The Sheikh's Convenient Bride

by Sandra Marton

“Please,” she whispered against his mouth, “please…”

  He put his hands under her sweatshirt and finally felt her naked skin against his questing palms. Felt the velvet-softness of her breasts, the delicate pearling of her nipples. He danced the tips of his fingers across that sweetly ruched flesh and she moaned.

  There was a roaring in his ears. Now, it said, now…

  But it was only the incessant ringing of the telephone.

  They sprang part and stared at each other, her eyes wide with astonishment, his breathing ragged, and then his cell phone rang again and he swore viciously as he tore it from his pocket and put it to his ear.

  “What?” he barked.

  It was Hakim, calling about the orders Caz had given for their departure the next morning.

  The words meant nothing. All he could think about was what had just happened, what would have happened if not for this call. He’d have made love to a woman he hardly knew, barely trusted…

  He could read the same shocked realization in her face. It was drained of color except for two bright spots of crimson high on her cheeks and the soft pink of her mouth, swollen from the passion of his kisses. He wanted to say something reassuring, but what could a man say to a woman he’d almost ravished?

  He liked women, liked the pleasures of mutual seduction. The teasing conversation. The brush of hands. The glances that said more than words, all of it leading to an inevitable culmination.

  What he’d just shared with this woman wasn’t that at all. They’d come together without any of the niceties of seduction. All that had mattered was the swift, hot rush of passion, the primitive need to taste, touch, possess.

  He saw Megan’s throat constrict as she swallowed. Then she turned her back to him and wrapped her arms around herself.

  Was she trembling?

  Hakim was still talking, droning on and on about the minuscule details of tomorrow’s agenda. Reports to review, memos to dictate, all the things Caz had asked to be reminded of before the flight home but right now, he didn’t give a damn for any of it.

  All he could think about was what had happened. What would happen, if he went through with his plan to take Megan with him. She was a distraction he couldn’t afford…but even now, with the scent of her still in his nostrils, he managed to summon enough reason to know he couldn’t afford to leave her behind, either. Not if his plans for his country were to succeed.

  There was only one solution, he thought, and interrupted his aide in midsentence.

  “A change of plans, Hakim. Mr. Fox won’t be going with us tomorrow. You will send a car for Miss O’Connell, instead.”

  “You are taking the woman with you, Sheikh Qasim?”

  The tone in Hakim’s voice made Caz narrow his eyes. “I am.”

  “But a woman…”

  “You will pick her up at seven.”

  “My lord. Surely you do not intend to—’

  “Hakim. Surely you do not intend to question me.” Caz spoke harshly. It was deliberate. No one questioned his orders. That was more than tradition; it was the law. It would change someday—it had to, if Suliyam were to flourish in these new times—but his aide’s reaction to learning that Megan would return with them was only a small taste of what lay ahead. It had to be stopped, and quickly. “I gave you an order. You will obey it.”

  A beat of silence. A clearing of the throat. Then, at last, acquiescence. “Yes, my lord.”

  “There are things you will do before morning,” Caz said, and enumerated them.

  “I will see to everything.”

  “I’m sure you—”

  “Tell him not to bother.”

  Caz turned around. Megan glared at him, eyes hot with anger. So much for his thinking that what had happened had left her shaken. He glared right back at her.

  “Be quiet,” he hissed.

  “I heard you telling your flunky to round up the things you think I’ll need for this trip, and—”

  Caz caught her wrist. “Silence!”

  “You cannot talk to me that way! I’m not one of your servants. I don’t take orders from—”

  His hand closed over her mouth. Megan gasped, struggled, sank her teeth into his flesh. Caz winced at the pain but kept his voice steady as he spoke a few last words to Hakim before snapping the cell phone shut.

  Then he let go of Megan.

  A mistake, he thought grimly, as she came at him with both hands balled into fists. He caught her wrists again and tugged her hands behind her back.

  “You insufferable son of a bitch!”

  “I was in the middle of a conversation,” he said coldly. “When I am, you are not to interrupt.”

  “You were in the middle of snapping out orders,” she said, her face livid with fury, “and I’ll interrupt whenever I please!”

  “Not me,” he said through his teeth. “Do you understand?”

  “What I understand is that your boy doesn’t have to bother rounding up those things you told him to buy.”

  Caz raised his eyebrows. “You won’t need a portable computer?”

  “No more than I’ll need the printer and fax, or the files from my office. I’m not going with you.”

  “You are.”

  “No, I’m not. I’d sooner go to the jungle with Tarzan than to a—a backward pile of sand with someone like you.”

  Caz took a quick step toward her. “You are not to speak that way about my country or me.”

  “I’ll speak any damned way I like, and if you grab me again, so help me, I’ll scream!”

  She would. He believed her. That was all he needed. It was another tabloid headline in the making.

  “Listen to me, Megan. If you treat me with disrespect, you’ll ruin what I’m trying to do.”

  “What’s that? To be even more loathsome than you already are?”

  “And you’ll endanger yourself. My people will not tolerate such behavior toward me from anyone, especially a woman.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I’ll never meet your people.”

