The Desert King's Blackmailed Bride

‘And you want me,’ Rashad told her with maddening confidence.

Polly’s eyes opened and her hands knotted into fists. ‘I think you’ve—’

‘No, don’t fight me…it turns me on and if you do that I can’t promise to keep my hands off you as I should,’ Rashad framed in a roughened tone of warning.

‘It turns you on…’ Polly repeated in wonderment.

‘Because nobody ever fights or argues with me. You can have no idea how boring that becomes,’ Rashad admitted grimly.

In possession of a very sparky and forceful sister, Polly almost disagreed because she could not imagine finding pleasure in the apparently stimulating effect of dissension. Instead she said nothing, she simply shook her head. ‘Sexual attraction is not a good basis for marriage—’

‘It is for me,’ Rashad countered without hesitation. ‘I am convinced that you would make me the perfect wife.’

‘But nobody’s perfect!’

‘More perfect than flawed,’ Rashad qualified smoothly. ‘The discovery that you have Dharian blood in your veins only adds to your appeal. This is your world now as much as it is mine and you have a family who will love and support you here.’

Polly bent her head down to escape the temptation of his glittering dark eyes. It was a powerful argument to know that there was another world and another family for her to explore. Apart from her sister she had never had a caring family to lean on, which was why Hakim’s welcome had meant so much to her. She wanted to get to know that family and their culture, she wanted to spend time with them, which, with the cost of travel set against her low salary, would be very difficult once she returned home as scheduled at the end of the week.

‘There would be advantages and disadvantages to marrying me,’ Rashad outlined with dry practicality. ‘I do not believe you would be unduly influenced by my wealth but as my wife you would be very rich. On the other hand, you would lose the freedom to do and say exactly as you wish because royals are expected to behave according to protocol. Sometimes that protocol feels stifling but it is there for our protection.’

Polly flushed very pink because although he had said he hoped she would not be unduly influenced by his wealth, her mind had immediately flown to the good she could do with more money and she was mortified by that embarrassing moment of unwelcome self-truth. But poor Ellie was steeped in student debt and struggling and would be for many more years to come. Moreover, both sisters were desperately keen to trace their missing youngest sister, Penelope, and get to know her, but the hiring of a private detective was utterly beyond their financial means at present. She swallowed hard, ashamed of her thoughts and deciding that money had to be, in truth, the root of all evil and temptation.

‘What happened to your first wife?’ she asked him abruptly to escape those shameful thoughts of wealth and what she could do with it.

‘Ferah contracted blood poisoning from a snake bite and died five years ago,’ Rashad revealed in a harshened undertone. ‘She did not receive medical attention quickly enough.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured automatically because her mind was reeling under the burden of all that he had said and her own desperate confusion.

‘Do you have an answer for me?’ Rashad prompted with an air of expectancy on his lean, strong face.

‘Not yet,’ she admitted, matching his honesty.

Her brain had flatly rejected marrying him at first. They barely knew each other and it would be insane…and yet? She did want him, in fact she wanted him more than she had ever wanted any man and she was not an impressionable teenager any longer. In fact, what if she never met another man who made her feel the same way that Rashad did? That terrible fear held her still and turned her hollow inside because he made her feel alive and wanton and all sorts of things she had never felt before. And what was more, she was discovering that she liked the way he made her feel.

‘Perhaps I can help you to make up your mind,’ Rashad murmured with silken softness. ‘You will see it as a form of blackmail but in reality it is the only possible alternative if you do not wish to marry me—’

Polly’s head reared up, blue eyes wide and bright. ‘Blackmail?’ she exclaimed in dismay. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘If you don’t marry me, you will have to leave Dharia immediately. Only your departure will e

nd this madness on the streets and in the media.’

Polly was aghast at that cold-blooded conclusion. ‘You’re willing to throw me out of the country?’

Hard dark eyes held hers. ‘If that is what it takes, yes…and naturally I would not wish you to return in the near future,’ he decreed harshly.

Polly was shaken by that solution because she had been planning to get to know her grandparents, her newly discovered Dharian family. She had no doubt that Hakim and his wife would be willing to visit her at least once in London but it would not be the same as staying on in Dharia and having the chance to explore her father’s heritage and culture for herself.

‘I cannot allow the current security situation to continue,’ Rashad informed her grimly and he went to the doorway of the tent to clap his hands. ‘We will have tea while you consider your options.’

Polly didn’t see how tea was going to be the answer to anything but the sheer amount of entertaining ritual involved in the brewing of tea by two robed men at least gave her something to watch while her brain struggled to deal with a rising tide of anxiety. He was using blackmail even if on one level she could understand his position. It was very unfair from her point of view, though, that she should have to suffer for something that was in no way her fault. In many ways by piling on that extra pressure of an immediate departure, he was taking her right to choose away from her.

‘Seriously…’ she began furiously, ‘you would actually force me to go home?’

‘When it comes to what is best for my country I will always do it,’ Rashad countered with a roughened edge to his dark deep drawl. ‘That is my duty.’

Polly compressed her taut lips, her hand clenching angrily round her cup. She knew he meant it. It was stamped in the resolve that had hardened his lean, darkly handsome face. Either she stayed on in Dharia and agreed to marry him or she went home again and stayed there. She didn’t need to be pregnant to be offered a shotgun marriage, she reflected angrily. That was what he was offering her with the crowds providing the firepower of pressure.