“Don’t—please. I shouldn’t have said anything. She’ll only resent me more.”
He grew silent. She could hear him sit down, presumably in one of the two chairs set on either side of the small, round table ten feet or so from the foot of the bed. The tension of the stark quiet frayed Viviana’s nerves. She wished he’d speak yet hoped he didn’t. The entire situation was confusing and overwhelming.
“Come sit at the table with me,” Muhammad said with quiet resolve. “It is time for you to receive yourmahr.”
She blinked, for some reason stupefied he’d bothered buying her a bride-gift in the first place. Then again, sharia law required amahrbe given pre-consummation. Perhaps it wasn’t surprising after all.
“Unless mymahris clothing, I’m fine,” Viviana muttered.
“You’re behaving as a child again.”
Her nostrils flared. “I am a captive—a hostage! And a naked one at that! What do you expect?”
Muhammad’s typically calm demeanor cracked enough to let her hear some truthful emotion. She could hear him surge to his feet. “And you’d be as dead as your housemates had I not intervened!”
Viviana stilled. She sat up in bed and turned her head to face him. She kept the blanket covering her, shielding her nudity. “What are you talking—” Her eyes widened and her heartbeat picked up as her gaze landed on the half-naked and exceedingly chiseled face and body of Sheikh Muhammad al-Jihad al-Raqqah.
His closely cropped dark hair and sharp brown gaze gave way to a Roman nose and perfect lips. His towering frame was heavily muscled, his mocha-olive skin in sharp contrast to the white serwal pants he wore. Everything about him was massive—including the erection she could easily see delineated through his silky pants.
She swallowed a bit roughly. She had forgotten he was so handsome—as monsters go of course. Viviana doubted there was a pro-jihadi woman alive who wouldn’t welcome the fate that had been forced on her. “What are you talking about?” she asked weakly.
The sheik sat back down. One of his dark eyebrows rose sardonically. Had he detected the twinge of innate arousal she’d experienced before masking it? The thought was depressing. Thankfully, he didn’t humiliate her by bringing it up, much less taunt her with it, if he had noticed.
“Everyone in that ‘safe’ house was marked for death the moment you first entered its doors.” His gaze seared into hers. “I was able to negotiate for one of your lives and only one. I,” he said slowly, quietly, “chose you.”
Viviana’s pulse sped up. She blinked and looked away.
“It’s war, Viviana. Do not tell me your people would not have done the same.”
“I won’t,” she breathed out, staring into nothingness again, “because I can’t.”
Silence.
“I will not lie to you,” Muhammad eventually said. “I chose you because I coveted you.”
“So your cock decided which woman would live.”
“Basically.”
For some insane reason his words made her feel, if not better, at least less awful. Not because of the words themselves, but because of the unembellished truthfulness in them. Put plainly, she appreciated, even respected, his candor.
Viviana stood up, holding the blanket around her, and slowly walked to where Muhammad sat. Even seated the gigantic sheikh was nearly at eye level with her. His dark, unreadable gaze stayed trained on her every movement. She came to a halt directly in front of him.
“How long were the cameras there?” she asked.
“Before you arrived.”
“How often did you watch me?”
“Every moment you weren’t asleep. Sometimes even then.”
She visibly stilled. “How often did you watch the others?”
“I didn’t.”
“Why?” she whispered.
“I coveted only you.”
