Ridiculous. She wanted nothing to undermine her willpower, nothing to make her body needy. She only wanted one thing from men—and that was obedience. The same applied to a husband. She bit her lip when the familiar flutter of panic ran through her at the thought of a husband. She was putting it off, she knew. Despite urgings from her prime vizier, she’d been delaying the matter. The thought of lying with a man scared her to the core. But then she remembered how she felt when Xander looked at her—the flutter in her stomach, the shortness of her breath.
She gripped the rail and mentally shook herself. She needed to get herself out of this ridiculous state of mind. She turned her back on the verdant garden and went back inside her room.
Suddenly she stopped and frowned. Something was different.
“Hello?” she asked tentatively, looking into the shadows. Had someone entered her room? She glanced at the door. It was locked. The key was still there. That left the bathroom. She walked quietly over, opened the door and put on the light. Bright light flooded the room.
She frowned and flicked on the light in her bedroom. A quick scan revealed no one and nothing out of place. Then why had the fine hairs on her arms lifted? Why did she feel queasy and why were her legs trembling? It was a flight or fight reaction as adrenalin coursed through her veins, triggered by some invisible foe.
Her thoughts tumbled with speed as she went over her movements. She’d only stepped out onto the balcony for a few moments, not long enough for someone to enter the room. And they couldn’t besides, because she’d locked it.
She was going crazy. Nothing was different. And yet still she had a prickled sense up her spine that something was wrong. Something had shifted in the room. Her mother used to say that she had a sixth sense about these things. It wasn’t something she liked and she’d done her best to ignore it, but now she couldn’t.
She sighed and sat on the bed and rubbed her eyes. She put her head in her hands and then she saw it out of the corner of her eye. A piece of paper was neatly folded and placed on her pillow. She froze and the sickly chill returned. It hadn’t been there when she’d first entered the room a few hours ago. She’d have noticed because she’d slipped off her watch and placed it beside the bed, beside where the piece of thick cream paper now lay like a serpent, coiled and ready to strike.
If it hadn’t been there when she’d entered her room, how had it gotten there?
Her mind raced over what she’d done since she’d retired to her bedroom. She’d been about to shower and undress when the call had come from Xander. She looked at the small alcove where she’d talked with him. She’d have easily seen if someone had entered the room, but the door was locked and no one had passed through it. But… Her gaze rested on the french windows, still open to the night air. It was always the first thing she did when she entered the room—opened them wide to allow in the air. Hot or cool, she hated being cooped up without fresh air. After opening them, she’d gone directly to the computer where she’d sat, with her back to the open windows.
She licked her lips and walked over to the doors and looked out. Whoever had placed the letter on her pillow must have entered the room from the balcony. She looked around but saw no evidence of entry. Then she looked down the long drop to the garden below but it was too dark to see anything. She went inside, grabbed her phone and switched on the torchlight. With a trembling hand she shone it onto a tree, whose branches reached over the balcony. Immediately she saw a broken branch. Cautiously she took a step closer. The bark had been worn away in two places, as if something of pressure had rubbed against them. She shone the light to the ground, and her fledgling thoughts were confirmed. The undergrowth was trampled and there were two clear indentations in the springy grass to show where a ladder had been placed.
Terror filled her. She withdrew immediately and closed the french doors. With fumbling hands she pulled the curtains together and leaned back against them and closed her eyes. Her quarters and the garden lay at the center of a heavily guarded palace. No one could enter it without authority, without being known to the guards. That meant only one thing—whoever had left the message was known to the guards and, most likely, to her. The guards had either allowed the person to enter, or else they’d been dismissed. Either way, she was vulnerable.
With trembling hands she opened the letter.
I will take you to my bed, with or without your consent, because you need me as much as I need you, my love.
It was far more explicit than the other notes she’d received. The trembling in her hands carried on to the rest of her and she had to sit down to fight the weakness and nausea. Someone had been in her room and left a threat to rape her. But not any someone, someone who must be within her elite cadre of officials.
She picked up the phone and a voice answered, asking how they could help. She froze. Was it him? She cleared her throat and said that it was her mistake. She’d be retiring now, and no one was needed.
Who could she trust?
With a start, she turned to the computer. There was only one man who wanted nothing personal from her, which made him trustworthy. Xander wanted nothing from her and he was outside her ring of people she could not trust.
She turned on the radio so no one could hear her and quietly tapped in his contact details, her eyes scanning the room as she typed. It took him a long time to answer and when he did, she didn’t recognize him for a moment. Gone were the sharp clothes and western suit, his shirt was half-undone, revealing a chest which was hairier and more muscly than Elaheh had imagined. She was surprised at herself for imagining anything. Then the paper in her hand scrunched, reminding her of why she’d called him.
“Xander,” she said her voice hoarse. “I have no one else I can turn to.”
Xander listened to Elaheh—hervoice hoarse with fear, her face white. He could see her hand was shaking as she shifted her hair away from her face. Two things struck him. One, her hair—it was lustrous and beautiful, and loose. He’d never seen it loose before. If she did take off her hijab, her hair was always pulled back sleekly from her face into a tight knot as if she were scared of letting anything out of her control. It always pulled at her skin which was already tight, making it tighter, and her almond eyes lifted a little at the corners. It was like a mask. But that mask had dropped now and it had an electrifying effect on him.
Then she spoke and her usually firm and clear voice was shaky. He forgot his instant attraction and focused on her panicked eyes.
“What’s happened?” he asked, seating himself at the computer, all attention.
She pushed her hair from her face again and poked her head forward to the computer, her eyes large as they searched his. They were all he could see and he saw in them far more of the real Ela than he’d ever seen before. It caused a jolt which created a seismic shift in him. “I…” Her voice caught and so did his heart.
“Take a deep breath,” he instructed gently.
To his surprise she did as he said. “Right.” She nodded her head, opening her eyes wide as she struggled to take control. “I finished talking to you, went outside briefly, and then came back to my bed, and there was a note there which wasn’t there before I spoke to you. Someone had lain a note on my pillow while I was talking to you.”
He frowned. “And you’re sure it wasn’t there before our call?”
She bit her lip and shook her head. “Definitely not. I took off my watch and picked up my robe which lay across the pillow. I would have noticed it then. My sheets are black silk, the note was white.”
He was momentarily distracted by the thought of her lying upon black sheets. He hadn’t imagined her sleeping against black sheets. It suggested a sensuality which she hid so effectively he’d only suspected it was there. “Okay. So it was placed there when we were on our call.”
“I had my back to the bed.”