by Marsh, Susan
‘SHOW you what I’ve got?’ Casey gulped as her mind reviewed the contents of her backpack. Raffa would hardly be impressed by her selection of giant-sized white cotton knickers.
‘Take a seat, if you prefer,’ he suggested, easing away from the wall.
And have him tower over her? ‘I prefer to stand, if you don’t mind.’
‘As you wish.’
Oh, she did wish. And that was half the trouble. He only had to shrug to draw her attention to the width of his shoulders. She shrank back as he prowled closer.
‘I just want to see how well you have prepared for the desert.’
His gaze was potent; his presence electrifying. He was toying with her, measuring her, pushing her to the limit in ways she had never been pushed before—and her body was really letting her down. This might be business, but she was acutely aware of Raffa and the hard masculine form beneath his casual clothes, and it was almost impossible not to think of the enormous bulge in the front of his jeans as a third presence in the room. Not that she should be thinking about it at all, of course.
And now tears were threatening. Casey Michaels—businesswoman printed through her like a stick of rock—was in serious danger of meltdown. Because if landing this job rested on her female attributes she might as well go home right now.
* * *
He had never done this before. He took it for granted that any executive working for him knew what they were doing. He had never plucked an employee hot from their flight and brought them to a private office to interrogate them before, and he had no excuse now. Except to say Casey Michaels intrigued him. He dreaded her turning out to be a vacuous blonde. He’d encountered his fair share over the years, and there was no place for them in his business.
As she pulled out the first object he realised with some amusement that she was anything but. The photo in Casey’s personnel file was as misleading as his own official portrait. In fact, if she got the job, Casey’s first task would be to put the presentation of company profiles out to tender.
She believed she had packed everything necessary, but had she? So much hung on this, Casey reflected tensely, pulling out her plastic sheet for collecting drinking water.
Raffa’s lips pressed down with approval.
She held up her mirror, for signalling if she became lost …
The mirror garnered another nod.
Scissors, string and a fire stone for lighting tinder.
‘Scissors?’
‘Along with my Swiss army knife, my folding spade, and my water canister. They were packed in the hold in a waterproof zip-bag, which I have here—’ She produced it.
Raffa indicated with a wave of his hand that she should continue.
A box of water-purifying tablets, six tubes of salt tablets, and an industrial-sized tub of insect repellent, along with a first-aid kit.
‘And a map?’ he pressed.
‘Of course …’ She produced the map, safely contained in a plastic cover to prevent it getting wet or ripped. ‘And a compass.’
She was rewarded by the smallest tug of Raffa’s lips.
‘And the bulge?’
She dearly wanted to look at his bulge, but managed not to. ‘My spare clothes.’
‘A business suit?’
Not unless it was a grow-your-own-business suit, stowed in a water canister … ‘Unfortunately, no.’
‘Well, fortunately …’ The word was laced with ironic emphasis ‘ … we have shops here.’
A flood of heat rushed to Casey’s face. ‘If I’d known I was coming to the city I would have packed differently.’ She froze. Judging by the expression on Raffa’s face, no one ever interrupted him. Which raised another problem. Reining herself in she could do. Changing her personality completely in the short time available was going to prove a little more difficult.
Raffa’s powerful shoulders eased in a shrug. ‘I wanted you here,’ he said, as if that were the only explanation necessary. But it was not the end of her frustration. Raffa was just so aggravatingly nonchalant, while she was …
So out of her depth in his presence?
It wasn’t her business sense letting her down now, but the tension crackling between them.
‘You can pack everything away,’ Raffa said, providing her with a welcome distraction. ‘I’m satisfied you are as prepared as you could be for the desert …’
Inwardly, she cheered. Thank goodness he hadn’t asked her to dig any deeper and reveal the six sets of sensible underwear, the rape alarm, and the condoms her ever-practical if misguided mother had insisted she must pack.
He brooded as he watched Casey pack away her belongings. Her qualifications were good on paper, her work ethic unquestioned, but he needed more than that. The person who would eventually lead his marketing team must show total commitment to A’Qaban, and be a questing, innovative, initiative-seizing individual, capable of working solo and producing results without requiring constant monitoring or supervision.
His gaze swept over Casey again. Her outfit was outlandish, almost comical, but somehow she managed to pull it off. The combination of naivety and absolute determination gave her an unaffected charm—though he suspected she could be stubborn, given half a chance.
He’d take that as a plus, he decided, though she would have to be prepared to travel as and when required, and adapt to changing itineraries if necessary. She would also have to cope with the interior. He’d had the last candidate airlifted out when they couldn’t hack it, and until he was sure of Casey she was staying in the city.
The question was, could she cope with anything more rigorous than a sanitised desert kingdom? He was quite keen to find out, and found himself silently urging her on.
Come on, Casey Michaels, show me what you’ve got…
She was tired from the travelling and shaken up by the speed of events. And by Rafik al Rafar.
By him mostly.
She held him entirely responsible.
