Engaged to the Sheik

by Sue Swift

  “We must figure out how to emphasize the fun, or the next two weeks will be unbearable.”

  “Maybe we can shorten this. I think that Grandpa Jerry will show you the multiple listing service printouts this morning. Maybe you can pick one or two out. Make an offer on something.” Her blue eyes pled, sending him messages at odds with the puckered nipples pricking her lime-green halter top.

  Don’t stare, he told himself. “Yes.”

  They arrived at the penthouse floor, and Selina opened the door of the Carringtons’ suite.

  “Ah! You’re here!” Jerome Carrington greeted them with a broad smile. “I’ll order breakfast. Sellie, your usual?”

  “Yeah, thanks. Uh, I need to go shower the chlorine out of my hair.” Selina left, barely managing to stop herself from slamming the door to her bedroom.

  She locked the door—just in case—before retreating into her bathroom.

  Why on earth had Kam gotten up so early and followed her outside? Couldn’t she have a moment’s peace?

  She hadn’t slept all night. She couldn’t meditate. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t do anything without Kam Asad invading her thoughts or her personal space.

  He was such a touchy-feely person, and behaving as though engaged meant a lot of touchy-feely stuff, not just an occasional kiss. Since yesterday his hands seemed to be on her constantly, and not just in the gentlemanly guise of helping her out, though he did plenty of that. If he opened a door for her, which he always did, he’d guide her through with a broad, warm palm on her waist or hip. If she walked on a set of stairs, he’d help her, even though the stairs might be shallow steps out of the swimming pool.

  And so on. She’d found herself expecting his touch, welcoming it, even.

  He’d gotten under her skin, engendered feelings she didn’t want, an itchy twitchiness that could drive her straight to the loony bin. Why did he have to act so nice? She preferred her initial impression of him as an arrogant buffoon. She could take down a jerk without a second thought, but nice guys—or rather, guys who appeared to be nice—were another story. They presented questions like: How nice are they really? Is there a jerk beneath the nice-guy facade? And when would the jerk show up to crash the party?

  Kam had facets she didn’t want to acknowledge.

  Last night he’d been sexy, attentive…overwhelming. This morning he’d been kind, thoughtfully bringing her a cool drink after her morning run. That wasn’t the act of an arrogant buffoon.

  In addition to the mysteries Kam presented, there was the problem of Marta Hunter. Selina brooded as she took off her new bikini, rinsed it in the sink, then got into the shower. She hoped she’d persuaded Prince Kamar to accelerate the home-buying process, but what could anyone do about that blasted reporter?

  The family by the pool had been the last straw. Cute, the mom had murmured. Selina didn’t aspire to cuteness. Cuteness was for children and teenagers, and her childhood memories were not happy ones.

  She washed her hair, stepped out of the shower, dried off and braced herself for the challenge of another nerve-racking day in Prince Kamar’s company. She didn’t dawdle although she knew that Kam and Grandpa Jerry would still be gabbing in the suite’s dining area. Kam might make her nervous, might engender all sorts of fantasies she didn’t want, but she wasn’t going to run or hide.

  Besides, she was hungry. After dressing, she caught her breath, straightened her spine and left her room. As she’d surmised, Kam and Jerry were bent over piles of paper scattered over the dinette table, with Kam trying to choose one of the several opulent houses available for the ambassador’s residence.

  Listening with only half an ear—who cared where the ambassador lived?—Selina sat at the breakfast bar and poured herself coffee, found a croissant, ate some fruit. She’d read most of the Washington Post before loud, triumphant male voices pulled her out of the book section, in which she’d been reading a review of the latest Janet Evanovich title.

  “What?” Folding the newspaper, she laid it aside.

  “We found a place. A beautiful home. Come see, Selina. I must have my fiancée’s approval.” Waving a paper, Kam winked at her.

  Jerry beamed. Did “Matchmaker, Matchmaker” play in his head, or was Pink Floyd’s “Money” the tune turning him on?

