The door swung open. Amanda grabbed the sheet and dragged it up to her chin. “Excuse me. I didn’t…Abdul?”
The little man stood in the doorway, but he didn’t look quite so little now. He stood straight, arms folded, a look of disdain on his face. Two robed figures flanked him—two tall, muscular figures whose stance mimicked his.
A whisper of fear sighed along Amanda’s skin, but she spoke with cool authority. “Is it the custom to enter a bedroom before you’re given permission?”
“You are to come with me, Ms. Benning.”
“Come where? Has Lord Rashid sent for me?”
“I act on his command.”
That wasn’t the answer to her question. Amanda licked her lips. “Where is he? Where is the prince?”
The old man jerked his head and the robed figures advanced toward the bed.
“Dammit, Abdul! Did you hear what I said? When I tell Lord Rashid about this—”
“Lord Rashid has given orders that you are to be moved to different quarters. It is your choice if you come willingly or if you do not.”
Amanda’s heart banged into her throat. “Moved?”
“That is correct.”
“But where—where am I to be moved?”
The old man smiled. She had never seen him smile before.
“To the harem, Ms. Benning, where you will be kept in readiness for the pleasure of the Lion of the Desert for so long as he may wish it.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
AMANDA shrieked like a wild woman.
She cursed and kicked, and was rewarded by a grunt when her foot connected with a groin, but she was no match for the two burly men.
They subdued her easily, wrapped her in the sheet and carried her through the palace as if she were an oversize package, one man supporting her knees, the other holding her shoulders. Abdul headed the little procession up stairs and down, through endless corridors.
She kept screaming and kicking, but it did no good.
Her captors ignored her, and though they passed other people in the halls, nobody took notice. Nobody cared. As frightened as she’d been when Abdul’s henchmen grabbed her, that was the most terrifying realization of all.
Finally, the men came to a stop before a massive door. Abdul snapped out an order, the door groaned open, and Amanda’s captors stepped across the threshold and dumped her, unceremoniously, on the floor.
Abdul clapped his hands and the men backed from the room. The door swung shut. Amanda, shaking as much with rage as fear, kicked free of the sheet and sat up. She looked at Abdul, standing over her. He’d traded his shiny black suit for a long, heavily embroidered robe; his face was expressionless.
“You horrible old man!” Panting, weeping, she struggled to her feet, clutching the sheet around her. “You’ll rot in hell for this, Abdul, do you hear me? When I tell the sheikh what you’ve done to me…”
“I have done nothing to you, Ms. Benning. My orders to my men were very clear. They were not to hurt you, and they have not.”
“They trussed me up like a—a Christmas gift!”
An evil smile creased Abdul’s leathery face. “More like a birthday gift, I think.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“All will be explained in due time.”
“Listen, you miserable son of a—”
“Women do not use obscenities in Quidar,” the old man said sharply. “It is against our rules and customs.”
“Oh, no. No, that’s not the custom. Brutalizing women. Kidnapping them. That’s the custom.” She hung on to the sheet with one hand and pointed a trembling finger at Abdul. “You’re finished. I just hope you know that. When Lord Rashid hears what you’ve done—”
“There is food and drink in the next room, and clothing, as well.”
“I don’t care what’s in the next room!”
“That is your prerogative,” Abdul said calmly. “At any rate, Lord Rashid will be with you shortly.”
“You mean Lord Rashid will be with you, you bastard! And when he does, he’ll have your head.”
Abdul laughed. First a smile, now a laugh? Amanda knew that wasn’t good. She was more frightened than ever, but she’d have died rather than let the old bastard know it, so she drew herself up and glared at him.
“What’s so funny?”
“You are, Ms. Benning. You see, it was Lord Rashid who instructed me to have you brought here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Nick would never…”
Abdul turned his back to her, walked to the door and opened it. Amanda made a leap for it, but the door swung shut with a thud. She heard the lock click as the bolt slid home, but she grabbed the knob anyway, pulled, tugged…
The door didn’t move.
For a moment, for a lifetime, she stood absolutely still, not moving, not blinking, not even breathing.
“No,” she finally whispered, “no…”
Her voice rose to a terrified wail. She fell against the door, pounded it with her fists. The sheet she’d wrapped around herself fell, forgotten, to the floor.
“Abdul,” she shouted, “old man, you can’t do this!”
But he could. The silence on the other side of the door was confirmation of that. Her screams faded to sobs of despair. She gave the door one last jarring blow, then slid to the carpet.
God, what was happening? What was Abdul up to? What had he meant when he said Nick had told him to bring her here? It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. And that nonsense about taking her to the harem. Harems didn’t exist anymore, except in bad movies.
Okay. She had to calm down instead of panicking. Abdul had done this to frighten her, but she wouldn’t let that happen. She’d take deep breaths. Slow and easy. Breathe in, breathe out. Good. She could feel her pulse rate slowing. It was only a matter of time before Nick realized she was missing. He’d come looking for her. He’d find her—
“Ms. Benning?”
Amanda jerked her head up. A dark-haired woman stood over her, holding a pale green caftan over her arm.
“Would you like to put this on, Ms. Benning? Or would you prefer to choose something for yourself?”
“Thank God!” Amanda clutched at the sheet and shot to her feet. “Look, there’s been some horrible mistake. You have to get word to Nick—to Lord Rashid—”
“My name is Sara.”
Her name was Sara? Who cared about her name?
“Sara. Sara, you must find the sheikh and tell him—”
“Let me help you with this,” Sara said pleasantly. “Just let go of that…what is that anyway?” She gave Amanda a little smile. “It looks like a sheet.”
“It is a sheet! Two men came into my room—into Lord Rashid’s quarters—and—”
“Raise your arms, Ms. Benning. Now let me pull this over your head. That’s it. Oh, yes. The pale green is perfect for you.” Sara smoothed her hand over Amanda’s hair. “Such a lovely color,” she said, “but so short. Well, it will grow out, and when it does, I’ll plait it with flowers. Or perhaps Lord Rashid would prefer emeralds—”
Amanda slapped the woman’s hand away. “I’m not a doll! And I’m not going to be here long enough for you to plait my hair with anything.”
“I’m sure you will, Ms. Benning,” Sara said soothingly. “A favorite may be kept for months. Years, perhaps.”
“Dammit, I’ve no intention of becoming a ‘favorite’. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll find Lord Rashid and tell him—”
“Tell him what, Amanda?”
Amanda spun around. Nick stood in the doorway.
“Nick! Oh, thank God you’ve…”
Her words trailed to silence. It was Nick, wasn’t it? He looked so different. No jeans, no T-shirt. No carefully tailored suit and tie. Instead, he wore a flowing white robe trimmed in gold. He looked exactly as he’d looked in the Gossip photo. Tall. Proud. Magnificently masculine…
And heart-stoppingly dangerous.
He looked past her to Sara, who ha
d dropped to the floor at the sound of his voice. “Leave us,” he said brusquely.
Sara scrambled to her feet and backed quickly from the room.
Nick shut the door and folded his arms. “Well? What did you wish Sara to tell me?”
“Why—why, about this. About what Abdul did to me…”