Never Seduce a Sheikh (International Bad Boys Book 2)

by Jackie Ashenden

  Lily stiffened, as a weird shock went down her spine. Isma’il’s sheikha?

  “I’m sure Ms. Harkness has far better things to do than be my sheikha, Jalil,” Isma’il said, nothing but cool amusement in his tone.

  The man frowned. “Oil is not the only way to make Dahar strong, sire. We need—”

  Isma’il said something in Arabic, something low and soft that cut the man off sharply. “Forgive me, my friends,” he went on in English. “But Ms. Harkness has many others she needs to meet this evening.”

  Strong fingers curled around her upper arm. The touch so unexpected that all the air seemed to vanish from her lungs. For long seconds, she was conscious of nothing but his hand on her, so hot. Like a brand.

  Beside her, Isma’il shifted and suddenly she felt overwhelmed by a dizzying rush of sensation. The warmth of his body. The seductive scent of him. The heated touch of his fingers . . .

  Dan’s voice whispering in her ear. “C’mon, let’s celebrate, Lil. I got you that medal, remember. Don’t I deserve a little something?” Then the sour taste of champagne as his mouth crushed hers, knocking her teeth against her lip. The champagne taste turning metallic as blood filled her mouth. His hand reaching for her breast.

  Lily jerked her arm out of Isma’il’s hold, taking a couple of stumbling steps away from him before she could stop herself. Her skin crawled, the taste of blood lingering in her mouth.

  A little pool of silence surrounded her and she realized that the circle of men were staring at her in some surprise. Then, they all looked at their sheikh.

  The tension drew almost unbearably tight.

  Isma’il’s expression was opaque, but she knew her lapse had angered him. She didn’t know why, but could sense it burning in the depths of his turquoise eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said into the tense silence, her voice hoarse. “I’m a little tired. Must be jetlag.”

  “Why don’t you go and sit down, Ms. Harkness.” Isma’il’s voice was smooth. “Recover yourself. I’ll join you in a moment.” An order delivered with a dangerous edge.

  Too shaken to argue, she turned towards one of the couches covered in richly colored silk that stood in the ballroom’s many alcoves. Her legs felt shaky, her heart beating fast. As she walked, she cursed. Cursed herself. Cursed her memory. And most especially, her weakness. Her female weakness.

  * * *

  Isma’il did not look in Lily’s direction, but he could feel the weight of history pressing down on him. Could see it in the gazes of his ministers, in the fear and wariness in their eyes. The weight of his father’s reign, the legacy of the violence that had always lingered in his court.

  Lily had pulled away so sharply they would think her afraid of him. The way everyone had been afraid of Khalid. It showed just how deep the legacy of his father’s cruelty went that their first reaction was one of fear.

  But anything he said about now it would sound defensive, which would be a mistake. He still didn’t even know what he’d done to prompt such a reaction. A hand on her arm, that was it.

  The warmth of her skin lingered on his fingertips. It made a nice change from the slick feeling of blood that had seemed to seep into them of late.

  He spoke with his ministers a few minutes longer, presenting the charm, allaying their unvoiced fears with his calm manner.

  Then, he turned to where Ms. Lily Harkness sat on the couch in one of the alcoves.

  She could not react to him like that again. He didn’t want people to look at him the way they’d looked at Khalid. With fear in their eyes. He wanted to be different. He was different.

  Her head lifted as he approached and their eyes met, tension pulling tight between them.

  “What happened?” he asked bluntly.

  “It’s nothing.” She glanced down to the little gold purse that sat in her lap, fussing with the contents. “Like I said. Jetlag.”

  Isma’il had to quell the urge to reach down, take her chin in his hand and force her head back so he could see the look on her face. See what was going on in her eyes.

  “Ms. Harkness—”

  “Shall we continue?”

  A dull anger began to throb inside him. He wanted to know why she’d pulled away. Why her face had gone so pale. Was it his touch? Or had it been something else? And why did she insist it was jetlag? Because whatever it was, it had nothing whatsoever to do with jetlag.

