The sheikhs captive love.., p.1
The Sheikh's Captive Lover (The Sharqi Sheikhs Series Book 4), page 1
The Sheikh’s Captive Lover
By Leslie North
The Sharqi Sheikhs Series
Book 4
Book One: The Sheikh’s Unforgettable Lover
Book Two: The Sheikh’s American Bride
Book Three: The Sheikhs Kidnapped Bride
Blurb
Sheikh Amare Sharqi is about to close a deal with a business rival that will save the family oil company, when he learns of a new demand. If he’s not able to acquire a famous portrait, the deal is off. With the female subject’s captivating beauty and enticing blue eyes, Amare can see the appeal. He’s prepared to offer whatever it takes, but when he meets with the artwork’s owner, he’s surprised to see that it’s the same woman in the painting…and she wastes no time telling him it is not for sale.
It wasn’t easy growing up with a starving artist for a father, and now that he’s gone, Bree Van Ludhis has been saddled with his debts. As the heir to his works, Bree’s under pressure from her stepmother to sell so she can get half the money, but Bree would rather destroy every last painting than let that happen. So when ridiculously wealthy Sheikh Amare offers her a fortune for her father’s portrait, not even his steely determination and blatant appeal will make her change her mind.
Out of options and out of time, Amare is suddenly faced with the most difficult choice of his life…destroy his family’s business or betray Bree to get what he wants?
This book is set 8 years after the last Sharqi Sheikhs Series book, with Amare all grown up and plunged into a crisis that could rock the Sharqi family to it’s core…
Chapter 1
Amare Sharqi paced the length of his palace sitting room, his irritation growing with each step. The man he waited for was late. He paused before a large painting encased in an elaborate golden frame sitting on an easel in front of the ornate marble hearth. This was the reason he was here, the object he intended to acquire.
The portrait of the gorgeous young woman had him captivated.
He guessed her age to be somewhere in her late teens, the artist managing to capture both her blooming maturity, and her innocence. Her auburn hair flowed behind her as if caught by the wind, and her flawless complexion glowed like the finest alabaster. Her emerald colored shift dress highlighted the green flecks in her mesmerizing blue eyes, and she sat in a meadow of wildflowers, majestic mountains rising behind her. In the far distance, a crystal clear lake reflected the clouds and sun above.
Every detail made the painting more superb.
Still, despite the fine artistry and his fascination with the lovely subject matter of the work Amare’s true interest had more to do with business than any personal appreciation for the piece.
To that end, he’d arranged to fly the artist, Patrick Van Ludhis, to Al-Sarid—his family’s sheikdom—by private jet, with the intent of wooing him into selling him the exquisite painting. Most western visitors marveled at the sheer opulence of his family residence, the Sharqi palace, and were quite easily swayed when presented with such luxury. He expected Mr. Van Ludhis to be no exception. Except he’d never actually reached the artist directly. Instead, all he’d received had been a decidedly terse response from the man’s assistant. A response that was as foreign as it was unacceptable.
No.
No, Mr. Van Ludhis would not be traveling to Al-Sarid. No, he would not be staying at the Sharqi palace. And most abhorrent of all, no, the painting was not for sale.
He was the esteemed youngest son of the richest oil family in Al-Sarid. In his world, one simply did not tell a member of the Sharqi family no.
A knock sounded and he stopped pacing. Finally, he would have his chance to speak with this impertinent assistant of Mr. Van Ludhis and set the man straight on his misconceptions. Despite the fact his family was currently on a mission to improve their public image worldwide, this did not mean he would stand for flagrant disrespect.
Amare cleared his throat and forced his frayed patience to rally before calling in impeccable English. “Enter.”
The door opened to reveal the exact opposite of what he’d expected. A petite woman who appeared to be in her mid-twenties, dressed in jeans and a light pink t-shirt. He continued to stare as she moved closer, stunned for once in his life into speechlessness. This was not just any woman.
This was the woman from the painting.
“Sheik Amare?” she said, her voice soft.
Amare blinked at her several times without responding, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that the subject of his current fascination was standing before him now in the flesh. The top of her head barely reached his chin, making her around five-foot-five to his six-foot-four.
From what he could see, she was slim, yet still curvy, and her current posture of hands on hips had caused the hem of her shirt to ride up a bit to reveal a tantalizing strip of bare skin. A sudden, irrational itch filled his fingertips, a need to stroke said strip of skin to see if she felt as soft as she looked.
Instead, he clenched his fists at his sides and swallowed around the uncomfortable lump of tension in his throat, quickly transferring his gaze elsewhere before his traitorous body got his family in even more trouble.
Doing his best to recover what was left of his regal demeanor, he straightened to his full height and inclined his head, “Yes. I am Sheikh Amare. Who are you?”
“I’m Patrick Van Ludhis’ assistant. I’m here about the painting.”
“I was expecting a man.”
The woman crossed her arms and gave him a look of pure annoyance. “Welcome to the twenty-first century, Sheikh.”
