The Sheikh's Proposal

by Barbara McMahon

  When they reached the villa, Kharun held his hand out for hers to assist her from the car. He didn’t release it and Sara tried unsuccessfully to tug free. She didn’t need any closer proximity to the man. His attraction was overwhelming. Distance was what she needed.

  Lights were on in the house, providing a soft illumination in the living room and halls.

  Kharun raised her hand to his lips, brushing a tantalizing kiss to her wrist. “Stay the night with me,” he said, his voice low and husky.

  It was as if liquid heat poured through her. He wanted her again tonight! Dare she follow through?

  She loved him, she wanted to be with him in every way. But theirs was only a temporary alliance. Could she spend the night with him and save herself from heartache?

  No. But the heartache would come either way. Why not grab the chance to be with him?

  “Your place or mine?”

  “Tonight, mine.”

  He leaned over to kiss her. His mouth touched hers with a familiarity that belied the short time they’d known each other. The sensations that filled her were growing familiar with each passing second. She opened her lips to deepen their kiss, thrilled at the responsiveness he displayed.

  Slowly, as if dancing to some unheard tune, he turned her and moved with easy abandonment down the long hall, away from her room and the illusion of safety it provided.

  Instead, between kisses, she knew they were going to a room she had yet to see. Kharun’s private retreat. His own bedroom.

  When they reached the door, it stood ajar. Sara loosened her arms, locked around his neck, and peered into the dimness. She could see a bed and the gleam of light on one wall—a mirror reflecting the hallway illumination.

  She looked up, into Kharun’s dark gaze—alive with desire and impatience, though he kept the latter in check.

  “Yes or no?” he said, as if divining uncertainty. He was giving the choice to her.

  “Yes.” She reached up and kissed him, trying to let him know by touch and actions how much she wanted him. How much she reveled in being with him. If she could offer nothing else, she’d be honest in this. If it had to end, then she’d make sure it ended gloriously. Maybe down through the years, Kharun would think of her once in a while—and think of what might have been.

  The next morning Kharun woke early. Sara was snuggled next to him, fast asleep. For a long moment he watched her, fascinated by the hint of color in her cheeks, the sweep of her lashes against her fair skin. Slowly he ran his fingers through her hair, enjoying the shimmering color, and satiny softness. For a moment he thought he could spend the entire day just watching Sara sleep.

  Then reality took hold. He had an appointment at nine, and things to see to before that. This was not the time or the place to indulge in fantasies, no matter how tempting.

  Once things were resolved, however, he would find the time and place to discover more about this bewitching woman who was his wife before he’d let her go.

  Piers was waiting for him when he reached the downtown offices, his face beaming.

  “I think you’ll be pleased with the lease terms. We’ve gotten everything we asked for on the last go. I’d say we’re ready to sign. You just need to recommend it to your uncle and we can begin further exploration before the month is out.”

  “Good work.”

  “Your doing. Not that I want to take anything away from your negotiating skills, but marrying Sara was a stroke of genius. I’m sure some of the concessions we got were a result of her father’s feeling generous in light of the marriage.”

  Kharun frowned. He didn’t want favors like that. The relationship between him and Sara was complex. They were both walking a fine line. And after last night, and the night before, the line had blurred.

  A quick finish to the business at hand. Was he ready for that? The reason for their marriage would vanish. No matter how much Garh and Hamin wished to discredit the oil deal with his uncle, once the leases were signed, it would prove a moot point.

  Kharun’s phone rang.

  “Yes?” His secretary was on the other end. Hearing the news that Garh Sonharh was in the outer office demanding to see him, he told her to send him in.

  “I suspect Garh has heard the news,” he said as he hung up.

  Piers looked puzzled. “He’s here?”

  Garh pushed open the door, pausing in the opening for dramatic impact.

  “You are a fool, Kharun. It was not enough you wished to jeopardize the future of our country, but to make it possible for the paparazzi to hold us to ridicule is beyond acceptable.” He strode into the office and tossed several faxed newspapers on the desk.

  Kharun looked at the top one. It was from a tabloid newspaper from the United States. A bad photo of Sara stared back at him. The headlines screamed A Hostage To Fortune?

  He looked up. “What is this, Garh?”

  “Copies of newspapers on sale in the United States. One of my people saw it, copied it and sent it to me. If your new wife is not a spy, then she certainly is a woman to make the most of her opportunities. In this case, fame and notoriety on a world-wide scale. I cannot help but think your uncle will think twice about signing a lease with a member of the opposition so bent on ridiculing us.”

  “I’ll deal with it,” Kharun said evenly. He wanted to smash something—preferably Garh’s face. But that would solve nothing. He had to read the newspaper article, assess the damage, then rectify the situation. But not with Garh still in the room.

  “I’m taking the papers to your uncle.”

  “You must do what you think is right, of course,” Kharun said disinterestedly. He looked at Piers.

  “I’ll see you out,” Piers said, quick to catch on.

  Kharun watched as Piers hustled Garh from his office. Once the door was firmly shut behind them, he sat down and drew the damaging fax papers toward him. The second sheet had pictures of them riding on the beach. The caption read “Aborted escape attempt.” He almost laughed. The photographer had caught their race—the one where Sara had initially been leading.

