He nodded. “Good point. Come with me, I will show you around the villa and how to use the intercom system. When Aminna is here, she can always find me. Or one of the maids.”
“She’ll be back tomorrow. If we don’t have any more unexpected guests, I don’t need a tour.” She couldn’t explain her reluctance to spend time with Kharun. They meant nothing to each other, yet he kissed her as if she were his passion. And she responded like a firecracker.
False passion—he turned off the charm instantly when they were alone. Although not quite. Just standing there had her fantasizing about things that could never be. He made no effort to entice her. To him their arrangement was pure expediency to keep scandal from tainting his negotiations. But he didn’t have to do anything, but stand there and she was captivated. She looked away, trying to get her wayward emotions under some sort of control.
“Come and see the villa anyway. My mother decorated it over the years. I urged her to take some of the furnishings or paintings for her own apartment when she left after my father’s death, but she says the memories become too strong and too sad.”
For one foolish moment, Sara wished he’d held out his hand when urging her to come on the tour. She would love to slip her hand into his to feel his strength, to feel anchored. To revel in the shimmering waves of tingling awareness that would shoot up her arm at his touch. To relish his touch, and fantasize a bit more before reality returned.
She frowned as she stepped toward the arched hallway. Where had that last thought come from? She didn’t want to be anchored, and she didn’t need fantasy in her life.
She was a free spirit, hadn’t her parents lamented that fact for years? She still had to make her way in the world and show her parents she could accomplish something worthwhile as her siblings had.
“Do you have my camera, Kharun?” she asked as they walked down the corridor opposite the one that led to her bedroom.
“Planning to complete your assignment?” he asked warily.
She flushed slightly. “No. But it was an expensive piece of equipment.”
He paused by an open doorway. It was an office, set up with high-tech communications equipment, two computers, an enormous desk, and rows of bookshelves along one wall. French doors opened to the wrap-around veranda and allowed the cool breeze to waft in.
“It’s in here.”
On the corner of the desk sat the camera.
She stepped warily inside the office and went to pick it up, checking the exposure indicator. Reset to zero.
“The film was confiscated,” he said, leaning against the doorjamb.
“I expected nothing else. Can I have some more?”
“To do what?”
“Exactly what I asked myself earlier,” she said, swinging around and leaning against his desk. It was easier to face him with the width of the office between them. “What am I to do all day?”
“What do you do at home?”
“I have a job, so I show up at the office, scout around for new stories. There’s shopping to do, friends to meet, laundry, household chores.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Do you cook?”
She nodded.
“Since Aminna is not here, maybe you’d like to prepare some food for us.”
“I don’t suppose sheikhs learn to cook.”
“Your assumption is flawed. I was on my own several times—when away at school. I can cook enough to get by when a restaurant isn’t convenient.”
“And a restaurant isn’t convenient today?” Sara asked.
He slowly smiled and shook his head.
Her heart turned over. Her knees grew weak and she thought she’d have to learn to breathe all over again. She had already thought he was a striking specimen of alpha male, dominating any situation he was in, but when he smiled, he was devastating. If he didn’t already have a calling, she knew he’d be an instant hit in Hollywood, or on the London stage.
She tried to hide her reactions. “So that gives me something to do today, what about the rest of the time while you’re off negotiating oil leases and running a company?”
“We can work on that. It may only be a matter of weeks. Pretend you are on vacation. Enjoy the beach, you love the sea. Maybe go shopping. Come, I’ll show you the rest of the villa and then you can prepare lunch for us.”
She picked up the camera and looked around the room. “This is command central, I suppose?”
“It is my office at home. As you know I have formal offices in Staboul. But when I’m not there, I still need instant communication and access to my advisers. Unless I am present, please do not enter this room.” His voice hardened with the last command.
She tilted her chin and glared at him. “I told you once before, I am not a spy. Anyway, I don’t speak Arabic, so any secrets you had would be safe from me. I have no interest in your dumb old office.” She swept toward him with as much dignity as she could muster beneath the smoldering anger. What would it take to convince the man she was only a sometimes inept novice reporter for a second-rate U.S. tabloid and not a sexy, conniving spy?
Not that the sexy spy role didn’t have advantages, she thought as he stepped aside to allow her into the hall. Weren’t sexy spies notorious for seducing secrets from lots of men? For a moment Sara wondered if she had the capability to seduce Kharun.
The tour took more than an hour. She was impressed with the comfort level of the villa despite the antiques and costly items that predominated. The paintings on the walls were originals. Her favorite room was the one where Matisse paintings dominated an entire wall. She knew she’d come back on her own just to soak up the ambience.
There were formal rooms, a quiet little sunroom, guest rooms for both family and visitors. Even an exercise room tucked in a back corner. On the far side of the villa was a pool, surrounded by fragrant flowering shrubs, which provided privacy.
“Why have a pool when the Mediterranean Sea is at your doorstep?” she asked when they entered the pool area.
“Some people prefer artificial to natural.” He shrugged. “Here we have both. You are free to use either—provided you don’t go swimming alone.”
“Who would go with me?”
