She shook her head again, repeating the movement, unaware that she was answering the opposite of her intention.
He grunted softly and stepped away. “Go now. Sleep well.”
He didn’t wait for her response. Instead, he opened the door for her where an assistant was waiting, and watched as she took a deep breath, rose, and walked to the door. She stopped beside him. “Nothing’s changed, Zavian. Nothing.” She continued through the door, and he closed it behind her with more force than he’d intended.
It wouldn’t take long to seduce her, because she was indeed mistaken. Everything had changed, and she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
As if in a daze,Gabrielle followed the assistant back to her suite of rooms. From the moment Zavian had stepped close to her, her body had betrayed her. It had dulled her mind until all she was aware of was him—his physicality, and desire for her. She couldn’t even remember what he’d asked her, all she’d been aware of were those narrow lips of his which others had always pronounced stern, but which she knew could create magic. His voice had played her senses, just as it ever had, his velvety rich tones vibrating to her core. His eyes had looked inside her and found her. She breathed deeply, trying to quiet her quickened heartbeat, seeking to extinguish the arousal that simply being with him had sparked back into life. Dammit,she’dsparked back into life.
She kept on walking, one foot in front of the other, her footsteps ringing out on the marble floor. She had only one month to endure, one month to keep herself safe from this man who’d trapped her simply to amuse himself, to retaliate for the fact that she’d left him. One month before she could free herself from this man whose future she could be no part of.
Chapter 3
Gabrielle scrolled through the list of bullet points in the email she’d received from the king’s office. Her work had been reduced to distinct black marks—like dark circles caused by gunshots—one after another, after another. It fitted somehow. Zavian was determined to show that no one took control of him, not his family, not his subjects, and not, apparently, his ex-lovers. Control by bullet point.
She scrolled back to the top of the list. Number one had been ticked off already. Planning meetings with the museum staff around the arrangements for the bi-millennial celebrations. It seemed she was hardly required for that. Everything was in hand, which brought her to number two. Now, this was a bit trickier. It had been decided—by whom, she didn’t know—that the exhibits needed more than simple dry descriptions. They needed stories giving their background and cultural significance, stories that would appeal internationally to the general public and which would make the pieces come alive.
Again, this was mostly in hand. Except for three pieces which had been earmarked for her. The Khasham Qur’an, pottery from an area in the desert which she and her grandfather had excavated, and a collection of poetry.
She sat back with a sigh, nibbling her fingertips as she contemplated why Zavian had selected these items for her alone. Because she did not doubt that he was behind this. Poetry, she could handle. She’d been raised by her poetry-loving grandfather and had helped him with his research. Pottery? Again, it wouldn’t be a stretch. She was more familiar with ancient Havilah pottery than the pots and pans in her small Oxford apartment. But what would be a stretch—atotalstretch—was the Khasham Qur’an. There was nothing she didn’t know about it. And there was no way she could share all she knew with anyone, least of all, Zavian.
She sighed and tossed a pen onto the table. She closed her eyes and groaned. She couldn’t do it. It had been a spur of the moment decision to buy the Qur’an when it had come up for sale at auction in London. She’d pre-empted the auction with an offer which the owner—a dealer who’d preferred to take the offer than risk scrutiny for a higher price—had accepted with alacrity. As far as she was concerned, there was only one place the Khasham Qur’an should be, and that was in Gharb Havilah. She knew she could have purchased it for less, given the shady dealings of the seller. Still, she wanted the money she’d accepted from Zavian’s father to be gone from her account. She’d taken it for one purpose only—to convince Zavian that he should leave her alone. His country needed him, it didn’t need her. If she’d done as he’d wanted and stayed with him, it could have destroyed his country.
But it was her weakness in buying the Qur’an and returning it to its place of birth, which had found her out.
She jumped as the shrill ring of her phone broke her concentration. She peered at the screen. Few people knew she was here, but the screen revealed the caller was unlisted. She tapped the screen reluctantly.
“Hello?”
“Gabrielle.” Zavian’s easily recognizable voice spoke her name as if identifying her for the first time.
“Zavian,” she replied, with equal force. He hesitated a moment, and she suddenly realized that few people would call him by his given name, now that his close family had died. Her heart softened despite her intentions. “Was there something you wanted?” she added, in a more conciliatory tone.
“A meeting. With you. Now.”
“Hm,” she grunted, pulling the phone from her ear and looking at it briefly in surprise. She tapped the screen so she could hear him more clearly, wondering if she’d imagined the peremptory tone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that.”
She distinctly heard the sharp intake of breath. “Gabrielle.” Her name rushed out on his breath, and she could have sworn she felt it tickle her skin. “A meeting in my office to discuss your work… if you’d be so kind,” he said, in a threatening undertone, which completely negated his words.
She folded an arm over her chest. “Of course, Your Majesty. I am yours to command,” she said, realizing her ironic tone was completely disregarded as she heard only the empty silence of the discontinued call.
He’d ordered her to him and had immediately hung up. What kind of man did that? She jumped up and glanced out the window in the direction of his office. But she knew the answer. A king, an autocrat, someone accustomed to being obeyed absolutely—this wasn’t the man she knew.
For a split second, she contemplated remaining in her office, considerednotobeying the summons. But only for a second, because she soon foresaw what would happen. Humiliation as he—or his staff—came for her. She rose and shook her head. She couldn’t stand much more of this.
She’d arrived in Gharb Havilah, intending to hide what she’d done for as long as possible. But, she now realized, that would only protract things. She checked her reflection in the mirror. No, she just might do the opposite of what he expected, to put him off his guard and to get herself out of here.
Gabrielle unhooked her abaya and scarf, which she always had ready on the back of her door. While women could wear what they liked inside the palace, the majority tended to wear variations of the abaya and scarf to meetings and outside in the city. Besides, she felt at her most comfortable in them.
When she opened her door, she found a security guard was waiting to take her to Zavian. They walked along a path beneath a colonnade providing shelter from the mid-day sun. The days were sweltering under the mid-summer sun. But the trickle of water never ceased, and the plants appeared immaculate, lush, and restful to the eye. Small birds flittered among the large vase-shaped flowers sucking the nectar before flying away, scarcely larger than an insect. Gabrielle had missed the beauty of this world. Its over-abundance, exuberance, and shimmering mystery and exoticism. For all of Oxford’s beauty, it seemed gray and lifeless after such a place as this, more ancient even than medieval Oxford.
As they moved through the palace corridors, the guard refused to converse with her, despite her many attempts. Instead, she found herself following his quick steps to a part of the palace she’d only ever been once before. The security guard stopped at a door.
She shook her head. “But this is the way to the—” Before she could finish her sentence, the guard opened the door to reveal a private study which was empty.
He smiled politely and left the room. She looked around, suddenly nervous. A large desk stood before the window, designed, no doubt, to awe the person entering the room. Apart from the walls of books, an informal space of two sofas and a couple of chairs surrounding a table completed the furniture. The last and only time she’d been here was when Zavian’s father had summoned her. It had been his private study, and was, no doubt, now his son’s.
She stood still, looking around, waiting for pieces of the puzzle to fall into place. Why had Zavian called her to this room to discuss work? Or was it a ruse simply to get her here? She drew in a calming breath, and then her eyes settled on a cabinet to one side. It was small and, from a glance, appeared to hold only a few select pieces.