For the Sheik's Pleasure (Sheiks in Love Book 2)

by Mary Jo Springer

  Her gaze held steady.

  Mechanically, she sank into the chair as he slid into his own seat across from her. He unbuttoned his suit jacket. That’s when she spied the shoulder holster with his Glock firmly situated inside. So, he did expect trouble. The noise of clinking silverware, toasting glasses, and servers taking lunch orders cocooned them. The velvet strains of elevator music softened the background. But that edge of tenseness continued to pulse through the room.

  “May I order lunch?”

  Eat? Oh, she couldn’t eat. No way. If someone had asked her five minutes ago, with the yeasty bouquet of fresh baked bread permeating the air, she would have ordered the entire loaf . . . now . . . with her stomach in her throat . . . not a chance. Tied up into a thousand knots and tumbling over and over, her stomach bucked like a ship on a turbulent sea. The robust fragrance of that scrumptious designer cologne filled her senses. She finally pin-pointed the unique scent. Pine trees. She inhaled deeper, drawing whiff after whiff, savoring the fragrant aroma of Tennessee pines, sexy and ultra-masculine, the beguiling scent adhering to him like a shadow. If she wasn’t careful, she’d trail that baiting scent right into him.

  He cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to his question.

  Oh, right . . . lunch. “No, thank you,” she barely managed to eke out.

  One eyebrow inched upward. “Some champagne and caviar, perhaps?”

  She held up her hand. “No, really, I’m fine.”

  With shaky fingers, she set her iPhone on the table directly in front of her, while she extracted her computer from her briefcase to begin taking notes. But the fever from his fingers and lips lingered.

  Changing tactics, she began, “Let’s get started, shall we?” Giving him her complete attention, she tilted her head to the side as she prepared to transcribe his every word. “Date of ceremony?”

  There was a slight hesitation as he settled himself deeper into the chair. His knee bumped hers under the table, and that simple contact produced flurries of liquid fire sprinting up her spine. Her lips parted to allow more oxygen to her brain, and the simple motion drew his attention. His gaze centralized on her lips, fixated, and her heart shuddered in her chest.

  Her womanly intuition told her he wanted her.

  He leaned forward, further making himself comfortable, and she inhaled another trace of his exotic cologne as it swirled around her like the fairy godmother’s magic in Cinderella. Along with pine, she detected elements of Moroccan iris blended with enticing hints of warm amber, reminding her of a lone rider on a horse crossing miles of golden desert sands and dunes. For a moment she lost all contact with reality.

  He coughed into his hand. “Ms. Danvers, did you hear me?”

  What?

  She blinked. He was speaking directly to her, but her head was spinning like a crazed children’s top. That damned mysterious and erotic bouquet of his cologne, along with his nearness, rattled her to the depth of her being. It had been so long since she’d been this close to a man she was attracted to—so very long. Fingers poised over her keyboard, she drew a deep breath, diverting all her attention away from the virile temptation sitting across from her.

  She failed.

  “June, Ms. Danvers. I said June.”

  His voice, sliding into a combustible mixture of smoldering silk and liquid velvet, enkindled a maelstrom within her, the rich, bass tone liquifying her spine.

  Concern blanketed his facial features, “Ms. Danvers, are you all right? Maybe if you ate something?”

  This had to stop. He was, after all, just a man. Quit acting like a teenaged girl with your first crush! Get over it!

  Think of the mission.

  Damn those rose petals!

  “Not this June,” she barked in surprise, still struggling to eliminate her carnal thoughts. “That’s only four months away. I couldn’t possibly pull a wedding of this magnitude together in a few months.”

  His husky laugh inflamed her senses before his lips thinned into a tense line. His smile evaporated. Knife-edged strain stiffened his wide shoulders.

  Oh great, she’d upset him.

  Reaching for his glass of water, he raised it and drank. Her gaze followed the action, mesmerized by the slow movement of his tanned throat.

