‘There will be no home with himself and his family dead,’ Zageo commented grimly. ‘He must be persuaded to accept that reality.’
‘Precisely. Even so, to walk away with no recompense…’
‘See if we can buy his farm. It will allow him to leave with his pride intact, giving him the financial stake he might need to start over in another country and still be successful in the eyes of his wife and children.’
‘You want to acquire property in Zimbabwe?’ Abdul queried somewhat incredulously.
‘Very briefly. Perhaps it can be used as barter for the Colemans’s safe passage out of the country. Find a recipient in the regime who understands favours, Abdul. The idea of acquiring a profitable farm without paying a cent might appeal. Delivery on delivery.’
‘Ah! A diplomatic resolution.’
‘Behind doors.’
‘Of course, Your Excellency.’
Zageo relaxed, reasonably confident that his plan could be effected. Tonight he would tell Emily that not only was her sister’s family still amongst the living, he had also set in motion the steps to extract them from their dangerous situation.
She would want to stay with him then.
She would want to know firsthand the outcome of his rescue plan.
It might not be bending to his will but…Zageo decided that winning her favour was the best way to gaining her submission. In fact, it would give him much satisfaction to arrange a meeting between Emily and her sister. This could not be held in Stone Town. He had to move on. Nevertheless, he would give Emily Ross what she had come for.
Delivery…for delivery.
CHAPTER TWELVE
BACK in the women’s quarters of the palace, Emily wasted no time in organizing what she wanted done. Zageo had said they would meet for dinner. With the image of Veronique still vividly in her mind, the presentation of herself with the view of becoming his mistress definitely required perfect grooming, artful make-up and sexy clothes. Since her own luggage contained nothing that could be described as seductively tempting…
‘The trunk of belly-dancing costumes…do you still have it, Heba?’
‘Yes. Will I have it brought to you?’ she offered obligingly.
Emily nodded. ‘Let’s see if we can find something really erotic in it.’
That was certainly what Zageo had expected of her last night so let him have it tonight, Emily reasoned, deciding that an in-your-face statement of her intention was more telling than a thousand words.
She chose a hot-pink costume with beaded bands in black and silver. The bra was designed to show optimum cleavage. The skirt was slinky, clinging to hips, bottom and upper thighs where it was slit for freedom of leg movement. The edges of the slits were beaded as well, making them very eye-catching.
‘It is a bold costume,’ Heba commented somewhat critically.
‘I have to be bold tonight,’ Emily muttered, beyond caring what the women who were attending to her needs thought.
Only one thing was important.
Getting the sheikh to do something about Hannah and her family.
She had her mind steeled to deliver her part of the trade, yet when the summons to dinner came, a nervous quivering attacked her entire body. What she was setting out to do wasn’t her. Yet she had to pull it off. If something terrible happened to Hannah and she hadn’t done anything to help, she would never forgive herself.
Besides, it wasn’t as though she was unattracted to Zageo. It could well be a fantastic experience, having sex with him. She couldn’t imagine he’d want a long relationship with her. The stunningly beautiful and glamorous Veronique, who shared his jet set class, had only held his interest for two years. Emily figured on only being a brief novelty, possibly lasting for the duration of his tour of the Al Farrahn hotels. Once he returned to his normal social life, she’d be a fish out of water—one he would undoubtedly release.
So, what were a few months out of her own life compared to the lives of Hannah and her family? She had no commitments. There was nothing to stop her from offering herself as a bed companion to a man who might or might not take up some time which was of no particular use to her anyway.
The costume trunk had also yielded a black silk cloak which Emily employed to cover herself while being escorted to the sheikh’s private apartment. She was ushered into the same opulent sitting room where Zageo had commanded her presence last night. He was back in his sheikh clothes, the long white tunic and richly embroidered over-robe in purple and gold, making her feel even more nervous about his foreignness.
However, she was not about to baulk at doing what she had to do. The moment the door closed behind the men on escort duty, she whipped off the cloak, determined on getting straight to business. However, instead of exciting speculative interest in Zageo, her appearance in the provocative belly-dancing costume evoked an angry frown.
‘What is this?’ he demanded, the harsh tone making her heart skitter in apprehension. His eyes locked onto hers with piercing intensity. ‘You claimed the costumes did not belong to you.’
‘They don’t! I just thought…’ She swallowed hard, fighting to prevent her throat from seizing up. ‘I thought it would please you to see me dressed like this.’
‘Please me…’ He spoke the words as though this was a strange concept to be examined for what it meant. His gaze narrowed, then skated down over the bared curves of her body, seemingly suspicious of their sexual promise.
Emily’s heart was thundering in her ears, making it difficult to think over its chaotic drumming. She told herself she should be moving forward, swaying her hips like a belly-dancer, showing herself willing to invite him to touch, to kiss, to take whatever gave him pleasure. A sexy woman would slide her arms around his neck, press her body to his, use her eyes flirtatiously. It was stupid, stupid, stupid to stand rooted to the spot, barely able to breathe let alone shift her feet.
‘Why would you suddenly set out to please me, Emily?’
She trembled. His voice was laced with displeasure. She was hit with such deep confusion she didn’t know what to do or say. Her hands lifted in helpless appeal, needing to reach out to him yet frightened now of being rebuffed, spurned, sent away.
‘For the past twenty-four hours you have been determined on putting distance between us,’ he mockingly reminded her.
The heat of shame scorched her cheeks. What she planned was the act of a whore. There was no denying it. The trade was too blatant. She hadn’t thought it would matter to him as long as she gave him the satisfaction of having what he wanted. But as he strolled towards her, the sardonic little smile curling his mouth made her feel she had lost whatever respect she had won with him.