The Sheikh's Proposal

by Barbara McMahon

  And smack in the middle came the daughter of the man he was negotiating for oil leases that would enable the government to make the reforms his father had so longed for.

  He had involved himself in the situation before he knew all the facts. Now others knew of his involvement. So the final decision would be his. What to do with Sara Kinsale?

  Both sides would be closely watching. His father had served on the council for years, the old faction knew him. Now they watched to see he didn’t sell out the country. The newer ministers were still wary about moving forward too quickly, wondering if he had the capability to represent their country in the treaty negotiations. They had trusted his father, and transferred that trust to him. But still, they watched.

  Their country was such a dichotomy—rich and modern in the cities, poor and underdeveloped in the desert areas. With the influx of funds the oil leases would provide, much more could be done for the outlying areas—bringing all citizens into the twenty-first century.

  Whatever he decided, it must be handled discreetly and with great diplomacy. His years in business had taught him all he needed. Now it was time to implement a strategy to get them out of this sticky situation.

  He turned and reached for the phone.

  Sara lay on her cot, wishing it had a modicum of comfort. Lumpy and narrow, it was obviously not geared for the Ritz. She’d played her trump card—given her father’s position—and it hadn’t helped. Maybe the oil leases weren’t as important as she thought. Or maybe the sheikh felt he held the trump card with her in jail. Maybe he’d use that to force her father into giving concessions.

  She groaned, wishing she’d never started this chain of events!

  For the first time since her arrest she considered the possibility of staying in jail for a long time. She shivered, not liking the prospect at all.

  She closed her eyes—seeing Kharun bak Samin. The top businessman dealing with her father, nephew of the chosen leader of this beautiful Arabian country. The son of the sheikh who had recently died, and who had played an important role as adviser to the ruler. Things could not possibly be worse. What would her father say?

  Restless with her thoughts, she sprang up again and began to pace the small space. If her lapse of good sense resulted in negotiations breaking down, it could mean her father losing the deal—another company getting the oil rights. A major contract going south because of her impetuousness.

  What would the sheikh decide?

  She tried to blank out the memory of that fluttering of interest in the man—personal interest. Was the desert heat getting to her? He had been part of her assignment—photograph the elusive Kharun bak Samin. Let the women of America get a good look at one of the world’s most eligible bachelors—heir to the fortune built by his father and enhanced by his own efforts. Dynamic businessman of this important country on the Mediterranean Sea, and handsome as a movie star.

  She’d thought it would be a snap, that she’d be able to sell the story and pictures and make a name for herself with the newspaper. She had wanted the credentials of a job well done to help her move to a more established newspaper. One that delivered news and commentaries, not sensationalism.

  Trying to ignore the twinge she felt every time she thought about the tabloid aspect of her job, she focused on the fact it was a step toward more serious photojournalism.

  But she couldn’t help remembering how she herself cringed when seeing the flashy headlines splashed across the different tabloids at the grocery store checkout stands.

  Her impetuosity had once again gotten her in trouble. But this time, her father could also suffer. She’d paid little attention to his plans recently, more concerned with learning how to operate the fancy camera she’d bought for the trip, and trying her hand at reporting news.

  The two articles she written that had been accepted had been changed beyond recognition by the time they hit the stands. She tried for the exploitive tone of the paper, but it proved impossible.

  She had really wanted to do this story—always hoping for the best—a human interest kind of story, nothing sensational.

  Sara couldn’t bear the thought of being the one to bring disgrace on her father. All she’d ever wanted was to make him proud of her. Now this. She should have kept her mouth shut! She should never have told the sheikh who she was. Sara Kay was an unknown, no one would rally around to rescue her.

  But the daughter of Samuel Kinsale? Her father would spare no expense to find her. And if he didn’t like the way she’d been treated, he’d stop the negotiations in a heartbeat.

  Pacing back and forth, she wished she could go back in time three days. Wished she could turn back the clock. Would she have done anything differently?

  Not get caught, for one thing. But the only way she could have avoided that, if she had the last three days to do over, was to not attempt the photo shoot. She’d gambled her career on that. Gambled and lost.

  The afternoon hours dragged. Another day gone and she was no nearer to getting back to her family—or even letting them know she was all right.

  Kharun seethed with impatience and frustration. His calls had given him the information he needed—Sara Kinsale was indeed the daughter of the man he was dealing with. The youngest child of a very worried man who was discreetly trying to locate his missing daughter.

  Samuel Kinsale, too, was aware of the delicacy of the negotiations. And for the time being, didn’t seem interested in upsetting the balance. But that would change if he didn’t locate his daughter soon.

  What would he do when he found out his daughter was in jail being held on charges of espionage?

  Kharun’s trusted adviser, Piers, suggested secreting her away, hiding her until after the oil leases were signed. But Kharun didn’t see that as a viable option. Keeping her whereabouts hidden from her parents for weeks or months would be needlessly cruel.

  Garh Sonharh, leader of the old guard, had been vocal in pushing for full prosecution. Kharun had not spoken to him directly—holding off as long as possible as he mulled the situation over. But he’d heard of Garh’s wishes from Piers. Once he spoke directly with his uncle’s strongest minister, he would be committed.

