Книга - Taming The Sheik

Taming The Sheik
Carol Grace


Anne Sheridan would never have missed her best friend's wedding. It was the flowers she couldn't handle. And after taking one too many antihistamines, the allergy-ridden bridesmaid found herself being carried off by dashing groomsman Sheik Rafik Harun. Imagine her surprise when she woke up in the notorious bachelor's bed!Honor kept Rafik from taking advantage of the drowsy beauty in his care. But now desperation had him making an even bolder request–that she pose as his fiancée! Only until he convinced his marriage-minded parents that he was better off a bachelor. Or until the pretty Miss Sheridan found her way into his hard heart…







“I need a fiancée.”

Rafik gave Anne a rueful smile. “I don’t mean a real fiancée. Though that’s what my father wants for me. He thinks I should get married and settle down. I’m against that plan. What I’m looking for is someone who’s willing to pose as my fiancée for a short time.”

“So what’s the problem?” Anne replied. “How could a woman say no to a charming man like you?”

“Perhaps you’d consider…”

“Me?” Her eyes widened. “You thought I would pose as your fiancée? Why would I do that?”

“I thought after reflecting on that night we spent together, the hours we shared…you might feel differently about me.”

She stared at him. “According to you, nothing happened that night we spent together. That’s what you said. Nothing happened. Now I want to know the truth.”

“Ah, the truth. All I can say is that it was the most incredible night of my life.…”




Taming the Sheik

Carol Grace







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Books by Carol Grace


Silhouette Romance

Make Room for Nanny #690

A Taste of Heaven #751

Home Is Where the Heart Is #882

Mail-Order Male #955

The Lady Wore Spurs #1010

* (#litres_trial_promo)Lonely Millionaire #1057

* (#litres_trial_promo)Almost a Husband #1105

* (#litres_trial_promo)Almost Married #1142

The Rancher and the Lost Bride #1153

† (#litres_trial_promo)Granted: Big Sky Groom #1277

† (#litres_trial_promo)Granted: Wild West Bride #1303

† (#litres_trial_promo)Granted: A Family for Baby #1345

Married to the Sheik #1391

The Librarian’s Secret Wish #1473

Fit for a Sheik #1500

Taming the Sheik #1554

Silhouette Desire

Wife for a Night #1118

The Heiress Inherits a Cowboy #1145

Expecting… #1205

The Magnificent M.D. #1284




CAROL GRACE


has always been interested in travel and living abroad. She spent her junior year of college in France and toured the world working on the hospital ship HOPE. She and her husband spent the first year and a half of their marriage in Iran, where they both taught English. She has studied Arabic and Persian languages. Then, with their toddler daughter, they lived in Algeria for two years.

Carol says that writing is another way of making her life exciting. Her office is her mountaintop home, which overlooks the Pacific Ocean and which she shares with her inventor husband, their daughter, who just graduated college, and their teenage son.










Contents


Chapter One (#u3b99f74f-b018-5dd0-b9ee-026fa18e3324)

Chapter Two (#u2f0c9ff9-cf80-504d-8edf-4cb15298b438)

Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One


It was the most beautiful wedding of the year. The sun shone through the stained-glass windows of the church atop Nob Hill in San Francisco. The scent of roses filled the air. Bridal consultant Carolyn Evans walked down the aisle to marry Sheik Tarik Oman to the strains of the wedding march played on the magnificent pipe organ. It was an occasion no one would ever forget. Especially bridesmaid Anne Sheridan.

As the groom lifted the bride’s veil and kissed her, there wasn’t a dry eye in the front row where the family sat. Anne’s eyes filled with tears, too. So many they threatened to spill down her cheeks. But it was not because she was overcome with emotion or because her pink silk shoes pinched her toes. It was an allergic reaction. While many people were allergic to grasses and trees, she knew from being tested last year she was allergic to flowers. She was allergic to the peonies and lilies in her bouquet, to the stephanotis at the end of each aisle, and even to the arrangements of roses at the altar.

To prepare for the wedding and guard against sneezing in the middle of the ceremony, she’d asked her doctor for extra-strength antihistamines which she’d taken an hour ago. Even so, her throat was raw and her eyes watered. It was clear she’d need another pill before the flower-filled garden reception to be held at the groom’s mansion. Unable to reach for a tissue, she blinked back the tears and bit her lip. She was grateful all eyes were on the bride so no one would notice her red-rimmed eyes and obvious discomfort.

But someone did notice. One of the groomsmen at the altar was staring at her and not the bride. It was one of Sheik Tarik’s twin cousins she’d met the night before at the rehearsal dinner. He was good-looking in an exotic way, but she couldn’t tell the difference between the twin brothers. They’d both flirted with every woman there except for her. She wasn’t the type men flirted with. She was a sane and sensible private-school teacher who stayed in the background and watched the festivities.

Whichever twin he was, he wasn’t flirting now, he was just looking at her intently as if he couldn’t believe she was getting carried away and crying at her best friend’s wedding. He raised one eyebrow, and she knew he must think she was an emotional basket case. As if she cared. After today she’d never see him again. He and his brother were just two of the out-of-town guests here for the wedding and would be leaving soon afterward.

She tore her gaze from his admittedly handsome face and focused on her friend Carolyn, thinking how happy she was for her. Marrying a rich and gorgeous sheik. After years of planning weddings for others, Carolyn was finally able to plan one for herself. And what a wedding it was. Somehow Anne got through the rest of the ceremony without coughing or sneezing and made it down the aisle and out in front of the church where she took a deep breath of fresh air.

“Are you all right?” A deep voice, a hand on her bare shoulder made a shiver go up her spine. Somehow she knew before she turned around. It was him. “Of course, I’m fine,” she said breathlessly, trying to ignore the warmth of his hand on her bare skin. Telling herself the goosebumps that had popped out on her arms were due to the cool air and not his warm touch.

“Look, it’s just a wedding. Nothing to cry about,” he said. “If anyone’s crying it should be Tarik. Losing his freedom. Yes, it’s enough to make every man in the place weep.” He gave her a good-natured grin and removed his hand from her shoulder.

Immediately she missed the warmth of his touch. Ridiculous. A strange man took his hand away and she felt a chill. She tried to shrug off his remarks, which were obviously those of a confirmed cynic. He was just a typical, macho male with a commitment phobia. “You don’t understand,” she said. “I wasn’t crying….”

“Not crying?” There was amused surprise in his tone. Surprised that she’d try to deny it. Surprised that she’d dared disagree with him. He leaned forward until his face was only inches from hers and studied her carefully. His eyes held her gaze for a long moment. She tried to look away but couldn’t. She was trapped in the depths of those deep-brown eyes. Could that be sympathy she saw there or curiosity or something else? All she knew was she felt he was looking deep into her soul and she didn’t want him to. After all, she didn’t even know him.

He brushed a thumb against her cheekbone to wipe away a tear. A surprisingly gentle touch from a sophisticated man who looked like he came straight out of GQ. She felt a quiver run up her spine. Her legs felt like jelly. What was wrong with her, anyway? It must be the wedding, the tears, the joy and the music that were having an effect on her. Not to mention those allergy pills. No man had ever made her feel like this. No man had ever brushed away her tears either.

“Those were tears there,” he continued, cocking his head to one side. “You’re not a very good liar, sweetheart. I know what I saw.”

Anne took a deep breath and looked around. She had to get away from this man. Just in case it wasn’t the music, the tears and the flowers, just in case her condition had something to do with this man, with the way he looked at her, the way his thumb left an imprint on her cheek and the way his hand felt on her shoulder. She had to escape, right now. Before this cousin of the groom jumped to the conclusion that his unwanted attention was affecting her one way or another. That it was because of him she felt cold on the outside and hot on the inside. Or that she was afraid to look into his eyes again, which she absolutely was not.

