The girl nodded. ‘Yes.’
Yes. Yes. Sam knew she was being held prisoner, but he hadn’t yet arranged for her release…
‘I will take away the things I have brought, since you do not wish to—’
‘No!’ Joanna shook her head and put her hand on Rachelle’s arm. ‘No, leave them. On second thought, I don’t want to go on wearing this—this bathrobe of Khalil’s another minute.’ She reached towards the bed, then stopped abruptly. ‘What,’ she said disdainfully, ‘is this?’
‘A skirt.’ The girl smiled hesitantly. ‘And a blouse to go with it. If they please you, I will bring you other—’
‘I have no intention of wearing anything like that!’
Rachelle looked bewildered. ‘Are the sizes wrong? You are so slender, Joanna, that I was not certain—’
‘I’m sure the size is fine.’
‘The colours, then. I thought the shade of blue was very pretty, but perhaps you would prefer—’
‘A skirt that length is a mark of subservience,’ Joanna said, blithely ignoring the fact that New York women were probably that minute strolling Fifth Avenue in skirts even longer than the one that lay across the bed. Her eyes flashed to Rachelle’s face. ‘I mean no insult,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s only that in my country, women don’t dress that way.’
‘Then you will go on wearing the jellaba?’
Suddenly, the weight of the jellaba seemed unbearable against her naked skin.
‘No,’ Joanna said quickly.
Rachelle looked bewildered. ‘Then what will you wear?’
What, indeed? Joanna gave the first answer that came into her head.
‘Trousers,’ she said, taking an almost perverse delight in the shock she saw in Rachelle’s eyes.
‘Trousers? But—’
‘I know. Women don’t wear them in Jandara.’ Her chin lifted. ‘But I am not Jandaran, Rachelle. Be sure and give that message to your high and mighty Prince.’
It was a pointless gesture, Joanna knew. Even if, by some miracle, women’s trousers could be found in Jandara, surely Khalil would never agree to permitting his hostage to wear something so Western.
An hour later, Rachelle appeared at the door carrying another armload of clothing.
‘I hope these things suit you better,’ she said, dumping everything on the bed.
Joanna waited until the girl left, and then she walked to the bed and poked at the garments lying across it. A smile curved across her lips. There were two pairs of trousers—soft, cotton ones—and a stack of shirts, as well.
She picked one up. This was men’s clothing, not women’s. Everything would be too large, but what did that matter? She wasn’t trying to be a fashion plate and besides, getting such things past Khalil seemed like a victory. Perhaps Rachelle had taken pity on her; perhaps she’d got the items on her own, without seeking his permission.
Quickly, Joanna stripped off the jellaba. She pulled on a pair of trousers, then slipped a navy cotton T-shirt over her head.
It was Khalil’s, she thought instantly, as the soft fabric brushed past her nose. The T-shirt, the trousers—they were all his. The garments were all clean and fresh, but they bore a scent compounded of the mountains and the wind and the stallion he rode… His scent.
A tremor went through her and she closed her eyes, remembering the endless ride to this mountain stronghold, remembering the feel of Khalil’s arms as he’d held her before him on the saddle.
Joanna gave herself a little shake. Impatiently, she yanked the shirt down hard over her breasts. His scent, indeed! The T-shirt smelled of the soap it had been washed with and the sunshine that had dried it, nothing more. Honestly, if she didn’t get out of this prison soon…
There was a light rap at the door. She spun towards it.
‘Rachelle? Thanks for bringing me this stuff. It’s just too bad it belongs to your almighty Prince, but—’
‘I assure you, Joanna,’ Khalil said with a cool smile, ‘none of it is contaminated.’
Joanna’s cheeks flamed. ‘I thought you were Rachelle.’
He nodded as he shut the door after him. ‘Obviously,’ he said drily. His gaze flickered over her slowly, and then a smile curved across his lips. ‘I am sorry I had nothing more to your liking.’
‘This is fine,’ she said stiffly.
His eyes darkened. ‘I agree,’ he said softly. ‘That shirt has never looked quite as good on my body as it looks on yours.’
The colour in her face deepened. She was wearing no bra—she had none to wear—and she knew that he must be able to see the rounded outline of her breasts clearly beneath the soft cotton of the T-shirt, see the prominence of her nipples, which were hardening as he looked at her.
‘Clothing is clothing,’ she said, her voice chill. ‘Nothing more.’
His smile tilted. ‘Even when it belongs to the enemy?’
Joanna’s chin lifted. ‘If you’ve come here to taunt me—’
Khalil sighed. ‘I came because Rachelle says you are distressed.’
She stared at him. ‘Distressed? Distressed?’ Joanna laughed. ‘Don’t be absurd! Why should I be distressed? After all, here I am, the guest of the great Hawk of the North, having an absolutely wonderful time—’
‘I take it you are not pleased with out efforts at hospitality.’
‘I just told you, I love it here! Especially the security. Armed guards at the door—how much safer could a guest feel?’
Khalil put his hands on his hips. ‘Will you promise not to try and escape if I call off the guards?’ He laughed at the look on her face. ‘No. I didn’t think so.’
‘Would you really expect me to make such a promise?’
‘I have not come here to debate, Joanna. Rachelle says—’
‘Rachelle says! For God’s sake, if you want to know what I think, why don’t you ask me? I don’t need Rachelle as my interpreter!’
A smile twisted at his lips. ‘I agree. You have no difficulty speaking your mind.’
‘So, what do you want to know?’ She gave him a beaming smile. ‘Is Room Service treating me OK? Do I like the accommodation? The view?’ Her mouth narrowed. ‘The shackles on the walls?’
He laughed. ‘The only thing I see on the walls are paintings.’
‘You know what I mean, Khalil! When are you going to let me out of this prison?’
Khalil’s face darkened. ‘Your freedom is in your father’s hands, not mine.’
Joanna looked at him and tried to keep the sudden desperation she felt from showing in her eyes.
‘Well?’
‘Well, what?’
‘Well, when is he coming for me?’
He hesitated. ‘I do not know.’
‘You do not know?’ Joanna said, her voice mimicking his. ‘How could that be? You said you’d contacted him.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘And?’
‘And he has not replied to my message.’
She shot him a cold look. ‘That’s very hard to believe!’
Khalil’s mouth narrowed. ‘I am not a liar, Joanna.’
Wasn’t he? He had lied well enough to lure her into the desert and carry her here…
No. She’d lied the night they’d met, not he. He’d simply made the most of things. Besides, what would he gain by lying to her now? He had sent Sam a message and Sam—and Sam had not responded…
Sudden despair overwhelmed her. She felt the unwanted sting of tears in her eyes and she started to turn away, but before she could, Khalil stepped quickly forward and clasped her shoulders.
‘Joanna?’
She looked up. There was an unreadable expression on his face, something that might almost approach concern. It startled her—until she realised he would have to have some interest in her emotional condition. The last thing he’d want on his hands was an hysterical captive.
‘Don’t worry, Khalil,’ she said with a brittle smile. ‘I’ve no intention of making a scene. I was only thinking t
hat if you really did ask my father to withdraw from the mining deal, you have asked for a great deal.’
A muscle knotted in his cheek. ‘Perhaps. But I promise you, I have not asked him for more than you are worth, Joanna.’