  Caz gritted his teeth. “We reached an agreement. You’re going with me to Suliyam.”

  “In a pig’s eye!”

  “A most inelegant expression.”

  “I know others you’ll like even less.”

  “My car will come for you at seven,” he said, refusing to be side-tracked.

  Her smile was deadly sweet. “You car will stand at the curb and turn to rust before I set foot inside it.”

  “We have an agreement,” he said grimly.

  “You already said that. To hell with your agreement! Why any woman would be fool enough to do anything you say—”

  “Is that who you are now? A woman?”

  Megan cocked her head and looked at him through narrowed eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I just like to know who I’m dealing with, that’s all. You’ve just said a woman would be a fool to do anything I say.”

  “She would be.”

  “A while ago, you made the point that you weren’t a woman at all.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! I never said—’’

  “You claim to be a professional. A person whose only identity lies in those initials after her name. B.A. M.B.A. C.P.A.”

  “You left out C.F.P.,” Megan said coldly. “Certified Financial Planner. And if you’re trying to make a point, I can’t figure out what it is.”

  “My point is that you take refuge in the identity that suits you at a given moment.”

  “You make me sound schizophrenic!”

  “Do I?” Caz folded his arms. “When I met you this morning, you made a case for being judged by your ability, not your gender.”

  “Something you’re incapable of, apparently.”

  “Are you suggesting what happened just now wasn’t mutual?”

  She felt herself turn color, but she kept her eyes on his. “I’m not going with you, Sheikh Qasim. That’s final.”

  “You’re making something out of nothing. Wh
at happened was a mistake.”

  “It certainly was. And it could never, ever, not in a million years, happen again.”

  “Another point of agreement. Which is why you’re going with me tomorrow.”

  “I’d sooner—’’

  “Swing through the trees with Tarzan. Yes, I know, but then, you don’t have a contract with Tarzan.”

  “I don’t have one with you, either,” Megan said, but even in her anger, she knew what he was getting at.

  “You do. A verbal contract, enforceable in any court of law.” He fleshed that I-Am-Brilliant smile that made her fingers itch to slap it from his face. “I’m sure you’re aware of that, Miss O’Connell, considering your familiarity with what constitutes grounds for a lawsuit.”

  “You wouldn’t sue.” Megan flashed a smile that she hoped was the equal of his. “You wouldn’t want the publicity.”

  “There’s a difference between negative publicity and positive publicity. I’d get lots of excellent mileage out of my heartfelt attempts to hire a woman, only to find that woman unwilling to take on the responsibility of a difficult assignment.”

  “Your people wouldn’t like to hear that you’d tried to hire a woman.”

  “My people will believe what I tell them, and I’ll tell them that the press lies.”

  “I’d phone every newspaper, tell them what actually happened…”

  “In that case, so would I. I don’t think it would add much to your professional image if I described what went on in this room in intimate detail, do you?”

  He smiled again. God, she hated that smile! It was so smug. How easily she could slap it from his face…but that wouldn’t change the fact that he was right.

  “I really, really despise you, Sheikh Qasim.”

  “A pity, Miss O’Connell. I was hoping you’d want to head up my fan club.” The tight smile vanished from his lips. “Your boss has me backed into a corner, Megan. Like it or not, this job is yours by default.”

  She glared at him. He glared back. He had her trapped, and he knew it.

  “How long is this assignment going to last?”

  Caz considered telling her the truth, then decided against it. She wouldn’t want to hear that she might be expelled from Suliyam in a day, if things went badly, or that she might still be there months from now, if things went well.

  “I don’t know.” That was the truth, more or less.

  “A week.”

  He shrugged his shoulders, as if he were considering the possibility.

  “Two weeks is the longest I’ll stay. Agreed?”

  “Absolutely. Two weeks is the longest you wish to stay.” That was the truth, too. Whose fault was it if she misinterpreted his answer? At least she wasn’t fighting him anymore.

  “Must I fly out tomorrow? That doesn’t give me much time.”

  “For what?” Caz felt a knot form in his belly. “If you think I’m going to delay my plans so you can say goodbye to a lover—”

  “I have a family,” Megan said coolly. “I want to let them know where I’m going.”

  “You can phone them from my plane,” he said, and tried not to acknowledge the sense of relief he felt. Not that he cared about her personal life. She could have a dozen lovers, if she liked, so long as such commitments didn’t impinge on her work for him.

  “I suppose it would be foolish for me to think your Hakim can’t buy computers and move files in the middle of the night.”

  “You’re right. It would be.” Caz’s smile was saccharine sweet. “There are some benefits to being a king.” He shot back his cuff and checked his watch. “Any other questions?”

  Megan almost laughed. She had more questions than she could count, beginning with why she’d ever wanted this assignment, but it was too late to ask them now.

  “No, thank you,” she said politely. “Not at the moment.”

  “One last thing. About the kinds of clothing you’ll need to pack…”

  “I’m a big girl, Sheikh Qasim. I don’t need you to tell me what to do.”

  Caz had to admire her. She was beautiful, stubborn, defiant…and most definitely unimpressed by his titles or his wealth.

  No wonder he found her desirable.