She didn’t know where to go. Looking around, it seemed everyone was with someone. The photographer was snapping candid pictures, people were throwing rice and laughing and talking. No one was looking at her except him. She wished he wouldn’t. She wished he’d go join one of those other groups. But he didn’t. He just stood there looking at her. As if she were some rare bird like the ones she tracked on their migratory routes.

Thank heavens no one heard him call her “sweetheart” or noticed him touching her. Thank heavens no one knew what an effect that touch had on her. She felt it even now, the brush of his thumb on her skin. What an innocent she was. Any other woman would have shrugged it off, because it didn’t mean anything after all. Not to him.

“All right,” she said, “you saw tears, but not because…not for the reason you thought.”

“Cheer up,” he said with a smile that showed a flash of white teeth against his bronzed skin. “Think of it this way, you’re not losing a friend, you’re gaining a sheik.”

“Is that a good thing?” she asked, trying to strike a lighthearted, bantering tone, as if she dealt with handsome sheiks every day of the week. If she did she’d know how to deal with this man who undoubtedly needed a dose of humility. Not that she was the one to teach him. She taught six-year-olds to count and spell and read. She’d never met a sheik until Carolyn introduced her to Tarik, her fiancé, a kind and charming man who was obviously totally different from his cousin.

“A very good thing,” he said, his dark eyes dancing with fun.

Flirting. That’s what he was doing, she realized with a start. He was flirting with her, but she didn’t know how to flirt back. So she just stood there staring at him, wondering why he bothered with her. Why not hit on one of the other bridesmaids who’d know what to do, know what to say to a good-looking bachelor on the prowl. Anyone else would know how to put him in his place with a lighthearted riposte.

She was saved from responding to this bit of braggadocio by a request from the photographer for a picture of the entire wedding party inside the church.

“I guess that means me,” she said, grateful for the distraction.

“It means us,” he said, offering his arm.

She smiled weakly. As much as she wanted to, she knew it would be rude to ignore him, to stalk on ahead as if he hadn’t spoken, as if he hadn’t held out his arm. So she gingerly took his arm, so gingerly that he paused.

“I won’t bite, you know,” he said, slanting a teasing glance in her direction. Again his eyes danced with fun. At her expense. She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything. And they walked back up the aisle of the church. Thank heavens she wasn’t a bride, because she stumbled on the red carpet halfway to the altar, which caused the sheik to tighten his grip on her arm. He finally had to let her go so she could take her place with the bridesmaids and so he could take his place next to the groom.

But before the flashbulbs starting popping, she was compelled to cast a glance in his direction and found him looking at her. When he caught her eye he winked flirtatiously at her, and she quickly looked away.

Luckily she had to help the bride with her train on the way back down the aisle, and she lost sight of the sheik. Otherwise who knew what would have happened? She might have ridden with him back to the reception. She might have been wedged into one of the limos next to him all the way through town. The thought of his thigh pressed against hers, his shoulder next to hers caused the heat to rise to her head. She paused to take another allergy pill while she gave herself a stern warning about handsome men on the prowl.

Instead of riding with the sheik, luckily she caught a ride to the reception with Carolyn’s mother and aunt, during which they oohed and ahhed about what a lovely wedding it was and how beautiful Carolyn looked. Anne agreed enthusiastically, but when they started talking about the twin brothers, Rafik and Rahman, she closed her eyes and leaned back against the leather seat. She didn’t want to hear about them and she didn’t want to talk about them. She had nothing to say. She didn’t even know which one was which. This second dose of allergy medicine made her feel increasingly tired and groggy. If she could just make an appearance at the reception, she’d sneak out early and take a taxi home.

But she couldn’t ignore the conversation floating around her in the car. She couldn’t help feeling as if she were listening to a dialog from a movie.

“Aren’t those twins the handsomest men you’ve ever seen? You know, they arrived for the wedding a few weeks ago, but I heard they like it so much in San Francisco, they’re opening a branch of the family business here,” Carolyn’s mother said. “They’re going to be quite an addition to the social scene. With their looks and their money and their status.”

“So handsome,” Carolyn’s aunt murmured.

“Absolutely adorable, if I were thirty years younger….”

The two women burst into girlish laughter and even Anne had to smile. What was it about weddings that brought out the frivolous in everyone? Everyone but her.

“Anne, dear, how are you?” Carolyn’s mother asked anxiously observing her daughter’s best friend. “Weddings can be so exhausting. I know I’m going to spend the next week recovering. But you’ll feel better once we get to the reception. They’ve booked the most wonderful band and the caterer is the best in town.”

Anne nodded. She was sure everything about the reception would be perfection, if she knew Carolyn. They’d been friends since high school, spending hours together daydreaming about the future. Carolyn sketching bridal gowns, clipping articles on weddings from the society pages, destined for bridal bliss herself. Anne studying hard, determined to be a teacher, picturing herself surrounded by children as she read the stories to them that she’d loved as a child.

When Anne was diagnosed with scoliosis in her sophomore year Carolyn stood by her. She took notes for her friend when she had to miss school for doctor’s appointments. Cheered her up when she had to wear a back brace right up to graduation. Tried to lure her out to parties and dances. But Anne was shy and unsure of herself around boys. Who in their right mind would be interested in a girl in a brace? No one, that’s who.

Anne was never jealous of Carolyn. Even now with a lifetime of happiness ahead of her, Anne only wished her the best. Carolyn deserved it. After spending years planning weddings for other people, she’d finally planned her own to a man she was madly in love with.

Anne was determined to try to enjoy the reception for as long as she could. The good news was she’d been able to avoid the groom’s cousin completely so far. The bad news was she was so terribly tired. All she wanted to do right now was to lie down and take a nap. It was a side effect of the medicine, she knew. At least her tears had dried up and she wouldn’t be accused of getting emotional over a wedding.

The house on the bluff above the ocean was beautiful. The view from the garden was spectacular. Guests were handed a glass of champagne or sparkling fruit juice as they arrived at the entrance to the patio. Anne sipped her champagne gratefully. Her mouth was as dry as cotton. She found a chair half hidden behind a native fern and drained her glass. She heard voices, saw shapes and forms but hoped that no one, especially no one from the wedding party, could see her or they’d ask her what was wrong, insist she join the party, meet someone and say something. Never a social butterfly, she had never felt less social than today.

Suddenly the murmur of voices got louder. Voices she recognized.

“Say, Carolyn,” a familiar male voice said, “have I told you how beautiful you look? Too bad Tarik saw you first. He has all the luck.”

“I’m the one who’s lucky, Rafik. And so happy. One of these days we’ll be dancing at your wedding.”

“Have you been talking to my father? That’s his idea of happiness, not mine. Why get married when there are so many wonderful willing women around. By the way, who’s your bridesmaid?”

“Which one?”

“In the pink dress.”

“They’re all in pink dresses.”

“Reddish hair, blue eyes.”

“You mean Anne. My best friend from high school. Stay away from her, Rafik. She’s a wonderful woman, but she’s not willing. And she’s too good for a player like you,” Carolyn said in a teasing voice.

“Why don’t we let her decide?” he asked. “Besides, everything’s about to change. I’m going to be in charge of the new office here in San Francisco. I’m afraid my party days are over and my playboy ways are going to be sharply curtailed. Not that I’ll ever settle down, but I can’t stay out all night partying anymore if I’m going to be in the office at nine every morning. Woe is me.”