  “Okay, let’s see,” she said. Kam had picked a three-story brownstone in tony Georgetown. Selina tried to restrain a stab of jealousy, but she could work her butt off for ten thousand years and never be able to afford Georgetown. “Very nice. Are you going to make an offer?”

  “Yes,” Jerry said. “We’ll give the seller seventy-two hours to consider it.”

  Glancing at Selina, Kam said, “I’ll pay cash.”

  “But it’s an out-of-state transaction with a foreign national,” Jerry countered smoothly. Was he trying to delay the process, force them together for longer?

  Selina frowned as her grandfather continued, “Kam, you have some papers to sign so I can fax your offer today. I’ll prepare it immediately. After that, why don’t you two throw Hunter off the track even more? If you can divert her, I’ll go to the business center and get this going.”

  Still seated, Kam stretched out his legs beneath the table, smiling at her. “That means that you and I have the rest of the day together.”

  Chapter Eight

  In her office, Merry Montrose cranked up the volume on her speakerphone so she could clearly hear her caller. Rick Barnett, an architect who’d submitted plans for a wedding chapel, had transmitted his ideas to her via e-mail. While they talked, she opened the file. When he finally stopped pitching her, she said, “This looks wonderful, Mr. Barnett.”

  “It does?”

  “Yes. You’re apparently a man of considerable ability. Why don’t you come to La Torchere to survey the property? We’ll be happy to pay your expenses. I believe your plans suit the site we’ve selected, but your personal inspection would be necessary before we finalize our contract, wouldn’t it?”

  “I’ll come right out,” Barnett said, sounding excited.

  As Merry concluded the conversation, she wondered if Rick Barnett was married. If not, perhaps she’d be able to hook him up with one of the single women at the resort.

  Not Selina Carrington, though. From what Merry had heard from the restaurant staff, Kam Asad and Selina Carrington could well be her twentieth couple. Twenty out of twenty-one!

  Merry’s heart beat fast. With the curse broken, she’d regain her young, beautiful persona, as well as her life as a princess.

  No more aching joints! She’d appreciate that most of all.

  Ready to go to lunch, she left her office to see Jerome Carrington approach the concierge desk. Just in case, she intercepted him before he made it to Lissa, her godmother. Close to breaking the curse, Merry wouldn’t let Lissa throw a wrench in the works.

  “How can I help you, Mr. Carrington?” Merry asked.

  He waved a sheaf of papers. “I have to fax these to a real estate office in D.C.”

  “Oh?”

  He lowered his voice. “Yes. It’s a private deal between Sheik Kamar and me. Very private, if you know what I mean.”

  “I don’t, but it’s not my business. You can trust my discretion,” Merry said. She glanced behind her at the business center door, aware of her godmother’s presence. “Um, the business center is closed now, but I can personally take care of faxing these right away if you wish.”

  Carrington looked relieved. “Thank you. You know, I’m impressed by the level of service here.”

  Despite her loathing of the curse and everything that went with it, she preened. “We’re very proud of La Torchere. Our goal is to provide a top-shelf, five-star-resort experience, and we believe that we deliver.”

  “You do,” Carrington said. “By the way, I’ll be at loose ends for a day or two after that fax goes through. What would you recommend by way of, um, diversion?”

  His eyes twinkled. Was the man flirting with her? She gulped, then decided
that if Carrington was ready for love, she’d find someone who’d oblige him.

  Hadn’t she just steered an attractive older lady to the Oasis pool for a swimming class? Perhaps Emma Forsythe and Jerome Carrington would become her final couple. Merry said, “We offer numerous diversions, Mr. Carrington. A number of our guests enjoy the water aerobics we offer in the Oasis pool. Why don’t you try that this afternoon?”

  “Sounds good.” Jerome Carrington handed her his sheaf of papers and left, hopefully to go fall in love with Emma Forsythe.

  Merry went behind the concierge desk to the resort’s business center. With her godmother’s gaze skewering her between the shoulder blades, she unlocked the business center and closed the door behind her.

