The Sheik’s Captured Princess (The Samara Royal Family Series Book 4) (5 page)

Jurar touched the now-red skin of his cheek, impressed with the swiftness of her assault.  When he looked at her, his eyes were on fire.  “Good one,” he told her.  “It won’t ever happen again though.” 

Ciala moved away from him, terrified of the man as well as her reaction.  She’d never in her life been so angry.  She wasn’t sure if she was shaking from anger or from what he’d done to her body.  Either way, she was wrong.  Wrong to have let him get her so furious that she resorted to physical violence and wrong to have let him do those things to her. 

She realized that her bra was still unlatched and she moved further away, adjusting her clothes once again but it was hard because her fingers were shaking so badly.  When strong hands reached out to help her, she jerked away.  But the man caught her and spun her back around, pressing her against the table and latching her bra for her.  “There, you’re all back to normal, princess.”

He used her title as if it were an epithet and she hated him even more for that.  “Go to hell!” she snapped.

She started to move towards the doorway but he grabbed the wrist of her uninjured hand.  “We’re not finished here, princess.  You’re going to tell me what information you gave to the rebels.”

She swung around, trying to jerk her hand out of his grip but he was just too strong.  “If I promise that I have no connection to the rebels at all, will you leave me alone?”

Jurar saw the sincerity in her eyes but shook his head.  He wasn’t falling for her innocent act.  Not any longer.  “I saw the pictures, princess.”

“Stop calling me that!” she snapped.  “And give me back my camera!  I want all of those pictures!  If any of them are damaged I’ll...” she had no threat horrible enough for him.

“You’ll what?” he asked softly, pulling her closer to him once again.  “You’ll slap me?”   Closer still.  “Or maybe you’ll scratch my eyes out?”  Closer again.  “Or maybe you’ll give your body to me, find out all of my secrets and then sell them to your lover in the rebel group.  Is that the next threat?” he offered out.

Ciala closed her fingers into a fist, refusing to resort to violence once again.  “I told you that I’m not part of their group.  I only know that they exist but I’d never give them any information.  I don’t even have any information to give them.  In fact, they attacked me!  So you can just go to hell!”

His hand tightened on her wrist.  “Explain!” he commanded.

Ciala’s lips compressed with her stubborn refusal to bow down to this man’s authority. 

Jurar almost laughed at her stubborn refusal but stopped.  “Ah, so you want me to get it out of you with other methods, eh?” he asked and his grip changed.  Ciala knew that she still wouldn’t be able to get out of his hold, but instinctively, she knew that this was so much worse.  That sensuous look in his eyes was back and she was too inexperienced in the ways of men and women.  She knew she couldn’t handle his seduction and he’d just proven her inability to fight him.  She wasn’t going to let him reduce her down to a quivering mass again.

“Please don’t,” she whimpered, furious that she’d sounded so weak.  She couldn’t help it.  This man’s touch did something to her.  Maybe any man who touched her in that way might give her the same reaction.  She didn’t know because no man had ever gotten this close. 

“Are you going to tell me what I want to know?” he asked softly.  His other hand reached up and pulled her against him once more. 

Ciala felt his erection against her stomach.  She’d felt this before but her mind had been too focused on his hands to realize what was going on lower in this man’s body. 

She had to force her mind to concentrate on his words and not on…that part of him…lower on her stomach.  Looking up into his dark, furious eyes, she swallowed and shook her head slightly, trying to erase the fog of desire. 

“Will you promise not to tell my brothers what I’m doing?” she whispered, trembling so violently that she knew that he could feel it. 

“No,” he replied swiftly.  “Although I don’t anticipate having conversations with your brothers on subjects other than political ones.”

She bit her lower lip, trying to decide if he was telling her the truth.  “And what happens if those subjects stray to…other issues?” Her hand moved up higher, twisting her earring slightly as she tugged at her earlobe. 