“You’re too much, Rafik. Let me introduce you to Lila. She’s a lot of fun.”

“I met her. She’s fine but not my type. Have you seen Anne around?”

“Rafik, I warned you…” Carolyn sighed. “No, I haven’t seen her since the church.”

Just as Anne was congratulating herself on her apparent invisibility, the pollen from the flowers that bordered the ferns she was hiding behind overcame her antihistamines and she sneezed.

Carolyn peeked around the plants. “There you are,” she said. She and Rafik circled around the ferns and stood looking down at her. “Come on and join the party. You’ve met Tarik’s cousin Rafik, haven’t you?”

“Yes, of course, I mean, that is I…I….” she stammered. “Not formally.”

Rafik held out his hand and he pulled her to her feet. If it weren’t for him she might have fallen over. Her knees wobbled and she felt dizzy. She hoped they wouldn’t notice. Carolyn didn’t, but then her head was in the clouds. Rafik gave Anne a searching second glance.

“Happy to meet you, Anne,” he said, trapping her hand between both of his. She tugged, but he had no intention of letting her go. Maybe it was just as well. Without his support she might have toppled over.

“If you two will excuse me,” Carolyn said. “I must say hello to some people. Rafik, remember what I said,” she added pointedly.

Anne wanted to go with her. Surely there were people she had to say hello to, too. But she couldn’t move. So she stood there, her hand still being held tightly by the sheik who showed no sign of remembering anything Carolyn had said. Why? she asked herself. Why didn’t he go off and dance with Lila, why stay with her?

“You look like you could use something to drink,” he said, studying her with narrowed eyes.

She nodded. “I’m really thirsty.”

“Let’s get some champagne and a few of those delicious hors d’oeuvres.” He tucked her hand securely under his arm for the second time that day and they strolled over to a table laden with all kinds of delectable canapés. With his support, she felt stronger, more in control.

“Champagne?” she asked. “I didn’t know you were permitted to drink.”

“My brother and I were sent to boarding school in the U.S. as kids. Then we stayed in this country for university on the east coast since the family business is multinational. I’m afraid we’re pretty much Americanized by now. For better or worse.” Again that disarming grin. The one that charmed all those willing women who were no doubt in his life. “You notice Tarik is serving fruit juice, too, for those like my parents who observe the religious rules of our country.”

Anne felt much better after she’d eaten two stuffed mushrooms and drunk another glass of champagne. “I’m fine now,” she said to the sheik. “Thank you.” You can go now. Don’t feel obliged to take care of me.

“Sure you’re all right? Not going to cry anymore?”

“For the last time, I wasn’t crying.” Goodbye.

“Right. You notice I didn’t mention it to your friend Carolyn.”

“I appreciate that,” Anne said. “If you’ll excuse me I’m going to uh…I see some friends over there. Nice meeting you.” If that wasn’t a decided exit, she didn’t know what was, she thought as she walked slowly across the lawn, her high heels scraping the ground. She didn’t turn to see if she’d hurt his feelings. She was sure she wasn’t capable of any such thing. He was most likely on his way to find another woman, chat up another bridesmaid, hoping she’d be more receptive to his so-called charm.

Rafik stood watching the woman wobble across the lawn, Carolyn’s words ringing in his ears. A wonderful woman. Stay away from her. Too good for you.

She was right. Anne was just the type he was not interested in. Shy. Quiet. Emotional. Heaven save him from the weepy kind of women who cry at weddings. Oh, it was okay if you were the mother of the bride or groom. So what was wrong with him, hitting on a woman who was most definitely not his type? There was something about her, the way she tried to hold back the tears that brought out the protector in him. She made him feel admirable. The way she looked at him through damp lashes, cheeks flushed, her face framed in that gorgeous red-gold hair.

He reminded himself he was not interested in being admirable. He was not looking to protect someone. He was looking for a smooth, sexy, smart and sassy woman who could protect herself. Anne Sheridan was none of the above. Besides she was a friend of Carolyn’s, his new cousin-in-law whom he respected. Half-reluctantly, he turned and looked over the bevy of lovely women, enough women gathered here to please a whole family of sheiks. For some reason he couldn’t seem to focus on any one of them.

“Hey,” his brother threw an arm around his shoulders. “Having fun? Who was the lady in pink I saw you with?”

“Just one of the bridesmaids.”

“I know it was one of the bridesmaids,” Rahman said. “What’s her name?”

“Anne Sheridan. A friend of Carolyn’s. Why?”

“I don’t know. Don’t remember her from the rehearsal dinner. Thought I’d met every pretty woman there. I might introduce myself. Unless you…?”

“No, absolutely not,” Rafik said. “Wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole. Not my type. Not yours either.”

“Okay. Just asking. What a party, huh?”

It was quite a party, and Rafik would have been a fool to miss a moment of it. He threw himself into enjoying the music, the dancing, and oh, yes, chatting up the women. So much so, he almost forgot about the auburn-haired bridesmaid in the pink dress. Out of sight, out of mind. That’s the way it always was with him. But in one small corner of his mind during the fun, he wondered what had happened to her. He hoped his brother had followed his advice and ignored her. Not that he really cared. Not that she was his responsibility. It was just that she seemed so fragile and so vulnerable. It was obvious somebody ought to be responsible for her. Just so it wasn’t him or anyone he knew.

Yes, he’d all but forgotten about her, until at the end of the afternoon, as dusk was falling over the manicured grounds, after the eating, drinking and dancing, he was called upon to make a toast. He stood on the dance platform in front of the musicians who were packing up and told some anecdotes about Tarik that made everyone laugh. Just as he lifted his glass of champagne to toast his cousin and his bride, he saw Anne at the edge of the crowd. She lifted her glass and caught his eye. She definitely looked like she’d had a few too many glasses of champagne. Funny. He wouldn’t have picked her for a lush.

Maybe he ought to bring her a piece of wedding cake and see how she was doing. But when he went looking for her, cake in hand, she was gone. It was just as well.

“Rafik.” Carolyn got up from the small table where she was sitting with a group of older people and caught his arm. “Do me a favor, will you? Anne isn’t feeling well. Could you give her a ride home?”

“Sure. Where is she?”

“At the front door. She wanted to call a taxi, but I’m a little worried. I want to be sure she gets home all right.”

“Okay,” he said.

He pulled his car up in front of the house and left the motor running while he bounded up the front steps. He found her standing in the doorway of the house, looking confused.

“Oh,” Anne said, startled to see Rafik at the door.

“Come on,” he said, putting his arm around her waist.

“I’m waiting for a taxi. Thanks anyway,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to disengage his arm.

“I’m the taxi,” he said. “I’m taking you home. Orders from Carolyn.”

“That’s not necessary,” she said. Of all people. She did not want to be indebted to this man, who thought he was God’s gift to womankind. Who’d already seen her at her worst. She’d managed to avoid him for the past few hours, and now here he was again.

“Really. I’m fine. I just need….” She just needed to lie down and close her eyes. Her head was pounding, the room was spinning, and Rafik’s face was going in and out of focus. When he picked her up as easily as if she weighed no more than a rag doll and carried her down the steps to his waiting car, her head bobbed against his shoulder. She pounded him on his back in an attempt to make him let her go, but it had no effect on him at all.

He very carefully installed her in the passenger seat, taking her small clutch bag from her hand and removing her shoes before he tucked her feet in. She sighed. Despite her protests, she had to admit it felt so good to be taken care of. So good to have those tight shoes off. Again she was surprised that a big, broad-shouldered, dashing man-about-town would have such a gentle touch. As he fastened her seat belt, his hand grazed the bodice of her silk dress and she gasped. Her eyes flew open and met his amused gaze.

