One Dance with the Sheikh

by Tessa Radley

  “We were the same age. He lived nearby while we were growing up.”

  “You were being kind.”

  “Maybe. At first. But the friendship was between equals—I got every bit as much out of it as Eli did. Remember, I didn’t have other close friends.”

  He nodded his head. “I can understand that.”

  “I suppose the reason I trust you is because I feel comfortable with you. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much.”

  Pulling a face, he said, “I must be a clown.”

  “No! You are anything but a clown.”

  He’d been joking, trying to make her smile again. But her rapid rise to his defense made him realize that Laurel was concerned she might have offended him. Too kind for her own good. She could have no idea that his emotions had been forged in a crucible guaranteed to produce solid steel. If she had, no doubt she would not be nearly as comfortable in his company.

  Nor would she be contemplating visiting Diyafa. Her comment about adding Lake Como to the places she wanted to visit probably meant her list included the destinations to which she wanted to travel. Las Vegas might only have been the start of it. He’d work on convincing her that Diyafa should be next on her list.

  “It is true,” she was saying earnestly before he could question her about what other places were on her list. “I can’t remember when last I felt as lighthearted and carefree as I have today.”

  “I will take that as a compliment.”

  Under the weight of his gaze, he watched the faint wash of color warm her cheeks.

  Laurel dropped her gaze to the menu. “You know, I’ve no idea what to choose.”

  Rakin’s mouth curved into a smile. “I’m going to have ice cream.”

  “Ice cream?”

  “Something cool in this weather. But you can’t go wrong with anything on the menu.”

  “My meal was fabulous.”

  “Every dish on the menu is inspired by places where Picasso lived in Spain and the South of France.”

  His comment prompted Laurel to gaze at a Picasso painting on the nearest wall. “What did your mother paint?”

  “She created huge abstract canvases. Mostly inspired by the desert landscape.” His father had hated them. The sheikh had wanted his wife to paint realistic portrayals of the Diyafan Desert. His mother had preferred broad sweeps of color that invited the viewer to put their own interpretation on the landscape.

  “Do you paint, too?”

  Rakin shook his head. “I studied business—although I will confess that I majored in classical studies in my undergraduate degree so I’m not a complete philistine.” A smile tugged at his mouth.

  “Philistine?” She smiled back at him. “I never thought that for a moment. Why classical studies?”

  The curve of her lips promised him untold delights. Rakin forced himself to glance up. “You can’t grow up in a place like Diyafa and not be aware of ancient history—but I also loved the old legends. Greek, Roman, Egyptian—Diyafa has some wonderful legends, too.”

  “Which is your favorite legend?”

  There was only one answer he could give. “In present company, I’d have to say the story of Daphne and Apollo.”

  Laurel wrinkled her nose at him. “Why? Didn’t she get turned into a tree?”

  “A laurel tree.”

  Her eyes brightened with laughter. “You’re making that up.”

  Rakin shook his head. “Apollo used the leaves to weave himself a wreath—and that’s how a laurel wreath became a symbol of victory.”

  “Not much of a victory since the woman he loved had been turned into a tree.”

  “And even hollower, when you consider that she felt nothing for him—she was fleeing his pursuit.”

  “Poor Apollo.” She glanced at him through her lashes.

  Heat blasted through him. And Rakin resisted the impulse to tell him that if she was any more skilled a flirt, every man in the world would be in mortal danger.

  “Have you decided what you want to order?” he asked instead.

  “Chocolate—rich chocolate. I’ll go with the restaurant’s recommendation. And then I want to gamble.”

  Rakin couldn’t help grinning at her reckless, single-minded determination.

  “I haven’t forgotten—we’ll gamble all night long.”

  * * *

  The hush that hung over the casino was broken from time to time by the clatter of chips and the muted exchange of voices as bets were placed. Silent waitresses glided past with trays of complimentary drinks. By invitation only, this was the domain of the rich, the famous…and the dedicated gamblers. And Laurel was growing to dread the sound of the chips being raked across the green baize.

  Around the roulette table where she and Rakin had settled, several stacks of chips were growing to skyscraper heights. But, along with the thin man sitting opposite them and nursing a whisky with increasingly desperate eyes as his pile dwindled, Laurel was losing.

  And her stomach had started to churn with disquiet. She’d lost at least five thousand dollars of Rakin’s money in the first ten minutes, and a fair bit of her own after she’d absolutely refused to accept more chips from him. What damage would a whole night’s gambling do to Rakin’s fortune—and her own? “I’m starting to think Grandfather was right,” she told Rakin in a low aside.

  “Your Winthrop grandfather?”

  Laurel nodded. “He considered gambling a curse.”

  “One you hoped to break tonight?”

  “Hmm.” She considered that. Had she believed that by winning on the tables she’d be proving that she could break the old taboo? Had she wanted to overturn—even by a small win—the curse of impoverishment that gambling, along with bad investments, had caused the Winthrops to suffer in the past? She wasn’t sure. “I don’t think my reasons were quite so inspired. I was probably more determined to try something that my family disapproved of—totally the wrong reason to do anything.”

