Cinderella and the Sheikh (Hot Contemporary Romance)

by Teresa Morgan

  "I have a passport, but I'm not leaving with you in the morning. I can't marry you."

  His plan failed? No, he refused to believe it. She wanted this; she just didn't know it yet.

  When a knock sounded at the door, he whispered a curse at the interruption.

  A young Latino man entered, holding two elegant glasses and a magnum of champagne with a green and gold label. "From Ms. St. Martin. Compliments of the house—" He broke off when his gaze lit on Libby.

  "Hi, Rafael." Libby sat down on the couch, her expression tense.

  Something unexpected clamped tight in Rasyn's chest. Just how familiar were these two? He watched Rafael's body language as the man placed the wine on the table and collected their dinner dishes.

  Why did he care? Surely not jealousy. No. Possessiveness, of course. The woman was to belong to him, and no other man.

  White teeth scraped her lip. "Does your brother still own that bistro by Central Park?" A note of underlying desperation belied her casual tone.

  "It opens soon. Not as nice as here, though."

  Libby's sighed. "This was my best job ever."

  "Was?" Rafael paused with an empty plate in his hand and raised an eyebrow.

  Libby laughed, a little too quickly. "Is, I meant to say."

  Rasyn pressed a hundred dollar bill into Rafael's hand as he exited.

  As soon as Rafael left, Libby began to twist the ruby ring from her finger.

  "But you agreed—"

  She didn't let him finish. "I know how important it is to keep your dignity in your culture. I didn't want to embarrass you in public. You can blame me if you want. Tell everyone that you decided I wasn't suitable."

  "That would be a lie." The very real irritation in his voice was because of her resistance, not because she suggested he lie. He preferred using words to his advantage and convincing people of his point of view rather than giving commands. His cousin's more direct approach occasionally made people bristle, making him less popular than he should be.

  "I don't know how to be any clearer. I don't love you."

  He'd seduced her only hours earlier. Why was she rejecting him now? He considered his next move. The easiest thing to do was to find a more willing girl and charm her instead.

  A far-too-brief taste of Libby left him hungry for more. He enjoyed her company and found himself craving her passion in his bed. Compared to that, some simple girl seemed... dull. If he had to seduce a woman to save his country, he might as well take pleasure in it.

  Why was she resisting? Tonight had proven how good they were together. Not to mention that he'd treated her like a queen, offering her a life free from waiting on others.

  He swallowed his frustration, moving to sit at her side on the couch. Their thighs touched and he felt the heat of her through their clothes. There was physical pleasure between them, at least. So why did she insist on being so difficult?

  “Is it because I am not from your country? Perhaps you think I am a barbarian who believes women are property and you will find yourself enslaved, with no purpose beyond serving my pleasure.”

  Libby sighed. “It’s not about your culture. You're not a barbarian. You’re a rich, powerful, handsome man. I'm a waitress. We just don't fit together.”

  “The heart will not be denied,” he said, irritated and fascinated by the logic of her refusal. Didn't she realize what an honor it was to be chosen by him? "And I disagree. We fit together perfectly earlier tonight."

  A blush rose, high on her cheeks. “You’ll get over it. There’s no way I will let myself fall in love with you.”

  Of course she could fall in love with him. Hadn’t she just admitted she found him handsome and powerful? And she had melted at his touch. "Ah, but that is why it is called ‘falling in love,’ in your charming English saying. No one can control it. We have another saying in Abbas. A woman should not marry the man she loves; she should marry the man who loves her."

  She looked up at him, her green gaze darting over his features as if searching for the truth.

  He caught her face in his hands, her cheeks smooth in his rough palms. "I understand your fears. Things aren't done this way in your culture. You need more time. Come to Abbas with me."

  Chapter Four

  No way am I going to Abbas with him, Libby thought. So why am I in his limo on my way to my apartment to get my passport?

  Libby sighed and sank into the soft leather of her seat. She hadn't slept; her body ached. Too much champagne, not enough sleep, and too much Rasyn. She snuck a peek at his square-jawed profile. He'd worn her down with his flattery and his logic. It should be illegal to be that handsome—and that persuasive.

