see-through white lace bra and panties—her wedding-night lingerie—and nothing else.
“I trust you slept well.”
She yanked the sheets up to her chin. A handsome stranger was leaning against the doorway. He was tall, broad-shouldered and olive-skinned, with short, wavy dark hair. He wore a crisp white shirt and dark pants that molded to his muscular body.
She’d never seen him before, but she recognized his voice. That cruel, sensual mouth. Most of all, those dark, cold eyes.
“Where am I?” She had a hazy memory of being on a helicopter and then driven through the streets of Tangiers. “What did you do with Camilla and Hatima?”
He stepped into the cabin, his gray eyes alight with malignant hatred as he looked at her. “You should be worried about what I’m going to do with you.”
That was exactly what she was trying not to think about. If she did, she’d start screaming with terror and fear. Not just for herself but for ten-year-old Nicole, who was still held hostage in Tarfaya, depending on her to get through this.
She had to hold herself together long enough to come up with a plan of escape.
“Did you kidnap them as well?” she asked, despising the involuntary tremble in her voice. “Where have you taken me? Have you sent a ransom note to the Sheikh?”
He folded his arms. “There will be no ransom note.”
“What?”
He took a step closer to the bed. His whole body was muscular and taut beneath his fine clothes, as if only sheer will kept him from grabbing her.
“I left the others in Tarfaya,” he said. “I only need you.”
She swallowed. “Me? Why?”
He just stared down at her, his face a handsome, arrogant mask.
She tried again. “Where are we?”
His full, sensual lip curled into a line of contempt. “My yacht.”
Well, yes, even she could have guessed that much. She glanced through the port window. The sun was just starting to set, trailing a pathway of crimson and orange across the water. She couldn’t see a trace of land. They were out on the open sea, she thought, where no one would hear her scream.
If he hadn’t kidnapped her for ransom, then why? No matter what the tabloids seemed to believe, nothing about her was special. And her family had nothing he could want. Her brother’s company was hanging on by a thread.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
“Your captor. That’s all you need to know.”
Tasmin pressed her shaking hands against the sheet to hide their tremor. She couldn’t let him see her fear. Bullies lived to control, to inspire terror. She’d learned that from her father. The only way to survive was to respond with defiance. “What do you want with me?”
He sat on the edge of the bed and reached to caress her cheek. “You are a beautiful woman, señorita, famed for your power over men. Can’t you guess what I want?”
She shivered at his brief touch. Up close, he was even more handsome. Dark and dangerous, he emanated power. If they’d met at a London club, she would have been attracted to him, fascinated even.
Could she really fight a man like this and hope to win?
Her fingers clutched the sheet between them like a shield. Nicole, she thought. Remember Nicole.
She’d found her little sister alone last month in their brother’s cold, darkened Yorkshire mansion, left without food or money while Sheldon and Camilla used her money to support their jet-setting lifestyle. Tamsin still felt a chill of horror when she remembered stepping into the dark house, calling her sister’s name; Nicole had run to her crying and flung her thin, shivering body against her. She’d believed that Tamsin had abandoned her.
She would never forgive their half-brother for that. God, she hated Sheldon, she hated Camilla, she despised everyone who hurt innocent, helpless people in pursuit of their own selfish desires.
Like the man in front of her now. She narrowed her eyes. She wouldn’t let him prevent her marriage to Aziz.
“If you’re going to have me, get it over with,” she said flatly. “And take me back to Morocco so I can be married.”
His eyes widened and she saw that she’d surprised him. But, almost as quickly as the expression had appeared, it was gone. He stood up, looking as cold and unreachable as the stars. “I can see why you’re known as a flirt.”
“Forgive me if I don’t know the proper etiquette when I’m kidnapped on my wedding day and wake up naked on a stranger’s yacht.”
“You’re not naked.”
“How do you know? Are you the one who undressed me?”
He lifted a sardonic eyebrow. “Alas, I haven’t had that pleasure,” he said but, before she could relax and be grateful for that small blessing, he added darkly, “yet.”
The look he gave her could have melted stone. It was full of hatred, yes, but something more. She felt it simmering through her body, a strange electricity humming through her veins. She found herself staring at his lips. Wondering what he looked like beneath the shirt. Wondering how it would feel to have his body pressed against her own.
She shook the thought away. The only thing that mattered now was finding out what he wanted with her so she could get away. She had to protect Nicole.
Especially since what had happened was Tamsin’s fault. It was true they’d never been close—Tamsin had been sent to an American boarding school when her sister was a baby. Their mother had died when they were young, and their father a few years later. But Tamsin never should have trusted Sheldon to be Nicole’s guardian. Never. And while she’d been in London enjoying her first taste of freedom, Sheldon had been ransacking both sisters’ trust funds. He’d fired Nicole’s nanny, leaving her alone.
Tamsin should have known. She should have protected her…
“We’re almost there.” Her handsome, arrogant captor moved across the cabin towards the window.
“Where?”
“Andalusia. My home.”
Spain! A burst of hope went through Tamsin. Spain meant land beneath her feet, civilization—and freedom! She could catch a high-speed ferry from Algeciras and be back in Morocco by nightfall.
The man turned back abruptly to face her and she lowered her eyes, afraid that he would see her plans written across her face. “Tell me, Señorita Winter, do you speak Spanish?”
“No, I don’t,” she lied, trying to keep all emotion from her voice. “Do you?”
“Of course.” He gave her a smile that wasn’t a smile at all. “But my mother was American. I lived in Boston for six years after she died. I will speak English for your sake.”
“Then