  Rakin chuckled, attracting a glare from the gambler losing across the table.

  Leaning closer to him, she whispered, “But I’ve already lost far more than I intended of the chips you gave me—and what I added.” Laurel gestured to what remained of the stack beside her. “I’m seeing no evidence of any return.”

  “Spoken like a cool-headed businesswoman.”

  She slid him a searching glance. “I appear to share that trait with you, too—you haven’t even placed one bet yet.”

  “I don’t gamble.”

  “For religious reasons?”

  “It’s bad business. I don’t like the odds—I prefer to put down money when I am confident of a healthy return.”

  “Now who’s the cool-headed businessman?”

  They exchanged smiles.

  The croupier called for bets. Laurel hesitated, then shook her head.

  Rakin touched her arm. “We’re disturbing the players. Time for us to move on, I think.”

  At Rakin’s whisper, Laurel slid off the stool she’d been perched on, and picked up her purse with some relief. “So much for my grand plan to gamble all night.”

  “You may discover your second wind after you’ve had a breather.”

  “I doubt it.” She flicked him a wan smile. “What I have discovered is how fast one can lose money on the tables. I never understood how easy it is.” And it had given her some sympathy for the black-sheep Winthrop.

  * * *

  Once out of the stilted silence of the exclusive casino, the bustling, busy vibe of Vegas was back with vengeance. Slot machines chimed all around them, their colorful displays flashing brightly. The sick sensation in Laurel’s stomach started to subside.

  They found an alcove in the lounge, and
Laurel sank onto a plush seat. Rakin gave an order to a cocktail waitress, then joined her on the wide cushion.

  “I think my grandfather would’ve approved of you.”

  “The same grandfather who brokered your mother’s marriage to your father?”

  Laurel nodded. “The very same.”

  “And why do you think he would have approved of me?”

  “According to my mother, he did his very best to repair the Winthrop family fortune in any way he could before he hit on the idea of the marriage to a Kincaid. It was an absolute rule in my grandfather’s house that none of his children were allowed to gamble. Mom said that he was furious when his eldest brother lost Captain’s Watch after betting on the horses.”

  “Captain’s Watch?”

  “The Winthrop family beach house.” It had been in the family since the eighteen hundreds. “Grandfather Winthrop paid Dad a visit shortly after Mom and Dad were married—and Dad agreed to do his best to buy it back. I believe it wasn’t easy, and it cost him a small fortune. But it was worth every cent.” Laurel could visualize the view from the wide windows of the beach house out to the sea. When her father’s will was read, Laurel discovered that her father had known exactly how much she loved the beach house: he’d left it to her in his will. “We spent endless summer vacations there. It’s one of my favorite places.”

  “Then you must share it with me one day.”

  Before Laurel could respond, the waitress returned with a glass of champagne and a frosted cola on a silver tray.

  Laurel eyed the glass, then slid Rakin an amused glance. “You’re not intending to get me tipsy, are you?”

  Rakin looked a little uncomfortable, and she instantly regretted teasing him.

  “No, no,” he denied as he signed for the drinks. “I wanted to remind you that despite your losses on the roulette table, today is all about fun—it’s meant to be a time for new experiences. I wouldn’t deliberately set out to get you drunk.”

  Laurel touched his arm.

  “Sorry, that was a joke. It was in very bad taste. Of course I don’t believe you’re trying to get me tipsy. Why would you?”

  Laurel’s perception was chillingly acute, Rakin decided. He’d hoped a couple of glasses of champagne would make her more malleable.

  She leaned forward, and the movement caused light to shimmer across the bare skin above the strapless black gown. It took willpower not to let his eyes linger on the smooth flesh, the kind of willpower he’d been practicing all night.

  “Thank you so much for taking the time to come with me to Vegas,” she was saying, and he was conscious of the feather-light caress of her fingers against his jacket. “I am having fun.”

  Ignoring the urge to stroke that pearlescent skin, Rakin reminded himself fiercely that this wasn’t a date—it was a business meeting. And it was past time he put his proposal to her. “Las Vegas has met your expectations?”

  She lifted her hand, and took a small sip of the bubbling wine, then set the glass down. She smiled warmly at him. “It’s been much better! And that makes me appreciate your company all the more. I do realize you’re a busy man—and you’re getting nothing out of this.”

  He hesitated.

  The pause stretched too long, and her smile froze.

  “Actually there is something I want to ask of you,” he murmured.

  Wariness dulled the sparkle in her emerald eyes. “You want something from me.”

  Rakin hesitated, searching for the right words.

  “Is it sex?”

  He blinked. Sex? Had he betrayed himself moments ago?

  “Is that why you invited me to Vegas? Was that all that today was about?” she accused scooting away along the seat. “Softening me up to get me into bed?”

  He couldn’t deny that he’d been purposely softening her up. Hell, he’d wanted her to be receptive. But not for…sex.

  “I thought you were different.”

  Laurel was already on her feet, gathering up her purse. In a moment she was going to walk away and leave him sitting here like a fool. And the opportunity would be gone.

