Taming the Sheik

by Carol Grace

  Rahman chuckled. “Sounds like your type. She’s quite a woman. Looks good in your jacket, too. I saw her on her way out. Okay, you say you’re not interested? No feelings? Then you won’t mind if I give her a call?”

  Rafik jumped up from his chair and grabbed his brother by the collar of his shirt. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “I’ll think about it. Unless you do something. Go see her. Ask her. I dare you.”

  When had Rafik ever refused a dare? Especially from his brother? It was like showing a red cape to a bull.

  Chapter Three

  A few days later Anne was still trying desperately to forget the unpleasant and disturbing encounter she had had with the sheik in his office. First there was the humiliating journey from the hotel to downtown. And then their face-to-face meeting. It was not like her to lose her temper and throw things like money or to slam doors. But he’d asked for it. Teasing her about what had happened the night before. Which story was she supposed to believe? She wanted to think that nothing had happened. So she resolved to accept that story. Fine. But what really bothered her was the kiss. No, not the kiss. That was to be expected from a playboy sheik.

  It was her reaction to the kiss that shocked her. She was ashamed to admit how much she’d liked it. She was disturbed at what an effect it had on her. All the way home in his chauffeured car she’d felt her lips tingle and her heart pound. As usual, she took refuge in the backyard of the small house her parents had helped her buy on a quiet street in the Sunset district of San Francisco.

  She’d spent the last few days planting and replanting shrubs and bushes and pruning her raspberry plants, part of a grand plan to turn a small plot of earth into a minor bird sanctuary of her own. She had a whole summer ahead of her, but she’d set a timetable for herself. Her friends teased her about being overly organized, but she liked to know what she was doing and when. She had goals and deadlines, even in the summer. When she had it finished she was going to host a meeting of bird-watchers. She looked forward to sharing the fruits of her work with those who would truly appreciate it. Not only the birds, but her fellow bird lovers.

  She was planting a small oak sapling when she heard someone call her name from the side of her house. She wiped her dirty hands on her overalls, went to the wooden gate and peered over it.

  It was him. She rocked back on her heels, speechless with surprise. How had he found out where she lived? He looked just the same as the last time she’d seen him. Except he was lacking his suit jacket in keeping with the informality of her informal abode. Otherwise he was perfectly groomed in a tailored shirt that looked as though it had been made for him, carefully creased slacks, a subdued tie and polished wing-tip shoes. Every dark hair was combed in place except for a strand that fell across his forehead. Then it came to her; she realized why he was there.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” she said.

  “I thought you would be,” he said from the other side of the fence. “When you’d had a chance to think it over.”

  “What?”

  “I knew you were going to apologize for throwing my money at me. Can I come in?” he asked.

  She wanted to say no. She wanted him to disappear. If that wasn’t possible she wished she could disappear. She also wished she’d just hidden and pretended no one was at home. But unfortunately it was too late to do anything of the sort. Instead, she reached up and unlatched the gate. And suddenly he was in her garden. He had intruded on her own personal haven. She sighed loudly. It was her own fault.

  “Stay right here,” she said. “I’ll get it.”

  “Get what?” he asked.

  “Your jacket. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  “No.” He stood there a moment, between her lavender plants in all their purple glory and her birdbath and her small raised vegetable garden. His gaze traveled from her unruly hair brushing her shoulders to her dirt-stained overalls and the skimpy white T-shirt underneath. His eyes also took in her flip-flops and her dusty toes. “What are you doing?” he asked, his forehead furrowed.

  “I’m planting a tanbark oak sapling. The redheaded woodpeckers will love the acorns. Of course that stage is a long way off, but in the meantime the junipers and the cedars I put in give shelter and nesting sites and…” She stopped before she got carried away. He looked interested, his gaze didn’t waver, but after all, what did he care about her provisions for migratory and local birds? “I might ask you the same thing,” she said. “What are you doing? If you didn’t come for your jacket, why did you come?”

  “Yes, good question. Can we sit down somewhere?” he asked, looking around the garden. She had to admit he didn’t look quite as sure of himself, quite as arrogant as he did in his office. She almost smiled to see him look just a little anxious, perhaps a trifle unsure of himself after their last meeting. Now they were on her turf. Whatever he wanted with her, he wasn’t sure he was going to get it. Unless it was just his jacket.

  She motioned grandly to a wrought-iron bench which he sat on. She pulled up a small wooden stool she used to reach the top branches of her crabapple tree and sat down to face him.

  “I apologize for not calling first. Actually I did call first,” he explained, “but no one answered. Carolyn’s mother was kind enough to give me your address. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Actually it will save me a trip to the post office. I was going to send your jacket back. Why don’t I run upstairs and get it?” She stood up. He got up and put his hand on her arm.

  “First I need to ask you something.”

  She shrugged and sat down again.

  He sat down and looked around. “I thought you had allergies. How do you manage to have a garden?”

  She was sure that wasn’t the question he’d come all this way to ask, but she answered it anyway. “I’m only allergic to flowers. I didn’t find out until I had skin tests done last year and when I got the results I had to replant. As you can see I don’t have any flowers in the garden now and I’m fine.”