  As she examined the offer, anxiety overcame her in a sickening wave of self-doubt. The real estate deal between Carrington and Prince Kamar was proceeding at a much faster pace than she wanted. Surely they’d leave La Torchere once the deal was finalized, and if Selina and Kamar hadn’t tied the knot, Merry would have to find another couple number twenty.

  She had to fax the papers to the seller, as she’d promised, but how could she slow down the rest of the process?

  Merry started to fax the papers to the number Carrington had specified. As the machine whirred, her mind worked overtime.

  She finished, and the fax spat out a report indicating that the paperwork had been received by the seller’s fax. “Well, isn’t that just wonderful,” she muttered.

  She glared at the machine with a fixed, intent expression. The seller would fax something back unless…

  Pointing a finger, she intoned, “Fax machine, fax machine, be not my bane.”

  What rhymed with bane? Crane, drain, main. She struggled to create an effective couplet that would work as a charm, then waved an imperious finger at the fax. “Fax machine, stop here now. No more faxes anyhow.”

  Pathetic. She grimaced.

  As she waved her finger again, a young staffer stepped into the room and froze in place, apparently transfixed by the sight of her boss telling off a fax machine with a pointing finger and a stern expression.

  Merry snapped, “Are you lost?”

  The staffer skedaddled.

  Merry went to the coffeepot at the counter and picked up three little blue packets of sweetener. After opening the top of the fax, she ripped apart the packets and dumped the fake sugar into the machine’s innards.

  Chapter Nine

  After eating lunch at a poolside cafe, Selina, hand in hand with Kam, walked along a roofed colonnade lined with shops. She said to him, “Thanks for being, well, such a prince.”

  “Thanks for what? Lunch? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Thanks for making an offer on a house so fast. You didn’t do that because of me, did you?”

  Tugging her hand, he wandered inside a shop that sold art glass. “Not entirely. I like the house, but I am mindful of our situation. Should word of my phony engagement reach my father’s ears, the repercussions could be… uncomfortable.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. He was quite displeased when People magazine—”

  “Oh, yeah. That.”

  “Yes, that. I am not afraid of what Hunter may write. No one in Zohra-zbel reads her cage liner. But if matters went further, there could be a problem.” He stopped in front of a display of red and orange bowls.

  Each looked like the seething interior of a volcano. Hot, violent and chaotic, but with a passion that fascinated. “Then we should limit this, um, game, as much as possible.” She ran a finger around the gold-leaf rim of one bowl.

  He smiled. “Should the seller accept the offer we have made, there will be no further need for the deception. Does this bowl please you? I should like to give you a gift.”

  “That’s nice of you, but I don’t think I can get it back to D.C. without breaking it.”

  A saleswoman interposed, “We have guaranteed shipping. But if you would like, we have smaller pieces as well as a variety of art jewelry.” She gestured toward a glassed-in case.

  Kam frowned. “Should I give you a jewel, it will surely come from our diamond mines.”

  “You don’t have to give me anything,” Selina said.

  “Sure he does.” The saleswoman smiled and glanced at Selina’s hand. “I heard from my friends in the restaurant that you’re engaged. Without a ring, it’s just not real, is it?”

  Selina caught Kam’s eye. He looked as flabbergasted as she felt.

  “I’m sorry.” The saleswoman pressed a palm to her forehead. Her cheeks had turned red. “That was a very intrusive comment. Please forgive me.”

  “No, you’re right,” Kam said.

  Selina dragged him to a quiet corner of the shop and murmured, “I don’t want her pushing you into anything you don’t want.”

  “I appreciate that, but perhaps she is right.” He’d also dropped his voice. “Buying you a ring will solidify the deception. We can make sure Hunter sees it. Perhaps if she has something to take to her newspaper, she will leave us alone for a couple of days.”

  “By then we should have heard from the seller, and then it won’t matter what she thinks anymore. That’s not a bad idea, but what if it comes to your father’s attention?”

  “It won’t. As I said, he doesn’t read the National Devourer.”

  “Okay, but don’t get anything too expensive, okay?”

  His face assumed a pharaoh’s haughtiness. “I’ll purchase a ring worthy of the intended bride of a prince of Zohra-zbel.”

