Saved by the Sheikh! / Million-Dollar Marriage Merger: Saved by the Sheikh! / Million-Dollar Marriage Merger. Charlene Sands
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a fool by an expert.
He’d given her his business card.
Fool!
He stared blindly at the list he held until Shafir stretched across the boardroom table and snagged it. His brother studied it … and hooted with laughter, pulling Rafiq out the trance that held him immobile. “I can’t believe Leila is on here—she’s more work than all the bandits that hide on the border of Marulla.”
“It would make political sense—we would be able to watch her relations,” the king growled.
“Father, we don’t want the trouble that her uncles would bring.” Rafiq shook his head as he referred to the spats that the two sheikhs were infamous for waging. “Pick someone with less baggage.”
Khalid fixed his attention on Shafir. “Maybe I should do what you did … choose a woman with family on the other side of the world. That way I will have no problem with my inlaws.”
Suppressing the urge to grin, Rafiq waited for his father to launch into a tirade about the sanctity of family. But his father wore an arrested expression. “Rafiq, did you not say that Sir Julian Carling has a daughter?”
“Yes.” Rafiq thought of the woman he’d once met. “Elizabeth Carling.”
Despite the dislike he’d taken to Sir Julian, there’d been nothing wrong with the daughter. Elizabeth had everything he usually looked for. Wealth, beauty, connections. Yet there’d been no spark. Not like what he’d experienced with Tiffany—if such a wild madness could be termed a spark. It had been more like a conflagration.
At last he nodded. “Yes, she would be a good choice for Khalid.”
“Add her to the list,” his father commanded Shafir. “Rafiq says her father is coming to Dhahara to inspect the site for the new Carling Hotel. Her father is a very wealthy man.” King Selim gave his eldest son an arch look, and leaned back in his chair. “I will invite Lady Carling and his daughter, too.”
Even as Khalid glared at him, the young secretary reappeared in the doorway, concern in her eyes. “The CEO of Pyramid Oil is here for his appointment. What shall I tell him?”
“That’s right, run, before I kill you for adding to the pressure,” his brother muttered, but Rafiq only laughed.
“Discussing your future took the heat off me, so thanks.”
Khalid snorted in disgust.
Still grinning, Rafiq turned to the young secretary. “Miss Turner, give us five more minutes—by then I will be done.”
Tiffany stepped out of the cab into the dry, arid midday heat of Dhahara. Hot wind redolent of spices and a tang of the desert swept around her. In front of her towered the Royal Bank of Dhahara. The butterflies that had been floating around in her stomach started to whip their wings in earnest.
Sure, she’d known from his gold-embossed card that Rafiq would be an important man. President, Royal Bank of Dhahara. But not this important.
Yet coming here had been the right thing to do. She’d never doubted her path from the moment the doctor had confirmed her deepest fear. But being confronted with the material reality of where Rafiq worked, knowing that it would be only minutes before she saw him again, made her palms grow moist and her heart thump loudly in her chest.
She paid the driver and couldn’t help being relieved that she’d had the foresight to check into a city hotel and stow her luggage in her room before coming here. Pulling a filmy scarf over her hair, she passed the bank’s uniformed guard and headed for the glass sliding doors.
Inside, behind the sleek, circular black marble reception counter, stood a young, clean-shaven man in a dark suit and white headgear. Tiffany approached him, determined to brazen this out. “I have an appointment.”
His brow creased as he scanned the computer screen in front of him, searching for an appointment she knew would not be listed for today … or any day. Finally he shook his head.
But Tiffany had not come this far to be deterred. She held her ground, refusing to turn away.
“Call Rafiq Al Dhahara.” Her conjuring up the name she’d memorized from the business card caused him to do a double take. “Tell him Tiffany Smith is here to see him.” She mustered up every bit of authority that she had. “He won’t be pleased if he learns you sent me away without bothering to check.”
That was stretching the truth, because Rafiq might well refuse to see her. Even if he did agree to speak to her, he would certainly not be pleased to find her here in Dhahara.
But the bank official wasn’t to know that.
Tiffany waited, arms folded across a stomach that was still behaving in the most peculiar fashion, as it fluttered and tumbled over.
He picked up a telephone and spoke in Arabic. When he’d finished, his expression had changed. “The sheikh will see you.”
The sheikh?
Oh, my. This time her stomach turned a full somersault. “Sheikh?” she spluttered. “I thought he was—” she searched a mind gone suddenly blank for the impressive title on his business card “—the president of the Royal Bank of Dhahara.”
The bank official gave her a peculiar look. “The royal family owns the bank.”
“What does that have to do with Rafiq?”
He blinked at her casual use of his name, and then replied, “The sheikh is part of the royal family.”
Before she could faintly repeat “royal family,” the elevator doors to the left of the marble reception counter slid open, and Rafiq himself stepped out.
His face was haughtier than she remembered, his eyes darker, his cheekbones more aristocratic. Sheikh? Royal family? He certainly looked every inch the part in a dark suit with a conservative white shirt that even in this sweltering heat appeared crisp and fresh. Yet his head was uncovered, and his hair gleamed like a black hawk’s wing. After all the soul-searching it had taken to bring her here, now that she faced him she couldn’t think of a word to say.
So she settled for the most inane.
“Hi.”
“Tiffany.”
The sphinxlike gaze revealed no surprise. He’d told her he never wanted to see her again. Ever. Now she stood before him, shifting from one foot to the other. The displeasure she’d expected was absent. Typically, he showed no emotion at all. The wall of stony reserve was as high as ever.
He bowed his head. “Please, come with me.”
If it hadn’t been for one never-to-be-forgotten night in Hong Kong, she’d never have known that his reserve could be breached.
That night …
The memory of the catastrophic extremes, heaven and hell, pleasure and shame, still had the power to make her shudder.
Tiffany had been sure nothing would make her contact him again. Nothing. But she’d been so wrong. She pressed her hand to her belly.
Her baby.
He ushered her into the elevator. Unexpectedly, the elevator dropped instead of rising. Her stomach rolled wildly. Tiffany gritted her teeth. Seconds later the doors opened to reveal a well-lit parking level where a black Mercedes-Benz idled, waiting. Rafiq strode forward and opened the rear door.
She hesitated. “Where—?”
His dark gaze was hooded. “There is no privacy here.”
He was ashamed of her.
Despite a tinge of apprehension Tiffany swallowed her protests and, straightening her spine, stepped past him and slid into the leather backseat.
She’d come to Dhahara because of her baby. Not for herself. Not for Rafiq. For