  “I see. It’s very beautiful. Who takes care of it for you?” he asked.

  “I do,” she said. “As you see. Does that surprise you?”

  “A little. Where I come from women don’t like to get their hands dirty. So they hire a gardener.”

  “I can’t afford a gardener, and even if I could, I think I’d do it myself. I have gloves, but I confess I like the feel of the dirt between my fingers. It’s very therapeutic, getting your hands dirty.” She looked down at her feet. “And your toes, too.”

  “Therapeutic, you say. Is there some reason you need therapy?” The question seemed innocent enough, but there was a gleam in his eyes that indicated he was teasing her again.

  She felt her cheeks flush. It hadn’t taken long for him to assume his former personality. The one that liked to tease and annoy her so much. The one that liked to pry into her personal life just to see how far he could push her. She got up off her wooden stool and stood looking at him.

  “Everyone needs therapy some time. This is the kind that doesn’t cost a penny and doesn’t require any professional help. I assume you are the exception to the rule. A person who needs nothing. So if you didn’t come for your jacket and you don’t need anything, why are you here?”

  “Ah, yes. That. I am here to ask you to reconsider your decision not to attend our gala ball.”

  “You drove all the way out here from your office to ask me that?”

  “I told you I tried to call.”

  “The answer is still no.”

  “There’s more,” he said as if he hadn’t heard her turn him down.

  She opened her mouth to say she didn’t want to hear any more, but he continued before she could speak.

  “I need a fiancée.”

  She was astonished at his brashness. What did that have to do with her? Why should she care if he needed a fiancée or even a white elephant, for that matter? “Good luck,” she said.

  He gave her a rueful smile. “You think I’ll
have trouble finding one.”

  “In a word, yes.”

  “Some women find me charming,” he said.

  “Then ask one of them. Now I’ll get your jacket.”

  “Wait. Please. I don’t mean a real fiancée. Though that’s what my father, Massoud, whom you met the other day, wants for me. I’m thirty-one and he thinks I should get married and settle down. For many reasons too numerous to go into right now, I am against this plan.”

  “Why get married when there are so many willing women around?” she asked.

  His eyes narrowed for a moment and then he smiled. “Exactly. Then you heard. What I’m looking for is not a real fiancée but someone who’s willing to pose as one for a short time. A very short time. Maybe just one evening.”

  “So what’s the problem? Ask one of those willing women to pose for you. How could they say no to a charming man like you?” Anne was proud of herself for coming up with a suitable reply. Charming? He was just too full of himself, this handsome sheik.

  Rafik gave her a quick, admiring glance and held one finger in the air. “Touché,” he said. “I deserve that. Actually I haven’t asked anyone yet. Since I’m new in town I don’t know many women. And so…”

  His gaze drifted around the garden, lingering on the bird-house hanging from the eaves of her house. She tried to wait patiently, but she was running out of patience. She had weeds to pull and shrubs to plant. His presence made her uneasy. Maybe it was the memory of their last meeting. That kiss she had tried so hard to forget. She plucked a few dead leaves off the low branches of her apple tree.

  “I thought perhaps you…” he continued.

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

  “Obviously not on account of my charm,” he said ruefully.

  “Obviously,” she said.

  “Perhaps there’s something you need, something you want. A gardener…No, you don’t want a gardener. You prefer to feel the dirt between your fingers, isn’t that right?”

  “That’s right. I have everything I need.” So he thought he could buy her the way he bought everything else he wanted. Of course, she didn’t have everything she needed or wanted. A small pond, a recycling water supply and sprinklers for the garden were things she would love to have eventually. Also her bird-watching club was raising money to buy the marshland south of the city for a preserve, but that had nothing to do with him.

  “All right,” he said. “I hope you don’t think I was trying to bribe you.”

  “Not at all,” she said calmly. “Before you go, let me get your…”

  “There is just one thing,” he said getting to his feet.

  She paused.

  “I thought after reflecting on that night we spent together, the hours we shared…you might feel differently about me,” he said. “You might want to help me out.”

  She stared at him. “That night we spent together, according to you, nothing happened. That’s what you said. Nothing happened.”

  “I didn’t want to upset you.”

  “Well you have upset me. I want to know the truth.”

  “Ah, the truth. What is the truth after all? All I can say is that it was…”

  “The most incredible night of your life. I know. You said that before. Before you said nothing happened. I will not come to your gala and I will most definitely not pretend to be your fiancée. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.”

  He nodded. But he didn’t look as chastened or discouraged as she’d hoped. He broke off a sprig of lavender and stuck it in his shirt pocket. Then he gave her a brief smile and left the same way he came. Anne stood in the middle of the garden staring at the gate. Remembering that she’d forgotten to give him his jacket. Pleased and proud of herself for standing her ground. For not giving in. For not admitting even to herself that the man had entirely too much charm for his own good. Good luck to him in finding a woman to pose as his fiancée. She sat down with a thud on the bench just vacated by him and let out a large breath of air she didn’t know she was holding.

