would have been delight there, too—but no more. ‘At the time you put up few objections,’ she pointed out.
‘Because you twisted your father around your little finger!’ he retorted. ‘Convinced him that you should be allowed to travel. How persuasive you were, Jenna.’
‘What is done is done, and the past is past,’ she murmured in true Quador fashion. ‘Now, come on, Rashid—do tell me to what pleasure I owe this phone call. Such a surprise,’ she finished truthfully.
Rashid frowned. A surprise indeed, and several things had still not yet been explained. ‘And where is your sister?’ he questioned. ‘Does she approve of this friend of yours, with whom you are so intimate that he sees fit to answer your phone for you?’
‘Oh, don’t be so old-fashioned!’
‘But I am old-fashioned,’ he told her silkily. ‘Extremely old-fashioned. And you still haven’t answered my question. Does your sister approve of this friend of yours?’
‘Nadia approves of Brad,’ said Jenna woodenly, but her eyes widened with an expression of fear as she stared into Brad’s frowning face. If only Rashid knew that her sister was in love with Brad—that they were virtually living in the flat as man and wife. How his old-fashioned sensibilities would be outraged! ‘He’s a nice man,’ she finished, and hoped that the fear had not crept into her voice.
‘Was a nice man,’ Rashid corrected coldly.
Now the fear was out in the open and she made no attempt to hide it. ‘What do you mean by that?’ she whispered hoarsely.
He gave a short, almost cruel laugh. ‘Oh, I mean nothing more sinister than stating a fact, my sweet Jenna—simply that Brad and your life in New York will now become things of the past.’
‘I think it’s your turn to explain yourself,’ said Jenna steadily, even though her heart was bashing madly against her ribcage.
‘Can’t you guess?’ His voice had deepened into a beguiling caress. He remembered with a sudden deep ache the silken golden-brown of her hair and her deep amber eyes—so at variance with the other women of Quador. But she owed more than her looks to the inheritance of her American mother, he realised, a pulse beginning to beat at his temple. He wondered just how independent her life in New York actually was. And he wondered how many men ‘friends’ she had over there.
He should have put a stop to it long ago!
‘The time has come, Jenna,’ he said softly, and a sense of the i
nevitable began to heat his blood. He had embraced his destiny with a passion for all his life, and this particular destiny was no hardship.
Now she didn’t care—she would affect to misunderstand him. Surely he could not mean what she suspected he was about to say next. ‘Time for what?’
Rashid’s mouth tightened. There had been little contact between them over the past four years, other than the formal and highly chaperoned meetings when she’d flown home to see her family, but that had been necessary for all concerned. Sensibilities had had to be preserved. And when he had gazed on the gleaming gold of her hair, and the lush, almost sinful curves of her body which even the traditional flowing Quador clothes could not disguise, he had been almost glad of the company of the chaperon. Had understood completely the need for their presence.
She had sent him dutiful letters from New York in which she portrayed a life which sounded almost dull due to overwork. And because of this he had been prepared to tolerate her short burst of freedom. As his wife she would be expected to dedicate her life to charitable works; this was surely not a bad way to begin?
And she was a highly intelligent woman… Far better to allow her a little leeway than to clip her wings completely.
He narrowed his eyes. ‘I think you know very well what for, Jenna,’ he snapped. ‘It is time for you to return to Quador and become my wife!’