“Just following the seat-belt law,” he said innocently. “Wouldn’t want to be stopped for any kind of violation.”

“Right,” she said.

Did he know, could he tell she was unaccustomed to being touched there? Unused to being touched at all by a man? That just a brush of his hand had left her shaky and breathless? Or was that, too, the effect of the champagne and the medicine? What did it matter? He’d been instructed to take her home and he was doing it. She ought to be grateful.

“Where do you live?” he asked.

“In the Sunset,” she said. “Out by the….you know….” She hoped he knew because the names of the streets of San Francisco were going round and round in her brain. Such nice names. Which one was hers? “Octavia. Laguna. Chestnut. Larkin. Pine and Bush,” she murmured.

“What?” he said. “I’m new in town. You’ll have to give me better directions than that.”

“Take Geary,” she said. “No, no better take California.”

“I know California Street,” he said confidently. “No problem. You just relax till we get there.”

Relax? She was so relaxed she might never move again. “Nice car,” she said, though all she knew was that it smelled like leather and the seat was so comfortable she wanted to stay there forever.

“It’s new,” he said. “I didn’t need a car when we lived in New York, but I do here,” he said. “My life is about to change. Drastically.”

“No more playboy, hmm?”

“Where’d you hear that?” he asked sharply.

“Heard you talking.”

“I thought maybe you’d been talking to my father.”

She shook her head. Just to utter another word would require too much effort.

“He thinks it’s time I grew up. Took over the business and got married. I’m the elder son, you know.”

“I thought…twins,” she murmured.

“Yes, we’re twins, but I was born first. By thirty minutes. So Rahman’s allowed some slack while I’m the heir apparent. I’m the one who gets the corner office. I’m the one who gets the responsibility of running it. I’m the one who’s supposed to find a wife and settle down. Don’t tell anyone I said that. I’m trying to talk him out of that one.”

As if she could tell anyone anything. Her lips were numb, her eyes refused to open. He was still talking. She could hear the words but they made no sense. None at all.

When Rafik got to California Street he turned to ask Anne which way to turn, but her eyes were closed and she was breathing softly and steadily. She’d fallen asleep.

“Hey, wake up,” he said. “Which way on California?” He shook her gently by the shoulder. Nothing. “Anne. Where do you live? Come on, sweetheart, speak to me.” But she didn’t. She slid down even farther in the seat. Too much to drink, obviously. Well, it wasn’t the first time he’d been stuck with an inebriated date. Though he usually knew where they lived. He could go back to the wedding or call Carolyn, but the truth was, he was tired himself. It had been a week of nonstop pre-wedding parties along with setting up a new office and frankly he was beat. He, the man who loved a good time, who’d never met a party he didn’t like, was slowing down. What was the matter with him?

Another thing. He didn’t relish telling Carolyn her friend had passed out before he even got her home. It might put a damper on the remainder of the party for her. And it would make her best friend look bad. The only thing to do was take her back to his hotel with him. It was a comfortable suite with great room service and a giant king-sized bed. When she came to, he’d sober her up with coffee, find out where she lived and drive her home.

Unfortunately Anne was still out of it when they arrived at the hotel. How was he going to get her up to his room without causing a scene? He pulled up to the front entrance and tried once more to wake her up. “We’re here,” he said loudly. “Come on. Do me a favor and wake up.” She didn’t stir.

The doorman opened the passenger door and waited.

Rafik jumped out of the car and lifted Anne up in his arms.

“Fell asleep in the car,” Rafik explained to the blue-uniformed doorman. “She’ll be fine. Have the valet park it, will you?”

“Certainly, sir,” he said, as if comatose guests arrived every day and had to be carried into the hotel.

The lobby was crowded with well-dressed guests. There was a party going on in one of the ballrooms. Not all of the people turned to stare at the man in the tuxedo carrying a redheaded woman in a strapless pink silk dress to the elevator. But most of them did. The decibel level fell about twenty points as a kind of hush fell over the crowd. The hush was replaced with murmurs.

“Who is that?”

“One of those sheiks. He shut down the bar the other night. Isn’t he too much?”

“No, I mean her. Who’s she? I’ve never seen her before.”

“It couldn’t be…no, if I didn’t know better I’d think it was Emma’s teacher, Miss Sheridan.”

“Anne Sheridan, the first-grade teacher at Pinehurst?”

“It isn’t, of course, but the hair…such a gorgeous color. There aren’t many people…No, what am I thinking? It couldn’t be her. What would she be doing in the arms of a playboy going up to his hotel room or hers? She’s not the type. All of the teachers at Pinehurst are screened carefully. Models of decorum. At least in public. No, it can’t be her.”

Rafik, who’d done just about every outrageous thing in the last few years in New York, felt his ears turn red. Not the type. Not his type. He knew that. But he’d brought her here anyway. What was wrong with him? He knew what was wrong with him. He didn’t want to let her go. Didn’t want to leave her anywhere. Not until he knew she was all right. On the other hand, she was a big girl. She could take care of herself. But not tonight. Tonight he was taking care of her whether she wanted him to or not. It made no sense. It made no sense at all. But there it was.

At least he should have covered Anne with something. It was one thing, as part of a colorful and wealthy international family, to be talked about in hotel lobbies. It wasn’t the first time that had happened to him. But to expose Anne to gossip was not fair. He shouldn’t have brought her here. He should have driven back to the reception, found out where she lived and taken her home. But hindsight is always 20/20. It was a little late to change his game plan.

He stared straight ahead, his teeth clenched in his jaw, praying for an early arrival of the elevator. After an eternity it arrived and gratefully he entered, Anne’s face pressed against his chest. He awkwardly hit the button for the twentieth floor and heaved a sigh of relief. But he wasn’t home free.

The elevator wasn’t empty.

“Big night?” a man in a dark suit asked with a smirk.

Rafik managed a tight smile. There was no way to explain that wouldn’t exacerbate the situation.

“Oh, my,” said an elegant woman in a beige suit, eyeing Anne’s inert body with surprise. “Is she all right?”

“Fine. She’s just fine. Just tired.”

“Beautiful red hair. Say, aren’t you one of those sheiks?” she asked.

He’d removed his headdress this morning, but somehow the woman knew. Maybe because the family had taken over the entire twentieth floor.

“Yes,” he said. “I am.”

Damn. He could have lied. Could have said he was the hotel manager escorting a guest to her room or a doctor with a case of Lyme disease on his hands. How many more people was he going to run into before he got her to his floor, to his suite? He could only be glad he wasn’t going to meet any family members, presumably all still at the reception. He especially wanted to avoid his father who’d had a talk with him that very morning about his new image, about public relations and the family business. This kind of situation was exactly what his father was talking about. Only it wasn’t really. It just looked like it. Unfortunately his father was into appearances. In a big way.

He finally arrived in the cool, calm, quiet, high-ceilinged suite. He strode into the bedroom and laid her down on the bed on her back. Her face was pale. He sat on the edge of the bed and pressed his ear against her chest. She was breathing slowly and regularly. Thank God. Rafik knew from experience she just needed to sleep it off.

It would be just a matter of time before she came to. When she did, he’d offer her coffee and if that didn’t work, he’d mix her up a concoction that worked for him—tomato juice with Worcestershire and a touch of lemon and pepper. He’d spirit her out of the hotel, down the back stairs, if there were any, and take her home. And that would be that. Carolyn would never know. She’d be on her honeymoon. All she wanted was for him to take the woman home. Which he’d tried to do. Which he would do. Eventually.

