“Ah, Your Excellency, I have not yet had the opportunity to meet your charming bride.”
Sara turned at the sound of the voice. She took an instant dislike to the man standing beside them. He was not tall, Sara could look him in the eye. His dark gaze narrowed and his voice oozed oily bonhomie, which did not cover his insincerity. She wondered if he thought it did.
“Garh Sonharh, my wife Sara. Darling, Garh is one of my uncle’s most trusted new ministers.” Kharun’s voice was neutral, void of any intonation that would give Sara a hint of how he felt about the man. And that in itself was a clue.
The name was familiar—she suddenly remembered. It was after talking with this man that Kharun had come up with the outlandish scheme to marry instead of just an engagement.
“How do you do, sir?” she said sweetly, smiling as vapidly as she could. Maybe the acting lessons would come in handy, after all. “I’m so delighted to meet you.”
Kharun’s hand tightened on hers. She resisted looking at him, knowing she might burst into laughter. Then the seriousness of the matter reasserted itself. This man could be considered an enemy of her husband—and of her father. If he suspected they weren’t truly married he could precipitate that international incident she was trying to avoid.
“Did you get those photographs you wanted for your husband?” Garh asked.
“Photographs? Oh, of the summer villa? Unfortunately there was a misunderstanding about that.” Sara looked up at Kharun, hoping her expression would be taken as adoring. “We got it cleared up, though, didn’t we, darling?”
Suddenly she looked straight at Garh. “But how did you hear about that?”
Garh inclined his head slightly. “Rumors, only, madam.”
“There you are, I’ve been looking all over for you,” Jasmine said. She wore a burgundy gown and looked stunning.
“Minister Sonharh,” she included him in her greeting, then smiled at Sara. “Come and meet some friends of mine. Yasife is dying to meet an American. I told her all about you and Kharun’s wildly romantic courtship.”
“Do not end up gossiping with the women all night long,” Kharun said, kissing the back of Sara’s hand before releasing his hold. He turned to Garh as the two women left.
“Thanks,” Sara said softly, once out of earshot.
Jasmine laughed. “Garh’s bite is worse than his bark and that’s formidable. He is against everything Kharun wants to do—from the oil deal to improving the infrastructure, to enticing tourists to boost our economy. I don’t know why Kharun doesn’t prevail upon our uncle to get rid of him,” Jasmine said with a frown.
“Have you asked him?”
“He says it’s easier to keep an eye on him at the ministerial level than to constantly wonder what the man might be doing behind his back. Come, here’s Yasife.”
“So, how did your first reception in Kamtansin go?” Kharun asked as they settled in the limousine after bidding their hosts farewell two hours later.
“Better than I expected,” Sara admitted. She kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes. Frowning, she then wrinkled up her face.
“Is something wrong?”
“I thought I’d try to relax my facial muscles. I hope you don’t expect a smile out of me for two days. It’ll be that long before my cheeks stop aching.”
He laughed softly. The sound was like mulled wine on a cold winter’s day. It seeped through Sara, warm and intoxicating.
“I hope you don’t expect me to remember the names of the four million people I met tonight,” she said brightly to cover her reactions.
“It was only a few dozen, and no, for the most part, you’ll remember them after seeing them again and again at various functions. There are a few who are personal friends, do remember them, please.”
“Who?” She rested her head against the cushions and closed her eyes, listening to Kharun talk. She could listen to his voice from now until forever.
She felt a brush against her cheek. Slowly she opened her eyes. Kharun was leaning over her.
“We’re home.”
Sara blinked, awareness gradually returning. Awareness of Kharun growing.
“Did I fall asleep?”
“Just as I was telling you about some friends. I’ll have to make sure I don’t bore you next time.”
“Oh, no, not that!” She sat up, pressing against his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I was just so tired from the strain of the reception—and meeting Garh Sonharh. Jasmine told me about him. He’s the real reason we got married, isn’t he? He doesn’t suspect anything, does he? Jasmine said he was a real thorn in your side.”
“I can handle Garh. Come, you can be in bed in only a couple of minutes.”
She followed him into the villa and turned to head for her room when he stopped her.
“Your acting was more than adequate for our deception. Thank you for tonight.” He leaned closer and kissed her.
Still half-asleep, still remembering the intoxicating effect of his voice in the darkness of the car, Sara stepped into his embrace and his kiss.
The lassitude from her brief nap vanished. Blood began to pound through her veins as his mouth caressed hers, as his lips moved persuasively to coax hers into a response. When she parted her lips, his tongue teased her. She returned the favor, relishing the wild freedom she felt when in Kharun’s arms.
His hands were warm on her bare back, sending tendrils of pure pleasure through her. She encircled his neck with her arms and tried to get even closer. She could feel the hard length of him against her and savored the differences between them.
She felt as if she were floating.
He ended the kiss, resting his forehead on hers and gazing deep into her eyes when she reluctantly opened them. The fiery passion he kept under strict control was visible in his eyes. The desire he couldn’t completely hide sent a shiver of anticipation and reckless abandonment through her. What would it be like to make love with Kharun?
