Never Resist a Sheikh (International Bad Boys) by Jackie Ashenden

sane woman would be,after what had happened to her. But although fear was certainly there, it was anger that had her in its grip.
    She wasn’t going to be used again. She simply refused.
    So what are you going to do? You’re his prisoner.
    Felicity stopped pacing, glaring around the room.
    The guards had marched her along a series of narrow corridors and magnificent staircases to a much bigger room. Actually, it wasmore like room s since there was a series of them, all interconnecting.
    They were much bigger than the tiny, bare cell she’d woken up in and certainly much nicer. The floors were of polished stone scattered with thick, deep Persian-style rugs in blues and reds and golds. The windows were narrow, but there were a lot of them lining the walls, the casements so deep she could have lain down alongthem quite comfortably. Arched doorways connected the rooms, heavy curtains in place of doors leading into a surprisingly modern bathroom that had a heavily latticed wooden door.
    One of the rooms was full of low couches and floor cushions upholstered in rich silks. Another had bookshelves stacked high with books and other interesting object d’art. The bedroom had a massive, low bed with yet morecushions on it, and a glass door that led out onto a terrace.
    It was very luxurious all things considered.
    She hated it.
    Most especially because when the guards had first delivered her here, she’d seen that her laptop and her phone had been returned. And she’d leapt happily on the phone, instantly turning it on, only to find that there was no signal, none whatsoever.
    She’d spent a good hourtrying to find one, but hadn’t got anything. Not even a flicker. It wasn’t surprising, of course, given the thick walls of the palace, yet even on the terrace outside the bedroom, where she’d almost been flattened by the heat of the sun and the yawning gulf of the valley beneath it, she hadn’t managed to find one.
    It was like there wasn’t a mobile network at all, which she simply couldn’t gether head around.
    That had given her a true taste of fear. Computers had been her escape since she’d gotten old enough to sense the tension that seeped into the very walls of her parents’ Manhattan townhouse, where speaking a word out of turn could signal the start of World War Three. Tech, code, the internet had all given her a way out, an outlet for her restless brain, and without them… Well,she felt even more of a prisoner than she actually was.
    Shoving the thought away, she turned as the sound of a heavy knock came from the door—a door with a guard outside it, which she knew because opening that door to see whether it was locked or not had been the first thing she’d done.
    She’d only just opened her mouth to respond when the door opened and a couple of heavily veiled women camein bearing trays of food. The women said nothing to her, only bowing before setting the food down on the low table beside the sofa.
    Clearly dinner was served and a pretty solid looking dinner it was, too. Rice and some kind of fragrant stew. Fresh, flat bread and a few dishes of vegetables. White and red wine in separate cut crystal decanters. A jug of iced water.
    Indeed, every need seen to,as Zakir had promised.
    A thought struck her suddenly. Not quite every need had been seen to, had it?
    “Excuse me,” she said as the women, relieved of their trays, began to head back toward the door. “I need to see the sheikh.”
    The women stopped and flicked a glance at her. Their faces were veiled so she couldn’t see their expressions, but their eyes were guarded, wary.
    “I need to see the king,”she said again, when they didn’t say anything.
    Another silence.
    Oh damn, they probably didn’t speak English.
    Another second of silence passed as Felicity tried frantically to think of some way of communicating with them, when suddenly they turned and went out the door.
    Great. So much for that idea.
    She’d taken a step toward the door,