try to talk,’ he commanded as he picked her up and carried her out towards the waiting helicopter.
Back at the hospital she had a shower, a medical checkup that revealed she didn’t have concussion, and an injection to counter any infection in the abrasions around her wrists and ankles.
Also, she strongly suspected the next morning, waking up in the hospital bed, some sedative to give her the night of dreamless sleep she’d just enjoyed.
Late that morning she was sent back to the castle in a limousine, with a very solemn Cari and a bodyguard.
She didn’t see Rafiq for another two days. He sent her a note saying that because of the fallout from Gastano’s death he’d be busy, and that he wanted her to do nothing but recover.
Misery ate into her, but she told herself stoically that she needed time to get her strength back—strength to leave Moraze and Rafiq without making an idiot of herself.
On the morning she woke with a clear head, she said to Cari, when the maid brought her breakfast tray, ‘I’m getting up today.’
‘Yes, the doctor is coming this morning to make sure you are recovered.’ Carefully Cari positioned the tray over Lexie’s knees.
Lexie opened her mouth, then closed it. She knew it was no use fighting Rafiq’s dictates. And anyway, it was sensible to get an all-clear. ‘And after that I’m getting up properly.’
Instead of leaving, the maid stood, her hands held tightly behind her back. In a subdued voice she said, ‘If I had thought just a little I would have known the helicopter was not sent by the Emir. He would never have told it to land on the terrace.’ She bit her lip, anxiously scanning Lexie’s face. ‘I thought it was so romantic. I am truly sorry.’
‘It’s all right,’ Lexie said hastily. ‘You weren’t to know. Don’t worry, Cari. Apart from this bump on the head, I wasn’t hurt, and all’s well now.’
But once alone, she pushed the tray away. Although she felt the effects of Gastano’s wickedness like a smeary feather brushed over her spirit, it was Rafiq’s betrayal that shattered her.
She took a deep breath because she just had to accept that, grit her teeth and get on with life. If she faced facts and kept her head high, she’d cope.
But although she’d always known that he didn’t love her, it hurt in some shrinking, vulnerable part to know that his actions had been a cynical exercise in revenge. Poor fool that she was, she’d treasure the memories for the rest of her life, but Rafiq? Well, after she’d left Moraze, he’d probably never think of her again.
Or only as the unwitting agent of change who’d helped him avenge his sister’s death.
Stoically she forced down breakfast and endured the medical check-up, which resulted in a complete clearance. It took all of her strength to smile and thank the doctor. When she got back to New Zealand she could indulge in whatever form of breakdown she preferred, she thought drearily, but until then she had to stay in control.
Late in the afternoon, Rafiq came to see her. After she’d satisfied his queries about her health, she said firmly, ‘I’m ready to go home now. Can you recommend a good travel agent?’
He paused, then said, ‘There are some things I need to explain to you.’
Rapidly, before he had time to go further, she said, ‘Look, it doesn’t matter. I understand why you did what you did. Your sister—’
Not a muscle moved in the arrogant face, and his voice was cool and flat as he cut her off. ‘My sister died because of Gastano. I suspect he targeted her for the same reason he chose you—because she had access to a world he desired above everything else. Also, he enjoyed defiling innocence.’
Humiliated, she stared at him. He was almost certainly right.
Stone-faced, Rafiq said, ‘Did you know he was a drug dealer?’
‘No!’ Her skin crawled.
He searched her face keenly. ‘Did he ever offer you drugs?’
‘Once,’ she said quietly, so appalled she felt physically ill. The conversation in the ruins had played through her mind over and over, and she’d accepted that Felipe must have had something to do with the drug trade, but the thought still horrified her. ‘I didn’t think he was a user, but I supposed that he knew how to get them. Even in New Zealand drugs are easy enough to get if you really want them. It never occurred to me he was a dealer.’
Rafiq’s brows drew together. ‘Sit down,’ he commanded, and when she stayed defiantly upright he caught her up and carried her to a chair.
In the strong grip of his arms the familiar magic washed over Lexie, drowning out everything but aching need and memories of passion. Until Rafiq deposited her onto the chair, with care but no tenderness, as though he couldn’t wait to get rid of her.
Hope died a wretched death. She could have crossed her arms over her breasts and rocked with wailing despair, but pride kept her upright, steadied her gaze, forced her lips to move. ‘Do you believe me?’
‘Of course,’ he said with a faint air of surprise. ‘Like all men of his stamp, Gastano could read people—it must have been obvious to him that you were not a good candidate for addiction.’
‘Was he an addict?’
‘No. As you heard in the old sugar mill—’ He paused a moment before finishing in a level, emotionless tone, ‘He turned my sister into one.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Totally inadequate though her words were, it was all Lexie could think of to say.
Still in that clinical, dispassionate tone, he went on, ‘When she realised that the man she thought she loved had deliberately betrayed her and seduced her, she could not live with the pain and humiliation and she committed suicide.’
Lexie said again, ‘I’m so very sorry.’
‘She was eighteen at the time, in her first year at university.’
THE nausea that had slowly dissipated over the past couple of days returned to Lexie in a rush.
Rafiq continued in a flat, lethal tone, ‘Gastano didn’t know that before she died she sent me a letter telling me about their secret affair, her dependence on the drugs he’d fed her, and her shame and humiliation and horror at her foolishness. He believed I knew nothing about him, which gave me the edge when it came to hunting him down.’
His air, his voice, even his measured words, gave no hint of his attachment to his sister—but she could see a little below that controlled surface now, and she understood his bleak determination to bring Gastano to book.
Not only did she understand it, she thought bleakly, she applauded it.
If only it hadn’t cost her her heart.
Rafiq’s voice was cool and clinical. ‘Gastano is—was—the kingpin
