One Dance with the Sheikh

by Tessa Radley

  “New York–New York? A rollercoaster?” she gasped moments later.

  “Why not?” He shot her a taunting look. “Scared?”

  Even if she had been, his all-too-male I-dare-you expression would have forced her to bite her lip. She’d told him that she craved adventure, so there was no way she was going to back down now.

  She stuck up her chin. “Of course not. I love rides.”

  Love was a slight exaggeration. She hadn’t been on a ride in years. A quick calculation left Laurel astonished by exactly how long it had been since she’d last experienced such a ride. Where had the years gone? And, more to the point, where had her sense of fun gone? When had she let herself become so staid…so boring? When had she forgotten that there was a world out there beyond the confines of her family and the demands of public relations for The Kincaid Group?

  “At least I did love them once upon a time,” she added a little more dubiously, hoping that her youthful infatuation with roller coasters would return by the time they reached the start.

  “The track twists between the skyscrapers—” Rakin jerked a thumb in the direction of the buildings “—rising to two hundred feet between the buildings.”

  “Thanks! That’s very comforting to know.”

  “It reaches speeds of over sixty-five miles per hour—and there’s a place where the train drops a hundred and forty-four feet.”

  The last snippet of information gave her pause. “Are you deliberately trying to frighten me?”

  “I’d never do such a thing.” But the twitch of his lips gave him away.

  Humor rushed through her like champagne bubbles rising. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

  “Any adventure needs a good case of butterflies to start it off—dread heightens anticipation.”

  That sealed it. “You are trying to scare me—wicked man!”

  She advanced on him, brandishing her purse.

  Rakin grabbed her wrists before she could take a swing at him, his shoulders shaking with mirth. “Are you having fun?”

  She stilled. Lowering her purse, she glanced quickly around. How quickly she’d forgotten to behave with the dignity that befitted the eldest Kincaid daughter. Embarrassment swept over her; then she banished it. Who amongst the hordes knew her? And who would even care? Freedom followed in a dizzying burst.

  With wonder she said, “Yes, I’m having a fantastic time.”

  She skipped into line beside Rakin.

  “The trains look like yellow New York taxicabs—complete with hoods and headlights.” She thought they looked delightful, and not at all frightening.

  “We’re in luck, we’re going to get front seats,” said Rakin, as an attendant ushered them forward.

  Once seated in the front row with the restraints securely fastened, Laurel’s enthusiasm waned at the unobstructed view of the red track ahead. Luck? Maybe not. As the train started forward her heart rose into her throat. “Rakin, what recklessness possessed me to do this?”

  “You’re going to love it.” Rakin’s eyes gleamed with humor.

  But Laurel was no longer so sure. Ahead of them the track climbed to the height of Everest. The train chugged up, and with each foot they progressed the butterflies that Rakin had stirred up broke free of their chrysalis in Laurel’s stomach and started to flutter madly.

  They crested the top of the rise.

  Laurel caught a glimpse of the Las Vegas skyline laid out in front of them. In the distance, hills undulated in a long curve.

  The train gathered momentum.

  “Oh, my heavens!”

  Rakin’s hand closed around hers. Before she could catch her breath, they were hurtling down. Then they were rising. … The next plunge downward left Laurel’s stomach somewhere in the sky above them. Air left her lungs in a silent scream. She could hear Rakin laughing beside her.

  Ahead, high above, she glimpsed a complete loop of red track.

  “Noooo…” she moaned.

  She gripped Rakin’s hand until her fingers hurt.

  The train swooped into the upward curve of the loop. Tension, tight and terrifying, clawed at her body. Laurel could hear screams behind her. For a disconcerting instant the world turned over, hovered, blue sky flashing below them in a spinning blur; then everything righted itself. They sped down into a series of tight heart-hammering curves that pressed her thigh up against Rakin’s.

  A wild euphoria exploded inside her.

  The Statue of Liberty flashed past, and Laurel found herself laughing. Moments later the train shot into womb-like darkness.

  Rakin murmured something beside her, but the sound of her heart hammering in her head drowned it out. Her hand was still gripping his, and Laurel realized her nails must be digging into his palm. Hot, awkward embarrassment flooded her.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, letting go.

  “It didn’t worry me.”

  “I appreciated the loan,” she said lightly, and Rakin chuckled in response.

  Gradually her eyes adjusted until she was able to make out lights and shapes of an underground station. Noise surrounded her—the attendant’s cheery greeting as he freed her from the safety restraint, the clatter of trains on the track.

  When they emerged from the front seats Laurel’s legs felt like Jell-O. But sheer exhilaration propelled her forward.

  “You were right, I loved it!”

  Laurel didn’t care that she sounded breathless as she spun around to grin giddily at Rakin through the cloud of hair that had whipped around her face during the thrill ride. Right now she felt high on joy—prepared to take on the world. Anything he wanted to throw at her, she was game for. The surge of strength—the feeling that she could do whatever she wanted—was supremely empowering. Getting a life…

  Yet Rakin wasn’t even breathing hard. And, what’s more, not even one dark hair had strayed out of place. A wicked urge to see him look a little rumpled stole through her.