  She just didn't seem to be able to turn down a man who made her feel so cherished. She didn’t stand a chance of winning an argument with him. He had asked her to marry him. She had said no. Yet somehow, she still had an engagement ring on her finger.

  Ruby, for the fire in her hair, he'd said.

  She saw what he was doing. If she gave an inch, he moved in and set up camp there. Then, when she did it again...

  Well, she wouldn’t let it happen. He wasn't right for her. She couldn't afford to start feeling things for him, that was meant for the man who would be her partner. The only defense was to close the lid on her heart. To hide it away.

  The sleek black car stopped in front of her Queens walk-up. Rasyn looked at her, a question in his eyes.

  "We're here," she confirmed.

  Rasyn stepped out and held the door for her. His gaze flicked over the dingy yellow building. "You deserve better. In Abbas, you'll be treated like royalty. And soon you will royalty indeed."

  "A woman's home is her castle."

  When they entered her apartment, she couldn’t help thinking about the differences between them. Maybe he lived in a palace, but she was proud of the job she'd done making her apartment warm and inviting on a budget. She loved her brown paisley sofa and mismatched plates. It was her own private retreat from the demands of the world, even if Sheikh High-and-Mighty wasn't impressed.

  There was no way she was going anywhere with him, that was for sure. Get on a plane with him? Not happening. The idea of putting herself in his hands—skilled as they were—sent panic through her.

  She needed to plan how to convince him to leave without her. "I'll just go pack a few things."

  "Everything you need will be provided."

  Grinding her teeth, Libby went into her bedroom to get started, grateful to leave him behind. Maybe if she 'forgot' her passport at the apartment, she thought, as she strained to get her battered suitcase off the top shelf of her closet, then she could come back on her own to get it. Maybe that would delay him long enough to realize that this wasn't going to work out.

  Libby stretched until she was on tiptoe, but the huge, hard-backed luggage stubbornly stayed out of reach.

  Straining every muscle, Libby managed to inch the monster to the edge of the shelf. Just one more touch and she'd be able to...

  The suitcase overbalanced. The heavy thing came tipping down toward her. She only had time to flinch.

  A strong arm circled her waist, while another propped the suitcase up above her head.

  "Allow me," Rasyn said.

  The lean hardness of his body in his business suit pressed against her. His mysterious spice filled her senses. He looked down into her eyes with open desire.

  Her heart pounded. She lifted her hands, meaning to push him away, but her treacherous body couldn’t do it. She'd never felt so protected. And so vulnerable.

  Somehow, she managed to break free.

  "Thank you." She wrapped her arms around herself, a poor substitute for the heat of Rasyn's body.

  He smirked in irritating triumph as he lifted the heavy luggage down. A hot flush burned under Libby's skin.

  After placing the suitcase on her bed, Rasyn faced the hangers in her closet. "You'll need a new wardrobe. Nothing I see here will be suitable for any occasion."

  She fro
wned at his back. "I won't go without my own stuff."

  He turned, a conciliatory smile warming his features. "Of course, love. We can bring anything that will make you feel more comfortable in your new home."

  "It's just a visit," she said.

  He stepped too close and trailed a line of fire down her cheek with the back of his fingers. "I will do my best to convince you to stay."

  Libby’s body, betraying her again, warmed with the promise in his voice.

  ***

  Part of Libby took pleasure in seeing him struggle down the stairs carrying the awkward laundry basket of leftovers from her fridge. The bottles and jars inside clinked together as he strained to make each step. He'd been ready to throw everything into the garbage, but Libby had insisted on collecting it.

  She'd expected an argument. He'd said nothing. Which was nearly as irritating because it made her realize that all her little rebellions didn't matter. He could afford to let her win on every point; she seemed to be coming to Abbas with him. And she still wore his ring. In his mind, the war was already won.

