Sheikh Boss, Hot Desert Nights. Susan Stephens
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Inwardly, she cheered. Thank goodness he hadn’t asked her to dig any deeper and reveal the six sets of sensible underwear, the rape alarm, and the condoms her ever-practical if misguided mother had insisted she must pack.
He brooded as he watched Casey pack away her belongings. Her qualifications were good on paper, her work ethic unquestioned, but he needed more than that. The person who would eventually lead his marketing team must show total commitment to A’Qaban, and be a questing, innovative, initiative-seizing individual, capable of working solo and producing results without requiring constant monitoring or supervision.
His gaze swept over Casey again. Her outfit was outlandish, almost comical, but somehow she managed to pull it off. The combination of naivety and absolute determination gave her an unaffected charm—though he suspected she could be stubborn, given half a chance.
He’d take that as a plus, he decided, though she would have to be prepared to travel as and when required, and adapt to changing itineraries if necessary. She would also have to cope with the interior. He’d had the last candidate airlifted out when they couldn’t hack it, and until he was sure of Casey she was staying in the city.
The question was, could she cope with anything more rigorous than a sanitised desert kingdom? He was quite keen to find out, and found himself silently urging her on.
Come on, Casey Michaels, show me what you’ve got…
She was tired from the travelling and shaken up by the speed of events. And by Rafik al Rafar.
By him mostly.
She held him entirely responsible.
She could even identify, with a nose well trained at the perfume counter of countless department stores, each ingredient in his exotic cologne: vanilla—an aphrodisiac, sandalwood—a sultry spice, and—
‘Shall we go?’ he prompted. ‘Casey?’ Dipping his head, he gave her a disturbingly direct stare. ‘I’m going to take you to your hotel to drop your bag,’ he said, ‘and then—’
Her face flamed red with embarrassment. She was twenty- five years old and didn’t possess a single atom of know-how when it came to men.
‘Then I’ll buy you a suit,’ he said, rather disappointingly.
‘You don’t need to. I—’
‘Never accept gifts from men?’ He raised one sweeping brow.
‘I’ve got money with me.’
He shrugged. ‘If you prefer to pay, that’s okay with me.’
She was still staring into his eyes like an obedient puppy, Casey realized—something it was all too easy to do.
Holding the door, Raffa was waiting for her. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Raffa paused just in front of the main exit doors leading from the concourse. His guards, anticipating this, stopped instantly and stood to attention.
‘Welcome to A’Qaban,’ he said to Casey. ‘My country is your country for the next few days.’
Heat was sweeping over her in waves. It had nothing to do with the brilliant sunshine. She felt so grubby and travel-stained compared to Raffa, who was coolness personified. His gaze was measured as he looked at her, and faintly amused. She felt under a scrutiny from which she suspected there would be no let-up while she was in A’Qaban. It was impossible not to feel honoured by the pledge he’d just made her, and also impossible not to feel very much threatened on the personal front. It was as if her very womanhood was on the line. It shouldn’t matter to her if that was found wanting just so long as she landed this job—but it did matter; it mattered far more than it should have done.
He gestured towards the limousine that had pulled up at the curb. ‘Let me take your backpack for you.’
‘That’s very kind of you.’
‘I don’t do kind.’
Blunt words that for some reason made her quiver all over.
Raffa’s fierce fighting men had formed a private corridor in order for them to make the short transit from the airport doors to the royal vehicle. It had blacked out windows—a hermetically sealed chamber lined in softest kidskin, where she would be shut off from the world.
Panicking, she held back. Overheating, she dragged off her unbecoming hat.
‘You should wait until you are under cover,’ Raffa warned as she shook out her hair. ‘The sun is deceptively strong. While you are in A’Qaban you must take every opportunity to avoid the heat.’
But the heat was all in his eyes.
CHAPTER THREE
HE FELT Casey next to him on the seat of the limousine like a lick of flame on a heart turned cold. So many women; so few memories—or at least none he cared to keep. Perhaps that was why he was so cynical. He had planned to turn around his country in the same way he’d turn around a business—with balance sheets, boardroom battles and cold, hard fact. The possibility that there might be something missing from that scheme had never occurred to him before Casey Michaels arrived on the scene. Now he wondered if her take on things might refresh the ideas he’d had. But he would never find out while she was tense like this.
He settled back, hoping that would reassure her. She sat stiffly for a while and then turned away from him to stare out of the window. He inhaled her fragrance. Light and floral, it counter-balanced his musk and spice perfectly. The contrast suggested to him that it might be time to recruit someone different from the hardbitten, results-driven individuals he usually selected. But was Casey right for A’Qaban?
As he watched her toying with her soft blonde curls, winding them round and round her slender fingers, he told himself not to be so ridiculous. A woman like Casey Michaels could never be up to the job on offer, and only his libido suggested otherwise.
‘Are those Artesian wells?’
He leaned closer, surprised and pleased by her interest. ‘Yes, that’s right…’
He drew back slowly, wondering if she had felt his heat as he had felt hers. He was conscious of how pale her skin was. Dusted with freckles, it had the bloom of a peach…and the scent of a woman. She would burn in the sun, he realised; yet another reason to send her home. But another, darker side of him yearned to taste her, to see her eyes burn with passion and lust for him. It was all too easy to imagine making love to Casey until she fell asleep in his arms.
‘Oh, look!’ she exclaimed, distracting him. ‘A camel.’
‘Really?’ Imagine that. A camel in the desert. Her childish excitement only underscored the decision he had already made. She must go home.
‘I can’t believe the desert comes right up to the margins of the highway,’ she said, turning to him with luminous appeal in her clear blue eyes.
There was such innocence in those eyes, and at the very moment when he should have withdrawn from it he responded. ‘If you look to towards the mountains you’ll be able to see more camels on the horizon.’
‘Oh, yes!’ she exclaimed, breathless with excitement as the black silhouettes of the marching dromedaries appeared framed in gold against the darkening sky.
She was practically pressing her face to the car window in her enthusiasm, all thoughts of nervousness in his presence forgotten. And when she held her fine-boned hands to her face and exclaimed in wonder it was the strongest warning yet to book her flight home. He shouldn’t feel moved like this. This was business.
And his decision might have remained that straightforward had not the delicate column of her neck led to such a stubborn chin. For all her lack of worldliness, he suspected there was more to Casey Michaels than met the eye. He switched his thoughts from bed to business. She wouldn’t be moulded