  “Again,” she challenged. “I want to do it again.”

  * * *

  It was evening, and the observation deck on the fiftieth floor of Paris Las Vegas’s Eiffel Tower was deserted.

  Rakin felt Laurel go still beneath the hand he’d placed across her back to usher her from the glass elevator.

  “How beautiful,” she breathed, and gestured to the warm, dusky light that turned the observation deck to burnished bronze. “It’s like being in a capsule of gold.”

  He watched indulgently as she picked her way along the observation deck, her high heels tapping against the steel, to take in the dramatic view of the city stretching to the purpling mountains in the distance.

  Laurel came to a stop and the fiery glow of the sinking rays lit the hair piled on top of her head, throwing the elegant black strapless dress she wore into sharp relief. Against the backdrop of the sunset she looked like a goddess waiting to be summoned back from earth.

  “It has been the most extraordinary day,” she said breaking the spell that held him entranced. “Recklessness drove me to accept your invitation.”

  His gaze fixed on her, he said, “Recklessness?”

  “I gave in to the temptation to break the Winthrop ban on gambling.” She spread her arms wide to embrace the view. “But I didn’t expect this. I’ve no idea how you’ll intend to keep the action—and the surprises—rolling tomorrow.”

  “Don’t worry, there’s plenty more to see,” Rakin told her, and closed the gap between them. “Dolphins. Sharks. Lions. We haven’t even started on the animal encounters.”

  The sideways glance she gave him held a very human glint of mischief. “Or we could try the thrill rides at the Stratosphere Tower.”

  Rakin groaned. “I’ve created a monster. Three rides on New York-New York, not to
mention braving the Speed roller coaster at NASCAR Cafe this afternoon—and you still crave more?”

  “I never realized what I was missing out on—I should’ve put Ride a roller coaster on my list.”

  “You made a list of things to do in Vegas?” Had he left anything out?

  But before he could ask, Laurel colored and averted her gaze. A gust of wind blew a tendril of hair that had escaped across her cheek, and she brushed it back. “It’s not exactly about Vegas.”

  “But you have a list?” he pressed.

  Laurel gave a small nod.

  Her reticence intrigued him. “So what’s on it?”

  “I can’t remember,” she mumbled and her flush turned a deep shade of crimson.

  Laurel Kincaid was a terrible liar.

  “Now you’ve woken my curiosity.”

  She muttered something. Then she pointed. “Look, isn’t that pretty?”

  Rakin allowed himself to be distracted. Far below, the Strip was starting to light up as Las Vegas prepared for the coming night like a showgirl dressing for an after-dark performance.

  “Oh, and look there!”

  Rakin’s followed her finger. Three rings of fountains had leapt out from the lake in front of the Bellagio, the high plumes illuminated by bright light.

  A glance at Laurel revealed that she was transfixed.

  “We’ll see the fountains from closer up during dinner.” He’d booked a table at Picasso specifically so Laurel could enjoy the display.

  “From up here it gives another perspective. This tower looks like every picture I’ve seen of the real Eiffel Tower. It’s amazing.”

  Rakin hadn’t moved his attention from her face. Her changing expressions revealed every emotion she experienced. Wonder. Excitement.

  For one wild moment he considered what her features would look like taut with desire, her dark-red hair spread loose across his pillow. …

  He shut his eyes to block out the tantalizing vision.

  “So have you ever visited Paris or Venice? I’d love to visit both.”

  To his relief her voice interrupted his torrid imaginings. “Not Venice,” he said, his voice hoarser than normal. “But I’ve been to Paris often—my mother loved Paris. She attended the école Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts on the Left Bank across from the Louvre.”

  “She’s an artist?”

  Rakin nodded. “She was—she died.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to reopen—”

  The remorse on Laurel’s face made him say quickly, “Don’t worry. Talking about her doesn’t upset me. She’s been gone a long time. Most people avoid mentioning her—it makes them uncomfortable.” It ran contrary to his own need to talk about his mother, to remember her as she’d been. Talented. Mercurial. Loving. “My father died, too.”

  “You must miss them both.”

  The memories of his father were much more ambivalent. But there was no need for Laurel to discover the undercurrents that lurked beneath the mask he carefully preserved. So he focused on the facts. “My parents met in Paris.”

  “How romantic.”

  It was the conclusion he’d expected—no, led—her to draw. His mother had also thought it romantic. His father had called it fate. Neither romance nor fate had been enough in the end.

  The night they’d met, Laurel had asked him whether he believed in fate. …

  It was Rakin’s turn to turn away. The sunset blazed along the skyline.

  “It was spring time.” The words forced themselves past the tightness in his throat.

  “Even more romantic.”

  Without looking at Laurel, he continued to weave the tale that had become a legend of tabloid lies. “My parents returned to Diyafa for a lavish wedding, and I was born less than a year later.” That had been the end of the romance and the beginning of his mother’s harsh reality. As his father had the male heir he wanted, the sheik no longer needed to woo his wife. Duty, rather than desire, had kept his parents together until their deaths.