  Of course he had no clue that her passport was still safely tucked away in her night table drawer. Cleaning out her fridge had only stalled them so long. She'd come up with a better excuse soon, right?

  She led him to a beige door that had once been white. But the brass number on it was polished to a high shine.

  After she knocked, she heard the scraping behind the door signaling the owner was dragging a small stool along the floor to let her look out the peep hole before answering.

  "Mrs. Zippoli." Libby nearly yelled so that the half-deaf woman could hear. "It's me. Libby."

  The chain lock slid open. The door followed, revealing a tiny woman with gray steel tinting her hair and flashing in her eyes. "Buon giorno, bella."

  "Buon giorno. Mrs. Zippoli, I'm going on a trip. I wonder if you'd take the food from my fridge that might spoil." Mrs. Zippoli was on a fixed income, but she was from the old school. The one that didn’t take charity.

  Her chin lifted. But her eyes went moist. Libby sensed that Mrs. Zippoli needed her gift more than she'd ever admit. It must have been a bad month.

  "You'd be doing me a big favor," Libby said. "What a waste it would be to throw everything out."

  "Grazie, bambina."

  "No, thank you for taking it. I won't have to clean up a mess later."

  "Where do you go?" Mrs. Zippoli asked, in heavily accented English.

  "She is coming to visit me." Sheikh Rasyn stepped from behind her, carrying the basket.

  Mrs. Zippoli's smile tightened. "I don’t know you."

  "Mr. al Jabar is a friend," Libby assured her neighbor.

  Mrs. Zippoli leaned in close to Libby, took her arm, and lowered her voice. "I think you should not go."

  Libby's heart clenched. "Mr. Jabar is a good man."

  Wrinkles of concern fanned out from Mrs. Zippoli's eyes. "Return safe to me, bambina."

  Libby assured the woman that she would. When Rasyn had placed the laundry basket on the table, they both wished Mrs. Zippoli arrivederci and left.

  "I have to see my landlord," Libby told Rasyn.

  He nodded and walked beside her down the dusty hall, but said nothing.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "Mrs. Zippoli doesn't like strangers. She's nice when you get to know her."

  "I'm glad you have such friends." But Rasyn's mind seemed elsewhere.

  ***

  Libby’s hand shook as she wrote out a check for two month’s rent, emptying her bank account. But her mom's voice rang in her head. What I had with your father only comes once in a lifetime. What if this was her one chance? What if Rasyn was the one man for her and she spent the rest of her life like her mother, alone, longing for what she couldn't have? Could she afford to take that risk?

  Behind her, Rasyn chatted with her landlord as if they were old friends. Apparently Mr. Gray's red and gold Manchester United soccer shirt had touched off a camaraderie. Their laughs were an annoying counterpoint to the throb of blood in her ears.

  The amount on the check nauseated her. Handing it to Mr. Gray was the point of no return. She'd only have two months to find another job. Every day she spent in Abbas would be a day she wasn't here to look for one.

  Thank God her passport was safe.

  "It's time for us to leave." Rasyn took the check from her hands.

  Anxiety gripped her as she watched him give it to Mr. Gray. She folded her checkbook, tamping down her panic.

  "Wait." Rasyn looked at the check. "This is only for two months. You should make it four at least."

  He handed it back to her casually, and started talking to Mr. Gray again. After a moment, he glanced her way. "You're not writing."

  Libby's throat was dry. Even if she'd wanted to speak, no words would have made it out. She managed to shake her head.

  The black slashes of his eyebrows knit together, as if she was acting crazy. Burning heat filled her cheeks.

  Mr. Gray cleared his throat.

  Gradually, Rasyn's face blanked. He looked down at the check again.

  Libby's stomach sank with embarrassment. At least maybe now he'd realize the deep gulf between them. For her, it just reinforced what she'd always known, that they were too different to make this work.

  A too-bright smile spread across his face. He laughed. "I've forgotten the money I owe you." With one smooth move, he tore her check in two.

  In a flash, Libby went from humiliation to anger. "You don't—"

  Rasyn excused them and drew Libby aside. "I've given you your way, love. Now let me have mine."