She could even identify, with a nose well trained at the perfume counter of countless department stores, each ingredient in his exotic cologne: vanilla—an aphrodisiac, sandalwood—a sultry spice, and—
‘Shall we go?’ he prompted. ‘Casey?’ Dipping his head, he gave her a disturbingly direct stare. ‘I’m going to take you to your hotel to drop your bag,’ he said, ‘and then—’
Her face flamed red with embarrassment. She was twenty-five years old and didn’t possess a single atom of know-how when it came to men.
‘Then I’ll buy you a suit,’ he said, rather disappointingly.
‘You don’t need to. I—’
‘Never accept gifts from men?’ He raised one sweeping brow.
‘I’ve got money with me.’
He shrugged. ‘If you prefer to pay, that’s okay with me.’
She was still staring into his eyes like an obedient puppy, Casey realized—something it was all too easy to do.
Holding the door, Raffa was waiting for her. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Raffa paused just in front of the main exit doors leading from the concourse. His guards, anticipating this, stopped instantly and stood to attention.
‘Welcome to A’Qaban,’ he said to Casey. ‘My country is your country for the next few days.’
Heat was sweeping over her in waves. It had nothing to do with the brilliant sunshine. She felt so grubby and travel-stained compared to Raffa, who was coolness personified. His gaze was measured as he looked at her, and faintly amused. She felt under a scrutiny from which she suspected there would be no let-up while she was in A’Qaban. It was impossible not to feel honoured by the pledge he’d just made her, and also impossible not to feel very much threatened on the personal front. It was as if her very womanhood was on the line. It shouldn’t matter to her if that was found wanting just so long as she landed this job—but it did matter; it mattered far more than it should have done.
He gestured towards the limousine that had pulled up at the
curb. ‘Let me take your backpack for you.’
‘That’s very kind of you.’
‘I don’t do kind.’
Blunt words that for some reason made her quiver all over.
Raffa’s fierce fighting men had formed a private corridor in order for them to make the short transit from the airport doors to the royal vehicle. It had blacked out windows—a hermetically sealed chamber lined in softest kidskin, where she would be shut off from the world.
Panicking, she held back. Overheating, she dragged off her unbecoming hat.
‘You should wait until you are under cover,’ Raffa warned as she shook out her hair. ‘The sun is deceptively strong. While you are in A’Qaban you must take every opportunity to avoid the heat.’ But the heat was all in his eyes.
CHAPTER THREE
HE FELT Casey next to him on the seat of the limousine like a lick of flame on a heart turned cold. So many women; so few memories—or at least none he cared to keep. Perhaps that was why he was so cynical. He had planned to turn around his country in the same way he’d turn around a business—with balance sheets, boardroom battles and cold, hard fact. The possibility that there might be something missing from that scheme had never occurred to him before Casey Michaels arrived on the scene. Now he wondered if her take on things might refresh the ideas he’d had. But he would never find out while she was tense like this.
He settled back, hoping that would reassure her. She sat stiffly for a while and then turned away from him to stare out of the window. He inhaled her fragrance. Light and floral, it counter-balanced his musk and spice perfectly. The contrast suggested to him that it might be time to recruit someone different from the hardbitten, results-driven individuals he usually selected. But was Casey right for A’Qaban?
As he watched her toying with her soft blonde curls, winding them round and round her slender fingers, he told himself not to be so ridiculous. A woman like Casey Michaels could never be up to the job on offer, and only his libido suggested otherwise.
‘Are those Artesian wells?’
He leaned closer, surprised and pleased by her interest. ‘Yes, that’s right …’
He drew back slowly, wondering if she had felt his heat as he had felt hers. He was conscious of how pale her skin was. Dusted with freckles, it had the bloom of a peach … and the scent of a woman. She would burn in the sun, he realised; yet another reason to send her home. But another, darker side of him yearned to taste her, to see her eyes burn with passion and lust for him. It was all too easy to imagine making love to Casey until she fell asleep in his arms.
‘Oh, look!’ she exclaimed, distracting him. ‘A camel.’
‘Really?’ Imagine that. A camel in the desert. Her childish excitement only underscored the decision he had already made. She must go home.
‘I can’t believe the desert comes right up to the margins of the highway,’ she said, turning to him with luminous appeal in her clear blue eyes.
There was such innocence in those eyes, and at the very moment when he should have withdrawn from it he responded. ‘If you look to towards the mountains you’ll be able to see more camels on the horizon.’
‘Oh, yes!’ she exclaimed, breathless with excitement as the black silhouettes of the marching dromedaries appeared framed in gold against the darkening sky.
She was practically pressing her face to the car window in her enthusiasm, all thoughts of nervousness in his presence forgotten. And when she held her fine-boned hands to her face and exclaimed in wonder it was the strongest warning yet to book her flight home. He shouldn’t feel moved like this. This was business.
And his decision might have remained that straightforward had not the delicate column of her neck led to such a stubborn chin. For all her lack of worldliness, he suspected there was more to Casey Michaels than met the eye. He switched his thoughts from bed to business. She wouldn’t be moulded as easily as some of the other candidates. She would have her own opinions and her own fresh take on ideas. She might even have some innovative suggestions to add to the pot. Could he afford to deny A’Qaban a new young talent because he didn’t trust himself not to take her to bed?