  But forcing the issue here would not be appropriate. He had other people he wanted her to meet. Factions more hostile to the idea of oil drilling than the previous ministers had been. Arguing about something as minor as a brief stumble would be wasting time.

  “By all means,” he said coolly. “Are you quite recovered?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” She was all self-possession now. As if she hadn’t torn herself away from him like he’d burnt her. For some reason, this didn’t do anything for his temper.

  However, meeting the rest of the ministers went off without a hitch. Lily’s impatience when the usual questions about her family and her husband began was far less obvious. Her smile became freer, the attempts at charm less awkward. But when the talk eventually turned to business, she was like a shark to blood in the water. Sharp, astute, authoritative, confident.

  She may not have had her father’s gift for small talk and charm, but when it came to business she was just as impressive. Not at all the princess he’d been expecting. And his ministers were impressed too, he could see that.

  The desert people were, of course, a different story, but tonight had proved she could handle herself with his government. Perhaps she could handle the desert too.

  As she talked to one of his father’s ex-advisors, leader of one of the more vocal factions against the issue of oil rights and not shy about voicing his opinions, Isma’il found himself studying her. The old man was rude, but Lily handled him without raising her voice or being rude in return. Poised and confident. Nothing seemed to faze her.

  Yet, when he’d touched her earlier she’d been fazed. Her poise had shattered completely.

  The dull anger that burned inside him became a little sharper. Perhaps she thought he was like Khalid. That he would be the kind of man who dealt out random violence the way his father had.

  If so, this could be a problem. Khalid’s brutality had left all of Dahar’s people scarred, including the desert tribes, and to take a woman potentially frightened of him into the desert, could put at risk all the work he’d put into proving that he was a different kind of ruler. A risk he couldn’t afford to take. He wanted to heal his country, not entrench old fears.

  Perhaps it was time he conducted a small experiment.

  Isma’il moved closer to Lily. As she finished talking to the minister, Isma’il allowed his hand to rest for a moment at the small of her back, guiding her on towards the next group. Instantly, her spine stiffened, her whole posture rigid with tension. She said nothing and her guard did not break this time. But he could feel her trying to surreptitiously arch away from his hand.

  He let his palm drop and watched her shoulders relax.

  So, for some reason his touch made her tense. Affected her in some way. Made her want to get away from him.

  His anger knotted inside him. She was afraid. And he would bet all Dahar’s oil on the fact that it had something to do with Khalid’s reputation.

  “You find my touch disagreeable, Ms. Harkness?” he murmured in her ear as they moved through the crowd of people.

  She didn’t turn her head or falter she side-stepped a passing waiter. “Your touch? I’m not sure I follow you, your Highness.”

  “I put my hand on your back and you stiffened.”

  Lily smiled and nodded as someone raised a hand in greeting. “I’m sure you were mistaken.”

  Did she think this was a game? If so, he was more than happy to play it. As they stopped to speak to another couple of people, Isma’il deliberately let his hand rest on her shoulder as he introduced her. Her bare shoulder.

&nb
sp; Lily’s voice hitched. With a subtle shift of her body, she shrugged his hand off her. Their audience didn’t appear to notice the movement but he did. Oh yes, he did.

  Isma’il lowered his head to her ear again. “I am not mistaken.”

  She didn’t acknowledge what he’d said. She carried on talking.

  But he would not let her pretend nothing had happened this time.

  Interrupting the conversation with an easy grace, he excused both himself and Lily. Then, he firmly pressed his palm to her back and steered her towards a small open hallway that led off the main ballroom.

  She didn’t want to go; he could read her reluctance in every line of her body, but it only made his anger burn hotter. What did she think he was going to do to her? He wasn’t a monster. Not like Khalid.

  As they entered the hallway, a vast potted palm shielding them from the rest of the ballroom, she turned on him, folding her arms across her breasts. “Why did you interrupt that conversation? It was important.”