  "No." She folded her arms across her chest. "I won't take money to have sex with you."

  Rasyn sighed, as if she was exhausting him. "I consider it your bride-price. A very small part of it."

  "Bride-price? So you admit you want to buy me?"

  "Of course, you are worth a couple of camels, at least." Rasyn rolled his eyes. "Listen to me. A bride-price is not buying a woman from her father. It is the money a man gives to his bride that she takes away from the marriage. In the case of a divorce, it is hers to keep."

  Libby tried to understand. "So it's..."

  "The equivalent of a pre-nuptial agreement."

  She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. Because I won't marry you."

  "Ah yes. I forgot that for a moment. Thank you for reminding me." Noble sarcasm dripped from every word. "Let us consider this in terms of your culture, then. I believe I am responsible for you losing your 'best job ever.'"

  It was true. She just didn't want to admit it if it meant he was going to give her money. "I suppose."

  He looked entirely too smug. "Which means I am financially responsible for your pain and suffering. Why not let us simply assume that you have brought legal action against me?"

  It took her a second to figure out what he was saying. When she did, she got a sour taste in her mouth. "I'd never sue you."

  "And I appreciate that. Legal fees can be expensive." His mock serious tone made her grit her teeth. "Only let me pay your rent for a few more months."

  He moved closer and lifted her chin with gentle fingers. She knew she should step away, stop him from stroking her jaw with loving touches. She should get away from the exotic scent that reminded her of being intimately entwined with him.

  "Libby, I can afford this, and much more. It is no sacrifice for me." His nearness forced all rational thought from her brain. "I want to spend time with you. Money will let me do that. Is that so bad?"

  "All right." She hated that she was conceding to him. "But I'm going to pay you back."

  "Of course." His lips curved in yet another irritating smile. "You can repay me from your bride-price."

  Rasyn whipped out a gold pen and signed a check without hesitation. Libby didn’t get a look at the value, but Mr. Gray's eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw it.

  After tapping his pen on the table twice, Rasyn made out another check. "For Mrs. Zippoli." He passed
it to Mr. Gray.

  Libby's mouth went dry. She could only watch in astonishment as Mr. Gray looked at the check. Her landlord's eyes bugged out even further than they had when he'd seen the first check.

  Once they'd left Mr. Gray's apartment, Rasyn handed her a thin piece of paper. "Will you take this receipt to your friend?"

  Libby swallowed. The receipt represented five years of rent. She'd never seen that kind of money. He hadn't even batted an eye at writing that check. Her hands shook just holding it.

  "You know," he said. "My grandmother had gray eyes."

  Looking at his profile as he stared straight ahead, Libby realized that what she'd said to Mrs. Zippoli was true. Sheikh Rasyn Al Jabar was a good man.

  For the first time since they'd met, Libby felt that maybe she did have a chance for happiness with him. Maybe, despite the gulf between their cultures and their backgrounds, they could find a way...

  She thought of her mother, pining for her lost love. What if this was Libby's own chance? Could she afford not to try?

  "I have to go back upstairs anyway." Libby's heart thudded in her chest. "I think I forgot my passport."

  "Ah, yes." He pulled a familiar bound booklet from the inside pocket of his tailored jacket. Her passport. "But I did not."

  Chapter Five

  Twenty-four hours later, Rasyn walked the halls of the Faridah Palace. All around him, the world spun. Maids carried linens to unknown destinations. Self-important tribal sheikhs stopped to greet him. Guards watched his every move.

  If things had been different, all this might have been his. Rasyn shoved the thought from his traitorous mind. He had to put Imaran on the throne, where he deserved to be.

  "Cousin," shouted a familiar voice.

  Rasyn turned to see a face he knew like his own. In fact, it wasn't too different from his own.

  Dressed in a traditional black thobe—a robe with a collar similar to the Chinese style—that matched his close-trimmed beard, Imaran walked toward him with the confidence of a natural ruler. His cousin was the only part of this world that he'd missed while he was in New York.