Shamed in the Sands Read online

  For a moment there was silence.

  Leila’s heart pounded against her ribcage as she heard the blatant challenge in his voice, which countered the silky way he emphasised her name. Her mind was in a muddle and her senses felt raw and exposed. She had taken a risk and she needed to follow it through, but it was proving more difficult than she’d anticipated. Everything so far was going according to plan but suddenly she was filled with a powerful rush of nerves. She wondered how she could have been so stupid. How she could have failed to take into account Gabe Steel himself and the effect he would have on her.

  She looked into his grey eyes. Strange, quicksilver eyes, which seemed to pierce her skin and see straight through to the bones beneath. She tried to find the right words to put her case to him, but everything she’d been planning to say flew clean out of her mind.

  She wasn’t used to being alone with strange men and she certainly wasn’t used to being in a hotel room with a foreigner. Especially one who looked like this.

  He was gorgeous.

  Unbelievably gorgeous.

  She’d read up about him on the internet, of course. She’d made it her business to do so once she’d discovered that her brother was going to employ him. She’d found out all the external things about Gabe Steel. She knew he owned Zeitgeist—one of the world’s biggest advertising agencies. That he’d been a millionaire by the age of twenty-four and had made it into multimillions by the time he reached thirty. At thirty-five, he remained unmarried—though not for the lack of women trying to get a wedding ring on their finger. Or at least, not according to reports from the rather more downmarket sources.

  She’d seen images of him, too. Crystal-clear images, which she’d gazed at with something approaching wonder as they’d flashed up onto her computer screen. Because Gabe Steel seemed to have it all—certainly in the physical sense. His golden-dark hair gave him the appearance of an ancient god, and his muscular body would have rivalled that of any Olympian athlete.

  She’d seen photos of him collecting awards, dressed in an immaculate tuxedo. There had been a snatched shot of him—paparazzi, she assumed—wearing faded jeans and an open shirt as he straddled a huge motorbike, minus a helmet. On one level she had known that he was the type of man who would take your breath away when you met him for real. And she hadn’t been wrong.

  She just hadn’t expected him to be so...charismatic.

  Leila was used to powerful men. She had grown up surrounded by them. All her life, she’d been bossed around and told to show respect towards them. Told that men knew best. She gave a wry smile because she had witnessed how cruel and cold they could be. She’d seen them treat women as if they didn’t matter. As if their opinions were simply to be tolerated rather than taken seriously. Which was one of the reasons why, deep down, she didn’t actually like the opposite sex.

  Oh, she deferred to them, as she had been taught, because that was the hand which fate had dealt her. To be born a princess into a fiercely male-dominated society didn’t leave you with much choice other than to defer. There hadn’t been a single major decision in her life which had been hers and hers alone. Her schooling had been decided without any consultation; her friends had been carefully picked. She had learnt to smile and accept—because she had also learnt that resistance was futile. People knew what was ‘best’ for her—and she had no alternative but to accept their judgement.

  Materially, of course, she had been spoiled. When you were the only sister of one of the richest men in the world, that was inevitable. Diamonds and pearls, rubies and emeralds lay heaped in jewellery boxes in her bedroom at the palace. Her late mother’s tiaras lay locked behind glass for Leila to wear whenever the mood took her.

  But Leila knew that all the riches in the world couldn’t make you feel good about yourself. Expensive jewels didn’t compensate for the limitations of your lifestyle, nor protect you from a future you viewed with apprehension.

  Within the confines of her palace home she usually dressed in traditional robes and veils, but today she was looking defiantly Western. She had never worn quite such figure-hugging jeans before and it was only by covering them up with her raincoat that she would have dared. She was aware of the way the thick seam of material rubbed between her legs. The way that the silky shirt felt oddly decadent as it brushed against her breasts. She felt liberated in these clothes, and while it was a good feeling, it was a little scary too— especially as Gabe Steel was looking at her in a way which was curiously...distracting.

  But her clothes were as irrelevant as his reaction to them. She had worn them in order to look modern and for no other reason. The most important thing to remember was that this man held the key to a different kind of future. And she was going to make him turn that key—whether he wanted to or not.

  Fighting another wave of anxiety, she opened the briefcase she’d been holding and pulled out a clutch of carefully chosen contents.

  ‘I’d like you to have a look at these,’ she said.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘What are they?’

  She walked over towards a beautiful table and spread out the pictures on the gleaming inlaid surface. ‘Have a look for yourself.’

  He walked over to stand beside her, his dark shadow falling over her. She could detect the tang of lime and soap combined with the much more potent scent of masculinity. She remembered him wearing nothing but that tiny white towel and suddenly her mouth grew as dry as dust.

  ‘Photographs,’ he observed.

  Leila licked her lips. ‘That’s right.’

  She watched him study them and prayed he would like them because she had been taking photos for as long as she could remember. It had been her passion and escape—the one thing at which she’d shown real flair. But perhaps her position as princess meant that she was ideally placed to take photos, for her essentially lonely role meant that she was always on the outside looking in.