Her sarcasm was obvious. What wasn’t quite so obvious was the underlying sorrow in her pretty blue-green eyes. A strange combination of emotions for one so young. He started to wonder what might have caused such sadness and cynicism in such a beautiful woman, then forced his errant mind back on track. It didn’t matter what had caused her grief or her abrasiveness. What mattered was the painting. He gave a dismissive wave and turned toward the object of their meeting. “I assume you have the authority to deal with potential buyers of this work?”
She inclined her head, her gaze wary, “Of course.”
“Very good. I want this painting.” He gestured to the portrait. “Give me your price and I will have my business manager cut you a check.”
The young woman shook her head, “Pretty sure I made it clear in my e-mail this piece is not for sale.”
“Everything is for sale.” Amare stepped closer to her and caught a whiff of her perfume—spicy yet floral with a hint of the warm, clean woman beneath. A fragrance as unique as the young woman herself.
“Which part of ‘No’ didn’t you understand?”
Amare exhaled slowly and forced his tense shoulders to relax. “What is your name?”
“Bree.”
“Brie? As in the French cheese?” Why would anyone name their child after a smelly cheese?
She smiled at his disbelieving tone and Amare’s pulse stuttered. The gesture made her already gorgeous face glow and he found himself unable to look away.
“No as in Brianna, but my father always shortened it.” At the mention of her father, the bright light in her eyes faded and he had the uncomfortable impression that if she were alone, she would have cried.
Once more he stalked over to the painting and stood before it, more to put some space between himself and the woman he longed to pull into his arms and make smile again than because he needed to see the artwork he already had memorized. “Well, Miss Bree, I hate to inform you, but this piece of artwork will not be leaving my palace.”
“Is that so?” The agitation in her voice rose with each word, her toe tapping a staccato rhythm on his priceless, hand-embellished parquet floor.
Amare clenched his jaw and stood firm. He was a member of the wealthiest family in the region. He’d battled kings and princes over billion-dollar oil fields and returned the victor. He sure as hell wouldn’t allow one tiny woman with a serious attitude problem to take away the painting he desired. No matter how beautiful and attractive he might find said woman. “Ten thousand.”
She scoffed. “You’re joking, right?”
“Twenty.” Amare raised his chin. “That is a more than reasonable price.”
“This painting was on display at the Louvre before coming here.”
“Fifty thousand.”
Bree took a deep breath and narrowed her gaze on him. “No. The painting is not for sale.”
“You want more.” Amare made it a statement, not a question. “Fine. One hundred thousand dollars.” It was an exorbitant amount, but the future of his family’s oil empire lay in his ability to procure this artwork. “And that is my final offer.”
“Good. Then we’re done here.” She walked over and started to remove the painting from its easel. "Thank you for understanding, Sheik Amare.”
“No.” Amare grabbed her wrist and forced her to stop. “I understand nothing. Do you not realize who I am?” He gave her his most imposing stare, the one he used on his older brother Karim each time he stepped out of line. She met his gaze directly, though he felt a slight tremor pass through her. Her bravery both impressed and intrigued him, and he softened his tone. “I’m sure we can work something out.”
“I don’t think so.”
She tried to pull free from him, but he held fast, unwilling to let her go just ye
If his business manager on the other end of the line noticed anything amiss, he knew better than to let it show in his voice. “Sir, you have an urgent call from the pumping station.”
Amare had no choice but to take the call. “I’ll be there momentarily.”
He hung up and faced Bree again. “I must go.”
“Good.” She tugged on her arm again and this time he released her. “Fine. I’ll just make sure the painting is packaged…”
“The painting, and you, will remain here until I return.”
“Right.” She exhaled slowly and nodded, as if taking time to measure her words. “Let me explain how this works. This piece of art belongs to me. I am a free person. When I want to leave, I have every right to take what belongs to me and do so. Any questions?”
“You are in Al-Sarid now. My country, my rules.” He towered above, and glared down. He hated resorting to using his size to intimidate her, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “Any questions?”
“Yes, I have one.” Her belligerent expression should’ve warned him to beware of her caustic remarks, but he didn’t heed it. “Are you always such an arrogant ass?”
A muscle ticked near his clenched jaw, and if he hadn’t been so completely stupefied by her audacity, he would’ve laughed. The fact his own brother’s asked him that on a regular basis didn’t help matters. He handled what needed to be handled to protect the Sharqi family interests, by whatever means necessary. Was he proud of the way he was required to act sometimes? Of course not. Did that mean he wouldn’t do what was necessary to get the job done? Absolutely not.
After a moment to regroup and calm his raging pulse, Amare backed off, straightening the cuffs of his expensive Italian wool suit while he chose his next words carefully. “Ms. Bree. I’m sorry that we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot today and I appreciate your tenacity. But make no mistake.” He looked up at her and gave her his coldest smile. “I always get what I want.”
She glanced from the portrait to him, her brow raised. “And right now you want me?”
