How to Seduce a Sheikh by Marguerite Kaye Page B

which she had learned to call a bisht , were an immaculate white. His headdress, too, white and what looked like silk. The igal , the band that held it in place, was threaded with gold, and the curved sheath of the sabre he wore at his waist was studded with what looked to be emeralds and rubies. Rich and noble, if the way the people were bowing and scraping around him was anything to go by. Yes, there was something extremely attractive about him, in the fluid way he moved, like a prowling predator, both graceful and lethal. A warrior? There was that, too, in his face, which had not Leon’s classical good looks but had that hewn, hard-planed look of the battle-hardened soldier. His skin was tawny, the colour of the sands at dusk, and his eyes were dark, hooded. A man who gave nothing away. He wore no beard. His mouth was strikingly sensual. Her captor. Her owner. The man who now held her life in his hands.
    He turned away from the slave trader just then and met her gaze for the first time. Colette inhaled sharply. Under other circumstances, it was true she would find him most attractive, intriguing even, but these were not other circumstances. Sacré bleu , what was she thinking! This man had just purchased her like some chattel. He could—and without doubt would—do with her what he wished. Bien , she was not a general’s daughter for nothing. Garnering all her courage, Colette straightened her shoulders and stood proud, meeting the man’s gaze defiantly, knowing full well how offensive such a gesture could be perceived from a mere woman. ‘ Monsieur , ’ she said unwaveringly, ‘you may have purchased my body, but I must warn you, you will never break my spirit.’
    She spoke in her native language, not expecting him to understand, the words uttered as a boost to her flagging courage rather than from any desire to antagonise. Her purchaser’s eyes, however, a curious colour, amber or gold, flashed fire. His brows were drawn together in a fierce frown.
    ‘You should be very glad, mademoiselle ,’ he replied in perfect, softly accented French, ‘that it is I and not one of the other bidders who prevailed today. Be assured that having paid such an exorbitant amount, they would take great pleasure in breaking both your body and your spirit.’
    He was clearly furious, yet his fists remained unclenched, and he made no effort to close the short distance between them. Did he mean that he would not try to break her, or that the breaking of her would give him no pleasure? ‘Why?’ Confused, Colette asked the question uppermost in her mind. ‘Why did you pay so much for me? I am sure a man such as yourself could have purchased any number of slaves more beautiful than I for such a sum.’
    He surveyed her, not lasciviously but as her father was wont to survey the strategy board when planning a battle. ‘Why do you think, mademoiselle ?’ he asked.
    Confused, she could only stare. On one level she was afraid, but another part of her was inclined to doubt his intentions. A warrior he may be, but he was no violator. Her instincts told her she could trust him, but she knew better than to trust instincts when her mind was affected by the intense heat, her fierce thirst and, above all, the trauma of the past few weeks. ‘I think you paid such an exorbitant sum merely for the pleasure of winning, monsieur ,’ she said. ‘I cannot imagine that you wish such a—a meagre example of womanhood as I in your harem.’
    ‘Meagre?’
    ‘Skinny,’ Colette replied warily. Horribly conscious that her meagreness was barely covered, she tightened her grip on the tattered remnants of her gown before recalling how pointless it was, for he had already seen for himself during the bidding the smallness of her breasts, the narrowness of her waist. Leon used to tease her about her slimness on the occasions when they shared a bed. ‘I had as well married a schoolboy,’ he had said once as she lay beneath him, eyeing her breasts in a