  Ever since she’d been given her very first camera, Leila had captured the images which surrounded her. The palace gardens and the beautiful horses which her brother kept in his stables had given way to candid shots of the servants and portraits of their children.

  But most of the photos she’d brought to show Gabe Steel were of the desert. Stark images of a landscape she doubted he would have seen anywhere else and, since few people had been given access to the sacred and secret sites of Qurhah, they were also unique. And she suspected that a man like Gabe Steel would have seen enough in his privileged life to value something which was unique.

  He was studying one in particular and she watched as his eyes narrowed in appreciation.

  ‘Who took these?’ he questioned, raising his head at last and capturing her in that cool grey gaze. ‘You?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’

  There was a pause. ‘You’re good,’ he said slowly. ‘Very good.’

  His praise felt like a caress. Like the most wonderful compliment she had ever received. Leila glowed with a fierce kind of pride. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Where is this place?’

  ‘It’s in the desert, close to the Sultan’s summer palace. An area of outstanding natural beauty known as the Mekathasinian Sands,’ she said, aware that his unsettling gaze was now drifting over her rather than the photo he was holding. He was close enough for her to be able to touch him, and she found herself wanting to do just that. She wanted to tangle her fingers in the thick, molten gold of his hair and then run them down over that hard, lean body. And how crazy was that?

  With an effort, she tried to focus her attention on the photo and not on the symmetry of his chiselled features.

  ‘I took this after one of the rare downpours of rain and subsequent flooding, which occur maybe once in twenty years, if you’re lucky.’ She smiled. ‘They call it the desert miracle. Flower seeds lie dormant in the sands for decades and when the floods recede, they suddenl
y germinate—and flower. So that millions of blooms provide a carpet of colour which is truly magical—though it only lasts a couple of weeks.’

  ‘It’s an extraordinary picture. I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  She could hear the sense of wonder in his voice and she felt another swell of pride. But suddenly, her work didn’t seem as important as his unsettling proximity. She should have been daunted by that and she couldn’t work out why she wasn’t. She was alone in a hotel room with the playboy Gabe Steel and all she was aware of was a growing sense of excitement.

  With an effort, she forced her attention back to the photo. ‘If...if you look closely, you can see the palace in the distance.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Right over there.’ The urge to touch him was overwhelming. It was the strongest impulse she’d ever felt, and suddenly Leila found herself unable to resist it. Leaning forward so that her arm brushed almost imperceptibly against his, she pointed out the glimmering golden palace. She felt his body stiffen as she made that barely there contact. She thought she could hear his breath catch in his throat. Was his heart hammering as hers was hammering? Was he too filled with an inexplicable sense of breathless wonder?

  But he had stepped away from her, and his cool eyes were still curious. ‘Why did you bring these photos here today, Leila? And more importantly, why were those men pursuing you?’

  She hesitated. The truth was on her lips but she didn’t dare say it. Because once he knew—he would change. People always did. He would stop treating her like an ordinary woman and start eyeing her warily—as if she were a strange creature he had never encountered before. And she was enjoying herself far too much to want him to do that.

  So why not tell him part of the truth? The only part which was really important.

  ‘I want to work for you,’ she said boldly. ‘I want to help you with your campaign.’

  He raised his eyebrows in arrogant query. ‘I don’t recall advertising for any new staff,’ he said drily.

  ‘I realise that—but can’t you see that it would make perfect sense?’ Leaning forward, Leila injected real passion into her voice. ‘I know Qurhah in a way you never can, because I grew up here and the desert is in my blood. I can point you in the direction of the best locations to show the world that our country is a particular kind of paradise. I’ve done plenty of research on what a campaign like yours would involve and I know there’s room on this project for someone like me.’

  She stared at him hopefully.

  There was silence for a moment and then he gave a short laugh. ‘You think I’d hire some unknown for a major and very lucrative campaign, just on the strength of a pretty face?’

  Leila felt the sharp stab of injustice. ‘But surely my “pretty face” has nothing to do with the quality of my work?’

  ‘You don’t think so?’ He shot her a sardonic look. ‘Well, I hate to disillusion you, sweetheart—but without the raven hair and killer figure I’d have kicked you out of here just as soon as those goons had gone.’

  Leila tried to keep the sulk from her voice, because this was not what was supposed to happen. She couldn’t let it happen. She narrowed her eyes in a way which would have made her servants grow wary if they had seen her. ‘So you won’t even consider me?’

  ‘I won’t consider anything until you satisfy my curiosity, and I am growing bored by your evasion. I’m still waiting for you to tell me who those men were.’

  ‘My bodyguards,’ she said reluctantly.

  ‘Your bodyguards?’

  She had surprised him now. She could see it in his face. She wondered how he would react if she told him the whole truth. That she had been born to be guarded. That people were always watching her. Stifling her. Making it impossible for her to breathe.

  ‘I’m rich,’ she said, by way of an explanation. ‘In fact, I’m very rich.’

  His grey eyes were speculative. ‘So you don’t need the work?’

  ‘What kind of a question is that?’ she questioned heatedly. ‘I want to work! There’s a difference, you know. I thought a man like you would appreciate that.’