He sat on the edge of the bed observing her, his forehead furrowed. The woman in the elevator was right. She had beautiful hair. A delicious strawberry color that curled in wisps around her face. A smattering of freckles across her nose. She looked so young and innocent. She couldn’t be that young. She was Carolyn’s age. So she couldn’t be innocent either, could she? He sighed. He knew many beautiful women with beautiful hair. Blondes, brunettes and redheads. He’d met several today at the wedding.

But he’d never met anyone quite like this woman here on his bed. Damned if he could say what it was about her that intrigued him the way she did. Maybe it was just that she wasn’t his type. Yes, that must be it. Opposites attract. Combine that with Carolyn’s warning and it had made her damned near irresistible. He loosened his tie and looked down at her. He had an uncontrollable desire to run his fingers over her bare shoulder and down her arm to her hand that was curled up. He knew what her skin would feel like. Satin smooth. Just the way it had when he touched her this afternoon after the wedding. He fought off a shaft of desire that threatened to overtake him.

He sighed loudly, wishing she’d wake up. Wishing he could get out of this monkey suit. He imagined Anne would be more comfortable without the fancy dress she’d been wearing all day, too. After a long moment of contemplation, he rolled her gently on her side and tugged clumsily at the zipper on the back of her dress.

Carefully he pulled the dress down over her hips and tossed it on a chair. Underneath the dress she was wearing lace bikini panties and a strapless bra. He sat there staring as if he’d never seen a woman in that state before. Truth was, he’d seen many female bodies in his time. Dressed and undressed. But there was something special about this one. Something that made his heart pound. Made him short of breath. It might have been the scattering of freckles across her chest, the swell of her breasts, or the curve of her hips. She was defenseless and therefore untouchable. And oh, yes, not the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and definitely not his type, but very appealing, and very desirable.

This was a situation where other men might have taken advantage of her. But there was a code of conduct he adhered to which was based on a respect for women and an obligation to help those in his care.

An obligation to make them comfortable. To protect them. He tore off his shirt, the buttons flying and covered her with it. Then he very carefully put one of her arms in the sleeve, then awkwardly the other arm. He was breathing hard from exertion. Very slowly he reached under the shirt for the strapless bra she was wearing. From experience he knew how those bras worked. Unhook the front and slip it off. But should he? What if she woke up? If she did, he’d just explain. And if she did, well, wasn’t that what he wanted after all?

Under the shirt, unable to see what he was doing, he reached for the snap, but his fingers, usually so deft, felt like stubs. Finally he slid the bra off, pulled the blankets back and covered her up. She was now wearing his shirt and her panties. He’d done the best he could do.

He stood at the edge of the bed looking down at her. The red-gold hair against the white pillow. The pale face and the curve of her cheek. So sweet, so lovely. And so wrong for him. He knew that. Of course he did. As soon as he could he’d get her out of here. But when would that be? How long before she woke up? Did he dare doze off himself? All he wanted was to get her out of his bed, out of his room and out of his mind. But he couldn’t. Not now. Not yet while she was still sleeping it off.

He closed the bedroom door behind him and paced back and forth in the living room, staring out the window at the lights of the city below. As tired as he was, he just couldn’t go to bed. His mind was spinning. Images of the wedding filled his mind. The bride, the groom. The bridesmaid. Some time later there was a knock on the door.

“What happened to you?” his brother asked when he opened the door. “Couldn’t believe you left so early. You missed the throwing of the garter. I caught it.”

“Good, that means you’ll be the next to be married. And not me.”

“You first,” Rahman said. “You’re the eldest.”

“Forget it. I’ve heard enough of that from father. You know what happened the last time he tried to arrange a marriage for me.”

“Don’t blame father for that. It was nobody’s fault,” his brother said. “You can’t give up on marriage because of one woman.”

“I can’t? Why not? If you feel that way, then why don’t you lead the way and set an example for me,” Rafik said, knowing it was a safe suggestion. Rahman was an even bigger playboy than Rafik had ever been.

“I’ll give it a thought,” Rahman said amiably. “Hey, aren’t you going to invite me in? We can order up some coffee and rehash the wedding.”

“Uh…I don’t think so.” Good Lord, what if the woman woke up and stumbled into the room? Not that Rahman would be shocked. Rafik just…he just didn’t want his brother to think she was that kind of woman. Of course he himself didn’t know what kind of woman she really was, but he could guess. She was the type to drink to cover her shyness, to make it easier to socialize.

“All right. But you still haven’t explained why you left so early. I thought you and I would be rolling up the sidewalk.” Leaning against the door frame, Rahman looked at his brother curiously.

“I’ve got to be in the office at nine tomorrow. They’re installing the computer system. That’s why I left early. Yeah, that’s it. I can’t carouse the way I used to, you know.” Brilliant. That ought to satisfy his brother who knew about the increased duties his father had put on him.

Rahman observed him closely. No one knew him as well as his brother. If he could fool him, he was home free.

A soft muffled sound came from the bedroom. A sound like a sneeze. “What was that?” Rahman asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing.” Damn. She hadn’t made a peep since they’d arrived and she chose that moment to sneeze. Next thing he knew she’d be opening that bedroom door and…

Rahman grinned. “You’ve got somebody in there, haven’t you? You’re holding out on me. Who is it? Is it that bridesmaid I saw you with? Yeah, it’s her, isn’t it?”

“No, it isn’t. Goodnight, Rah. Get some sleep. You need it. See you tomorrow.” Very firmly and very forcefully Rafik closed the door on his brother and locked it. Then he strode across the room and flung the bedroom door open.




Chapter Two


Rafik held his breath. She was still there. Still asleep. Curled up on her side, one bare arm on the spread, her copper-colored hair still spread over the pillow, a vibrant splash of color in the soft lamplight. His heart stopped beating for a full moment, maybe longer. Good Lord, whether she was his type or not, she really was beautiful. Damn. He’d been hoping that sneeze meant she’d be up and dressed and ready to leave. Not yet.

What to do? He couldn’t think straight. He was exhausted. He went into the bathroom and stripped down to his boxers. When he came out, he stood at the end of the bed debating about what to do. Watching her sleep make him feel tired and envious. Why should she get a chance to sleep in that big, comfortable bed and not him? He’d had just as hard a day as she had. Was just as tired. On the opposite side of the bed, he slid beneath the sheets and closed his eyes. Just for a few minutes.

The next thing he knew the phone was ringing. It was his wake-up call. He jumped out of bed and did a double take. She was still there.

“Anne,” he said, “wake up. It’s morning.”

She sighed softly. It wasn’t possible for anyone to sleep through a wake-up call. She’d wake up any minute now. But he couldn’t wait around until she did. He hurried into the bathroom to take a shower, then came out and dressed carefully but quickly. He couldn’t be late today. From the closet he chose a London-tailored suit with a pin-striped shirt and dark tie. Then went to the living room and briskly wrote a note on his new business stationery.

“Dear Anne,” he began. No, too formal. He crumpled the paper and tossed it in the wastebasket.

“Anne,” he wrote. No, too brusque. Another toss in the basket.

“Hi.” Yes, just the right casual tone.

Thanks for a great evening. We’ll do it again some time when you’re in better shape. Sorry I couldn’t take you home last night but it didn’t work out that way for obvious reasons. I’ve got things to do this morning or I’d stick around and see some more of you. I’ll give you a call. Here’s some taxi money.

Sheik Rafik Harun.