  She was completely different from any of the women he’d been involved with. His lovers were invariably beautiful, invariably bright—despite what this American clearly thought of him, he’d always found unintelligent women dull.

  But no woman ever disagreed with him, much less spoke to him with such boldness. No matter their nationality, they were always eager to please.

  Not Megan O’Connell.

  And, of course, that was the reason for the attraction. Knowing it didn’t change things, but it would definitely make it easier to resist. Caz felt a weight lift from his shoulders.

  “I was only going to point out that the desert can be as cool at night as it is hot during the day,” he said pleasantly, “but let’s not quarrel over it.” He held out his hand. She looked at it for a long moment, then put her palm against his. Heat, almost enough to burn his palm, seemed to flash from that innocent contact point straight to his groin. He was sure she felt something, too, if only because of her quick intake of breath, but he forced a smile to his lips. “To a successful collaboration, Miss O’Connell.”

  “To one that ends quickly, Sheikh Qasim.”

  Her expression was defiant. He thought about pulling her into his arms again and changing that insolent look to a look of passion, but sanity prevailed.

  “Good night, Megan.”

  “Good night, Qasim.”

  His brows lifted but he didn’t say anything. Still, as he stepped into the damp night, he laughed softly to himself. She was, as the Americans would say, some piece of work. Calling him by his given name. No honorific, no title…It was, he supposed, her way of making sure he knew she wasn’t impressed.

  Caz turned up his collar, slipped behind the wheel of his Lamborghini and turned the ignition key.

  These next weeks would be interesting, but they wouldn’t last forever. Someday, they would meet on different terms, he as a man, she as a woman. When they did, he’d put an end to all this nonsense. He’d take her to bed and keep her there until she begged for mercy, until the both of them sated their hunger and grew weary of each other.

  He pulled away from the curb, his headlights boring into the darkness of the California night.

  Someday, he’d have all of Megan O’Connell he wanted.

  But not yet.

  CHAPTER SIX

  WHAT did you pack for a trip to a place that was still a mystery to the world?

  Megan phoned Briana. Her sister wasn’t in, so she left a message on her voice mail.

  Hi, Bree. I’m leaving for a place called Suliyam tomorrow early in the A.M. Details when I get back but boy, I wish you were there. Maybe you could help me figure out what to pack. Anyway, hope you’re having fun. Talk to you in a week or two.

  Sighing, she headed for the bedroom, flung open the door to the closet and stared inside. Bree had more stamps and visas on her passport than any of them except, maybe, Sean. But the odds were that not even Bree could have advise her on what was right for this trip.

  Maybe she should have listened to Qasim when he’d tried to give her advice, but she’d been so furious with him by then that listening to anything he had to say was beyond her.

  Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face, her mother would have warned, just as she had years ago when Megan was fourteen and moaning over the fact that nobody had asked her to a school dance. Fallon, a stunner at sixteen with boys tripping over each other in efforts to please her, had volunteered one of them as an escort.

  “Tommy says he’d love to take you, Meg,” she’d said.

  “He just wants to score points with you.”

  “Maybe,” Fallon had said cheerfully. “But he’s cute, he’s nice, and you’ll have fun.”

  “No, I won’t. Tell him to forget about it.”

  Me
gan spent the night of the dance at home, looking sad and hoping for pity from her mother. Instead Mary had told her to stop sulking, followed by that no-nonsense advice about the folly of refusing something you really wanted, just to make a point.

  Megan sighed and sank down on the edge of her bed.

  Good counsel then. Great counsel now. Too bad she hadn’t been ready to admit it an hour ago.

  She knew a bit about Suliyam’s culture, a lot about its finances and natural resources, thanks to her research, but that was it. What was the weather like, this time of year? What was its capital city like, and was that where they were going? What sort of hotel would she be in?

  And what about that comment Qasim had made, that she wouldn’t be able to speak to him when they met with his people? He’d sounded dead serious. Not that it mattered. She’d change that first thing. There’d been no sense in saying so because it would just have led to a quarrel and that was all they’d done since they met.

  Well, no. They’d done more than that. They’d turned each other on with a touch.

  That last kiss had been enough to turn her inside out. It didn’t make sense. Qasim wasn’t her type.

  Megan rolled her eyes.

  That was the understatement of the century. He was a king. A sheikh. A man tied to a past she could hardly imagine. Of course, he wasn’t he wasn’t her type.

  Was that why they were so drawn to each other? Was it the old “oopposites attract” thing? He was undoubtedly accustomed to women who didn’t think for themselves; she dated men who treated women as equals. She’d never met a man who went through life taking what he wanted until today.

  His attitude was infuriating. It was irritating.

  It was incredibly exciting.

  Soon, she’d be alone with him in a foreign land with none of the intrusions of the world to keep them from what they both wanted and yes, it was what she wanted, too. Qasim in her bed, his hands on her, his mouth…

  Megan shot to her feet.

  They wouldn’t be alone, they’d be working. An employer and his employee. Better still, a financial advisor and her client. There’d be no time for the male-female thing. Why was she sitting around thinking about nonsense? She had to pack, and why was she giving a moment’s thought to what to pack?