Sexy Sheikh Bundle (Harlequin Presents)

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘But why can’t I do the job here? I have clients who will need me, I have access to all the fabrics…’

  ‘Gianfranco Bacelli has taken care of all that.’ He smiled, or was it just the way he tilted his head? ‘And you do want to meet the bride, don’t you?’

  She paused, licked her dry lips. ‘I still haven’t agreed to do this.’

  ‘No?’ he asked, as if he believed she had no choice. ‘Then you have until Sunday to decide. We fly out Monday.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  SAPPHY let herself into her apartment, tired but at the same time exhilarated. While her body was tingling from her unexpected meeting with Signor Khaled, her mind was weighed down with uncertainty.

  The proposal had come completely out of the blue, but given that her current collection and the shows were complete, the timing really couldn’t be better. Nevertheless, it would still be tight, designing and completing something special within four weeks.

  If she agreed to go to Jebbai.

  Jebbai.

  Just the name was enough to conjure up exotic images of endless golden sand and swaying palm trees. But what did she really know about the desert kingdom other than that it was a small independent Arab state, landlocked by sand and that it had made its fortune with its rich oil reserves?

  She flicked through her small pile of mail, finding nothing there compelling enough to open immediately and distract her thoughts, so she put the letters back down and moved to the glass doors overlooking her small balcony. She stepped out into the cool air, leaning her forearms on the railing, watching the people in the square below enjoying the surprisingly mild February evening, milling about talking to friends or drifting off to one of the restaurants lining the small square.

  The commission was tempting, the location alluring, but there was something wholly unsettling about the man, something intangible that seemed to reach out and grab hold of her.

  It wasn’t just his sultry dark looks, though now at last they were explained. She could see the Arab influence in his features and his bearing and even in the golden glow to his skin. As if he was made for the desert.

  In normal circumstances his looks would have been enough to get him noticed, though they were hardly unsettling. What rattled her more was his brooding presence and the way his whole attitude spoke of thinly veiled contempt.

  Why should he be angry with her? Unless he was driven by desperation to obtain the services of a designer in time for his wedding and her failure to immediately acquiesce to his demands had displeased him. No, thinking back, he’d seemed angry even when he entered the salon.

  Angry and demanding.

  Did she really want to fly off to some desert state with him? Did she want to be trapped with him in a vessel as small as a plane? He’d burned up the atmosphere in the salon. Sucked the air dry. Even a plane as large as a seven-four-seven would be hard-pressed to hold enough oxygen for them both.

  As much as she was tempted by the commission, by the chance to experience the desert and of designing a wedding dress like nothing she’d ever done before, she certainly wasn’t keen on spending another moment in Signor Khaled’s company.

  She hugged her arms to her, the night’s chill finally registering, and stepped back inside, pulling the doors shut behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a tiny flashing light. A message on her answer machine; maybe Paolo had called…

  She punched the play button but it was Gianfranco’s gravelly tones that filled the room. ‘Expect a new client,’ he said in his rich Italian voice. ‘This will be very good for your profile and for the House of Bacelli. I expect you to take this commission.’

  The machine beeped its conclusion as nerve endings tingled. There was no getting out of it now. She wasn’t fooled by Gianfranco’s use of language. What Gianfranco ‘expected’, invariably happened. So where did that leave her now?

  Most likely on a plane to Jebbai on Monday.

  Which meant the one thing she didn’t want to deal with. She shivered. She wouldn’t be travelling alone.

  Signor Khaled would be on the plane with her.

  She wandered around the living area, retrieving the pile of mail and slapping it firmly against her hand, jolting herself back to reality.

  What the hell was wrong with her? As if she’d have to spend time with him once they arrived in Jebbai. He was obviously a person of some wealth to be able to employ at such short notice one of Milan’s upcoming designers from one of its leading houses. And he was setting her up in a workshop so she could perform her duties. Clearly he wanted her to complete the gown as soon as possible so that he could marry his fiancée, no doubt during which he had other more pressing duties to attend to.