‘I think this is very exciting,’ she said, spinning round to speak to him. ‘And I can’t wait to get started. It’s such a challenge.’
She made the challenge sound like a supreme prize—much as he felt about it himself. He confined himself to an acknowledging dip of the head. The lust Casey had inspired in him suggested the next couple of days would be a challenge for both of them—if only because this was not a woman to take and enjoy, or a woman who would understand that a man in his position had nothing more to offer her beyond a few nights of passion; this was a woman instinct told him should be treasured and valued for her originality. With Casey’s innocence standing between them, for now he had to admit he was facing stalemate.
Raffa made it easy for her to forget she was sitting next to a king, though forgetting the charisma of the man was rather more difficult. His warm, spicy scent embraced every part of her until she tingled. Just because she shied away from men it didn’t mean she was incapable of feeling, and with Raffa’s unbelievable levels of testosterone buzzing in the air she was feeling rather too much of everything.
He appeared to be relaxed and unaware of her interest, so she took the opportunity to steal a glance at him. A man all at ease, he sprawled on the seat with his hair ruffled and his pirate earring glinting in the slanting rays of the dying sun. He was just so cool and sexy, with eyes full of promise and a mouth shaped for fantasy kisses. Why did he have to be her boss? She guessed it was some time since he had shaved, because his stubble was thicker, blacker, sharper than she had ever seen on any man.
Would it hurt to have that stubble rasp against, say, the tender skin on her neck, her cheek … her breast? She shivered at the thought of it. She only had a few bungled kisses to go on, and they had practically put her off kissing for life. Usually overly moist, they had convinced her she wasn’t missing much. But she imagined Raffa’s kisses would be different. He would be an accomplished kisser, as in all else. She flinched away when his lips curved as their gazes clashed. Had he read her thoughts? Sensed her fascination? If he had read something into it …
She had to calm herself with steady breathing. Turning away to stare out of the heavily tinted windows only increased the impression that she was entering the mysterious, closed world she had glimpsed at the airport. And, yes, she was eager to learn what lay behind the silken veil, but would she be permitted to look? Or would she be taken from one sterile, air-conditioned capsule to the next without ever once experiencing the real A’Qaban?
She had to fight for the opportunity to see the country if she had any hope of selling A’Qaban to the world, Casey realised. But if he took her behind the silken curtain, what then?
Her insides melted at the thought of it, and sensation pooled between her thighs. She wanted him to take her there. She wanted him to touch her there … tenderly and persuasively—and, yes, persistently, rhythmically, stroking until she’d had enough. He’d ease her thighs wide apart and cup her buttocks to keep her in the most receptive position—and of course he’d pay close attention to her responses and stop the moment she wanted him to—
‘Not too hot, are you?’ Raffa said, turning as she sighed.
‘No, I’m fine,’ she fudged, pretending to ease cramped limbs, though goodness knew there was enough room in the limousine to stretch out.
Her imagination would get her into trouble one day, Casey acknowledged, but while her fertile mind insisted on teasing her with erotic possibilities in A’Qaban, her sensible self knew there was no law that said she had to open those doors and walk through.
Maybe not. But she did have to shift position discreetly now and then to ease the worrying signs of arousal those thoughts had provoked.
* * *
By the time they turned into the flag-lined drive of what Raffa briefly explained was A’Qaban’s premier hotel, Casey realis
ed the towering pink stone building, modelled on the lines of an ancient fort, was something else she would be expected to market. She paid close attention. If the inside of the building were only half as impressive as the outside the hotel would sell itself, and the truth was she ached to take on tougher projects. Surely it was the diversity of culture and landscape that would sell A’Qaban to the world? She had to win the right to visit the desert.
As the chauffeur drew the limousine to a halt at the foot of a wide sweep of steps, and Casey saw doormen better dressed than she was, she knew what her first steps towards that goal must be.
But Raffa spoke first. ‘Take some rest,’ he said abruptly.
Maybe he couldn’t wait to get rid of her.
‘You’ll be working flat out tomorrow. You’ll find a list of essential telephone numbers in your room.’
So he had changed his mind about the shopping trip. ‘And my business suit?’
‘I’ll call an aide and have a selection sent up to your suite.’
Casey frowned. So some man was going to assume he knew what she should be wearing? ‘That won’t be necessary, thank you,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll make my own arrangements.’
‘That is the way we do things here.’
‘Well, it’s not my way to have someone choose my clothes.’ She had intended to couch her refusal in a way she hoped Raffa would not find offensive, but unfortunately it didn’t come out that way, and she found herself confronting his narrowed gaze. ‘I’m used to picking out and paying for my clothes myself, you see,’ she added, hoping to soften the effect of her first sally.
Had she gone too far?
Raffa’s stern expression exhibited surprise, and then faint amusement.
Which left her with just one thing to sort out. ‘When will I see you again?’
‘I’ll be in touch.’ He turned away, effectively dismissing her.
She had gone way too far.
Plus, as he turned to leave her she got the distinct and very embarrassing impression that he had not thought she was talking about their next business meeting. ‘I mean when will our next business meeting be?’ she clarified.
