Engaged To The Sheikh. Sue Swift
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hit everything right.” She ran her fingers through her loose, damp hair, which would normally be blown dry and bound into a French twist.
“I’m here on business, but I’ll have plenty of time…” He winked at her.
She winked back. “Won’t your business associates take most of your attention?”
“I can lose them with no effort.” He again gestured dismissively.
“Them?” she asked.
“A real estate agent and his granddaughter. No one of importance.”
As Selina’s smile stretched wider, her grandfather entered the room and took the bar stool next to hers. He’d also freshened up and wore a loose polo-style shirt with khaki shorts.
“Oh, I’m glad to see you both here, already getting acquainted,” Grandpa Jerry said.
“I wouldn’t say we’re acquainted…yet,” Selina said sweetly.
Jerry patted her arm. “Sellie, I’d like you to meet Kam Asad.”
A flush rose beneath the Clooney clone’s swarthy skin. “You’re—”
She held out a hand. “Selina Carrington.” She smirked at him, enjoying his discomfiture. “So you’re Kam Asad. My grandfather tells me that you’re in the market for—”
“Shh!” He put a finger to his full lips. “This is high security.” He scowled at Jerry. “You told her?”
Selina liked him even less, if that was possible. No one dissed her grandfather in her presence without a slash from the knife-edge of her tongue.
“So what if he did, Mr. Superspy?” she asked. “What’s so high security about buying a house? I noticed you jibber-jabbering away on your cell phone a few minutes ago as if you had no secrets at all.”
Kam Asad’s flush deepened. “I was speaking in an Arabic dialect of my people. It is doubtful that anyone in this hemisphere understands it.”
An Arabic dialect of my people. Yeah, right. Who was this dude, Rudolph Valentino? “Cell phones aren’t exactly high security,” Selina said. “Anyone could be listening in—”
“Let’s start over.” Jerry, ever the suave salesman, interceded. “Selina, this is Kamar Asad. As you know, he’s in the market for some property in the D.C. area. Kam, this is my granddaughter, Selina.”
Selina corralled her naturally sarcastic mouth, saying only, “Pleased to meet you.” She extended her right hand.
“A pleasure for me, also.” Asad shook her hand once, then dropped it as though she were Typhoid Mary.
She glanced at her grandfather, well aware that inside Jerry’s mind, he was humming, “Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match,” to the accompaniment of wedding bells.
She hoped that he wasn’t too stuck on the idea of seeing her with Kam Asad. There was something of the untamed, the wild, lurking behind Kam’s facade, she thought, before immediately chiding herself for her silly fantasies. Kam Asad was an ordinary man, even though he obviously thought he was a cut above the herd. But she knew better. All men were alike under the skin, whether or not that skin was handsome or ugly, old or young.
Selina didn’t like handsome men. She didn’t like any men, really, and few women, but she disliked handsome men most of all.
A memory of another too-handsome man flashed through her mind, but she banished it immediately to the furthest recesses of her brain.
The only man she did like, her grandfather, now nudged her with a gentle elbow. But before Jerry could speak, Janis reappeared with Kam’s martini. Sliding the glass onto a coaster on the bar, she said to Jerry, “Good evening, sir. Can I get something for you?”
“Whiskey or even a scotch,” Jerome said. “What brands do you pour?”
While Jerome Carrington and the bartender chatted about fine whiskies, Kamar took a moment to reexamine the granddaughter, Selina. He’d noticed her as soon as she’d walked into the bar and had planned to meet her after finishing his conversation with his father’s foreign minister.
Selina’s hair, an unusual shade of red-gold, would make her a standout in any gathering, he mused, and all the more so in the dimly lit bar. Though recently washed and still damp, her gleaming hair lit the night like a torch, swinging loose along her slender neck like a silken scarf.
He was a sucker for the long, bare throats of sexy American women. His lust for them approached an obsession. Perhaps it was because the females of his country were always shrouded, but American girls, with their anytime, anyplace, anywhere approach to lovemaking attracted him like no other women. Did Selina Carrington’s red hair reflect her sexuality? He promised himself that he’d find out, and soon.
She wasn’t afraid of male attention, either, judging by her attire, a feather-trimmed dress constructed of scraps and shreds of red fabric that floated and fluttered while concealing few of her body’s slender curves. Her unplanned trip had also prevented her from bringing makeup, and her petal-perfect complexion, set off by a few stray freckles, heightened her natural, sexy allure.
She’d be a worthy bedmate if she hadn’t come with her grandfather. Kamar liked women—many women—but he didn’t believe in fouling the nest. He never conducted liaisons with business contacts or their families. The world was his playground, and he’d found many willing partners. He didn’t fool around close to home.
A beautiful girl like her, there was probably a man in her life already.
And she was mouthy. Many American women were. Often a smart mouth on a woman repelled him, but Selina’s rosy lips were pretty enough that he’d prefer to silence her with a kiss.
Then again, here was Jerome Carrington. So, with a sigh, Kamar mentally classified the stunning Selina and her beautiful neck as off-limits.
But he could still talk to her, couldn’t he? “American women are usually such busy girls,” he told her. “It was kind of you to accompany your grandfather on this trip.”
She shrugged, and her low neckline dipped even further. “Grandpa Jerry thought I should get away.”
“Get away? From who or what?”
“I work for an ad agency, and we just presented one of our major clients with a new campaign.” Her smile was thin. “This was the first time I was responsible for the entire project.”
He didn’t care about her job, but girls liked it when one showed interest in their pastimes. “And what was this project about?”
“It’s an advertising campaign for a cereal called Corny Crunch.”
“Did you say horny crunch?” He gave her his most flirtatious smile.
“Like I haven’t heard that, oh, at least twenty times before.” Selina stirred her drink.
He’d try again. “What kind of, um, advertising campaign did you plan?”
“Breakdancing corn chips in cargo pants down to their ankles.” She grinned at him. A real smile this time, not a fake one.
Progress, he thought. “Very charming. But why would anyone over the age of twelve buy these horny crunchies?”
Her smile broadened. “They have lots of fiber and even some oats. That’ll lower your cholesterol. You ought to be thinking about that at your age.”
There was such a thing as too mouthy, Kamar discovered. “At my age? For your information, I have but twenty-eight years.”
“Oh, shouldn’t everyone think about maintaining good health?” Selina turned to her grandfather, who ambled closer, sipping whiskey from a cut crystal tumbler. “Grandpop, what do you think of Corny Crunch?”
“A great product,” he said. “Selina’s