  There was little risk she wouldn’t be able to complete the dress in time. While the four-week timetable would be tight, being relieved of her other workload and able to work on the dress full-time made meeting his deadline that much more achievable.

  And hadn’t she secretly been attracted to the idea of visiting the desert state? Maybe a visit to Jebbai was just what she needed to infuse some fresh ideas into her designs.

  Already she could imagine the light of the desert land—the sun would be bright, perhaps even more bold than the harsh sun she knew back in Australia, but she wanted to experience its heat, she wanted to see its dipping rays burn the desert sands red. Colours in Jebbai would seem more intense, fabrics sheer and silky and lush with embroidery.

  There would be different fragrances, different textures and sensations. She’d be crazy to miss out on such an experience, surely.

  She looked around back into her modest apartment. Her modest, lonely apartment. There was nothing holding her here. Even Paolo was still in the States, working on a complex international lawsuit. A case likely to take months by the sounds of it.

  Meanwhile she could be exploring a new part of the world. It would almost be like a holiday. Goodness, after the hours she put in for Gianfranco, she could do with one of those.

  Halfway through her opening her neglected mail the doorbell rang. Her insides lurched on a reflex.

  Signor Khaled!

  But it couldn’t be. He didn’t even know where she lived. Although from what she’d seen of him to date, a mere technicality like that was hardly likely to stand in his way.

  She made her way to the door, heart pumping in anticipation of once again seeing one person who had so dominated her thoughts since their meeting. Tentatively she pulled open the door, only to be pulled into the arms of the man waiting on the other side.

  ‘Sapphy, bella!’

  ‘Paolo?’ Trepidation melted into surprise as she found herself being pulled into a firm embrace and on the receiving end of a kiss. ‘I didn’t expect to see you.’

  He relaxed his grip, holding her away a fraction and looking down at her curiously. ‘What’s wrong—aren’t you pleased to see me?’

  She laughed, apprehension turning to relief as she stood in the arms of the good-looking Italian, and she hugged him in return. ‘Of course I am. I’ve missed you. It’s just that it’s such a surprise—a nice surprise. Come in.’

  He followed her into the apartment as she hit him with a barrage of questions—When did you get back? How long can you stay? Has the case finished?

  ‘Enough,’ he said with a smile, holding up one hand as he accepted with the other the glass of wine she’d poured as her questions continued to spill out. ‘The case is in recess while the defence prepares to introduce some new evidence. I don’t have long, it was just too good an opportunity not to visit, seeing I missed your show. I hear you were a great success.’

  She looked up at him and swallowed the disappointment he’d just awakened. He hadn’t made it to her show, hadn’t been with her on the most successful night of her career. And while she’d known there was little chance he’d make it, part of her knew that at one time in their relationship he would have moved heaven and earth to be there.

  ‘After not seeing you for six weeks,
I’m just glad you’re here now,’ she said honestly, curling into him on the sofa and breathing in his familiar cologne. ‘We haven’t had much time together lately.’

  She sipped from her own glass and knew that in her tired state she’d soon need some food to counteract the wine or she’d be asleep in minutes. ‘Are you hungry? Would you like to go out somewhere for dinner?’

  ‘No,’ he said, almost too quickly. Then he gave her shoulders a squeeze. ‘It’s been a long day and I have to head to the Villa tomorrow to see my family before I fly back to the States. So why don’t we have dinner here, have a quiet night? What do you think?’

  Sapphy nodded and settled into the curve of his arm. It was just so good to see him again, she’d eat anywhere.

  And even if he wasn’t jet lagged, she’d half expected his response. In the weeks prior to his departure for New York, it seemed everywhere the couple had gone together they’d been besieged by the paparazzi, anxious to find a match between the famous international lawyer and the upcoming fashion designer. She’d lost count of the number of articles citing her as the ‘imminent Signora Mancini’.