Anne turned over when she heard a door close somewhere in the distance. She tried to open her eyes, but the sunlight that shone through the window was blinding. She pulled the sheet over her head and wondered what time it was. Though she was enjoying a summer off from teaching, she was usually up early, out in her backyard, filling her bird feeders and the birdbath. Funny. She couldn’t hear the chirp of a single robin or the screech of a blue jay reminding her of her obligation to feed them and give them water.

She threw back the covers, sat up in bed and gasped. She was in a huge king-sized bed. The opposite side from hers was rumpled, covers thrown back and an indentation in the pillow. She picked it up and pressed it against her face. There was a distinct manly smell that clung to the soft cotton. What on earth? Where was she? How did she get here? Who had slept with her and, just as important, what was she wearing? It appeared to be a large man’s shirt with several buttons missing. She always slept in a long flannel nightgown, suitable for the cool San Francisco summer nights. But for some inexplicable reason she had slept in someone else’s shirt. And she hadn’t slept alone.

She swallowed hard. Her pulse was racing. “Hello?” she called weakly. No answer. She tried again, this time louder. Silence.

Across the room her pink dress was spread across a chair. It all came back to her in a rush. The wedding. The champagne. The allergy medicine. The flirtatious sheik. But where was she? She’d obviously never made it home.

Wherever she was, she was alone. And she had a splitting headache. She was scared she couldn’t remember what had happened. Even more scared she might remember.

She jumped out of bed, pressed one hand against her aching head and went to the window. She muffled a shriek. She was high above the sidewalk, looking out at the city and the San Francisco Bay. Fortunately no one could look in the window at that height, to see her in a man’s white dress shirt with missing buttons, but she ought to get dressed. She found her strapless bra on the bureau and stared at it. How, where, why…and who?

She took off the shirt and buried her face in it for a brief moment. The smell was pure exotic masculinity the likes of which she’d never smelled before, and it caused her knees to tremble. The smell of the shirt reminded her of someone or something but she couldn’t remember who it was. It made her head hurt more to try to remember. There were no answers to her questions. No one to ask. It was time to get dressed and get out of there. Before someone came back. The someone who’d slept next to her. The someone who belonged to the shirt.

Once she was dressed in her own clothes, she walked into the large living room, picked up the phone and pressed O for Operator.

“Front Desk.”

“Yes,” Anne said. “Where am I?”

“You’re in room 2004 at the Stanford Arms,” said a bored, uninterested voice.

“Oh, of course. Thank you.” The Stanford Arms. She couldn’t afford to stay at the Stanford Arms, a luxurious landmark hotel on Nob Hill. She especially couldn’t afford to stay in a top-of-the-line suite there. That was when she saw the note on the table and read, the words ringing through her head:

A great evening…better shape…see more of you…taxi money…Sheik Rafik Harun.

Who on earth was that? What on earth had happened? She sat on the edge of a large overstuffed chair with her head in her hands and told herself to think. To remember. But it was so hard with her head feeling as if it were caught in a vise. Slowly, slowly it came to her. The handsome groomsman. The flirtatious sheik, driving her home. Why hadn’t he? Could it be that he’d never intended to take her home? That he’d wanted to seduce her, not because she was so gorgeous or desirable, which she wasn’t, but just to add another notch to his belt?

But had he? How would she know? She was a virgin. She had no idea how you felt after a night of lovemaking. She only knew that her head hurt and her whole body felt as if she’d been wrung through a wringer. Someone had removed her bra. Someone had put his shirt on her. Someone had slept next to her. That someone was a sheik. What else had he done? What had she done? The jumble of thoughts, the myriad of possibilities made her face flame. Oh, Lord, what was she going to do now? She was going to get out of there. Then she was going to find the sheik and find out what had happened last night.

She stumbled into the bathroom to wash her face. The mirror was still steamed up. The smell of soap and after-shave still in the air. She’d just missed him. Why hadn’t he woken her up? Because that’s the way it was. After a night of seduction, after the man got what he wanted, he left you a note saying he’d call you, left taxi money and then disappeared. Out of your life forever. Though she’d had no experience of spending the night with strange men, or any men for that matter, she knew that’s how it was.

In this case he’d left his address and phone number on the stationery, as if she’d want to call him! She didn’t want him to call her either. She never wanted to see him again. But she had to. She had to find out what had happened. If she could only find her shoes. And more important, her little clutch purse with her money and her house keys. They weren’t under the bed and they weren’t in the closet. The closet contained only men’s clothes. Very expensive men’s clothes. Not only suits and shirts and ties, but slacks and designer jeans and polo shirts.

She took a deep breath, picked up the phone and dialed the office number on his stationery. Her palms were damp. What would she say exactly?

How dare you take advantage of me?

Where are my shoes and my purse?

What happened anyway?

I never want to see you again!

What would he say? Would he pretend nothing happened? That he didn’t know what she was talking about? She didn’t get a chance to say anything because she got his voice mail and she froze. The things she thought she would say, the questions she wanted to ask, could not be spoken into a machine. They had to be spoken to a person. Sheik Rafik to be exact. She hung up.

There was only one thing to do. She’d call the house where the wedding reception had been. Perhaps the housekeeper had found her purse there.

“There was no purse here,” the housekeeper said when Anne got her on the phone. “I believe you had it with you when the gentleman drove you home.”

The gentleman! If only he was a gentleman. Maybe she’d left her purse and shoes in his car. She thanked the housekeeper, grabbed the money from the table and walked out the door, barefoot. She would have loved to have left the money there, but under the circumstances, she couldn’t afford to. She got quite a few stares in the elevator, and even more in the lobby as she sauntered through, head held high, trying to act as if spending the night with a rich, eligible bachelor and sneaking out the next morning in the same dress happened to her every day. Why couldn’t she remember coming in last night?

If only she could sneak out. But it was hard to sneak when you were barefoot, and wearing a pink bridesmaid’s dress. You were bound to get a few curious glances in your direction. She got more than a few.

What a relief to get into a taxi. The driver barely gave her a second glance as she gave him Rafik’s office address. Thank heavens for blasé cabdrivers. The only expression on his face was a frown when she handed him the hundred-dollar bill. He emptied his pockets and gave her change which she clutched in her hand after giving him a generous tip.

Then she stood in front of the office building on Montgomery Street in the heart of San Francisco’s financial district. The pavement was cold beneath her bare feet as she stood staring up at the high-rise. Bike messengers whizzed by, horns honked, but she scarcely noticed. She wondered which office was his, wondered if she’d have the nerve to actually go up and confront him.

She had to. She had no choice. She squared her shoulders, walked through the revolving doors and strode across the marble lobby as if she belonged there. She looked straight ahead, pretending she had blinders on, ignoring whatever curious looks were directed her way, and they must have been numerous.

The office of United Venture Capitalists was on the fourteenth floor and smelled of fresh paint and new carpets. A well-groomed receptionist behind a cherrywood desk first greeted her with a smile then her mouth fell open in surprise as she took in Anne’s unusual and unbusiness-like appearance.

“My name is Anne Sheridan. I’m here to see Sheik Rafik Harun,” Anne said, summoning all the dignity she had.

“Uh…yes. Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked. As if a barefoot woman in a formal dress would have an appointment with a sheik.

“No, but I have to see him.”

“I’ll see if he’s in,” she said coolly. “Won’t you sit down?”

Anne was too nervous to sit down. Instead she stood looking at the pictures on the wall of the ventures the company had funded. She examined a portrait of the grandfather who’d founded the company, a distinguished-looking sheik in traditional Arab dress. When she heard male voices approaching, she whirled around. It was not Rafik. It was an older man who looked very much like the sheik in the picture on the wall with an American who was wearing jeans and a T-shirt.

