‘Put me down, you idiot,’ she begged, laughing. ‘Thank you,’ she said, smoothing down her hair which, thanks to the ministrations of a hairdresser who must be famous because he only had one name, hung like a smooth silky curtain down to her waist.
‘Thank me?’ Paul shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Thank you.’ He shook his head in admiration. ‘I don’t know how you did it, sis—but, thanks.’
Her eyes slid from his. ‘I didn’t do anything,’ she protested. She had wondered whether to tell Paul the truth, but had decided on balance not to. It would be pointless. Why make him feel guilty? Always supposing he actually took her seriously.
‘That’s not what the Parker guy said. He said you were Wonder Woman.’
‘No, he didn’t.’
‘No,’ Paul agreed, checking out his reflection in the mirror. ‘I might keep the beard,’ he mused, rubbing his hand against the sparse, patchy growth on his lower face. He appealed to Gabby. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think no.’
Paul sighed. ‘You’re probably right. The chicks don’t dig facial hair,’ he added with a mock leer.
‘Must you use that word?’ she asked with distaste. ‘While it annoys you—yes.’
Gabby rolled her eyes. ‘So, what did Mr Parker say about me?’
‘It’s always about you, isn’t it …?’ Paul teased. ‘Actually, the guy had an idea that you must have friends in high places. I put him straight. Mind you, I did start to wonder when they sent that car to pick me up. You should have seen it—about twenty feet long, and inside …’ He let out a long whistle and shook his head. ‘Then I realised.’
‘You did?’
He nodded. ‘They’re buttering me up.’
‘They are?’
‘Obviously.’
Gabby shook her head and looked bemused.
‘God, Gabby, you are so slow sometimes. They’re afraid of bad publicity. And—Is that chocolate?’ Distracted, he picked up a bar of chocolate that was amongst the contents that had spilled out of Gabby’s bag onto the table.
He mimed a roll of drums and said dramatically, ‘My first food as a free and exonerated man.’ He shoved a large chunk into his mouth, rolled his eyes and groaned. ‘Heaven,’ he said, before adding, ‘The thing is, they don’t want me suing them for false imprisonment or something.’
Gabby’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘You’re not thinking of doing anything like that, are you, Paul?’ she asked uneasily.
‘All I want to do is go home.’
Gabby’s shoulders sagged in relief. ‘You’re booked on the six-thirty flight this evening.’
‘Six-thirty? That barely gives me time to use room service.’ Paul flung himself down on the nearest sofa and threw a grateful look at Gabby. ‘You’re a miracle-worker, sis.’ His expression sobered as he asked, ‘How are Mum and Dad?’
‘You can ask them yourself later today.’
‘It’s been tough on them.’
She nodded. ‘They’ve coped well enough.’
‘Is there cable? Do you think I could get the match?’ Paul wondered.
Gabby, thinking of the anxiety she’d suffered, imagining him in some cell with no window, regarded Paul with amused exasperation. He had just been through an experience that would have traumatised most and permanently scarred some for life, and all he could think of was a soccer match. And it wasn’t an act either.
It must be nice, she reflected wistfully, to go through life with such a laid-back attitude.
‘Was it terrible? Prison?’ Gabby asked, feeling as usual like the responsible adult present, even though Paul was six years older than her.
Paul began to scroll through the channels, stopping when he found a cartoon he proclaimed to be his favourite.
‘If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.’
‘Turn down the empathy, Gabby, it’s not good for your blood pressure. I’ve not got post-traumatic stress or anything. What is there to say? It’s not meant to be nice, is it? It’s prison. But it wasn’t as bad as it might have been, and I knew I’d get out. I hadn’t done anything, and anyhow I had the A team on the job.’ He shot her an affectionate grin.
Gabby responded, marvelling at the way he had shrugged off his imprisonment the same way he shrugged off anything unpleasant that ever happened to him. Paul was, she reflected, nothing if not resilient.
‘You look different.’
Gabby was amazed that he had noticed. ‘You think so?’
‘New dress?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, thinking, New dress, new hair, new makeup … In fact when she had looked in the mirror before she had driven—or rather been driven—out of the palace earlier, she had hardly recognised the person who had looked back at her. If Paul, not the most observant of people, had noticed, the transformation must be even greater than she had thought.
‘It’s a different look,’ Paul observed, fingering the blue filmy fabric of the skirt that fell in soft folds to her knees.
‘But you don’t like it?’
‘Sure. I’m just used to seeing you in jeans. This makes you look a bit … um … untouchable,’ he decided, studying her new look.
‘Untouchable?’
Gabby was startled by the suggestion, but when she thought about it was not exactly displeased. The chances of Prince Hakim wanting to touch her were in her opinion fairly remote, and if she was cold and distant enough it would hopefully put him off her totally. Throwing many obstacles in the way of Rafiq’s plan could only be a good thing. And if, as she suspected, Rafiq was overestimating his brother’s sense of duty, it would not be long before Rafiq had to accept that people were not puppets.
But it was not her ability to be cold and distant to his brother that was troubling Gabby. Every time she thought of the way she had grabbed Rafiq and kissed him she wanted to curl up and die—and when she thought of him kissing her back the recognition that she hadn’t wanted him to stop was more than humiliating, it was beyond belief!
How was it possible? The feelings he had aroused in her were terrifying, the hunger and excitement totally alien to her nature. Why, of all the men she had ever met, was this angry, tragic, infuriating man the one who had awoken the dormant sensual side to her nature?
Of course he had a good side. She kept seeing his tired, beautiful face as Sayed had arrived at the Bahu encampment to escort her back to the palace yesterday. He cared so passionately about his people and his country that she couldn’t help but admire him and worry about him.
She clenched her teeth. No, she wouldn’t worry! The wretched man hadn’t even had the courtesy to let her know when or if he had returned to the palace. All she’d had was that stupid damned note this morning!
What was wrong with her? Was she one of those women who were attracted to what they couldn’t have?
No. For that theory to work she would have to want Prince Rafiq, and obviously she didn’t. Heat ignited low in her belly just thinking of him, but that was only a chemical reaction to a man who was the quintessence of everything male. Small wonder, really, that her hormones had been jolted out of their dormant state.
But she had them firmly under control now, so it was end of story, turn the darned page, Gabby, and get on with sorting out the next problem—namely, showing she was not queen material.
‘Well,