“You had better go to bed now, if you wish to sleep alone,” his voice said roughly.
Sara hesitated a split second. One part of her didn’t want to go to bed alone, but the other part knew it would be a mistake not to. This was a temporary, short-term, marriage-in-name-only, not the prelude to a lifelong commitment.
She nodded, pulled her arms from around his neck and turned, walking swiftly to her room.
“Damn!” he said softly as the door closed behind her. Angrily, he ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, and back to his neck, easing some of the tension. Since when had he become a blasted Boy Scout? He wasn’t known for his altruism. He was ruthless in his pursuit of a business deal, or in dealing with mistakes at work.
If he’d kept his mouth on hers, they would be in bed together at this very moment. Instead, he was left in the hallway, staring at a blank door as if he hoped for X-ray vision to see through to Sara’s room.
She was probably sliding out of that dress now. It clung to her like a second skin, showing off every delectable curve and valley. He wanted to be the one to slip it from her shoulders, to watch it puddle at her feet on the floor, then raise his gaze to see her wearing nothing at all.
Turning before he did something rash, Kharun strode to his own bedroom. What had possessed him to put her in the room the farthest from his own? What if she needed something in the night?
Like what? his consciousness jeered. Someone to tuck her into bed? Someone to soothe away any nightmares?
Someone to kiss her to sleep?
The truth was he wasn’t used to denying himself anything. All evening he’d watched for a sign from Sara that she wasn’t immune to the sparks that seemed to fill the room whenever the two of them were together.
Just a hint, and he would not have sent her to bed alone.
But either she was a terrific actress, or she didn’t have a clue. Or maybe she didn’t feel the attraction he felt, didn’t find anything intriguing about him, like he did with her. Perhaps she was counting the days until the oil dea
l was finalized and she could return to her parents.
For a moment, the thought of Sara returning to America, never returning to Kamtansin, was more than he cared to deal with. He’d better make the most of her stay. Once she was gone, he’d likely never see her again.
The next morning Kharun ate alone. He wondered if Sara was avoiding him, or just tired from last night and sleeping in. He almost went to check, but for the arrival of his mother.
“Good morning, Kharun,” she said, smiling as he rose to greet her. “I hope I’m not visiting too early, but I’m excited about a project I think you will love.” Angelique looked around. “Where is Sara?”
“We went to the embassy reception last night, she’s sleeping in this morning.”
“No, I’m not. I just got a late start,” Sara said from the doorway.
Kharun looked at her and schooled his features to hide his reaction. She looked lovely today—her blond hair like a nimbus around her face. Despite her claim to not smile for a week, she was smiling at his mother. For a moment he was jealous of that smile. Sara never smiled at him that way.
Foolishness! He greeted her formally and held a chair for his mother. Sara went to the far side of the table and sat down before he could reach her.
Aminna entered, carrying a tray of croissants, muffins, and various breads. She placed it in the center of the table, pausing to greet Kharun’s mother.
Kharun waited until everyone had begun to eat before asking his mother why she’d come to visit so early.
“I thought it would be the best time to reach you both—before you began work for the day and Sara took off.”
“Took off?” He looked at Sara.
She shrugged. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You will once you see what I’ve brought,” Angelique said. She smiled at her son. “You will love this.”
She rose and left the room, returning two minutes later with a handful of photographs.
With a dramatic gesture, she spread them on the table beside Kharun.
He glanced at the pictures and then at his mother. “And they are?”
“The photographs Sara took.”
Sara rose and looked over Kharun’s shoulder at the pictures.
“They’re the ones I took the other day when Angelique drove me around Staboul.” She smiled when she saw the little children crowding around a tourist. “That one came out well, it looks just like I imagined it.”
Kharun studied each one in turn. There weren’t many. He looked at his mother. She was brimming with excitement.
“Nice pictures,” he said.
“Kharun—they’re perfect for use as a tourist draw. What person seeing these wouldn’t want to come to visit our country?”
“Tourist draw?” Sara repeated.
“It’s one of Kharun’s and Jasmine’s special projects. They’ve been assigned unofficially to initiate a tourist bureau. We want more visitors to our country—to boost the economy, to share our lovely beaches with those who like to vacation at the sea, to show our historic buildings and offer another attraction for the world traveler. Kharun, don’t you see? These are perfect. Sara could take more, and work on a brochure we could then send to the world! And think of the interest because Sara took them.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Kharun said slowly, but he suspected.
“Thanks to the clandestine manner of your marriage, you are making headlines in all the world’s press. People read newspapers! There is a fascination with wealthy men, and an aura around those who don’t normally seek publicity. Capitalize on it, as you always say!”
Sara looked at him in horror. “We’re in the newspapers?”
He glanced over and almost smiled at her horrified expression. “We’re news, why not. Isn’t that what you said initially—once in the public eye privacy vanishes?”
He wanted to brush away the lines her frown caused, caress her cheek, excuse themselves from his mother and take her into another part of the house to kiss and caress and see if he could spark an answering desire in this golden girl.