“May I help you, my dear?” the older man asked with a slight bow.

She swallowed hard. “I’m here to see Rafik.”

His gaze flicked over her dress. He pressed his lips together in a tight line. He seemed to understand without asking, just what had happened. Though he couldn’t possibly know when she didn’t even know herself. Unless it was a common occurrence for women to appear in evening gowns unannounced, asking for his son. She wouldn’t be surprised.

“I see,” he said. “Where is my elder son?” he asked the receptionist.

Her gaze fluttered from her desk to her telephone to the elder sheik. “I…I believe he’s in his office.”

“Then show the young lady in,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir, right away.” She jumped up from her desk and while the two men watched she led Anne down the hall to the large office on the corner. She knocked on the door and when Rafik yelled for her to come in, the woman opened the door, ushered Anne in and then disappeared.

Rafik was seated behind an enormous desk talking on the phone with his back to the door and to Anne. She had an excellent view of the back of his handsome head and his broad shoulders in his well-tailored suit jacket. Her heart was hammering in her chest like a tom-tom. This was a terrible idea. She should just turn around and walk out while she still could. He’d never know. But his father would tell him. And she still didn’t have her purse.

“Yes, of course I’ll be there,” he said. “The whole family will be there and very pleased to be hosting the benefit this year…. It gives us a chance to meet the community…. No, not yet. I’m new in town, you know. Haven’t had a chance to meet many women….” That was the only reason he’d spent the night with her, Anne thought. He didn’t know any other women. He chuckled, and Anne shivered. If only she had a jacket, a coat, a sweater. Anything. But no sweater would prevent the chill that his words sent through her. If she left now, he’d never know she was ever there. But she couldn’t. Even if she’d wanted to. Her feet were made of lead. She couldn’t move a muscle.

“A woman in my hotel room?” Rafik asked, sounding shocked at the very idea. Anne wished she could sink into the Oriental carpet and disappear. “You must have me confused with someone else,” he said genially. “I know how important the social column is,” he continued, “but I’m afraid I can’t help you there. I can’t imagine who the woman was, but I know she wasn’t with me. I realize I’ve had an image as a swinging bachelor, but all that’s in the past. From now on I’ll have no more time for partying. Well,” he said, “it’s been a pleasure to talk to you. I can’t emphasize enough that the whole family is very serious about being a part of this beautiful city. Both the business community and the social scene and the local charities. We want to do our part.” He hung up and spun his chair around to face her.

Anne swallowed hard. She’d forgotten how handsome he was. So handsome in his dark suit and bronzed skin against his striped shirt that she almost fainted. Of course, that feeling could also come from hunger or shame. She wrapped her arms across her waist.

“Oh,” he said, standing and stuffing his hands in his pockets. If he was surprised to see her, he didn’t show it. Neither did he show pleasure or dismay at her appearance. Of course, sheiks were probably trained to handle situations like this. Smoothly, suavely, with savoir faire. “It’s good to see you again…Anne.”

He remembered her name. That was a good start.

“What happened last night?” she blurted.

“Happened? As in between you and me?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Well, you passed out,” he said matter-of-factly. “A little too much champagne. It can happen to anyone. It’s happened to me. Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about? I was in your car. You were taking me home. Why didn’t you?”

“I tried, believe me, I tried. But I didn’t know where you lived, and you were in no condition to tell me.”

“So you took me to your hotel,” she said.

“Right,” he said. “I had no choice. Then you fell asleep in my bed. End of story.”

“That’s it? That’s all?” How desperately she wanted to believe that. “Wait a minute. How did I get my dress off and your shirt on?”

He raised his right hand. “Guilty as charged. Only because you looked so uncomfortable. I thought you’d sleep better in my shirt.” He walked around his desk and gave her a long, lingering look, trying but not succeeding to conceal the smile on his face. “Yes, you looked much more…how shall I say, comfortable, in my shirt. You’ll be glad to know I averted my eyes at all the appropriate moments. As any gentleman would.”

“Any gentleman would have woken me up.”

He shook his head. “I tried, darling, believe me, I tried. You were out cold. Don’t tell me it’s never happened to you before?”

“No, it hasn’t. But I imagine it’s happened to you. Taking a woman back to your hotel and then…and then…”

“Yes, it has. A time or two. But last night was different.”

“Really.” What did that mean?

He smiled. “Definitely.”

“Maybe you think this is funny,” she fumed, running out of patience. “To be stuck in a hotel without your shoes or your purse.” Not to know if you’d made love to a total stranger. “But I don’t.”

“No, of course not,” he said. “Here’s what happened. I took your shoes off in my car. And I saw your bare feet. You can’t object too strongly since everyone else you’ve run into today probably enjoyed the same pleasure.”

“I’m not worried about people seeing my feet. It’s my…it’s the rest of my…you know.”

“I can assure you no one saw but me. No one knows but me. No one will know for sure what really happened. Some may have doubts, like my father and my brother who are both suspicious types. But I won’t tell if you don’t tell.”

“How can I tell when I don’t know?”

“You’ll just have to trust me.”

Trust him? Trust a Middle Eastern sheik whom she didn’t even know? Not likely.

“I need my shoes and my purse,” she said.

“They must be in my car. I forgot completely. I’ll send someone to get them right away.” He picked up the phone and gave the order. Then he turned back to her. “Why don’t you sit down and make yourself comfortable? It will only take a few minutes. In the meantime, take my jacket. You look…” he shot her a swift appraising look “…cold.” He went to a closet and removed a soft, cashmere suit jacket and put it around her shoulders. His fingertips grazed her bare shoulders. It all came back to her. The wedding, her tears, his touch. Her face grew hot. She thrust her arms stiffly into the sleeves of the jacket.

“I’ll stand,” she said. Though she didn’t know how long her legs would hold her up, she had her pride. He shrugged. There was a long silence. He leaned against his desk and his gaze locked with hers. Those eyes, those deep, dark eyes a woman could get lost in. A woman could forget why she was there, forget the questions she’d come to ask. Especially a woman with no experience in matters like this.

In a few minutes someone would appear with her shoes and her keys and she’d leave, never to see him again. If she didn’t ask now, she’d never know.

She took a deep breath and gathered her wits about her. “What really did happen in your hotel room?”

He didn’t answer for a long moment. She could almost sense the indecision that hovered in his mind. Something flickered in his dark eyes. Then he spoke. “You and I had the most incredible night of our lives. At least I did. I can’t speak for you.”

Before her knees collapsed under her, Anne sank into the leather chair next to his desk, the one she’d spurned a few minutes ago, and buried her head in her hands. “I don’t believe it,” she said in a muffled tone.

“Why not? Am I that unattractive? Do I repulse you?” he asked.

She peeked at him between her fingers. No, he didn’t repulse her. In fact, he was the most attractive man she’d ever met. The thought of him making love to her raised the temperature of her whole body about ten degrees. Surely he knew how handsome he was. He was teasing her.

“Of course not,” she said. “If it was the most incredible night of my life, I wish I could remember it.”

“All I can say is we’ll have to do it again,” he said, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “When you’re in better shape.”

“Wait a minute. You think I was drunk, don’t you? I wasn’t. I’d taken a strong antihistamine for my allergies and that combined with two glasses of champagne did me in. Not that it matters. I just didn’t want you to think I was the kind of person who drinks too much and passes out in some stranger’s bed.”

“You’re not?” he asked, a spark of laughter in his eyes. “That’s too bad.”