  Rakin found he had a startlingly intense need to see Laurel’s face. Forcing a smile, he swiveled on his heel. Her eyes held a soft, dreamy look. “I’d love to visit Paris in the spring.”

  “And walk along the Seine.” Rakin knew all the clichés.

  “How wonderful to fall in love in a city that celebrates lovers.”

  “That too.” His parents’ story had great spin, Rakin decided savagely. The lie still lived.

  She tipped her head to one side and the last rays of the sun glinted off the diamond earrings that dangled against her neck. “And I’d like to visit Diyafa, too.”

  It was the cue he needed.

  But instead of telling her about his grandfather’s plan to oust him, Rakin glanced at his watch. “Our table booking is not far off. I’ll tell you more about the country of my birth over dinner—and afterwards we’ll do what everyone does in Vegas—gamble.”

  As he’d anticipated, the dreaminess evaporated, then she said, “The higher the stakes, the better. Don’t forget I have every intention of gambling the night away.”

  The stakes were rising for him, too. So why had he not taken the opportunity that she’d offered? Why hadn’t he told her what he needed? A wife to neutralize his grandfather’s threats? A part of him recognized that he was being drawn into the fantasy he’d created for a woman he found himself liking more and more with every hour that passed.

  A whole day had already passed. Too soon they would be leaving Vegas and the opportunity to negotiate her cooperation would be forever lost. He could no longer delay.

  It was time to return to reality.

  And get himself a wife.

  * * *

  Picasso at the Bellagio was one of Rakin’s favorite restaurants.

  “Bellagio is a village on the shores of Lake Como,” Rakin told Laurel after their plates from the main course had been cleared away, and dessert menus left for them to leisurely peruse. He’d secured a table overlooking a balcony and the lake beyond so that Laurel would have a good view of the fountains dancing to the music.

  “George Clooney has a villa at Lake Como, doesn’t he?” Laurel’s smile had an impish quality as she turned from the fountains back to him. “I’d better add that to the exotic places I want to visit.”

  “You’re that keen to meet Clooney?” Rakin wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be annoyed by her mischievous interest in the movie star—especially since before his grandfather’s latest threats he’d been as eager as Clooney to avoid marriage and babies. And despite conceding to marriage, babies were forever off the agenda—not that his grandfather needed to know that.

  She gave him an artless glance. “Isn’t every woman?”

  This time he did laugh. “You’re a tease!”

  The artlessness evaporated. Only to be replaced with a sincerity that he found infinitely more disturbing. “Not really,” she confided, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “Only with you. I’ve never flirted in my life—yet with you it’s easy.”

  Her candor was disarming. And the husky note in her voice thrummed through him, playing all his nerve endings to devastating effect. He didn’t dare allow his eyes to stray lower in case her action had caused the provocative neckline to reveal even more tantalizing glimpses of skin. Instead, Rakin unfolded his napkin, placed it on his lap and said lightly, “I thought all Southern women were born flirts.”

  “Not me.” She glanced down at the dessert menu in front of her.

  He could’ve argued that she was learning fast. Yet Rakin suspected that she had little idea of the effect she was having on him. He was more interested in her than he’d been in any woman for a long, long time. At first, his interest had been piqued by Eli’s comment that she’d make the
perfect wife for the predicament he found himself in. Then he’d found himself really liking her. And now—

  Well, now, his interest was growing in leaps and bounds.

  Impossibly long lashes fluttered up as she glanced up from the menu. “I’ve been attempting to flirt with you because… I feel safe.”

  The naked honesty of her statement shook him. All attempts at maintaining the lighthearted banter deserted him.

  “Aren’t you going to order dessert?”

  To his surprise, Rakin realized he’d set his menu down on the table. But he couldn’t stop thinking about what Laurel had said.

  “You find it easy to flirt with me?”

  “It must be because you’re Eli’s friend.” This time the smile she gave him was sweet rather than flirtatious. “I know you’re trustworthy.”

  The brief flash of annoyance he felt surprised him. “Because Eli said so?”

  “Well, he never actually said I could trust you. But he wouldn’t be friends with you if he didn’t trust you implicitly—Eli’s not the kind of man to waste time on liars and frauds.”

  “So you accept Eli’s endorsement—rather than your own instincts?”

  Laurel hesitated.

  “No, don’t think too much.” Placing his elbows on the edge of the table, he steepled his hands and gazed at her over the top. “I want an instinctual response—not one vetted for kindness.”

  “I do trust you.”

  The expression in her eyes told him she’d astonished herself. Keeping his attention fixed on her, he demanded, “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” She said it slowly, her gaze flickering away, then back to him as though drawn by some power she could not resist.

  “It surprises you.” He made it a statement.

  “Yes.” Again, she hesitated. Then she said in a rush. “I’ve never made friends easily—my family has always been enough.”

  “And Eli.”

  “And Eli,” she agreed. “But that was different.”

  The sharp blade of envy that pierced Rakin was unexpected, and he thrust it away before the feeling could fester and turn to poisonous jealousy. “In what way?”