  The second one was on the beach. He remembered that night, the scent of her that had filled him with such desire. Her laughter, her delight in wading in the warm sea. When she’d almost stepped on a shell, he’d caught her and pulled her back. From a distance, and with the wrong interpretation, he guessed it could look as if she were trying to escape and that he’d stopped her. The pleasure crafts anchored off the beach—a clever cover for the paparazzi.

  He set the sheet aside and began to read the inflaming article. Had Sara sent this in? If enough people read it and believed it, it could damage their reputation with the United States.

  From the first moment, she’d been trouble. He pushed back his chair and rose. Time to get this settled once and for all.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SARA was sitting on the patio beside the pool sipping her last cup of coffee for the morning. The air was soft against her skin, a hint of the sea mingled with the faint fragrance of the flowers. She sat beneath an umbrella, which shaded her from the hot rays of the sun. Later she was due to meet Tamil for more discussions. But right now she had nothing to do.

  Except dream. And remember.

  Remember the most incredible night of her life. She wondered if Kharun had any idea how sexy he was, or how just thinking about him could set her senses spinning. Did the memory of their loving spring to mind when he was at work, or were men better able to compartmentalize their lives?

  “Telephone for you,” Aminna said in her heavily accented French, standing in the doorway.

  Sara smiled and rose, glancing around for the portable phone. She didn’t see it.

  “Where shall I take it?”

  “In the office.” She led the way.

  Sara slipped into Kharun’s office and saw the phone receiver lying on the desk. Aminna nodded and left, shooing out the maid who had obviously been dusting.

  “Hello?” She sank into the big chair behind the desk, feeli
ng odd to be in Kharun’s office with him not there.

  “Sara, it’s your mother.”

  “Is something wrong?” She could tell by the tone in her mother’s voice something was definitely wrong.

  “Your father just got a call from a friend of his in the State Department asking if you were all right.”

  “Why in the world would he get such a call?”

  “Apparently because of a newspaper article that appeared in the U.S. yesterday.”

  Sara felt her blood grow cold. “A tabloid paper, run by Pete Steede?”

  “With headlines implying you are being held hostage while the oil leases are being negotiated.”

  She muttered an expletive, heard her mother’s sharp gasp. She was going to kill Pete! How dare he exploit her life just to sell newspapers! Immediately she thought of Kharun.

  “How bad is it?” she asked.

  “Your father is getting a copy of the article faxed through. We’ll know more then, but it was bad enough for his friend to call to make sure you were all right. You need to verify this with him. Can you call Paul Michaels yourself and tell him it’s a mix-up? I’ve got his phone number right here. Needless to say, your father isn’t really happy about this.”

  “Neither am I!” And she knew for darn sure Kharun would be furious. Especially if it ever got back to this country and the ministers who were so opposed to the oil leases saw the newspaper. Fortunately the tabloid was limited to U.S. distribution.

  “His phone number—”

  “Wait, I need to find paper and a pencil.” She opened the top drawer of the desk. Neat and tidy, nothing like her own back at work. A workplace she would never see again, unless it was to go and wring Pete’s neck.

  She picked up a pen. There was no paper.

  She closed it and opened the top right drawer.

  “Looking for something?” The cold voice at the door stopped her instantly.

  She looked up into Kharun’s glittering eyes. He was angry. Any idiot could see that.

  “I’ll call you back,” she told her mother, and clicked the phone off.

  “Why call back? Why not find what you’re looking for while he waits?”

  “He? That was my mother.”

  His patent look of disbelief riled her.

  “It was! Call her back yourself if you don’t believe me. She wanted to give me a phone number. I was looking for something to write on.”

  “Try this,” he said, tossing the faxed copies of the newspaper article onto the desk.

  Sara swallowed hard as she recognized the headline banner. Oh, God, he knew!

  Knew and was furious.

  She licked her lips nervously. “How did you get a copy?”

  He tilted his head slightly. “From Garh Sonharh.”

  Slowly Sara drew the papers closer. She groaned when she saw the photos and captions. But anger grew as she read the inflammatory article. No wonder Kharun was so furious.

  “I didn’t write this,” she said, standing. “You don’t believe I did, do you?”

  “Wrote it, collaborated, dictated—it makes no difference. No one but you could have provided all the information—where the villa is, when we would be riding, the hurried wedding, tension between family members. No one but you.”

  “I didn’t do it. Pete did.”

  “He conjured it up out of thin air?”

  She hesitated, but she couldn’t let Kharun think she’d betray him. “I talked to him once. But only once. He kept calling—”

  “What are you doing in this office?” he interrupted, obviously not interested in her explanation.

  “Aminna said I could take the call here. It was my mother. She was giving me a phone number to call and I needed something to write it down on.” She drew a deep breath. “I’m not spying on you if that’s what you think.”

  “I’m not sure what I think right now.”

  “Fine, let me know when you decide.” Head held high, she swept from the room, going wide around Kharun as if suspecting he’d try to stop her.

  But he said nothing. Made no move.