  The articles didn’t bother her overly much but they’d obviously had a different effect on Paolo. When she’d jokingly asked Paolo if he could take a hint, his reaction had been to withdraw from public life altogether and from her almost as much. She’d seen less and less of him, until finally he’d announced he was handling the New York case himself and had disappeared for who knew how long.

  But he was here now. She put down her glass and let go a breath, feeling the tension from the day disappearing as she relaxed back into him again.

  ‘Difficult day?’ he asked.

  She considered her response, his adjective immediately bringing to mind the salon’s final visitor. ‘Um, it was long. And interesting. Actually it’s lucky you dropped by this weekend. It looks like I’m going away for a few weeks to work on commission for a new client.’

  ‘Sounds interesting.’

  ‘Gianfranco is pushing me. He says it will be good for my career. And, of course, for the House of Bacelli. I’m to design a wedding gown. Should be away four weeks.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Somewhere out in the desert. A place called Jebbai.’

  She heard the breath hiss through his teeth, felt his muscles tense beneath her, so tight it was almost as if he’d turned to stone.

  ‘Sapphy,’ he said, his voice barely more than a husky whisper and with a note that immediately alerted her. ‘What’s the name of your new client?’

  She laughed nervously. ‘Why? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Tell me!’

  Her laughter dried up and she swallowed. ‘His name is Signor Khaled. But why? Do you know h—?’

  She’d barely finished the words before Paolo had shrugged her from his shoulder and exploded from the seat to circle the room, pacing wildly. ‘Khaled! After all this time. I knew it. I knew something was wrong.’

  ‘What did you know? What are you talking about?’

  ‘It’s lucky I came when I did. You can’t go.’

  ‘Paolo, what on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘Just that you mustn’t go.’

  ‘But Gianfranco’s expecting me to take this commission. I can’t let him down.’

  ‘Tell him you’re sick—tell him your mother’s sick—tell him anything, but don’t go to Jebbai.’

  ‘This isn’t making any sense. Give me one good reason why I should turn this job down. More than that, why you’d expect me to lie to get out of it.’

  ‘Because your new client is not what he seems. I know him.’

  ‘What? Are you implying Signor Khaled is some kind of criminal?’

  ‘There’s no “Signor Khaled” about it. Didn’t he even tell you his full name?’

  ‘His full name? I—’

  He snarled. ‘Your Signor Khaled is none other than Sheikh Khaled Al-Ateeq, ruler of Jebbai.’

  A sheikh? Sapphy absorbed the revelation with interest, searching for the significance that Paolo obviously placed in the news. It made some sort of sense, certainly, as his whole aura spoke of power. But still she failed to see why his identity should change anything. And it was hardly a crime to protect one’s title. He’d certainly made no attempt to hide his name, after all.

  ‘So he’s a sheikh? That probably explains why Gianfranco is falling all over himself to ensure I take the job. But does that change anything? What I do know is he’s getting married and he’s engaged me to design his bride’s wedding dress. And you haven’t given me one good reason why I shouldn’t do it.’

  ‘Listen to me,’ Paolo said, his hands on her shoulders. ‘Whatever’s going on, you can’t trust this man. I have no idea what he’s up to, but I doubt there will even be a wedding.’

  She shivered, his tone as much as his words frightening her. She tried to cover her anxiety with a laugh, but the sound came out brittle and false. ‘That’s ridiculous. Then why would he go to the trouble of commissioning a designer for a wedding gown?’

  ‘To get you there.’

  This time there was no covering up the tremor that rocked her. ‘You’re frightening me, Paolo, and I don’t understand why. What makes you say these things? How do you know?’

  ‘I just do.’

  ‘No,’ she stated, needing facts to back up this fantastic story he was building up. ‘That’s not good enough. If you’re going to scare me with stories like this then I need some kind of proof. Why shouldn’t I go? What do you have against this sheikh?’

  He spun away from her, fists clenched. ‘I can’t tell you.’ She was about to tell him that he’d have to when he wheeled back to face her. ‘Except to say, he’s the most ruthless man I’ve ever met and I know he’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants.’

