Claimed by the Desert Sheikh. Оливия Гейтс
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racing through her body.
It had been a nothing kind of kiss—the only kind Qadir seemed to give her. A light brush, a meaningless peck. Kisses for show. Kisses that stole her breath away and made her want to … to … to something. Kiss more. Kiss back. Beg. Instead she was forced to sit there quietly while they continued to discuss her hair.
In the end, they chose the layered style they’d talked about, along with subtle highlights.
“Could I be blond?” Maggie asked. “I’d like to be blond.”
Qadir turned the chair so she was facing him. “You are beautiful just as you are.”
Beautiful? He didn’t mean that, did he? “But I’m getting highlights. Going blond is practically the same.”
“Not to me.”
“Should we have the whole ‘this is my hair’ conversation again?”
“I will not be listening.”
He leaned in and kissed her. On the mouth. Firmly.
She told herself it was just so the people in the hair salon would gossip about them. She told herself it didn’t matter to her at all, one way or the other. It was just a kiss.
But it felt like a lot more.
His lips were warm and firm, taking and offering at the same time. He braced himself on the arms of the chair so they weren’t touching anywhere but their mouths. Still, that was enough to make her whole body sit up and take notice.
He moved his mouth back and forth before brushing her lower lip with his tongue.
Instinctively she parted for him. Anticipation made her tense. When he slid inside, she wanted to squirm closer, to take whatever he offered. Instead she lifted her hand to his shoulder and felt the strength of him.
His tongue touched hers. Sparks flew in every direction. He circled her as they began a dance so exciting, so erotic, she found it difficult to breathe.
She’d been kissed before hundreds of times. She’d made love. She’d experienced desire for a man. But nothing had prepared her for the hunger that consumed her whenever Qadir kissed her.
Wanting began low in her belly and spiraled out, filling every cell with a need that almost frightened her. She felt control slipping and worried she would beg him to take her right there, in the chair, in front of anyone who happened to be watching. She felt breathless and out of control. It was frightening … and yet she never wanted him to stop.
At last he pulled away. Something hot and bright burned in his dark eyes. She had a feeling he could see the same in her. Passion, she thought. Heady and unfamiliar, but more compelling than she’d ever thought possible.
“You are a surprise,” he murmured.
“I could say the same about you. Of course it could be a prince thing. You might take special classes and be taught techniques not known to mortal man.”
“I am mortal and there is no special training.”
Which meant it was just him. A slightly scary thought.
“I must go. The car will return and the driver will wait to take you back to the palace.”
“Okay.”
“I look forward to seeing your transformation this evening.”
“We’re doing something tonight?” Not that she minded.
“A play.”
“Right. You mentioned that. I should probably get a calendar.”
“I’ll have my assistant print out a schedule.”
That made her smile. “I’ve never dated by schedule before. Maybe he should include suggestions on what I should wear. Formal, informal, strictly casual.”
“If you like.”
She started to say she’d been kidding, but then realized having that information would help. “Theater is dressy, right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” She thought about the clothes they’d bought earlier that afternoon. “I have a couple of things I can wear. What’s the play?”
“A musical. Les Miserables. The king’s favorite.”
“Has he seen it?”
“Many times. He’ll see it again tonight.”
“Oh. He’s going, too?”
“We’ll be in his box. It will be a good opportunity for him to get to know you better. As the woman I’m dating.”
With that he straightened and walked away.
The stylist returned. “He’s so hot. You’re really lucky. Are you all right?”
Maggie shook her head. The king was going to be there tonight? In the same box? Was she expected to talk to him?
Stupid question, she told herself. She would have to carry on a conversation and pretend to be Qadir’s girlfriend and what if the king asked about her being good breeding stock? How was she supposed to answer?
“I think I’m going to be sick,” she whispered.
“I get that a lot,” the stylist said as he wheeled a cart close and reached for scissors. “Deep breaths. You’ll be fine.”
“I can’t do this,” Maggie said as the limo pulled up in front of the entrance to a very large, very old building. “I can’t breathe, I can’t think. This was all a mistake. If I’d already accepted money, I would return it. Seriously, pick someone else. Fainting will not make the king like me.”
“You’re exaggerating your condition,” Qadir said, not sounding the least bit sympathetic. “You said you like musicals.”
She glared at him. “What does that have to do with anything? I can’t meet the king.”
“You already have.”
“As a nobody. You’re being deliberately difficult and for the record, I don’t like it.”
He laughed. He actually laughed.
“You’ll be fine,” he said as he stepped out of the limo and held out his hand to assist her.
“It’s all fun and games now,” she muttered as she followed him. “Let’s see how amusing this is when I throw up on your expensive handmade shoes.”
He had the nerve to chuckle again, then he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her into the theater.
Maggie concentrated on walking in new shoes and breathing and trying not to think about the way her stomach flopped over and over and over. Look at the architecture, she told herself. Admire the clean lines, the soaring ceilings, the whatever the sticky-out parts were called by the corners.
Actually, now that she was paying attention, she realized the building was beautiful. Elegant and oddly feminine, if such an imposing building could be called that. There were mosaics and huge chandeliers, gilded pillars and archways. A staircase that seemed to glide up to heaven.
“What is this place?” she asked.
Instead of answering, Qadir came to a stop and turned her to her right. She stared at the handsome couple in front of them, then gasped when she realized it was them.
The large mirror showed her Qadir was as good-looking as always. Strong, tall and elegant in a tailored tux. The woman next to him wasn’t half-bad, either, and the most amazing part was it was her.
The haircut had brought out the waves she hated, but somehow now they didn’t look so geeky. Instead they were almost loose curls flowing to her shoulders. The makeup she’d been shown how to use made her eyes larger and mouth bigger. But it was the clothes she really