  At the sound of someone’s chair scraping, he glanced out over the restaurant as he murmured, “I’m very aware of the amount of time needed for state affairs. I’m referring to June of next year.”

  Someone had alerted the press of his presence. She followed his gaze, noticing the group of reporters moving into the restaurant, their cameras ready to capture his every move.

  He murmured something under his breath as he pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and dialed. “Don’t let those vultures get one inch closer to me and Ms. Danvers.” He instructed.

  Ignoring the commotion of his men inching closer to the reporters, she severed her gaze from his and studied her keyboard.

  She perceived the exact moment his gaze swung back to her. She glanced up. The ardent concentration of his piercing eyes stunned her, their emerald embers perforating her, shocked that she’d insulted his Royal Highness. Again. She cringed inwardly. “Your Royal Highness, I assure you I had no intention of insinuating . . .”

  He cut her off with a dismissive sweep of his imperial hand. “I understand the nature of your job. Please. Continue.”

  Did he? She seriously doubted it. Glancing down once again at her keyboard, she paused for a few seconds to re-group. “Number of guests expected?”

  Again, his gaze flicked over the growing crowd of reporters as his bodyguards pushed them back. So they were his men. Probably hand-picked to defend him. His gaze rifled over her. “Two to three thousand for the church ceremony, thousands more for the state. We’ll broadcast the marriage vows over state television.”

  Her cell vibrated, and she glanced at the screen. Sally. More facts about the prince flooded the tiny surface. The words formidable and commanding produced an arched eyebrow as she instantly agreed.

  Reaching for her iPhone to get a closer look, she froze in mid-motion when a large, tanned hand plucked the device from her fingers.

  Oh, hell no! Once again, her temper flared, squelching her common sense. “Excuse me, that’s my personal property.”

  He flat out ignored her, taking his time to read the screen, moving it upward with his index finger, giving a little sniff of displeasure as he continued to scan whatever information Sally was sending.

  “If you are finished invading my privacy, Your Royal Highness, I’d like my phone back.” The shock of his very big, very masculine hands handling her phone increased her anger. How dare he?

  He caught her flare of irritation and murmured another curse. A consummated frown chiseled his facial features into a hard line. “Invading your privacy? What do you call this?” He held her phone up. The screen was littered with information. His information. His personal information.

  His dark eyebrows knitted together. “If you expect to work for me, you’ll stop believing these lies written in those horrid buzz magazines. Their information is expertly fed to them by my publicist.” Pushing the off button, his gaze ambushed hers. “Now, may we continue? My time is limited today for I have other pressing matters to attend to.” He pushed her phone back toward her. She swiped it off the table and threw it in her purse.

  He templed his fingers in front of him, revealing his watch. His Hublot Black Caviar watch. She knew the brand well, she’d seen that exact watch in a store on Rodeo Drive during a shopping trip with her girlfriends. Dream shopping they’d called it. She also knew the price.

  A cool million. For a watch!

  How could a watch neatly clipped around his wrist be such a turn on? Extreme elegance against pure masculine strength. Once again, her concentration
waivered. What was happening to her? This wasn’t like her. She had no time for this . . . this . . . whatever this craziness between them was.

  His head bobbed back and forth until he cornered her attention, his smile a flash of pristine white teeth. “Now, if you would permit me, I have some questions of my own. Are you involved with anyone?” he queried, that hot slant of a smile never leaving his lips, his fingers casually stroking the stem of his water glass. The beaded condensation spilled onto the table.

  Her pulse thumped, bang, bang, it echoed in her ear.

  Whoa! Did he just? “Surely Your Royal Highness knows that’s an inappropriate question and nothing to do with my ability to do my job.”

  He gave a short bark of laughter, but a smidgen of displeasure etched across his face. “I’m afraid I must insist on an answer.” Even relaxed, he exhibited a coiled strength barely contained, ready to unleash in a blink of an eye. Viper.