  Gabe acknowledged the reprimand in her voice. Yes, he knew there was a difference—it was just one which had never applied to him because he had always needed to work. There had been no wealth or legacy for him. No cushion waiting to bolster him if ever he fell. He had known only hunger and poverty. He had known what it was like to live beneath the radar and have your life subsumed by fear. He had needed to work for reasons of survival and for the peace of mind which always seemed determined to elude him. Even now.

  ‘Oh, I appreciate it all right,’ he agreed slowly.

  ‘So you’ll think about it? About hiring me?’

  He looked down into her beautiful eyes and felt his heart twist with something like regret. He saw hope written in their azure depths—just as he saw all kinds of passionate possibilities written in her sensual lips. What would happen if he kissed this beautiful little rich girl who had marched into his hotel suite with such a sense of entitlement? Would she taste as good as she looked? He could feel the savage ache at his groin as he realised how badly he wanted to kiss her and for a moment temptation washed over him again.

  But his innate cool professionalism reasserted itself and, regretfully, he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t work that way. I run my organisation on rather more formal lines. If you really want to work for me, then I suggest you apply to my London office in the usual way. But I suspect that you’ve blown your chances anyway.’ His eyes sent out a mocking challenge. ‘You see, a long time ago I made a decision never to mix business with pleasure.’

  She was staring at him, her nose wrinkling as if she was perplexed by his words. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ He gave an unconvincing replica of a smile. ‘Are you trying to tell me you haven’t noticed the chemistry between us?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Look, just take your photos and go,’ he interrupted roughly. ‘Before I do something I might live to regret.’

  Leila heard his impatient words and some deep-rooted instinct urged her to heed them. To make her escape back to the palace while she still could and forget all about this crazy rebellion. Forget the fairy-tale ending of a legitimate job with the hotshot English tycoon. Forget the film-script scenario and get real. She needed to accept her life the way it was and accept that she couldn’t just break out and change her entire existence.

  But her thoughts were being confused by the powerful signals her body was sending out. She could feel the honeyed rush of heat between her thighs, where the thick seam of her jeans was rubbing against the most secret place of her body. She wanted to wrap her arms around her chest to try to quell the terrible aching in her breasts, yet she knew that would only draw attention to them.

  Leila had read plenty of books and seen most of the current crop of films which had got past the palace censors. She might have been sheltered, but she wasn’t stupid. This was sexual attraction she was experiencing for the first time and she knew it was wrong. Yet even as she silently urged herself to get out before she made even more of a fool of herself, those rebellious thoughts came back to plague her.

  She thought about how her brother behaved. How her own father had behaved. She’d heard the rumours about their sexual conquests often enough. She knew that men often acted on the kind of attraction she was experiencing right now, if the circumstances were right. People sometimes got intimate after nothing more than a short acquaintanceship, and nobody thought the worst of them for doing so. Because physical love wasn’t a crime, was it?

  Was it?

  ‘What might you regret?’ she asked, but she knew the answer to her question as soon as the words had left her lips. Because you wouldn’t need to be experienced to realise why Gabe Steel’s face had darkened like that. Or why he
was staring at her with a hot, hard look which was making her feel weak.

  ‘Does your mother know you’re out?’ he questioned roughly.

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t have a mother. Or a father.’ She kept her voice light, the way she’d learned to do. ‘I’m just an orphan girl.’

  His eyes narrowed. Darkened. He winced, as if she’d said something which had caused him pain.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly and reached out to brush the tip of his thumb over her lips. ‘So sorry.’

  The weirdest thing was that Leila wasn’t sure if he was talking to her, or talking to himself. But suddenly she didn’t care because it was happening—just like in all the films she’d seen. He was reaching out and pulling her into his arms and she could feel the heat of his body as he moulded it against her. He framed her face with the palms of his hands and now his mouth was coming down towards hers. He seemed to be moving in slow motion, and Leila felt weak with excitement as her lips parted eagerly to meet his.

  Because for the first time in her life, a man was going to kiss her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  GABE FELT THE thunder of his heart as their mouths made that first contact. The warmth of her flesh collided with his and her skin smelt of flowers and spice. Desire flooded through him like fire but his hot lust was tempered by the cool voice of reason.

  This was insane.

  Insane.

  He thought about the way she’d burst into his suite and the surly-faced bodyguards who might return at any time. It was obvious she shouldn’t be here—and he was in danger of jeopardising a deal. A very important deal. He was here on business and due to dine at the Sultan’s palace in a little under two hours. There wasn’t time to make love to her properly—no matter how gloriously accessible she appeared to be.

  So for God’s sake, get rid of her!

  But the moment he chose to push her away was the moment she chose to wind her arms around his neck and to move her body against his and to whisper something breathless in a language he didn’t understand. The breath died in his throat as heat pooled in his groin and he was helpless to do anything other than deepen the kiss. He could feel the mound of her pubic bone pressing against his growing arousal—making his erection exquisitely hard and almost painful. Her tiny breasts were flattening themselves against his chest and, for the first time all day, his body felt warm instead of filled with the cold and aching memories of the past.