  She didn’t know whether to be angry at him or not. She knew she was furious with Pete. She walked back out onto the patio. Her coffee was cold. The pool mocked her with its memories of another time.

  She spun around and headed for her room. Snatching up her purse, she left. She’d visit her parents and get to the bottom of this. And she’d call Pete Steede from the privacy of her parents’ suite.

  Hesitating only a second as she left the villa, she wished Kharun had believed her. Had stood by her. But why should he? She’d messed this up like she did everything.

  Yet it was a thousand times worse this time. She loved him. She would never do anything to cause him harm. But would he ever come to see her as anyone but the aggravating woman who threw a wrench into the smooth workings of his negotiations? And how had that blasted article affected his relationship with his uncle’s ministers?

  She looked at the villa one last time. Would she ever come back?

  Highly unlikely.

  Kharun’s car was parked in front, his chauffeur seated in the driver’s seat, reading.

  She opened the back door and ignored his start of surprise.

  “Presentation Hotel,” she said, settling in as if she had every right to do so. She prayed he’d comply and not verify her destination with Kharun. The sooner she was away the better.

  He nodded, tossed aside the newspaper and started the car.

  In moments, she was on her way. It was hard not to look back. Harder still to keep the tears at bay. But it was better this way. Better to leave him, try to clear up the mess Steede had caused and then stay with her parents until the leases were signed, sealed and delivered.

  “What the hell do you mean she’s gone?” Kharun roared. Aminna stood in the doorway, her face impassive despite his anger.

  “Sargon drove her to the Presentation Hotel.”

  “He didn’t check with me first?”

  “Why should he? She is your wife. She needed a ride. He has returned and is waiting to take you back to your office when you are ready.”

  Kharun ran his fingers through his hair and tried to think. His thought processes were short-circuited—thanks to Sara Kinsale bak Samin. Like they had been almost since he met her. Now this.

  Conclusive evidence she’d betrayed him? Or just a woman prudently staying out of range until his anger cooled?

  Think!

  For all he knew, she and her mother had been making lunch plans on the phone.

  If she’d been speaking with her mother.

  He hated not knowing what to believe.

  The phone rang again. He’d been fielding calls ever since Garh had left his office—no doubt to spread the word about the tabloid article. Kharun had already placated his uncle, and Hamin. And his aunt. At least he thought he’d placated his aunt. Time would tell.

  In the meantime, he needed to see Sara.

  He nodded to Aminna and paced to the window, trying to think. In retrospect, maybe he should have followed Piers’s advice way back at the beginning. Shipped her off somewhere and not told a soul.

  An idea glimmered. Slowly Kharun began to relax. He’d give Sara until tonight. If she didn’t return, then he’d go to get her.

  “I don’t understand, Sara.”

  “Mom, just trust me on this, okay?”

  “But you didn’t bring a suitcase or anything. How can you plan to stay the night? What would Kharun say?”

  “He’ll be glad to have me out of his hair.”

  “What? Will you explain? Ever since you got here this morning, you’ve done little more than make two phone calls and pace around on the carpet so much I think it’s wearing thin. You didn’t eat enough dinner to keep a bird alive.”

  “The carpet’s fine.”

  “But you’re not.”

  Sara looked at her mother and almost gave way to tears. But she kept them in. She’d made the mess she was in, and i
t was up to her to get herself out. She couldn’t keep running to Mommy.

  “I’m fine.”

  Roberta shook her head. “I know, you don’t want to talk about it. Fine. But I’m here if you need me. And so is your father.”

  “Thanks.” Sara smiled as best she could, and paced to the window. Her father had not been at dinner, finishing up some things, he’d told his wife. At least she’d been spared having to talk to him about the stupid article.

  Her conversation with Pete had been less than satisfactory. There was no changing the newspaper once it hit the stands. Now there was only damage control. And a promise to sue him to kingdom come if he didn’t print a retraction.

  Not that it would do much good. Retractions were never front-page headlines.

  Her father entered the suite. “Hello, Sara, I didn’t know you were here. But you can hear the news when I tell your mother.”

  Roberta greeted her husband. “What news?”

  “The leases were approved this afternoon. We lost a few concessions thanks to Kharun’s tough negotiations, but we now have the exclusive rights for the next ten years. Work will start before the end of the month.”

  “Darling, that’s wonderful! Does that mean we can go home soon?”

  “As soon as next week.”

  Sara felt as if she’d been struck. It was over. There was no reason to continue their marriage. She almost laughed. There’d be no reason for Kharun to seek her out tonight, or wonder where she was. He was probably congratulating himself that he didn’t even have to tell her to go, she’d left on her own.

  “That’s great, Dad,” she said brightly. Her face was going to crack if she didn’t get away from her parents. She could only fake a smile for so long.

  “I’m tired. I think I’ll go to bed. Good night.”

  “What’s going on?” Samuel asked as she fled the room.

  “I’m not sure,” her mother replied just as Sara shut the door to the room she’d used her first night in Kamtansin.

  Leaning against the cool wood, Sara let the tears well into her eyes, wishing the pain in her heart would ease enough to let her find oblivion in sleep.

  She’d held heaven in her hands, and lost it.