  Kharun’s call to his sister hadn’t helped. She’d sympathized, discussed the situation, then offered a bizarre idea for scraping through unscathed. Bizarre nothing—it was plain stupid from start to finish.

  Damn! He rose from behind the desk and paced the narrow room, wishing he could get on his horse and ride out into the desert until the entire situation made some kind of sense. The freedom he enjoyed on the back of Satin Magic brought a soothing almost mystic release to tension and turmoil.

  But his horse was at his summer villa by the sea, and he was here, fifty miles inland.

  Beside, he didn’t think Garh would take kindly to being ignored while Kharun went horseback riding.

  He smiled cynically. It didn’t matter what he did, Garh didn’t approve.

  Nor did his aunt. If she had her way, his tenure as negotiator would be short. But he had the international business experience to know what to bargain for and to stand for his principles. His uncle trusted him, as had his father.

  The bottom line—Kharun had the final recommendation regarding the oil leases. His uncle, the ruler of their country, had utmost faith in him. He had better do something soon before it all blew up in his face.

  For the first time, he gave his sister’s suggestion serious thought. It was a dumb way to muddle through a crisis, but might be the only way to save face all around. And it would make it very difficult for Garh to carry out his threat for an espionage charge.

  He summoned Sara Kinsale.

  She entered the room with her head held high. Jabil released her and bowed out, closing the door.

  “I want to call the American embassy,” she said firmly.

  Kharun’s lips almost twitched in amusement. She had her own strength, he noted, beginning to notice other things about her. She was taller than the average hei
ght of most of the women in his country, and that honey-blond hair shone like a beacon. She’d stand out in a crowd. She carried herself proudly. The curves the khakis displayed were womanly and alluring.

  He jerked his gaze back to her blazing eyes. Silvery when she was angry, a light gray when not. If she went for the bizarre suggestion, he wondered if he’d be able to gauge her moods by the color of her eyes alone?

  “I have confirmed your identity. Your father is escalating his search for you. Pretty soon it will be impossible to keep the circumstances private. Not that you will mind, will you? Once a public figure, privacy is lost, correct?”

  She narrowed her eyes as she gazed at him, obviously not liking her own words thrown back.

  “I apologize for infringing on your family’s privacy. Next time I’ll make sure I have permission for a photo shoot.”

  “Next time?”

  She shrugged, still standing proudly before him.

  All her makeup had long since worn off. Her cheeks had a natural color to them, and her lips looked full and sweet.

  Kharun frowned and looked away from the tempting lips. He needed to make sure they both understood the proposal—and not get confused with some fantasies about the delectable femininity before him.

  “I spoke briefly about the situation and the possible repercussions earlier,” he began.

  She nodded. “I didn’t mean to cause problems.”

  “There may be a way out of this quagmire with a bit of acting on both our parts. Are you willing to hear my proposal?”

  She nodded. Her shoulders relaxed a bit. Was she relieved to let him find a way out of the mess? Thus far she’d come up with nothing.

  “I suggest we pretend to the world that we have known each other for some time. That your trip to visit your family is merely a cover to see me. That we became secretly engaged and you were planning on surprising me with photos of my family’s home as an engagement present.”

  She stared at him, not moving. Had she heard what he said?

  “Are you totally crazy?” she asked at last, almost exploding the words. “Engaged? As in get married to each other one day? No one in their right mind would believe such a thing! Where did you ever come up with such a ridiculous idea? I can’t believe that’s the best you can come up with. Aren’t you supposed to be some hot-shot businessman? This is your proposal? I can counter it in a heartbeat—just let me go. I won’t say a word. Make up something—like you imposed a heavy fine. I can’t believe you can’t think of a rational reason to release me without repercussions!”

  He let her rant and rave for a couple of minutes, fascinated by her passion. Her eyes blazed, her breasts rose and fell as she drew in deep breaths. Her cheeks were flushed with color. Would she look as enticing in bed?

  Where had that thought come from? He had no intention of finding out. He was trying to get through this without either side losing.

  He held up a hand for silence. She closed her mouth and glared at him. He almost smiled at the picture she presented. However, now was not a time to get sidetracked.

  “On the surface, I agree it does seem strange.”

  Hadn’t he ranted and raved at his sister only a couple of hours ago protesting the very idea? “But there is a hint of merit in the idea. Hear me out. If we are allied, if we have a personal reason for your taking pictures of forbidden areas, we can scrape through both the ministers’s anger and the embarrassment you’d cause your father if his daughter was publicly prosecuted and condemned. An engagement would only be temporary—until the lease negotiations are finalized. At that point, you can return home and we’ll make a joint statement that there were too many differences to overcome.”

  She blinked and continued to study him. “It’d never work,” she said at last. “No one would ever believe you’d fall for me.”

  That caught him by surprise. “Why not? You’re pretty and adventuresome—traits which would appeal to any man. We could have met in any number of cities we’ve both visited.”