  Those dark and lethal eyes bore into her. “Again, are you involved with anyone?”

  Walk out! Screw the money and the mission. Save your self-respect. Only the challenge of putting this guy in his place kept her glued to her seat. She ground her teeth so powerfully she was sure she heard one of her molars crack.

  “Again, I must protest. This type of information is private and can have no bearing on this wedding. I’m ready to answer any questions with regard to your sister’s wedding.” She jerked at the cuffs of her suit jacket, almost ripping the sleeve in her annoyance, his aloof manner riling her.

  This was ludicrous. Off the charts ludicrous.

  Ignoring her protests, he pressed on, anchoring himself deeper into the chair, his legs sprawled out in front of him, taking the time to explain his actions as if she were a two-year old. “My sister’s wedding is very important to me. Designing and planning this event may require you to live in my country for possibly the next nine to twelve months. I need to know before I sign any type of contract that you will be able to meet these qualifications.” His fingers gripped the edge of the table, his voice dropping into a demanding whisper as he continued, “That your personal obligations won’t interfere with your ability to do your job. Now, if you understand my question, if I’ve made myself clear on this point, I’ll ask again. Are you involved with anyone?”

  Right! Who was he kidding? Arrogant ass. Why did this man rub her the wrong way? Why am I allowing him to get to me? She shook off her outrage before replying smoothly, “I’m unattached. Now that you have this pertinent information, can we move on to more relevant material?”

  One corner of his lips lifted, her curt reaction amusing him.

  She crossed her legs under the table, pumping her stiletto heel on and off her foot, the speed rising along with her temper. She blew out a long, ragged breath. Of course, now that he’d explained his motives, she understood the reasoning behind his question. He was simply making sure she’d be able to accomplish their goal like any employer would. Every single muscle in her body tightened, fisted into a hard knot.

  Cultural differences. It had to be cultural differences. Did she really think a man as dynamic as he was would in any way be interested in her? Of course not. Now who was being delusional? As a prominent Sheik, he’d need a princess to claim his princely heart, one who matched his bank account dollar for dollar and his territorial holdings mile for mile. A woman like her would never enter into the equation. She was just an employee, nothing more.

  Appropriate women probably paraded in front of him every time he appeared in public. Maybe he test-drove a few behind closed doors, each one willing to do anything to gain his favor. Yep, this drop-dead gorgeous prince had the deck stacked in his favor. If he snapped his fingers, an accommodating woman appeared. What a tough life he led.

  She slumped back into the soft cradle of her chair. He was being thorough, nothing more. Sadness overwhelmed her. She missed Bobby.

  Bobby! Bobby! Images of Bobby flashed through her mind. She glanced down, focusing on her clasped fingers, forcing the memory to evaporate. She had to get on with her life. Had to. That’s what everybody kept telling her. But it was so hard to wipe away memories of the man you grew up with, who gave you your first kiss, your first sexual experience, your husband. How did she forget their entire life? Did she want to? No, she loved her husband, loved everything about him, and missed him to the ends of the universe and back. She closed her eyes for a moment, holding on to those precious memories, cherishing them before she’d have to place them in a secret place in her heart and move on. But one memory stuck out above all the others. The night before his death, she and Bobby were making love when all of a sudden, in the throes of passion, he whispered into her ear, “Let’s make a baby tonight.”

  His Royal Highness’s hand enclosed hers, dragging her out of her memories. Her gaze shot from his fingers to his face. He immediately released her. But the sparks flying off his fingers, like an electrical charge, turned the heat between them up another notch.

  “You’re thinking of your husband?” There was a sadness within his gaze.

  How the hell did he know that?

  His eyes darkened to a rich forest green. “I see the sorrow in your eyes. You must have loved him very much.”

  “I . . . did,” she stuttered, as tears welled in her eyes.

