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She’d be brought to the American’s room like a gift-wrapped package. The door would shut, he’d smile at his luck and she’d say, very softly because the walls surely had ears, Thank God you’ve come. I’m an American, I was kidnapped. I’m supposed to keep you busy so that you’re deaf and blind to whatever the sultan is planning to do to you. We have to get out of this horrible place before that happens.

Instead she’d been delivered like a package, in front of the sultan. Okay, she’d thought. She’d wait until she and the American were alone.

It had never occurred to her he’d refuse Asaad’s gift.

The man’s eyes had glinted with desire when he saw her. His body had quickened. It had been impossible not to notice.

And then his hot stare had turned to ice. She had no idea why. She’d had to do something, and fast.

The way he looked—the hard face and muscled body, the stubble on his jaw, the faded jeans and leather boots—were almost overtly masculine. This was a man who wouldn’t take an insult lightly.

So she’d deliberately taunted him. That was the good news.

The bad was that it had worked too well. He’d ripped her bra in half, handled her with an icy lust that terrified her more than anything that had happened yet…

But it wasn’t too late. He was her countryman.

That had to count for something.

The guards at the palace doors snickered as he marched past them. The doors swung shut and she and the American were alone.

Now, she told herself, and took a breath. Despite everything, she knew she had to stay calm. Sound rational. If she did, surely, she could get through to him.

“Mr. Knight? That’s your name, isn’t it?”

The American began climbing the stairs.

“Mr. Knight. The sultan lied. I didn’t steal anything. I didn’t try to kill him. I’m not even named Layla.”

She knew he could hear her. There was no crowd, no noise, only the sound of his boot heels hitting the marble floor as he made his way down a corridor.

Why didn’t he say something?

“Did you hear me?” Still no answer. “Mister. Answer me. Say something. Tell me you understood what I—”

“Shut up.”

Leanna shrieked and pounded her fists against his back. It was about as effective as pelting a stone wall with pebbles.

“Damn you,” she screamed, and sank her teeth into his shoulder. All she got for her effort was a mouthful of denim shirt, but it got his attention.

“Do that again,” he snarled, “and I’ll reciprocate.”

“You have to listen! I know what Asaad told you, but—”

“You want to be gagged as well as tied?”

Oh God! He was as much a savage as the sultan. How stupid she’d been to think his nationality and hers would create a bridge of decency in this godforsaken place.

She heard another snicker of laughter, saw another pair of grinning soldiers. He brushed past them and stepped through a set of massive doors and into an enormous room.

A room dominated by a bed the size of a stage.

He dumped her on it, walked to the doors and shot the brass bolts.

“Alone at last,” he said coldly.

Leanna scrambled back against the headboard. “Mr. Knight,” she said desperately, “I know what you think…”