  He stalked back to the jewelry display, Selina following.

  “Let us see your wedding sets,” he said.

  “Oh, we don’t have wedding sets in here,” the woman said. “There’s a more conventional jewelry store farther along. We carry art jewelry, one-of-a-kind pieces by local artists.”

  “Since my Selina is one of a kind, that is most appropriate.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Selina found herself wearing a swirl of gold and diamonds, with an astounding ruby at its core. Stupefied, she let Kam lead her out to the gardens.

  The sun beat on the stone path, and he guided her along a shady trail that wound through lush undergrowth.

  “No one has ever given me anything so beautiful before,” she told him.

  “It is but a bauble, no more than any lovely woman deserves. But you withhold so much of yourself. We men are mercenary. A giving woman encourages us to give.”

  “That’s cold. You mean that I’d get more goodies if I fooled around more?”

  He shrugged. “Yes.”

  “Cold and crass.” She removed her hand from his.

  “But true. I understand why you would not wish to be part of an exchange, but the game you play is still a mystery to me, my goddess.”

  “Game?”

  “Dance-away lover, first sweet then remote, cutting then kind.”

  “I’m trying not to play that game with you. Right now we’re playing Grandpa Jerry’s game, and rather well, I think.” She grinned at him.

  “But I want to know you.”

  “You do? Why?”

  “I like women,” he said. “I like to know how they think and feel.”

  Women in general, she thought, not Selina in particular. She’d keep that in mind. “Oh, you’re just trying to get me into bed. You know I don’t sleep around.”

  “Why not?” His caressing fingers raised ripples of desire along her skin. “Your kiss has such promise. Why do you fear to fulfill that promise—with me? Goddesses should be afraid of nothing.”

  She opened her mouth, intending to deny her fear, but closed her lips before she said anything. She didn’t want to lie. “I’m not a goddess.”

  “All women are goddesses, each in her own special manner. But some women hide their divinity, often out of fear. What frightened you, my Selina?”

  “I’m not frightened,” she snapped. “Just wary.” She stopped walking and sank down upon a nearby bench. Around her, tropical birds chirped, emittin
g weird cries. A nearby streamlet trickled musically over stones, cooling the area despite the sun slanting through the trees. Shade dappled the bench, her legs, Kam’s dark hair. A shaft of light slipped through the foliage, striking flames in the red heart of the ruby she wore.

  “Wary, then. Why?”

  “I had some bad experiences,” she said, wondering how much she should tell him. She wasn’t ashamed of what had happened, but she had no reason to shock Kam.

  “It would be surprising if you didn’t have at least one bad experience with a man. Men are dogs.”

  “I think so, but I’m surprised to hear you say so. On top of that, you’re the alpha dog, right?” Maybe that was why he bothered her. Wealthy, handsome and powerful, Kam was a dominant male to the core. All that masculine potency wrapped up in one package was probably what had gotten to her, sliding under her skin to make her itchy and twitchy when he was around.

  “No.” He grinned. “Not at home. In Zohra-zbel, I am prince beta. My father is the alpha, of course, and my older brother will succeed him to the throne.”

  “Huh. Does that bother you?”

  “Not at all. He is much wiser and more responsible than I am. I am not alpha or beta or anything else remarkable. I am just a man who loves women.”

  She eyed Kam, unable to figure him out. Nice guy or arrogant buffoon? Frustrated alpha or happy second son?

  “Many younger brothers are jealous of the older. He gets to be king one day, tell you what to do, and boss you around. That doesn’t bother you?”

  “Oh, no. I have all the fun, but Denya must one day carry the weight of the crown. He trains daily for the responsibility, while I travel the world, buy properties and date exotic American women.” He winked at her. “But we were speaking of your situation, not of mine.”

  Damn. Here was that itchy, twitchy feeling again, crawling up her spine, sharpening her words. “All right, fine. My father died when I was twelve.”

  “I am sorry. As stern as my father is, I depend upon his wisdom. That is a great loss.”