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6
ROYA
ARIS DIDN’T SEEM THE slightest bit bothered about the impossible situation he’d put me in. He just watched me with those cold blue eyes, an aloof expression on his face.
“At least you’ll live.”
I’d live . . . as a virtual prisoner in the palace.
Aris stood too close to me, his heat radiating through me. I pushed at him, and he finally gave me enough space to move away.
Turning with me, he watched me pace.
“So this is it. And like usual, I have absolutely no say in the matter?”
“Precisely.” The evil man smirked. “I’m going to negotiate a deal that works to my advantage.”
Apparently I was nothing more than a pawn and plaything in the meantime. My very existence meant nothing but a transaction. I’d be bartered back and that was that as far as Aris was concerned.
“You’ll really tell my father what I was doing here at the club?” It sounded so ridiculous to be petrified of something so simple, but nothing about my life was simple, and I wasn’t just a normal person.
Aris gave another of his patented shrugs, and it made me want to gouge his eyeballs out.
I whirled on him. “You can’t do this. I’ll never have the slightest hint of freedom again.” Propping my hands on my hips, I refused to be cowed by him. “Father will marry me off to the next man who has a decent enough pedigree!”
That announcement caused Aris’s jaw to tighten, his Mediterranean eyes taking on a wild, menacing glint.
Ah. So he was fine with me being confined to imprisonment in the palace but the idea of another man getting his hands on me roused his anger.
“What about my uncle?”
His eyes narrowed, fists balled at his side. “I think I gave him sufficient warning last night.”
I didn’t believe that. Uncle Abdullah was a manipulative piece of work. If he really had sent those men to come for me, I didn’t think he’d give up that easily.
“This discussion is over, Roya. Now, I’ve got work to do. I’ll be in my study.” He started to stalk past me but stopped to circle my wrist in a hard hold. “You have free use of the penthouse assuming you can control your worst impulses.”
Releasing me, he moved down a hallway then shut himself behind a door with a firm snick.
My worst impulses?
I didn’t even know what he meant by that, but I continued to simmer in his absence.
This was almost worse than being kept under lock and key by my father. At least with him, I knew what to expect. Aris kept me second guessing everything, and his obvious sexual prowess had me on even more unsteady footing. It seemed that every time he looked at me with heat kindling in his eyes, he melted much more than my resistance.
That was exactly what had happened in the shower. He’d just climbed in with me as if he had every right. I’d barely protested, my resolve crumbling as soon as he’d begun spreading soapy bubbles all over my body.
For the first time, I’d felt him between my legs, his cock riding along the seam of my sex.
I quickly shelved those lurid thoughts.
Since he’d locked himself away in his study and left me to my own devices, I explored the sprawling expanse of his apartment. I’d been right last night. The place was outfitted tastefully, but not ornately. All of the furniture was modern style, so unlike the stuffy surrounds of the palace. Three more bedrooms—each with an attached bathroom—another powder room off the foyer, and a huge dining room completed the layout.
Discreetly, imagining him to be the type to have security cameras hidden around, I tried the main door. Locked. And not with a normal mechanism. The same was true of the elevator.
Grrrr.
I not-so-subtly tried to get into his safe, but it locked me out after three failed attempts. And then I could hear his chuckles filtering out from behind the closed door.
So I was right about the cameras too.
I would’ve glared into one if I’d known where it was. I might’ve even thrown up a middle finger.
In the well-equipped kitchen, I tossed around the idea of grabbing a sharp knife so I could attack him the next time he showed his face.
A stifling sense of suffocation began closing in on me. I barged out onto the balcony and screamed wildly into the air.
“Got that out of your system?” Aris had appeared silently, and he leaned in the open door when I spun.
I almost slumped in defeat. “Leave me alone, Aris.”
“I was just making sure you didn’t do something foolish, like throw yourself off the balcony.”
“I’m hardly suicidal, and I’d never take my life just because of you.” I sneered at him.
He seemed to enjoy my anger, he provoked it often enough.
If there’d been a vase near me, I probably would’ve chucked it at him.
After one last glance, he disappeared, back into his study I assumed.
His earlier words came back to me, that he didn’t think I had the first clue when it came to cooking.
Well, I’d show him.
Egotistical. Control freak. Insufferable . . . jackass.
Stomping into the kitchen, I found an apron, which seemed an odd thing for him to own. I snapped it open and tied it around my waist. After inspecting the contents of his refrigerator and pantry, I planned my menu.
I put all my festering rage into preparing my favorite dishes, swearing beneath my breath about the man who kept me captive. It felt liberating to finally take out all my aggression, even cursing as I’d never done before in my life.
But then my anger dissipated. I started to relax. I’d always enjoyed cooking; the simple act of creating something delicious with my own hands helped me feel in control of at least one aspect of my life.
I spent hours in that kitchen, hardly noticing the passage of time. I’d even opened a bottle of wine, consuming half of it before the meal was ready and scenting the entire penthouse in a rich combination of roasted lamb, fragrant spices, even a hint of pistachio and rosewater from the dessert I’d prepared.
“Something smells delicious.” Once again, Aris had appeared stealthily, and he came very close to me as I placed the entrée on the table. “And it’s not just you.”
“Hmm.” I sniffed prissily, removing the apron and retrieving my glass of wine.
“I thought Muslims didn’t drink,” he observed.
In reply, I took another healthy swallow then said, “Well, it appears I do a lot of things I’m not supposed to, doesn’t it?”
He smirked, giving me a nod of approval.
I refused to serve the pompous buffoon, instead piling a plate for myself and beginning to eat before he’d even sat down.
“Let’s see.” He lifted various lids, breathing in the delicious aromas. “Ghuzi, matchbous, and even mehalabiya. I am impressed.”
