I Married a Sheik

by Sharon De Vita

  From all accounts, Ali decided, she was probably about ready to kill him.

  He almost smiled. She was the most cantankerous, obstinate, independent woman he'd ever met, with a stubborn streak as wide as his.

  He adored her.

  But she was not going to be pleased when she saw him or heard his news.

  Sighing deeply, Ali stood in the doorway, listening to the hum of machines, watching her hunched over a keyboard, much the same way he had the first day he'd come down here.

  He wanted to go to her, stroke a hand down her hair, rub the tension from her shoulders. He resisted, knowing he'd probably get a black eye for his efforts.

  "Faith." He walked into the room, saying her name so he wouldn't startle her.

  "I'm here, I'm working as we contractually agreed." Her voice was cool and impersonal. She continued with what she was doing, not even sparing him a glance. "However, there is nothing in our contract that states I have to see you or speak to you."

  "You are absolutely correct," he said, coming around the desk to stand in front of her so he could see her. She looked even more weary than she had this morning. "You do not have to see me or speak to me." She didn't acknowledge him or glance at him. "But I do think you're being a bit childish and churlish."

  His words caused her temper to simmer. "I tend to get a bit churlish when someone threatens me."

  "And is that what I did, Faith, threaten you?"

  "Strong-arm me is more like it." She had to concentrate, so she concentrated on putting her anger into the machine she was working on.

  "I'm sorry you feel that way." Absently, Ali glanced at her, noted her shoulders had tensed even further. "Do you hate working here so much, Faith?" His voice was whisper-soft, sending a shiver over her, making her more annoyed with herself than ever.

  She had to take a deep breath and bite her tongue so she wouldn't say something perfectly vile and vicious, even if he did deserve it.

  "I hate that you've used me to deceive your parents." Now she looked up at him so he could see the anger radiating in her eyes. He saw something else as well—pain. He wasn't certain he could bear knowing that he was the one who had caused that pain.

  "I hate the fact that you threatened and bullied me to get your own way. I hate the fact that you're an arrogant, impossible snob who thinks the world owes him something because of who he is." She had to take a deep breath because her voice was shaking and she didn't want him to know how close to tears she was. "And I especially hate the fact that you think women are disposable. Here solely for your use and your pleasure, to be discarded when you're through with them."

  "Is that what you truly think of me, Faith?" he asked quietly, truly appalled at her opinion of him. He stood up, came closer. "Is that what you think I did to you? Used you, then discarded you?"

  She wasn't going to cry. "You used me to deceive your parents."

  "This is sadly true, but I thought perhaps you understood my reasoning. My intention was not cruelty, but love. I thought you understood that." When she didn't answer, he went on. "Do you really hate being here and working for me so much?"

  "I don't want to be here," she said simply, unwilling to explain. Let him think what he wanted.

  "What if I offered to make a deal with you? Give you an out so you would not have to come back here ever again. You could let your young man, Peter, come back if you so liked." He was taking a chance, and a big one, but at this point he had nothing to lose.

  Her heart filled with a mixture of hope and dread. Hope that this misery would end, that she didn't have to see him every day and be reminded that she was not the kind of woman he could love.

  Dread that if she wasn't here she might not ever see him again. And she didn't know if she could bear it.

  But wasn't that what she wanted?

  "I don't make deals with the devil."

  He laughed. "You signed a contract with one, if I'm the devil you are referring to. I think it is a bit late to get moralistic now."

  She considered for a moment, too tempted not to find out what he was proposing. "What kind of deal are you talking about?" she asked suspiciously.

  He was quiet for a moment. "I just spoke to my mother. They were so impressed with you, they've decided to extend their visit for a few days. They've invited us to spend the weekend with them at their home in Palm Springs. We would leave late tomorrow afternoon."

  "Are you crazy?" She shot to her feet. "How dare you even suggest such a thing." Totally enraged, she was shaking. "It's out of the question. I'm not play-acting or pretending to be your doting, obedient wife-to-be, nor am I going along with a continued deception of your parents. It's out of the question."

