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The earrings Abram had sent to her for her twenty-first birthday.
He grimaced at the thought.
He’d fought to keep them apart over the years, even knowing it was doing little good, and that the day would come when nothing could stop it.
It wasn’t that he believed Abram would hurt her, or even that he wouldn’t be good for her. It was simply that Khalid knew his brother, and he knew, after the deaths of his first two wives, any lover he had would suffer the ultraprotective possessiveness Abram would feel.
Independence would go to hell along with the hearts. Abram wouldn’t be able to control himself, and all that dark, tortured hunger inside him would become a ravening beast in the face of Paige’s determination.
And this was where Paige would struggle.
There was no hunger strong enough, no love vital enough and no woman with enough patience or enough understanding to stand against a man determined to lock her away from the world.
Khalid had always feared that was exactly what Abram would attempt to do with the fiery independence that was so much a part of Paige.
And there wouldn’t be a damned thing he could do to save her from it.
4
She was so screwed.
That was the first thought that drifted through her mind as Paige’s eyes blinked open and she found herself in an unfamiliar room.
If she thought her suite at her brother’s home was too expensive and opulent, then it was nothing compared to where she found herself now.
In000000">The room was huge, at least twelve feet tall with several motorized fans turning lazily overhead and creating the slightest breeze.
She was laying on a huge bed, its comfort unlike anything she had known before. Beneath her naked body she could feel the excellent grade and cool perfection of the silk sheets.
Laying over her was more silk, the sheet against her flesh airy and cool while the ultra-thin cashmere throw laying on top of her added a measure of warmth.
Looking around, she saw velvet upholstery on the chairs next to a fireplace, and what appeared to be a silk-covered chaise lounge positioned at the side of the room. There were large pillows tossed in front of the hearth in differing sizes and in different expensive materials.
The windows were high and arched with wooden shutters pulled closed against the sunlight. The slats in the shutters allowed the fragile, heated rays to slip in and pierce the dim light.
White stone walls peeked out from behind several large tapestries, reminding her of the ancient castles she’d visited in England.
Stone floors were covered here and there with matching tapestries, and in front of the fireplace lay what appeared to be a thick, cashmere rug.
Swallowing tight, Paige felt the gummy, sticky feeling of her mouth. She wondered how long she had been unconscious as she fought to keep her hysteria under control.
If she didn’t concentrate on something else, then she wouldn’t make it. She collapsed into a heap of pure hysterical fear.
Because she knew exactly where she was. She’d heard her mother describe this room so many times it was burned into her brain.
This was the room she had lived in during her stay when she wasn’t locke
d in Azir’s bedroom. She ate in this room, wept in this room, and plotted her escape from this room.
She was in the Mustafa stronghold on the Saudi Arabian and Iraqi borders. A wasteland of unproven ground, where even oil didn’t reside.
Nothing of consequence lived here, as she had heard Abram and Khalid say, except the people who had been born here, worked here, and eeked out their living here.
The fortress had been built centuries before, the castle a mix of both Middle Eastern and English influence well before the days of the Knights Templars and the holy wars.
She had seen pictures of it. Khalid and her mother had put together a map of sorts of the castle and the outlying areas around it.
There were ways to escape; Paige just had to find them.