  He ignored her. “You are lying to me, Lily Harkness.”

  “I’m sorry? What exactly am I supposed to be lying about?”

  “You pretend my touch does not affect you.”

  “It’s not pretense. It doesn’t affect me.”

  “If it didn’t affect you, then why did you shrug my hand off your shoulder just now?”

  Color burned in a stripe across her cheekbones and yet her expression remained utterly neutral. “Did I? I didn’t even notice your hand.”

  Oh, no. He wasn’t having that.

  Isma’il stepped forward, getting right up close to her. Close enough to see the subtle gold flecks in the darkness of her eyes. Feel the heat from her body in its beautiful golden dress. Smell the fresh, cut-grass scent of her perfume.

  She didn’t back away. Didn’t hesitate to meet his gaze. Strong and determined to deny him.

  The dark hunger began to rise, the need to test her strength and match it. Push it as far as it would go. He had to fight the urge to crowd her against the wall. Overwhelm her. Force the truth from her.

  “You are afraid of me,” he said, unable to keep the harsh edge from his voice.

  A flash of hot temper glowed in her eyes as if the accusation had insulted her. “Afraid of you? Why the hell would I be afraid of you?”

  “My father’s reputation was well known and thoroughly deserved. You would not be the first person to assume I am cut from the same cloth.”

  “You give yourself far too much importance, Sheikh. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.”

  But she was lying, he knew it. Sensed it.

  Isma’il stepped even closer, watching her as she took an unconscious step back, coming up against the wall. “If you are not afraid, then why did you back away from me just now?”

  Her cheeks colored. Then, unexpectedly, she pushed herself away from the wall so they stood toe to toe, the warm length of her perfect body nearly against his. “I. Am not. Afraid. Of you,” she said, enunciating each word slowly and clearly.

  He knew then that fear wasn’t something she would ever acknowledge. For some reason, she was hell bent on denying it, too determined and too strong to give in. Too bad. Because he had to know. He had to have the truth from her.

  Isma’il looked down into her eyes. “Then perhaps you will be afraid of this.” Lifting a finger, he touched her mouth, running his fingertip along her lower lip, tracing the gentle curve. It felt so soft. He wanted to push down on it, open her mouth up to him so he could kiss her. Taste her.

  Lily took a ragged breath, the sound sharp. Her eyes had gone black in the light of the hallway, her expression like a mask. Then, her cool self-possession cracked, a glimpse of heat like a solar flare lighting her face. A glimpse of the passion burning beneath the surface of the poised CEO.

  He nearly bent his head then. Nearly took her mouth, the darkness inside him roaring for it. Wanting more than a touch. More than a kiss. Wanting her naked, on her knees in front of him.

  Behind him someone laughed, the murmurs of conversation near the hallway where he and Lily stood. The sound made him aware of where he was. Of what he was doing.

  Shock slid icy fingers along his skin. How had a simple question become a sensual test of wills? He was supposed to be making a decision about Harkness Oil’s suitability for the oil rights, not touching its beautiful CEO in a public hallway.

  This woman pushed him. Called the animal too close to the surface. Called to the darkness that tainted him. A darkness he’d let loose once. It could never happen again.

  Isma’il dropped his hand, stepped away. This was an easy decision to make after all.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Harkness,” he said. “I’m afraid that your company is no longer in the running for Dahar’s oil rights.”

  * * *

  Lily’s mouth burned. Everything burned. She felt hot and restless and furiously angry. With him for assuming she was afraid of him. With herself for betraying the truth.

  Because he was right, she was afraid. But not of him. Perhaps she should have been given the rumors about his father, yet she’d discovered as he’d stepped close to her, that it was herself she was more afraid of. Of her response to him. Of the way her whole body had gathered tight with a need she’d never felt in her entire life.

  And now, that fear fed her anger at him for changing his mind.

  “What do you mean, no longer in the running?” She tried to find her cool from somewhere and failed.