  "Faith." He took a step closer, and she was grateful the desk separated them. "Please hear me out. This is obviously important to me. You know how I feel about my parents. And I am very, very grateful to you for the part you played in easing their mind and bringing them some happiness."

  "You're not going to soften me by playing on my sympathies," she stated, crossing her arms across her chest.

  But Ali could see she was weakening, and a pinch of hope flared.

  "I understand that perhaps I have done things…said things that maybe you have not understood or approved of, things that, at times, seemed less than honorable, but I hope you will know and believe, that I am a man of honor, of integrity, and I would never knowingly hurt someone, especially my parents."

  "I don't know any such thing." Her voice was not as strong as she would have liked. In spite of her anger, her hurt, she couldn't deny what he said was the truth. His intentions were honorable, his methods were just screwed up.

  What hurt was the truth, the truth that she was good enough to play-act the part of his wife-to-be, but she was not a woman he could ever love.

  For an instant Faith wondered if her anger was really a bruised ego.

  "My parents are deeply fond of you, Faith, and with good reason. You are an incredible woman, and I admire you a great deal." The suspicion in her eyes increased, making him sigh.

  Wonderful. He admired her. It made her spirits sink further. That was the equivalent of going on a blind date in college and being told your date had a "great personality." It was the kiss of death.

  "Faith, if you will agree to do this for me, you will earn my eternal gratitude."

  "With that and a dollar I can maybe buy a cup of coffee." She didn't want his gratitude, what she wanted, she realized, was something he'd already admitted he couldn't give her. His love.

  Why was it so important, she wondered, finally looking at him. It struck her then, like a spirited arrow to the heart.

  She was, God help her, in love with him.

  The knowledge staggered her simply because she had no idea when it had happened, had no idea when she'd let herself care so deeply.

  How much of a fool could she be? Loving a man who'd already admitted he could never love her.

  Perhaps she hadn't learned as much from her mother's mistakes as she thought. Or perhaps, she thought with an inward sigh, she was destined to make the same mistakes.

  "Faith?" He waited until the troubled look in her eyes cleared before continuing. "If you go with me to my parents' this weekend, I will release you from your contract and allow your colleague to finish the job. I will also make sure that Abner Josslyn knows what a fine job you have done for El-Etra."

  Her mind and her heart were still reeling. Once the job was over, Ali would be out of her life for good. This weekend might be the last chance she had to be with him, to see him. It might be all she'd ever have.

  But she wasn't about to make it easy for him. "I still get the bonus if Peter finishes the job?"

  "But of course." He smiled, more relieved than he believed possible.

  "I also want a glowing letter of recommendation personally signed by you."

  "Done."

  "And I want tomorrow morning off."

  "What?" Her request took him by surprise. "I do not unde
rstand."

  "I need to go shopping, Ali. I have no intention of going to your parents' home for the first time without bringing a proper gift for the hostess. And I'll need time to shop."

  Pleased beyond measure that she was going away with him, he smiled at her. "It is a lovely gesture, Faith, truly, but not necessary."

  One brow rose. "I don't believe I asked for your opinion."

  He chuckled, wondering if he'd ever get accustomed to her sharp tongue. He hoped not, it was charming. "No, this is true, you did not."

  "When I do want your opinion, I'll ask for it. Until then, please keep it to yourself. Now if you're through, I've got work to do." She sat down.

  "As do I." Overjoyed, he laid his hand over hers, causing her pulse to speed up. "Thank you, Faith. You have no idea how much this means to me." He stroked her hand, aching to touch her softness. He had a reprieve, a whole weekend to try to make things right with her. "I shall phone my parents and tell them we'll be there in time for dinner."

  "You do that," she said.