Instead, he forced himself to look away and give serious consideration to the suggestion his mother made.
He picked up the pictures and studied each one in detail. Two he tossed aside, they were good but nothing special. But the rest he held captured his attention. Would they work toward promoting his country? The added money tourists would bring would help finance the improvements he and his father had tirelessly worked for. As would the oil deal he was trying to conclude.
“Would you be interested in taking more photographs, with that end in view?” he asked Sara.
She blinked and nodded, looking amazed. Once again he wanted to whisk her away where the two of them could be alone and undisturbed.
Sara took the photographs from Kharun, careful not to touch his fingers, he noticed. He watched as she studied each one in turn. Slowly her smile came out.
“I did pretty well, didn’t I?” She looked up and he caught the slight catch in her breath. Satisfaction swept through. She wasn’t as immune to the attraction between them as she’d been pretending. It wasn’t one-sided! Wasn’t that interesting?
“So you’ll do more?” Angelique asked impatiently.
“I would be delighted, if you think any picture I take would be worth something,” Sara said, stepping away as if she’d get burned if she stayed so close to him.
“Tourism has not been made a formal part of the government as of yet,” he said slowly once they’d all resumed their seats and began eating again. “Jasmine and I have asked our uncle to make it a priority, but he moves slowly.”
“He’s a turtle when it comes to change,” his mother said. “Oh, the arguments your father and he had!” She smiled mistily, remembering.
“A fresh perspective would be good, as well. If you’d let us know what appeals to you about visiting our country, we can capitalize on that.”
Angelique laughed softly. “This will be wonderful. And give Sara something to do while you are working. This is supposed to be your honeymoon. But if you insist on working during the day, Sara needs something to occupy herself. And what better time than now, when everything is fresh and new to her. Once she’s lived here for a few decades, it’ll be as if she’s always been here. At least that’s how I feel.”
Kharun looked at Sara, his eyes focusing on the color that sprang into her cheeks, the way she shyly looked at him. Only the two of them knew Sara wouldn’t be here for decades. In fact, she may only remain another week or two, until the final papers were signed and the oil agreements firmly in place.
Sara glanced away and tried to take a deep breath. As long as she didn’t look at Kharun or touch him, or think about him, she could do this. Surely the oil agreements would be signed soon and their pretense come to an end—hopefully before she made a complete idiot of herself.
But she couldn’t stop the warm glow that filled her at his comments. Kharun liked her photographs. Angelique liked them. She stared at the photos again. They were good, even she could see it.
Was this finally something she could build upon? Make a career with photography? Expand on a hobby and make it into something broader than photojournalism? Maybe specialize in scenes for travel brochures?
Taking pictures would be fun, occupy her time and keep her from fantasizing about Kharun.
“I’m happy to take more photos. It’s fun.”
Aminna appeared in the doorway. She spoke to Kharun.
“It appears your mother is on the phone, wishing to speak with you, Sara,” he said. “You may take it in the hallway if you wish, for privacy.”
Aminna held out a portable phone to Sara when she reached the door. She smiled her thanks and continued walking, putting the phone to her ear.
“Mother?”
“Hi, sweetie, how are things going? When are you and Kharun coming to dinner with your father and me? We will be returning home in a few days, surely you can spare enough time for one dinner.”
“You’re going home?”
“As soon as the oil agreements are finalized and your father says that’ll be soon. So we need to get together soon, or I’ll have to fly halfway ’round the world to have dinner!”
“I’ll check with Kharun and call you back.”
“Any night next week would work for us. And in the meantime, what about lunch—just you and me. I want to know more about you and Kharun. The wedding came as a complete surprise and we haven’t had a chance to talk properly since.”
“Sure, Mom, let me check and call you back. I’d like to have lunch.” Not. How would she keep the truth from her mother, who knew her so well. She’d just have to stall, or invite Angelique along so there could be no heart-to-heart.
“Oh, one other thing, do you know a Pete Steede?” her mother asked.
Her editor at the newspaper. “Yes. He’s my boss. How did you know his name?”
“He has called at least half a dozen times, insisting he talk with you. Maybe you better return the call to keep him from leaving any more messages. He’s a bit pushy.”
Sara almost laughed. Pete was beyond pushy. How like her mother to be so diplomatic.
“I’ll call him right away. And once I check with Kharun, I’ll let you know about getting together.”
She disconnected, then punched in the familiar number at the newspaper. She tried to calculate the time difference. It would be evening there, but she suspected Pete would still be hanging around.
Sure enough, he picked up on the second ring.
“Where the hell is your story?” he blurted when he heard her voice.
“I don’t have a story,” Sara replied, beginning to explain how she’d been caught without getting the photographs or interviews.
“Don’t give me that, babe, you are the story. Did you know going over you’d end up married to the guy? Was that part of the plan? Give the details. We’re getting killed in the ratings. Every other damn paper out there is scooping us left and right—and one of our reporters is actually part of the scene. Give.”
The Sheikh's Proposal Page 10