Jurar wanted information and he was tired of dancing around the subject.  “Princess, if you don’t tell me what I want to know…” he left the threat hanging in the air between them but shifted slightly so that his leg was pressed between hers. 

“Fine!” she gasped, closing her eyes and trying to block out the sensations zinging through her with this new position.  She grabbed his wrists, trying desperately to pull his hands away but he was so much stronger than she was.  His hands weren’t budging!

“Please, you have to stop this.  I can’t…” she didn’t want to admit that he could so completely distract her, but the truth was most likely fairly obvious. 

“Tell me what I want to know, princess.”

She glared up at him, then looked away when the intensity of his eyes was too much for her.  “You use my title as if it’s a bad thing.”

“You’re stalling,” and his hands moved to touch her waist again. 

“Fine!” she almost screamed, not wanting him to touch her in any way.  “I’m not a spy though!  I swear I’m not a spy.  I’d never do that.”

Not good enough.  “Why were you in that area?  The rebels were all over, causing chaos.”

She shook her head forcefully, unaware that some of her hair was falling down around her shoulders, changing her look from cool and composed to one of a sensuous woman, intent on seduction.  “I don’t know anything about that.  I was there conducting interviews with couples who are knowledgeable about various religious beliefs and the different things they remember about using some of the less well known religious sites!”

Her words startled him.  Religious interviews?  Pictures of historical sites?  He looked down at her strangely.  “You’re really going to try and convince me that you’re…”

She wanted to smack him again!  Never had she felt this kind of anger…fury…that could result in violence.  “I don’t care if you believe me or not!” she snapped.  “Look me up.  I have a master’s degree in history and I’m working on my doctorate in religious historical theory.”

He didn’t know if that was true or not, but it was an easy fact to corroborate.  “And there aren’t enough religious sites in Kilar to fill your thesis?” he asked sarcastically.

She huffed a moment, irritated with his derision.  “Look you jerk,” she spat out, “there are plenty of sites all over both of our countries, but the really interesting ones are in Drakar.  There are shrines and mosques, some of them endorsed by the religious leaders and others that were built up by the people, free of any official sanctions.  I am studying those, trying to identify the reasons why some sites would be created by the official channels and others are built out of perhaps necessity or…well, that’s what I’m investigating.” 

She felt his hands loosen as she spoke and was relieved when she could move away, put some space between them.  She gripped the back of one of the chairs as she continued on.  When she could focus more on her words and not so much on how he was touching her, the passion of her subject increased.  She loved her subject matter, found it endlessly fascinating.  “Why are these shrines or temples built?  What caused them to go up?  And what’s even more interesting, there are some unsanctioned temples that were erected relatively close to the official sites.  What causes a group of people to worship in one area versus another?  Why is one place more important?  What draws a group of people to one site when another is so close and more elaborate?  It’s all very fascinating.”

Jurar listened, trying to determine if he was being duped yet again, or if she was on the level.  He wanted to believe her.  Everything inside of him wanted her statements to be true.  Hell, he wanted her to be telling him the truth so that he could release his hold on his raging need for this woman and move forward with his lust. 

But he held back, not trusting her.  She was too beautiful and too lovely for words.  He’d learned over the years that the more beautiful the woman, the less trustworthy she was.  Women knew how to manipulate men, to gain power by controlling men.  He could very easily see how this particular woman could get into his head and make him crazy. 

Not today, he thought.

Stepping back, he moved restlessly around the room, not even noticing the elegant décor or the bright sunshine streaming through the large windows.  His whole focus was on this woman, on her story and trying to sift fact from fiction. 

“You believe me?” she asked, standing up straighter but also watching him warily, afraid to let him get too close again.  It helped her think when he wasn’t so close.

“I don’t believe you in any way, princess.”

“Stop calling me that!” she said with a furious stomp of her elegantly shod foot. 