  "And, Faith, I would just like to say that it would be wise to remember that we are supposed to be engaged. It would not look good if we were hissing and spitting at each other all weekend. In spite of everything, we should at least try to be…friends. And perhaps we will enjoy each other's company this weekend."

  "Don't bet the farm on that one."

  "What farm?" he asked with a frown, making her laugh.

  "Never mind. It's just an expression."

  "Do you agree, Faith, that we might at least try to be friends?"

  "Well, I normally don't befriend people who threaten and blackmail me, but I have made a deal, so I'll honor it." She sighed in resignation. "I'll be sweet, civil and obedient."

  "Ah, the perfect woman," he said, making her glance up at him sharply. Holding up his hands, he laughed at the storm clouds of indignation gathering in her beautiful eyes. "I was only kidding, Faith. With you, somehow, I don't think the words sweet and obedient would be used in the same sentence. At least not by me."

  "Dogs are obedient. Cookies are sweet. Women are human." She raised her chin a notch. "You'll do well to remember that."

  He felt once again the heat that always seemed to leap between them, drawing them closer, entangling them. How on earth was he going to get through an entire weekend with her without making a fool of himself?

  He honestly didn't know.

  "I'll pick you up tomorrow afternoon."

  His hands itched to touch her, so he slipped them back in his pockets. He had to leave, fearing if he didn't, he'd do something they might both regret.

  Eleven

  "What? What? What is this mess?" Pierre, hair stylist extraordinaire plucked up bunches of Faith's long hair and frowned in disdain as he ran his fingers the length of the dry strands. "Did you use a lawn mower to cut this?" Another clump. "Or perhaps a weed whacker? No, no, I've got it, pruning shears, correct?" One brow rose imperiously and he scowled down his perfectly sculptured nose at Faith, who was doing a little scowling of her own.

  "Can you fix it?" she asked, wondering for the tenth time what she was doing here. She knew what she was doing, but still, it annoyed her. As long as she was going to spend the weekend with Ali's parents, and since she was supposed to be his fiancée, she figured she might as well play the part and at least try to look like the kind of woman he should be engaged to.

  She couldn't very well show up at his folks in Palm Springs in torn jeans and a T-shirt, let alone her hair in a ponytail. She'd have looked like a ragamuffin, as Martha told her when she'd insisted Faith come to see Pierre.

  It was Martha who had made the appointment at this very chic, very expensive day salon where she would be made over from head to toe. Insisted, nagged and forced was more like it, Faith thought with a scowl, pushing back a strand of hair from her face.

  Martha had booked her for a full day's treatment—whatever that meant. All she knew was that she was going to have people tugging, pulling and fussing over her all day and she just hoped she had the patience for all this nonsense.

  It wasn't that she didn't enjoy looking good or feminine, she just felt it was a horrific waste of time and money to do all the boringly feminine things required to look like she stepped out of a fashion magazine.

  She had so many more important things to do with her time and money. Faith blew out a breath and garnered some patience. She'd promised Martha, she reminded herself, and if the truth be known, she was actually looking forward—just a little bit—to seeing what kind of magic, if any, Pierre and his troops could do.

  She knew she was scheduled to have her hair cut and styled, colored perhaps as well. A makeup artist was going to paint her face, but teach her how to do it as well. A manicure and a pedicure, as well as something called a mud wrap. Why she was paying good money to have someone wrap her in mud was a mystery.

  She glanced at Pierre through the mirror in front of her. He was still scowling over her hair. "Can you fix it?"

  "Fix it?" He fairly shuddered. "My dear, that's my job." His chin lifted as he continued to glare at her head. "By the time I'm finished with you, even your mother wouldn't recognize you." He bent and lifted one of her hands. "Mercy, you obviously have found more than one use for those pruning sheers."

  "I work with my hands," she said, snatching her hand back and tucking it under her leg so he couldn't see it.

  "A ditch digger, perhaps?" he asked, then smiled, retrieving her hand. "Please don't worry my dear." He patted her hand affectionately. "I can see that you haven't had the time or the inclination to do the things necessary to make yourself beautiful."

