The Sheikh's Convenient Bride. Sandra Marton
Читать онлайн книгу.
Didn’t she realize who he was?
Of course she did. She just didn’t care. He had to admire her courage.
He had to admire her looks, too. She didn’t appear unfeminine, even in that shapeless blue suit. And she certainly wasn’t unattractive, despite the blouse buttoned to the neck and the auburn hair tied back so tightly from her face that it made her sculpted cheekbones stand out like elegant arches. Her shoes were better suited to the legs of a soccer player than to ones that were so long, so artfully curved, so…
The woman sprang to her feet. ‘‘Who in hell do you think you are!”
“Sit down, Miss O’Connell.”
“I will not sit down. I will not tolerate this kind of treatment.” Eyes bright with anger, she started toward the door. “And I will not stay in this room with you for another—”
Caz kept his eyes on her as he reached back and slammed the door.
“I said, sit down.”
“You have no authority here, mister! All I have to do is yell for help and—”
“And?” He smiled unpleasantly. “What will happen, Miss O’Connell? Do you really expect your boss to come running to your assistance after the threats you made?”
“What threats?” She folded her arms, lifted her chin and set one of those ugly shoes tapping with impatience. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Caz narrowed his eyes. Oh, yes. She was tough. She was also beautiful, but that didn’t change a thing. She was prepared to ruin his plans for his country and his people for her own selfish purposes, and he would not tolerate it.
“Perhaps you’d like to tell me what threats I made.”
“Don’t waste my time, Miss O’Connell. The head of your office told me everything.”
“Really.” The foot-tapping increased in tempo. “And just what did he tell you?”
Caz’s glower deepened. Simpson had told him more than enough to brand this woman as a schemer ready to lie and cheat and do whatever it took to get what she wanted, and what she wanted was the Suliyam account. She’d stop at nothing to get it, including threatening to file a lawsuit on the grounds that she was being discriminated against because of her sex.
“He explained what you said, your highness, that you cannot permit a woman to work alongside you.”
Caz had never said any such thing. Not exactly. He’d simply explained that the status of women was an evolving issue in his country.
Simpson had assured him he understood. Obviously he hadn’t. And now, Megan O’Connell was talking about hiring a lawyer.
Caz didn’t give a damn about that. His attorneys would have the complaint dismissed without trouble. Suliyam’s traditions were its own. No one could tell him or his people what to do or how to do it, not Megan O’Connell or all the lawyers and judges in the world.
Besides, the issue of her sex was secondary.
The woman was demanding a position for which she wasn’t qualified. The man who’d actually created the proposal—someone named Fisher—was right for the job. His work had been excellent. It was the reason Caz had signed a contract with Tremont, Burnside and Macomb.
Megan O’Connell didn’t have a legal leg to stand on. She knew it, too. Hadn’t she admitted it to Simpson? You’d never win a lawsuit, Simpson said he’d told her, and she’d countered by saying she didn’t care about winning.
Impugning Suliyam’s name in the press and, worse still, in business and financial circles, would be enough for her.
Caz couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t let it happen. He’d spent the last five years readying his people for emergence from the past, but some among them would grasp any opportunity to end the progress he’d made. There were too many factions aligned against him. One whiff of scandal, one headline…
“Are you deaf, Sheikh Qasim? Or have you decided you made a mistake, conversing with a mere female?”
She was all but breathing fire now. Her face was flushed, her eyes were wide and dark; her hair was coming undone and tumbling around her face in wild curls. The suit and shoes were still ugly as sin but from the neck up, she looked like a woman who’d just risen from bed.
His bed.
The thought was unsettling. She was beautiful, yes, but her heart wasn’t a woman’s heart. She was intent on blackmail, and he was the target.
“It was your Mr. Simpson who made the mistake, Miss O’Connell, by letting things go too far.”
Megan blinked. “What things?”
“It serves no purpose to pretend innocence.” Caz folded his arms. “I told you, I know about your threats. Your Mr. Simpson—”
“He is not my anything!”
“He is your boss.”
“He’s a fool. So what?”
“He did what he could to keep the peace.”
“Excuse me?”
“He was foolish to try. As soon as you began demanding undue credit for the little work you did, helping to draft that proposal—”
“Helping?” Megan gave a brittle laugh. “I wrote that proposal.”
“No, you did not.”
“Damn it!” Megan could almost feel the adrenaline racing through her veins. A couple of hours ago, she’d have voted Jerry Simpson Idiot of the Year. What a mistake that would have been. The barbarian barring the door was winner of the title, hands down. “You know what? I’ve had it.” Resolutely she started toward the door again. “You get out of my way.”
He bared his teeth in a smile. “Or?” he said pleasantly.
“Or I’ll go right through you.”
He laughed. The son of a bitch laughed! Oh, how she wanted to slap that arrogant smirk from his all-too-perfect face.
Unfortunately, she could hardly blame him. Talk about empty threats! She could no more go through him than through a brick wall.
The Sheikh of the Endless Names was big. Six foot two, six foot three. He was as tall as any of her brothers and she’d never been able to go through them in a zillion touch football games. She’d hardly ever managed to go around them, except with a bit of subterfuge.
And then there were those shoulders wide enough to fill the doorway. The muscles that bulged even under his expensive suit. Except, they didn’t bulge. They rippled.
Rippled? Megan did a mental blink. Who cared if his muscles undulated? The Prince of All He Surveyed was a male chauvinist jerk, and she’d be damned if she’d stand here and take his verbal abuse one more second.
“Perhaps it’s the custom to detain women by force in your country,” she said coldly.
That got a response! Red patches bloomed on his cheeks. The man didn’t like hearing the truth. Good. She could use that to her advantage.
“Or maybe it’s the only way you can get women to pay attention to you. You know, snatch them up, carry them off, lock them up—”
“You’re trying my patience, Miss O’Connell.”
“And you’re trying mine.”
“I promise you, I won’t take much more.”
‘‘And I promise you—’’
That was as far as she got. He reached for her, wrapped his hands around her arms and lifted her to her toes. His fingers pressed into her flesh and his eyes…Whoa, his eyes! Cold as that sea-ice again. He was angry. Enraged. Megan could see it, feel it, even smell