He tilted his head, enjoying the fire in her eyes.  She’d looked so elegant during their lunch break but that elegance was all a façade, he was starting to realize.  Which only made him wonder what other sides of her personality were being hidden underneath that beautiful image she presented to the world. 

“But you are a princess,” he replied back, almost laughing when her pretty eyes darkened to a smoldering brown. 

“Yes, but the way you say the word makes it sound somewhat derogatory.”

He shrugged one of those muscular shoulders.  “I call ‘em like I see ‘em,” he replied back blandly. 

Her hands fisted at her sides, trying to not lash out at him with either words, which didn’t seem to penetrate his thick hide, or physical slaps because she didn’t agree with those methods.  They were wrong and she’d stooped to that once already to her very great shame.  She would not lower herself to that level again. 

“Well, good for you,” she replied with as much sarcasm as she could muster.  “Why don’t you give me back my equipment and photos so that I can show you my research?”

He chuckled.  “Not a chance.  I have an expert looking at your photos to determine if what’s on those disks is something we need to investigate more closely.”

His words caused her stomach to roil once more with fury.  He was keeping her pictures?  All of her work?  She’d put so much effort and energy into her research!  “They’re just pictures of religious sites!” she explained with growing exasperation. 

He paused, looking down at her lovely features.  “We’ll see.”  A moment later, he turned around and headed for the door. 

He was leaving?  Just like that?  “When will I get my stuff back?” she demanded, furious that he wasn’t giving her more of an answer. 

“You’ll hear from me,” he said and the door slammed on her disgusted growl. 

Ciala wished she could open the door and throw something at his back but she was a lady, she reminded herself.  She would not lower herself to that level.

Storming out of the room, she walked down the hallway, back to the family living quarters.

Shantra was just stepping out of the dining room at that moment.  “You look like someone just stole your best friend.”

Ciala blinked.  She hadn’t even seen her sister coming towards her and she almost jumped at her Shantra’s words.  “Excuse me?” Ciala twitched her hands against her earlobe, tugging it gently as she worried about what Shantra might know. 

Shantra reached out to touch Ciala’s hand.  “Hey, are you okay?”

Ciala took a deep breath, trying to calm down.  “Yes.  I’m sorry.  I’m fine.”  Opening her eyes once again, she looked at her sister.  “What are you up to today?” she asked.

Shantra smiled.  “I was just helping Mia feed Badri,” she explained. 

More of Ciala’s tension left her shoulders.  “How’s he doing this morning?”

“Oh, he’s his usual rambunctious self.  But Mia is doing better.  No more leg cramps so that’s good.”

Mia was their sister-in-law who was married to their oldest brother, Ramzi and she was almost eight months pregnant with their third child.  Their oldest son, Badri, was five years old and running around with more energy than anyone thought could possibly be stored inside of such a tiny human being.  Mia had given birth to a little girl two years later who was already trying to catch up with her older brother.  Thankfully, Badri adored his little sister even though she didn’t have legs strong enough to keep up with him.  Yet.  When those two got older, the whole palace would be in trouble. 

“How is Raven doing?  Still waddling around?”

Raven was Turk’s wife and she was six month’s pregnant although neither Raven nor Turk had the courage to find out the gender of their baby.  Turk didn’t want a girl, afraid of what would happen when she got older.  It was always amusing to see an enormous, strong man like one of their brothers in fear over a tiny female.  But they also had Badri’s rambunctious nature to be wary of.  That little guy was a handful.  Adorable, sweet and charming.  When he was awake and moving, he was almost a blur as he raced around, eager to learn more about everything in his environment.  But when he crashed, he simply crashed.  Mia and Ramzi had found him sleeping in the middle of the hallway once – which wouldn’t be so odd except that they’d been chasing after him.  He’d rounded the corner, out of their line of sight for perhaps thirty seconds.  When they’d caught up with him, they’d found that the little guy had simply laid down on the marble floor and fallen into a deep sleep.