“If I am available, I will go. Otherwise Aminna or one of the maids or gardeners can watch to make sure you don’t get into trouble.”
“Afraid I’ll swim away?” she asked lightly.
“No, Sara, afraid solely for your well-being. It is not safe to swim alone.”
She nodded, suddenly touched he’d extend his concern to her well-being after the trouble she’d caused. He was right, it was unsafe to swim alone.
Kharun ended the tour in the kitchen. Sara stared in amazement. “You must entertain a lot,” she murmured, taking in the huge stainless-steel refrigeration unit, the industrial-size gas range, the two huge ovens and three microwave ovens. The counter space would provide enough room to cater a seven-course meal for fifty.
“My parents did a lot of entertaining. I don’t do as much. Though now that we are married, I wonder if it will become expected.”
“No.”
“No?” He looked at her. “Why not?”
“I’m not good at gatherings like that,” she said quickly. “Besides, we won’t be married that long. No one would expect us to entertain.”
“Why are you not good at gatherings?”
“I never know what to say to people. We’ve been involved with big receptions my whole life. You must know that most business deals are often dealt with at social functions. I never told my father, but I hate going to them. One wrong word and world peace as we know it could end.”
Kharun laughed out loud. Sara watched him, fascinated. Her lips twitched, but even his laugher couldn’t erase the awkward feelings she got when faced with a roomful of strangers.
“It’s not funny,” she said.
He came to stand next to her—too close. She wanted to step away. She could feel the heat from his body as it seemed to envelop her, smell the scent f
rom his skin that had her wanting to toss her camera to the floor and draw an enticing finger along the swell of his muscles to test their strength, taste him again.
She swallowed and stood her ground, hoping her pounding heartbeat wasn’t evident to the astute man now staring down into her eyes.
“It is not funny, I apologize for laughing. But any faux pas you might make at a reception or dinner would scarcely end world peace. If you are uncomfortable, we will not entertain.”
She blinked. That was totally unexpected. “It’s your home, if you wish to entertain, I’ll do my best. Just understand I’m not so great at it. Now, Margaret, she shines at events like that. She knows just what to say, who’re the most important people in the room, what the latest rumors are and how to defuse any awkward situations.”
“Margaret, is she your sister?”
Sara nodded. “The attorney,” she said flatly.
“Ah, I remember now, the attorney and the physicist and the…photographer.”
“Photojournalist, this week.” Unless her boss had already fired her. She hadn’t reported in for a week. She looked at Kharun, trying to gauge his reaction if she asked to use the phone.
“I probably should let my office know what’s happened.”
He shrugged. “If they are any kind of newspaper, they already know. My office released news of our marriage this morning. I have cut off the phones to make sure we are not disturbed by reporters. My advisers will handle the world press.”
“Oh. It must be nice to have a legion of people ready to do your bidding.”
He smiled as if amused by her comment. “It is. Lunch?”
Glancing around the room again, Sara nodded. She placed her camera on the edge of the counter and started opening cupboard doors, looking for something to start with. “So I join the legions, here for your bidding.”
“Unless you wish to starve.” Humor laced his tone.
She ignored him. When she reached the refrigeration unit, she was delighted to see a bowl of freshly cleaned and boiled shrimp. Had Aminna suspected they’d like something like that for lunch? “I can make a shrimp salad for lunch, will that work?”
“Fine. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Does that give you enough time?”
“Sure.” The image of the two of them working intimately together in the kitchen vanished. So much for thinking it a way to get to know her husband better.
Temporary husband! Their marriage was a business arrangement, nothing more, she admonished herself as she drew things from the shelves. She didn’t want to be here any more than he wanted her here. She wanted to be out proving herself to her family. To show she could find a niche and make a career.
Sara sighed softly. Photojournalism wasn’t it, she admitted to herself. She wasn’t exactly sure what was, but there was no use kidding herself. She was washed up as a hot-shot reporter—even before she wrote her first big story, too.
Sometimes life wasn’t fair.
She loaded a large tray she’d found with the salads, freshly cut French bread, and glasses of a cola she’d found in the refrigerator. Carrying it carefully, she made her way to the terrace beside the sparkling pool. There was shade in the far side and a table conveniently at hand.
Setting the small table, she was pleased with the way lunch had turned out. Now to figure out how to get Kharun out here to eat.
“It looks good.”
She jumped at his voice. He’d come up behind her without making a sound.
“Aminna had all the ingredients, it was easy to throw together.”
He seated her and sat opposite. She was pleased to note after the first hesitant bite, that he dug in with enthusiasm. She tasted the shrimp salad, pleased at how tasty it was.
Kharun obliquely studied his new bride as they ate. She seemed to pulse with restless energy, looking around her with fresh eyes, smiling in pleasure at the flowers that bloomed near the pool. She seemed to love beauty. He had noticed that as they’d toured the villa. What other interests did this stranger bound to him have?
“I have work to do this afternoon. At five, however, I plan to go riding. Would you care to join me?” he asked out of the blue. He rarely let others accompany him riding—that was his time for himself. Generally in a hectic week if he could carve out a couple of hours for himself, he guarded the time. Why had he invited Sara to join him?