  Somehow she knew this garden would never feel the same to her. Though he was gone, it was almost as if he was still there. She felt his presence as if he were still sitting on this bench. His golden-brown skin contrasting with his white shirt and his teeth. His dark eyes always laughing at her. Always teasing her. The night we spent together, the hours we shared…. He almost had her believing that something did happen that night. That was his intent. To make her worry and make her wonder. Well, it wasn’t going to work. She broke off a sprig of lavender as he’d done and the perfume filled the air. She was afraid she’d always think of him when she smelled lavender in the air. Damn, damn, damn.

  Rafik stopped in front of her house for a brief moment before he went to his car. It was a small, modest house with similar two-story stucco houses on either side. He imagined that hers was the only one with an amazing garden that she apparently had planted herself. No flowers, which he remembered she was allergic to, just aromatic bushes and trees and a vegetable plot arranged in a way that made a pleasing impression and would have practical benefits. The whole thing mirrored his impression of Anne. A practical girl, but decorative as well. Yes, very decorative.

  Like Anne, there was more to the garden than met the eye at first glance. The longer he sat there on her bench, the more aware he was of the garden’s hidden charms, like the purple cabbage planted in a concentric circle around artichoke plants. As for Anne’s hidden charms…he had become more aware of her high spirits, her pride in her garden and of course of her physical attributes hinted at by her overalls and skimpy T-shirt.

  He removed the lavender sprig from his pocket and crushed it between his fingers, releasing the most wonderful fragrance. As spicy and piquant as Anne was herself. Shy on the outside, she had a spirit that was far from shy. When aroused, she was downright fiery. He could only imagine what kind of a lover she’d be. Not that he would ever find out. She’d made it quite clear how she felt about him. She couldn’t stop him from dreaming, however. Or stop him from thinking about her soft skin with the smattering of freckles across her chest. Or wondering how it would feel if he tangled his fingers in her red-gold hair.

  Seeing her in those dungarees and T-shirt had surprised him. She looked even more desirable than in her pink dress. Another surprise. She didn’t seem fazed by having a guest see her like that. He didn’t know any women who wouldn’t have run inside to change their clothes at the sight of a caller at the door. Or who liked feeling the dirt between their fingers.

  How different she was from his former fiancée, the one his family had chosen for him. She had appeared to be the perfect choice. Perfect was the word for her. Perfect ease in social situations, perfect clothes and hair, perfect manners. Until he discovered she was only interested in his money and position. The breakup led him to his decision never to marry. Never to trust another woman. His parents, on the other hand, had not lost faith. They had become even more determined to find him another bride. This one would be better, they assured him. This one would be the right one. They’d been trying to find her ever since. Determined to see him settled down, in the job and in his personal life as well. Fortunately, as for a wife, they hadn’t yet had any luck.

  As he drove back to his office Rafik was only slightly discouraged. Maybe he should be more so. Anne certainly hadn’t given him any encouragement. In fact, she’d been just as spirited in her refusal as she’d been when she refused to accept any money from him and had thrown it across the floor. He smiled at the memory. Her flushed cheeks, her flashing eyes, her disheveled hair. And at the memory of that kiss they’d shared. He wondered if she remembered it. He didn’t know what he’d do next. He only knew he wasn’t giving up. He was determined to see her again. To persuade her at least to come to the gala if not to pose as his fiancée.

  Pinehurst School was a wonderful place to teach and to learn. The classes were small, the students
were all above average and the campus was beautiful. Teachers were dedicated and respected. The school was located on the grounds of a mansion once owned by a San Francisco millionaire. For fifty years it had been a private school for the children of the well-to-do in Pacific Heights, a neighborhood that enjoyed spectacular views of the Bay and the Golden Gate Bridge.

  It was now summer vacation for the children, though some took advantage of the summer enrichment program. The headmistress was in her office when she telephoned Anne that week and asked her to stop by for a moment when she had time.

  As Anne walked through the leafy campus, hearing the shouts of the small soccer players as they ran up and down the field, she wasn’t worried. But she was curious. She’d turned in her student evaluations the week before, taken down the posters on the walls so her classroom could be painted over the vacation and in general had left things pretty shipshape. At least she thought so.

  “Come in and sit down,” Leona Feathergill said to Anne. “I hope you’re having a pleasant summer?”

  “Yes, lovely,” Anne said, feeling a small tremor of anxiety somewhere between her shoulder blades. Now she knew what it must be like for her students when summoned to the headmistress’s office. Leona could be stern, but she was usually fair also. What on earth was this all about? Surely she hadn’t been called into the office to talk about her summer vacation. “I’ve been doing quite a bit of work in my garden and bird-watching,” she added.

  “Is that all?” Leona asked.

  Anne gave a little shrug which she hoped could mean almost anything. She wanted to ask what she should be doing? She had no idea what the woman was getting at.

  Leona nodded absently and shuffled some papers on her desk. She almost seemed more nervous than Anne. She cleared her throat.

  “You’ve always been one of our most outstanding teachers,” Leona said. “I hear nothing but praise from both the students and their parents for you.”