Alarmed that she’d inadvertently nailed his inner desires, Amare’s steely concentration faltered before he righted himself. This woman was clever. And smart. And beautiful. A dangerous combination. He would need to be at his sharpest to defeat her. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”
She seemed to hesitate at his honesty, a spark of interest and something darker, hotter, in her eyes, before she glanced at her watch. “My car is scheduled to return in an hour.”
“Fine. Stay here.” He didn’t give her time to argue or challenge his dictate, just turned on his heel and left. “I’ll be back shortly.”
Chapter 2
“This had best be important.” Amare charged into his office and glowered at Sahir, his business manager.
“It’s Nassir, sir.” Sahir pushed to his feet, lowering his head in deference. “He’s making trouble at the pumping station, demanding they stop production until a deal can be reached.”
Amare glanced over at his desk, where the pump foreman stood clutching his yellow hardhat in his hands, his expression a mix of worry and frustration. Could nothing go as planned today?
Cursing inwardly, he headed over to speak with the man and assure him he would correct the problem as quickly as possible. Once Sahir ushered the foreman outside and he was alone, Amare picked up the phone and dialed Nassir’s private line, doing his best to keep his voice calm. No sense giving his family’s biggest rival more ammunition to use against them. “What’s the meaning of your interference?”
“Good afternoon, Amare. To what interference are you referring?”
“The pump station,” he said, jaw clenched.
“Ah, that.” Nassir’s relaxed tone was more reminiscent of a man lounging on a beach than a man plotting to sabotage the region’s most powerful dynasty. Too bad Amare knew better. “I thought it wise to protect my family’s land until our deal is finalized. Besides, I thought you had more pressing business this afternoon. Did you get the painting yet?”
“I’m working on it, though I still can’t fathom why a man who obviously has no interest in art would make our contract contingent on ownership of a painting.”
“Call it a personal quest.” Amare could sense Nassir’s smile through the phone line. “She’s lovely, is she not?”
“Who?”
“The woman in the portrait.”
“That’s why you want it? Because she’s beautiful?” Amare did his best to suppress the images clouding his rational mind, of both the painting and the woman who’d posed for it, the woman currently waiting for him in his office. His tension level ratcheted higher. “Stay away from our pumping stations, Nassir. I will not warn you again.”
“How very threatening of you.” Nassir’s tone shifted from mocking to dead serious in seconds. “Now let me remind you of the true threat here. No painting, no way will the Sharqi ever get their hands on my family’s land. Understand? And as far as your pumping station goes, it will remain out of commission until our deal is complete, one way or the other. Understood?”
Amare took a deep breath and calculated how much oil they had on hand out in the fields to meet their current obligations. By his estimates there would be enough to last three weeks. No more. Which meant he had exactly that long to get this mess with Nassir wrapped up. “I will get possession of the painting.”
“You better. Otherwise, your little oil empire is in danger of falling down.”
Amare hung up and stood for several moments with his hand on the receiver. It seemed Nassir Adjalane had made it his life’s mission to destroy the Sharqi family. It had only gotten worse when Amare had taken over the Sharqi oil empire after his father’s death. They’d been rivals for as long as Amare could remember. They’d grown up together, Nassir and Amare and his brothers, attended the same schools, received the same privileged upbringing and lifestyle. But that had never been enough for Nassir. He’d always wanted more. And now, apparently, he thought he could get it by ruining Amare and his family.
He’d thought wrong.
“Find out everything you can for me about Brianna Van Ludhis and her father.” Amare strode past Sahir toward to the exit.
“Sir?”
“I want to know what makes her tick, what would persuade her to do as I wish. She’s refused my more than generous offers to buy that damned portrait and I want to know why.”
Sahir inclined his head and Amare headed back towards his own suite of rooms, and the very lovely Bree. He was not a man who gave up easily. There had to be a way to convince her to sell him the painting. His family’s future depended on it.
***
Yet when he reentered his office, he found neither Bree nor the picture waiting for him. Unused to having his orders defied, Amare stalked back down the hallway and took the stairs two at a time to the ground floor. She couldn’t have left the house, his guards would’ve stopped her, but that didn’t make locating her within the huge mansion any easier—the palace had twenty bedrooms, twelve bathrooms, and more sitting rooms and libraries than he cared to count. And his missing guest could be hiding away in any one of them.
Low on time and patience, Amare stuck his head into a large ballroom on his right currently being used as a makeshift gallery for the artist’s paintings, figuring it would be the most logical place to begin his search. Luckily, his logic did not fail him.
Bree knelt on the floor in the midst of stacks of packing supplies with the portrait propped against several cartons before her. His stress level dropped several notches. It was still here and he still had a chance. He exhaled and walked over to Bree. “I told you to wait in my office.”
Bree crossed her arms and arched a brow up at him. “And last time I checked, I don’t take orders from you.”
“You are on my land, in my country. You may want to rethink your position carefully. Things are different here from what you are used to, Ms. Bree.”