  His features softened, those dazzling eyes of his filled with sympathy. He reached inside his jacket and handed her a monogramed, white silk handkerchief. “You miss his love and protection.”

  His gaze imprisoned hers.

  She blew her nose. “His protection?” She asked, her brows furrowing. His words sounded so foreign to a woman who’d climbed the ladder of a man’s world and occupation.

  “Yes, a man’s protection.”

  A small sound escaped her lips, that of a wounded animal. She could protect herself, thank you very much. Yeah, like you did that night. You’d be dead if it wasn’t for Bobby shoving you out of the way.

  “All beautiful women need the protection of a man,” he continued, his eyes hooded like a hawk’s.

  She bowed her head, staring at the dark wood of the table, wiping at the tears sliding down her cheeks as indignation stirred within her. Settle down. He’s a man from the Middle East who still abides by old world strictures. Get your emotions out of the equation and do your job.

  But her curiosity overwhelmed her good sense. “And just whom do you think I need protection from?”

  “Vultures like me.” That sonorous voice and his seductive gaze blew her world apart.

  Glancing up, their eyes intersected, fused. Within the searing depths of those fabulous eyes mirrored an ancient Sheik selecting a woman for the night. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t swallow. She’d never met a man this direct. It scared her, aroused her, and intimidated the hell out of her. Maybe she did need protection from vultures—like him.

  Now squirming in her chair, she struggled to get back on track. “If we could just get back to your sister’s wedding plans?” Throaty, an octave lower, her voice sounded odd to her own ears—opulent, erotic, inviting. Dear God!

  He leaned closer, so close his warm breath tousled the strands of hair framing her face.

  “Forget about the wedding for a moment. I’ll sign your contract. I made up my mind the minute you walked into the room.” He sat back in his chair. One long finger slid back and forth across his tempting lips as he paused, staring at her with an intensity that unnerved her. “But I demand something from you in return. An arrangement of sorts.” He glanced out over the crowd for a moment, then his gaze swung back to her. She was sure he was going to ask her to sign a confidentially clause, an NDA. She’d okay that addition. In both the CIA and the wedding business, she’d learned a long time ago to keep all the details of high-profile people secret. When the press hounded her, the words ‘no comment’ rolled easily from her lips. Yes
, she could do that. She smiled at him. He returned her smile.

  “I want exclusive rights to you here in California and in B’Quara.”

  She blinked several times, fighting to understand what he was talking about. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me . . .”

  Her smile evaporated. Yes, she had heard him. No way! No friggin’ way!

  Of all the nerve! She bit her tongue—hard. Endeavoring to keep her composure, she swallowed the intense desire to hurl his outrageous offer back into his elegant face. But wait, maybe she’d somehow misconstrued his meaning. Because he couldn’t possibly mean what she thought he meant. No one, not even the heir to the throne, was that bold. This was the twenty-first century after all, men just didn’t—

  “I . . . I . . . I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking?” Her fingers tangled in the silvery strands of her necklace, a clear sign to herself that she was about to have a meltdown. She was too furious to speak. A thick quietness hung between them.

  His voice, dripping with sarcasm, broke the lengthy silence, “Of course you understand.” Pointing his finger at her and then back at himself, he continued. “You’re a woman, and I’m a man. I can’t make it any clearer without becoming crude.”

  Her hands balled into fists.

  Crude? Now the jackass was worried about being crude, after what he’d just suggested? Was he out of his freakin’ mind?

  She turned her face away, her gaze drifting out over the crowded restaurant as she wondered if anyone knew the nature of their current conversation. What did one say to that kind of request? How did one manage to get the words out without belting him over the head with her computer? Personal restraint, she reminded herself over and over. Personal restraint.

  No, no, a thousand times no! Her mind screamed as it tried to wrap itself around his words. What a cretin! Was the jerk completely insane? So self-assured in his status with women, he imagined he didn’t need to waste his time pursuing his conquest?