Anne opened her mouth to retort, but no sound came out. She had no practice in bantering with sexy men. He was an expert in lighthearted repartee. She wasn’t. He wasn’t serious. But what if he was? What if she’d made love to a perfect stranger? She knew for sure they’d shared a bed. Anything could have happened. But did it? Would she ever get a straight answer from him?

Fortunately, Rafik’s phone rang and he began another conversation, as if she weren’t there at all, sparing her the effort of trying to pin him down and him the effort of continuing to evade her questions. She crossed and uncrossed her legs. She squirmed and wiggled. It was a comfortable chair but she was far from comfortable. It was that awful dress. At one time she’d thought it beautiful. She’d helped Carolyn pick them out and agreed that they were not only becoming, but could be worn again, to the kind of party Anne never went to. But never mind about that.

The dress made her skin itch and squeezed her waist. But the jacket was wonderfully warm and smelled like him. Like leather and exotic soap. How did she know what he smelled like? That was a good question. But not the question. Had they been intimate?

When was the person coming with her purse and shoes so she could get out of there? Rafik didn’t want her there, and she didn’t want to be there. There was a knock on the door. Rafik hung up. She got to her feet. At last. But it was not her shoes and purse. It was his father.

“May I present my father, Sheik Massoud Harun.”

Anne murmured something polite.

“Who, may I ask, son, is this lovely lady? She looks familiar, but I can’t quite place her. You must forgive an old man, my dear, but my memory is not what it used to be.”

“This is Anne…Anne Sheridan,” Rafik said. “You met her at the wedding yesterday, Father. She was one of the bridesmaids.”

“Ah, yes, of course. How nice to see you again.”

Anne murmured something polite. It was too bad Rafik didn’t have half the charm his father did. Maybe some day, years from now, he’d acquire it. But she wouldn’t be around to see it. If the old man thought her apparel strange or wondered why she was there, dressed as she was in a dress and his son’s jacket, he gave no indication at all. Or else he was past wondering at his son’s exploits.

“Well, I won’t interrupt you two young people any longer,” Rafik’s father said. “I imagine you have a lot to talk about. Don’t forget to invite her to our gala benefit this month, Rafik. Since we’re new in town, we want to expand our circle of acquaintances. Beautiful female acquaintances especially.”

Rafik stared at his father with surprise. Not a happy surprise. He recovered quickly. “Consider it done,” he said swiftly. “Ms. Sheridan is on our guest list. It will be delightful to see her again.”

His father left the room wearing a satisfied smile, his mission obviously accomplished.

“Don’t worry,” Anne said as soon as the door closed behind him. “I have no wish to go to any gala benefit. I’ve had enough fancy parties this month to last me a lifetime.”

“I understand completely,” Rafik said, feeling a giant surge of relief. “I’ll convey your regrets to my father.” Anne Sheridan would have been totally out of place at this party. Ostensibly a benefit for a charity, it was really a thinly veiled device for his father to find a bride for him. Not Rahman, just him. It wasn’t fair. Thirty minutes seniority and his father’s focus was on him. While Rahman played the field, played golf whenever he wanted to, and came to work whenever he felt like it, Rafik was expected to take over the investments of a huge family corporation.

He agreed it was time to get to work, he welcomed the chance to put his stamp on the family investments, but he didn’t agree it was time to get married. His plan was to reject all the women as unsuitable no matter what his father said or how impeccable their credentials. He didn’t know if it would work, but he’d give it a try because there was no way in hell he was going to get married. He’d tried that. He’d gone so far as to get engaged. It hadn’t worked. His father knew it, but he hadn’t given up. Not yet.

A few minutes later, the messenger knocked on the door, handed Anne her purse and shoes then closed the door behind him.

“My driver will take you home,” Rafik said. “He’ll be waiting at the front entrance.” He took her by the hand and leaned over to give her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. But she turned her face at the last moment and their lips met. Just a brush of her lips, and he felt as if he was falling down a slippery slope. He couldn’t stop himself. Operating on pure instinct, he put one hand on her shoulder, the other cradled the back of her head and he deepened the kiss. He felt her gasp of surprise, felt her try to back off, then sigh and give in. She didn’t kiss him back, but neither did she pull away. She could have. He wasn’t holding her that tightly. Frankly he was shocked at his reaction. An ordinary kiss had caused a surge of desire to course through his veins. What the hell was wrong with him?

When he came to his senses and dropped his hands he saw she had turned several shades of pink brighter than her dress. “How dare you,” she said.

“How dare I? After what we’ve been through together? That was nothing.” It was nothing. Just a kiss. But what a kiss. Didn’t she feel it, too?

“Nothing?” She spun on her bare heels and headed for the door. But before she left, she raised her arm and threw a handful of dollar bills across the room. “There. That’s the change from your hundred dollars. I’ll send you a check for what I owe you for the cab fare.”

“Come on, Anne, I don’t want your money.”

“And I don’t want yours. I never want to see you again.”

“Wait a minute.” He couldn’t let her leave like this, thinking he’d seduced her. It was a matter of pride. “Nothing happened last night. I mean it. I was teasing you.”

“Nothing?” she said again.

Solemnly, he shook his head.

She gave him a long look, then she shook her head, walked out the door and slammed it behind her. Rafik collapsed into the same chair she’d been sitting in. Which was where his brother found him ten minutes later.

Rahman sat on the edge of Rafik’s desk and observed his brother with a mixture of humor and complacence. “So you got caught, did you?”

“I don’t know,” Rafik said. “Did I?”

“Father thinks so. Of course I told him nothing of what I knew.”

“That’s because you know nothing.”

“So you say,” Rahman said. “I know she was with you last night and I know she was here today. The woman in pink. Still wearing the same dress as yesterday. How can you deny something happened between you?”

Rafik sighed loudly. “Why should I bother? No one believes me. In any case, she’s history.”

“That’s not what I heard. Father says she’s coming to the party,” Rahman said.

“He invited her but she won’t come. Not her kind of thing. She’s really not the party animal you think.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. What do you think?” Rahman asked.

“I don’t think. I just did what I had to do. Can we forget the woman for a moment? I told you she’s history. She doesn’t want to see me again and I don’t want to see her.”

“A one-night stand.”

“Yes. Whatever.” Rafik didn’t want to see Anne, think about her, talk about her or examine his unexpected reaction to that strange kiss. “I have bigger problems. The biggest being this damned scheme of Father’s to find me a bride. What am I going to do? How am I going to put him off?”

“What you need is a decoy. How do they call it? A beard.”

“What’s that?” Rafik asked. Sometimes his brother was amazing. Often when he’d discounted him as a hopeless hedonist, he’d come up with a brilliant idea. He hoped this was one of those times.

“You find a woman who will pretend to be your girlfriend, fiancée, whatever it takes to pacify Father, then he’ll stop looking,” Rahman said.

“But I don’t know anyone like that. I’m new in town as are you. We don’t know any women we can ask such a favor of.”

“We don’t?” Rahman asked. “Are you sure?”

“Sure. Absolutely sure.”

“What about that woman you spent the night with last night. What’s wrong with her?”

“Wrong with her? Everything. No, absolutely not. Didn’t you hear me tell you she didn’t ever want to see me again?”

“When has that ever stopped you from pursuing a woman? Usually you like a challenge.”

“Anne Sheridan is more than a challenge. She’s a stone wall.” But kissing her was not like kissing a stone wall. It was more like kissing flower petals. The memory caused a wave of sensual awareness to rocket through his body.

“We’ll buy her off. Even a stone wall has a price. We’ll offer her money to play the part. She can’t refuse,” Rahman suggested.

“Hah. You see this money all over the floor? She threw it there. Does that sound like a woman who can be bought? No, your plan won’t work. Besides…”





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