  “Puh-lease. You’re the nephew of the ruler of this country. Your own father was an important member of the council before his death. I’m the flaky younger daughter of an oil dealer. If it was my sister, Margaret, I could see it, maybe. She’s sophisticated, successful and never puts a step out of place. You don’t even want to suggest such a proposal with me.”

  For a second he wanted to agree with her. But it wasn’t for real. Just a mock engagement to appease the ministers and keep scandal from rocking a still precariously run country. And, of course, to ensure the negotiations concerning their newly discovered oil reserves could continue with no awkwardness.

  “It would take very little on your part—pretend to be my fiancée, attend a few social events, stay at my place temporarily. You do have some acting skills, surely.”

  She shook her head. “Been there, done that. Didn’t take.”

  “What?”

  “I tried acting. I’m no good at it. That I don’t fully embrace the character, was the kindest criticism I received. The rest pretty much said I was a total flop.”

  “Have you had experience at being a fiancée?”

  She shook her head. “Nope, neither pretend nor real. It wouldn’t work, you know, but thanks for the thought. Can’t you just let me go?”

  “It will have to work, I see no other way out of this without complications on one side or the other. The next best suggestion was to secret you away to another facility and play ignorant while your parents worry and search fruitlessly for you. Is that a better choice? Or are you ready for the repercussions that could arise out of being tried for espionage?”

  He saw he’d hit home with his first comment. She didn’t wish to worry her parents any more than he did. She knew what a trial would do to her father’s negotiations. Would she agree to this ludicrous scheme now that he’d played that card? One way or another it was up to him to ensure the negotiations continued with a favorable result. Would she make it easier or harder?

  “Just a fiancée, right? Indefinite marriage date. Still in the getting-to-know-each-other stage?” she clarified.

  “Show only,” he confirmed. Any elation he felt, he kept hidden. Maybe they could brush through, after all. They’d only have to pretend until the deal was finalized in a few weeks, a month at most.

  “Okay, then, I guess I’ll have to agree. Now can I make a call?”

  Before Kharun could respond, the phone rang. He answered it, his eyes never leaving Sara. Could he trust her to fulfill her part? Trust that once she left the jail she wouldn’t flee the country and to hell with the consequences?

  Or would she hang around hoping to get those pictures that had her risking everything earlier this week?

  “Garh, here, Kharun. I’ve heard some interesting rumors about an American spy you’re holding at the jail,” the familiar voice said when Kharun picked up the phone.

  “You need a better source for rumors, Garh. No spies here. A misunderstanding about a present my fiancée wanted to give me.”

  The pause was minuscule. “Fiancée? I had no idea you were engaged to be married. Your uncle made no mention of this to me. When did this happen?”

  “Some time ago. Out of respect for my father’s recent passing and the grief in my family at his death, we elected to wait until a more suitable time to announce our betrothal. However, her zeal to capture the family home as a gift for me has changed our timing. We will let everyone in the family know immediately.”

  “Interesting, I didn’t even know you knew Samuel Kinsale’s daughter, much less had enough time for a courtship.” Suspicion was evident in his tone.

  Kharun remained silent. The less he told the old manipulator, the less he had to remember and deal with later.

  But wasn’t it interesting that Garh knew who Sara was. How had he found out? Kharun had only found out himself a couple of hours ago when Sara told him.

  “And when is the wedding?” Garh asked silkily.

  “We haven’t set a
date yet.”

  “Ah.”

  Kharun felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. He didn’t trust Garh as far as he could throw him. What was the wily minister thinking?

  “Perhaps you should consider setting the date immediately. It is one thing to excuse a flighty fiancée, yet engagements can be so easily broken, correct? It would be something else to forgive a dutiful wife.”

  Kharun heard the threat in his tone. And knew his sister’s idea hadn’t been foolproof. Was Garh calling his bluff?

  “Perhaps you are correct. I will let you know the date. In the meantime, Sara and I will be returning to the capital this evening if you need to reach me again.”

  He hung up and stared at the phone. The man suspected a coverup. Of all the ministers, Garh pushed the hardest to hear other proposals for oil sales. Kharun couldn’t give him any power to stall the current negotiations.

  He looked at Sara harshly. “The plan has changed. We will be married immediately.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  SARA gazed out the limousine window, amazed at how fast things had spun out of control. She longed to look at the man seated beside her, but didn’t dare make eye contact, or give him any reason to suspect she was interested in him beyond his being the one responsible for rescuing her from jail.

  The desert was cloaked in shadows, deep and mysterious as the sun set in the west. She’d caught a glimpse of an oasis when they’d left the enclave. And the heartbreaking sight of a little child scantily dressed, staring at the costly vehicle as they pulled away.

  Somewhere out there was his luxurious family home. The contrast between what she’d glimpsed before being arrested and the tiny child at the side of the road was outrageous. Sara knew the same divisions of wealth existed all over the world, but they just seemed less dramatic.

  The meagerness of amenities in the area had been apparent and appalling. Nothing like the bustling modernity of the capital city. How did the city people resolve living with their own abundance when they were surrounded by such destitution?