“I’d love to. Where would we ride?”
“Along the beach. Normally I keep Satin in a stable a few miles from the city. I like to ride in the desert at dusk. But I brought him here a couple of weeks ago. It’s not quite the same thing, but a good ride.”
“How far can we go before we run into people sunbathing or swimming?”
“If we head away from Staboul, we can go for several miles. In the opposite direction—toward the city, only two. Do you have riding clothes?”
“I have jeans, that’ll do for today. Who is Satin?”
“My horse. His Arabian name translates to Satin Magic. There are two other horses at the stables, I’ll have one saddled for you. Do you prefer a spirited horse or one who is more sedate?”
“Spirited, of course. I want to ride like the wind along the sea.”
Her eyes sparkled when she spoke, the gray going silver with delight. So it wasn’t only anger that changed the color. Passion also brought out the silvery lights. What else did Sara feel passionately about?
He reined in his thoughts. An occasional kiss in public to maintain their charade was one thing. But this woman was a stranger, one who was here under obscure circumstances. There was no passion to be had between them. Once the leases for the oil rights were finalized and signed, they would part ways.
He rose, tossing his napkin on the table. “Lunch was delicious. I’ll come for you at five.” He turned to walk away before he had second thoughts—on anything.
“Kharun?” She spoke before he reached the house.
“Yes?” He turned. She gathered their plates, stacking them on a tray.
“I wish to go swimming this afternoon. I’ll use the pool. I’m sure I’ll be okay if there’s no one around.”
He hesitated, but it was not an option. His young cousin had died when they’d been children—drowned in an accident that had burned deep into his consciousness.
“I’ll bring my reading to the terrace while you swim,” he said.
“Oh.” She looked nonplussed. He almost smiled. She fascinated him, this Western woman with the changing eyes. “Give me half an hour.”
“Sure, I have to clean up and change and all. That’s fine. Thanks.” She began humming as she swept the last of the breadcrumbs from the table into her hand, dumping them into one of the used plates.
From jail cell to luxury—Sara seemed to fit into both with a built-in self-sufficiency.
As he headed for his office, he remembered her comment about being uncomfortable at formal gatherings. It was too bad she felt that way. He bet she’d keep people on their toes and intrigue them to boot.
It was forty-five minutes later when Kharun stepped back onto the terrace. He had brought his laptop, and a stack of folders to skim through. Sara was sitting on the side of the pool, dangling her feet in the water.
For the first time, he was glad he’d worn his sunglasses. He hoped they disguised his reaction to seeing her in that sleek swimsuit. Electric blue, it hugged her body. Her high, firm breasts were clearly displayed, as was her narrow waist and sweet flare of hips. Her legs went on forever when she stood and walked toward the deep end.
“Thanks for coming. I won’t swim that long. Then I’ll lie in the sun for a while and work on my tan.”
He nodded and continued to the table where they’d shared lunch. It remained in the shade and he needed all the cooling he could find. His blood warmed at the sight of her. Desire rose. He had enjoyed kissing her, making the best of a bad situation.
Now he wanted her on another level, one that had nothing to do with their bargain or situation.
He wanted her in every way a man wants a woman.
Kharun set his chair so he could watch her without appearing to. She dove neatly into the water, coming up to begin swimming. Her legs kicked strongly, her arms rose and fell in a steady motion as she cleaved through the water. Turning at the end, she continued to swim. And he continued to watch. She was supple and graceful and strong. Obviously swimming was a sport she enjoyed—and excelled at. It proved a pleasure to watch her.
When at last she rose at the far end and sat on the edge, he looked away. But not before noticing how her breasts rose and fell as she tried to catch her breath. How her wild curls were weighted down with water and hung like shining waves on either side of her face.
And not before he noticed his desire had increased, not diminished. He flipped open the laptop and clicked it on. He had work to do—and it definitely did not include fantasizing about his wife. His temporary wife.
Wife. They were married. Neither were promised to another. And weren’t Western women supposed to be much more free with their favors than the women of his culture? Maybe he should explore that avenue a bit further.
He looked at Sara. Would she be willing to have an affair while she was here?
CHAPTER FIVE
SARA was ready at five for the promised ride. She’d donned sturdy shoes, comfortable jeans, and a sleeveless yellow top. The sun had kissed her skin at the pool, and she had a healthy glow about her.
She’d wondered earlier if Kharun would join her in the pool, but he’d diligently worked all afternoon—never looked up once as far as she could tell. She’d done some laps, rested on the side, and then swum some more before lying down on a sunbed at the water’s edge.
He’d returned to the house once she’d told him she didn’t plan to swim again. In fact, he had departed so fast she might have been insulted under other circumstances. Would it have hurt to stay a few moments and maybe talk?
She refused to let any vague feeling of disappointment color her excitement for the upcoming ride. She loved horses and had often wished she could have owned one. But with her father’s constant travels when she was younger, and her own future uncertain lately, she had never felt the time was right.
The Sheikh's Proposal Page 6