  "Beautiful?" She gaped at him. He was either blind, or a very bad liar. No one had ever called her beautiful before.

  His smile widened and his eyes softened. "Yes, dear, beautiful." He tipped her chin up. "Very," he added softly as his gaze studied every inch of her delicate features. "You've just never had anyone to teach you how to make the most of your beauty." He clapped his hands together. "But I'll teach you, dear, and before the day is out, you'll not recognize yourself."

  Faith scooted lower in the chair, staring at her familiar reflection. Not recognize herself? She scooted lower. That's exactly what she was afraid of.

  * * *

  She hadn't actually meant to buy new clothes, it was an impulse really. She'd been out shopping for a proper present to bring Ali's parents, and was merely window shopping, looking at all the lovely fall clothes on display in the store windows.

  She hated skirts and dresses, hated all that female fussiness, but she'd spotted a beautiful silk pantsuit in a shade of green that caught her eye.

  On impulse, she'd gone in and tried it on. It fit like a glove. Smelling a sale, the saleswoman had brought in several other pantsuits in sparkling fall colors, insisting Faith try on each and every one.

  In the end, she'd walked out of there with three new outfits, and since she had no other shoes but her tennis shoes, she headed to a shoe store.

  As luck would have it, they not only were having an enormous sale, but she found shoes in almost the same shade as her new outfits.

  Pleased, and now running late, she'd dashed home to shower, change and pack her new things.

  A littler nervous about her appearance, when she spotted Ali's car in the driveway, she pulled open the door.

  He was halfway up the drive before he realized she was standing in the doorway. His brain fogged and he blinked. Once. Twice.

  "Faith?" Her hair was down, spilling to her shoulders in a wild tangle of fiery curls. The outfit she had on was a beautiful jade-green that matched her eyes and hugged her figure in a way that had his breath backing up in his lungs.

  "It's me," she said, pleased by his response. She could have kissed Martha in gratitude.

  He took her hands in his, noticing they were trembling. She's nervous, he thought with an inward smile, totally disarmed by her. "You look absolutely beautiful."

  Beautiful. Closing her eyes
for a moment, she savored the word. No one had ever told her she was beautiful before, and at this moment, with the way he was looking at her she felt beautiful.

  She would never want to compete with all the beautiful women he dated and romanced; she was not in the least bit interested in becoming a revolving mannequin for some designer in order to impress a man. She had far more important things to do with her time and money.

  But that didn't mean she couldn't dress up when the situation required it. Especially if this was the response she got.

  "Thank you," she stammered a bit self-consciously, running a damp hand down her thigh.

  "Let me get your bags." He couldn't take his eyes off her. The outfit was neither daring nor revealing, but classic and elegant in spite of its tailored design.

  It was absolutely perfect for her, on her. It wasn't just that her beautiful hair was down, either. It was something more.

  Perhaps it was just seeing her like this, outside of the work environment, outside of her usual jeans. Why had he not realized that she was beautiful in her own distinct way?

  He grabbed her bags while she locked up, then took her arm as he guided her toward his car.

  Scowling, she came to a halt right at the edge of the driveway. "Ali, what is this thing?"

  He shook his head, following her gaze. "I do not understand. What do you mean?"

  She nodded toward his car. "What is that?"

  "This is a car, Faith," he said with some confusion, opening the back and depositing her luggage.

  "No," she said, pointing to her sensible four-door compact parked in the street. "That's a car." She turned back to him, pointing at the screaming fire-engine red contraption in her driveway. "This is a can opener with a removable cover."

  He laughed. "Faith, you are the only woman I know who would call a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar Maserati a can opener with a removable cover."

  She almost dropped her small clutch purse. "You paid a quarter of a million dollars for a car that doesn't even have a back seat?" Shock had her voice edging upward. "For that kind of dough they could have at least thrown in a back seat, two and a half baths, and a two-car garage."