  Isma’il had moved farther away from her, his hands in his pockets. The lazy charm had gone, his features granite hard and very, very cold.

  “I believe I was clear.”

  “We’re not going to the desert?”

  “You are not going to the desert.”

  She didn’t miss the emphasis. “You can’t do that,” she said forcefully. “I did exactly what you wanted me to do. I turned on the charm. I made the small talk. I smiled and put up with the intrusive questions about my private life. And I got them on-side. You can’t change your mind. You can’t.”

  “I can and I have.”

  The anger spilled out, burning away her careful control. “Why?” She came close to him, confronting him. “Because you think I’m afraid of you? Why should that even matter?”

  A raw blue flame leapt in his eyes. “Khalid shattered this country. Make no mistake, he nearly broke Dahar completely. People remember that. They remember him. And they remember that I am his son.” His gaze burned into her. “So what do you think they see when you recoil from me after a simple touch? They see fear. Fear of me.”

  Lily took a breath. It seemed her lapse back there in the ballroom had been unforgivable in more ways than one. “But it should be obvious that you’re not your father.”

  “Not to them. The memories are too recent. Too raw. I cannot afford for them to doubt me. Not even a shadow.”

  She swallowed back her anger. Swallowed back her fear. “It won’t happen again. I give you my word.”

  “Your word is not enough. The desert tribes were treated especially harshly by Khalid and so I must be even more sensitive to their needs. If you were to react to me out in the desert the way you reacted to me tonight . . . ” He stopped but she didn’t need him to finish. She knew exactly what he meant.

  “I won’t,” she said, putting all her determination, all her certainty into the word. “I promise you that will not happen again.”

  “You promise? That will not be—”

  “You need me, Sheikh,” she interrupted in a soft, fierce voice. “You need Harkness and you know it. None of those other companies can give your people what we can. None of those companies can give your people what they need. You want to heal your country? Then Harkness can help you do that.”

  He wouldn’t say no. She wouldn’t let him. She wouldn’t let a man take another victory from her. Ruin it, like Dan had ruined her gold medal win.

  For a long second Isma’il stared down at her, the expression on his face complet
ely impenetrable. Then he said, “We leave at nine tomorrow morning. Be ready.”

  Chapter Four

  As the four wheel drive bounced over the hard packed surface of the rough and rocky desert road, Isma’il turned his head to check on the woman sitting beside him. Even with the air-conditioning on full bore, Lily had a flush to her cheeks, tendrils of blonde hair sticking out from under the blue headscarf she wore plastered to her damp forehead.

  Yet even in the heat of the desert, she’d lost nothing of her poise.

  Unlike the night before, when she’d faced him down about his decision not to take her to meet with the tribes. Oh no, last night she’d been furious with him, her anger hot and dark in her brown eyes. Before morphing into fierce determination, as she tried to change his mind.

  And change it, she had. Because, as much as he didn’t particularly want to admit it, he couldn’t ignore the benefits that Harkness offered his people. Benefits that were about more than handfuls of cash or mentions of ‘trickle-down.’

  You want to heal your country. Harkness can help . . .

  She understood in a way the other companies hadn’t and that tipped the balance. Made her important to Dahar. No, not important. Vital. And no matter how much she pushed him or tested him personally, it was Dahar he had to think of. Dahar’s needs he had to put first.

  Beside him, Lily pushed back her headscarf and shook out the blonde ponytail she’d put her hair into, mopping her forehead with the scarf.

  “Do you need anything?” he asked. “You must make sure to stay hydrated.”

  She gave him an impatient look. “Believe it or not, I have actually been in the desert before. I know the drill.”

  “Have you indeed?”

  “Yes, we have a few in Australia.” Her tone was dry. “You may have heard of them.”

  Amusement slid through him. “Careful, Ms. Harkness. You should know better than to tease royalty.”

  “I never tease, Sheikh. It’s a rule.” She glanced out the window. “I have to say, this is a beautiful place. Do you come out here often?”