  The client’s eyes came instantly to her mind, dark and relentless as they’d all but pierced their way into her skin during their heated scrutiny. Yes, he was no doubt ruthless, but so too could Paolo be, along with half of his colleagues. You didn’t make it to the top ranks of international law partnerships by being anything less.

  She turned on him, protesting, ‘I don’t understand. If you feel this strongly about the man, why is it you’ve never so much as mentioned him before?’

  ‘What happened was long ago. Before I met you.’

  ‘Then maybe he’s changed. Whatever differences you had back then probably don’t exist any more.’

  He shook his head. ‘No. You don’t know him like I do.’

  ‘And you don’t know what I do. There is a bride. I’m meeting her just as soon as we get to Jebbai.’

  She knew she was stretching the truth, but with the mood Paolo was in, there was no way he wouldn’t jump on the news that Khaled had prevaricated over her meeting the bride, whatever his reasons, and use it to add fuel to his arguments to stop her going.

  And she wanted to go, even if it had taken her a while to convince herself. There were good business reasons for her to go. It wasn’t as if Paolo would be waiting for her at home while she was gone, after all.

  ‘Then are you so sure that she’s willing to marry this man?’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. What are you suggesting? This is the twenty-first century after all. As it happens,’ she added, if only to stop Paolo’s wild accusations in their tracks, ‘they need to get married quickly. The bride is desperately ill.’ Then she added for effect, ‘It’s really quite romantic, don’t you think?’

  He watched her, saying nothing, though the fierce rise and fall of his chest spoke volumes about how he was feeling. There could have been a ten-gallon drum of romance in the situation and still it would have eluded him.

  ‘Look,’ she said softly, moving alongside and placing a hand on his rigid forearm, ‘this Sheikh Khaled, whoever he is and whatever problems you’ve had with him in the past, in all likelihood has no idea that I even know you. He just wants to commission a dress. And I’m only going for four weeks—four we
eks, I might point out, when you won’t even be here. So it’s not like you’re going to miss me.’

  His arms sliced passionately through the air, a gesture that spoke of both his power and frustration. ‘You know I have no choice. I have to go back to New York.’

  ‘And I have to go to Jebbai.’

  ‘Don’t do this.’

  ‘Don’t do what? Make my own decisions? This is my career. This is my passion. You know I love more than anything to design wedding dresses. This is a wonderful opportunity for me and I can’t afford to miss it, certainly not on the basis of some “secret men’s business”.’

  ‘You can’t go.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Paolo, but listen to yourself. Your arguments and accusations hold all the characteristics of a tired grudge. You’re angsting over some apparent wrong committed so long ago that no one other than you probably remembers or even cares.’

  ‘I won’t let you go!’

  ‘It’s not up to you. You’re not my husband. Even if you were, you couldn’t tell me what to do.’

  A muscle in his face twitched. ‘You still haven’t forgiven me because I wouldn’t talk about marriage?’

  ‘Paolo,’ she whispered on a sigh, ‘please try to understand, I’m not angry with you. I just don’t understand why everything between us changed when the media assumed we were an item. One mention of marriage and suddenly you seemed to find reasons for us to be apart.’

  He moved closer, sliding a hand behind her neck. ‘You know I care about you.’

  ‘I once thought you loved me. Now I don’t know what to think.’

  He pulled the hand away, raking it instead through his hair. ‘I know. Things back then got—awkward for awhile. But if what you say is true, and Khaled is getting married, why don’t we talk about things some more after the wedding?’

  She tilted her head up to his, studying his face for any hint of what was going through his mind. What was he offering her and why would some desert sheikh’s wedding make a difference to their relationship?

  ‘Why can’t we talk about it now?’

  ‘Because we can’t. You have to trust me on this. Just as you should trust me enough not to go to Jebbai.’ He gazed back levelly into her eyes. ‘You know you mean a lot to me.’