  “Not sex,” he said quickly.

  But she didn’t halt.

  “Laurel…don’t go!” He reached forward and caught her hand. Her fingers were stiff with outrage. Before she could yank her fingers free and storm away, he said, “Sex is not what I’m after. Sit down. Listen to my proposition—it has advantages for your family.”

  Her fingers stopped wriggling. “A business proposition?”

  “Yes.” Rakin knew it was now or never. “I want you to marry me.”

  * * *

  “What?”

  Laurel couldn’t believe she’d heard Rakin right.

  Shocked, she sank back onto the padded cushions in the recesses of the alcove and stared at the stark figure in the formal suit, his shirt pristine white and collar crisp and crease-free. A beautifully knotted narrow tie completed the picture.

  He didn’t look insane.

  He looked dark, intense…and utterly gorgeous. Her heart skipped a beat. Scanning his face she took in the taut cheekbones, the lack of humor in his eyes. There were no signs of the fun companion who’d entertained her all day long.

  “You’re serious.”

  “Completely.” Challenge glinted in that enigmatic gaze as he let her fingers go.

  Giving a light, incredulous laugh, she spread her hands. “I can’t marry a man I hardly know.”

  He tilted his head back against the high, padded back of the booth, and the gaze that locked with hers held raw intensity. “Laurel, there’s nothing to fear. I am a businessman—utterly respectable and a little boring.”

  She didn’t fear him. But to take a risk and marry a man she barely knew…the grandson of a Middle Eastern prince? Laurel wasn’t so sure about the wisdom. “You’re not boring,” she said at last.

  The warmth that seeped into the dark eyes caused a funny stir deep in her chest.

  “Does that mean you will agree to marry me?” he asked softly.

  Tipping her head to one side, Laurel tried to ignore the way her heart had rolled over and considered him. “You don’t even mention love.”

  “So you want love? A proposal wrapped up in sweet words? Should I kneel on one knee before you?”

  She shook her head slowly. “If I still dreamed of that kind of love I would’ve snatched the bouquet that Kara tossed at me.”

  Rakin gave her a slow, appreciative smile. “You’re a realist. We haven’t known each other long at all. . . and although I would like to think we’ve discovered much in common, I wouldn’t insult your intelligence by talking of love so soon.”

  “Thank you—I think.”

  She was still trying to make sense of his bombshell proposal. He’d said that her family would benefit from the proposition. But what was in it for him? Her mind leapt from one scenario to the next. But none of them made any sense.

  “You’ve asked me to marry you, but I still have no idea why.”

  The smile still lurked in his eyes. “You’re a very beautiful woman, you must know that.”

  She could sense that he was prevaricating, even as she countered, “Beauty doesn’t guarantee that a marriage will succeed—you only need to look at my mother’s marriage to know that. You implied you were putting a business proposition to me—I didn’t expect a marriage proposal.”

  “My marriage proposal is a business proposition.”

  Laurel started to laugh.

  He sat forward, and his knee pressed against hers. “Believe me, it’s not as crazy as it sounds. My grandfather has been threatening to change his will and disinherit me for years for not forming an alliance with the various women he has picked out for me—each tim
e I have ignored his threats, because he is an irascible old man with plenty of life still left in him. He will cheat death for a while yet. But recently the threats have intensified. He no longer merely threatens to disinherit me on his death—now he has vowed he will force the board to vote me out as CEO. And, not satisfied with that, he will also transfer the controlling stocks he holds in the Abdellah business empire to my cousin. All this will be done if I am not married by my thirty-sixth birthday. It is no longer a matter of waiting until he dies to find out whether he has made good on his threats—he intends to disenfranchise me within the next year.”

  Rakin’s face was a study in frustration.

  “I have no intention of being robbed of the company. I have spent many hours of my life working to expand the Gifts of Gold division until it has become a first-class supplier of soft furnishings and luxury linens.”

  She knew from listening to Eli rave about his friend that every word Rakin spoke was true. He’d built up a network of clients across the finest hotel chains and resorts in the world, including Eli’s.

  “So I need a wife.”

  At that, Laurel couldn’t help being conscious of the solid weight of his leg resting against hers. Even through his trousers and the sheer stockings that she wore, she could feel the warmth of his flesh. But she didn’t shift away. “Will your grandfather really go through with such a pointless threat? Surely it would harm the family as much as you?”

  “It’s not pointless to him. He’s a proud man—and he’s accustomed to having things his way. Right now he doesn’t care about profits. He wants me to marry, and this is the way he intends to bend me to his will.”

  “Who will run the company if he wrests control from you?”

  “Ah, my grandfather already has that sorted out. The cousin to whom he is transferring the controlling stocks on my thirty-sixth birthday will be ushered in as the new CEO of Gifts of Gold. None of the board would dare act against my grandfather’s orders.”

  “This cousin is married?”

  “He is engaged—to a woman my grandfather handpicked for him.” Rakin’s lip curled up.

  Understanding dawned. “You and your cousin don’t see eye to eye?”