That got a response! Red patches bloomed on his cheeks. The man didn’t like hearing the truth. Good. She could use that to her advantage.
“Or maybe it’s the only way you can get women to pay attention to you. You know, snatch them up, carry them off, lock them up—”
“You’re trying my patience, Miss O’Connell.”
“And you’re trying mine.”
“I promise you, I won’t take much more.”
‘‘And I promise you—’’
That was as far as she got. He reached for her, wrapped his hands around her arms and lifted her to her toes. His fingers pressed into her flesh and his eyes…Whoa, his eyes! Cold as that sea-ice again. He was angry. Enraged. Megan could see it, feel it, even smell his fury in the male musk coming off him.
She’d never seen or sensed such passion in a man before.
What would he be like in bed?
The thought shocked her. She didn’t think about men that way. Oh, she could joke with her sisters, sit in a bar sipping a glass of white wine and giggle with them over the buns on one guy, the biceps on the next, but she’d never looked at a man and actually wondered what it would be like to sleep with him.
That was exactly what she was doing now.
What if the sheikh turned all that rage into desire? If he were lying above her, holding her this same way, holding her so she couldn’t turn away from him, so she didn’t want to turn away from him, so she could feel the heat of his body against hers?
She felt her heart do a slow, unsteady roll.
‘‘Let go,’’ she said, and thanked whatever gods were watching that her voice didn’t tremble.
He didn’t. Not right away. He went on looking at her and her heart did that same little turn again because something changed in his eyes and she knew he was thinking the same thing, seeing her as she saw him, not here in this office but in a wide, soft bed, their bodies slick with sweat, their mouths fused.
Her pulse went crazy—but not as crazy as that thought.
“I said, let go!” she repeated, and twisted free of his hands.
A moment passed. She could hear the rasp of his breath. Then his expression changed and it was as if nothing had happened.
“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” he said.
Megan nodded. “I agree.”
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Fifty thousand, Miss O’Connell. Surely that’s ample payment for the time you’d like me to think you put in on this project.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “Are you offering me a bribe?”
“I’m offering you payment for the job you claim to have done.”
“My God, you are! You think you can buy my silence!”
His eyes darkened. “Let’s not make a melodrama out of this. You’ve threatened to derail a project that’s of great importance to me. I’m simply suggesting there’s no need for you to do that.” He smiled, and she wanted to wipe the smile off his face. “I don’t carry a checkbook with me, of course—”
“Of course.”
“But I will have a courier deliver a check to you here within—”
“No!”
“Ah. You’d rather we kept the transaction private.” He reached in his breast pocket, took out a small leather notebook and a pen. “If you’ll give me your home address—”
“I am not for sale, Sheikh Qasim!”
Caz looked up. The woman’s face was white, except for two slashes of crimson across those elegant cheekbones. She was going to be more difficult to deal with than he’d anticipated.
“How much?” he said coldly.
“I just told you, I am not—”
“One hundred thousand.”
“Are you deaf? I said—”
“I’m weary of this game, Miss O’Connell, and of your act. Name your price.”
She laughed. Laughed! At him! And edged toward the door, still laughing, as if he were a lunatic howling at the moon.
“Goodbye, your Mightiness. It’s been interest—”
She gasped as he grabbed her shoulders and swung her toward him.
“How dare you laugh at me?” he growled.
“Take your hands off me.”
“You’re a fool, Miss O’Connell. Did you really think you could threaten me and get away with it?”
Megan looked up into eyes filled with hostility. She knew that this was the moment to tell the sheikh that her threat, as he called it, had been made in the heat of the moment, that there’d be no lawsuit because Simpson, damn his soul, was right. The only thing she’d win, if she sued, was a reputation as a troublemaker, and that would mark the end of her corporate career.
That was the logical thing to do.
Logic, however, had nothing to do with what she felt at that moment.
The sheikh obviously thought he ruled the universe. Well, why wouldn’t he? During her research, she’d learned that women were treated like dirt in his country. Well, she was a woman, but she didn’t have to bow to this man. She was an American citizen, and she didn’t have to take this nonsense.
“I asked you a question,” he said. “Did you think—’’
“What I think,” Megan said, enunciating each word with precision, “is that you’re a tyrant. You’re so used to people treating you like a god, to you treating them as if they were your property—’’
“Stop it! How dare you?”
“What you mean,” she said, her voice trembling, “is how dare a woman speak to you this way? Isn’t that right, Sheikh Qasim? I’m a female. A worthless creature. And you are absolutely certain that women are only good for one thing.”
Caz could feel the anger rushing through him. Control, he told himself, control…but this woman needed a lesson.
“It’s time somebody showed you what women really are,” she said, and those few words pushed him over the edge.
“At least we agree on something,” he answered, and before she could twist her head away, his mouth came down over hers.
His kiss was harsh. Dominating. He was a man intent on proving his strength and her weakness, his power to subdue her.
Megan fought back. Hard. When he tried to open her mouth with his, she sank her teeth into his bottom lip. He grunted, turned, pushed her back against the wall; she shoved against his chest, freed her hands, beat them against his shoulders…
And then, in a heartbeat, it all changed.
Later, she’d think back and remember the sudden stillness in the room, as if the universe was holding its breath. Now all she knew was the feel of his mouth as it softened on hers, the gentling of his hands as they slid up her shoulders, her throat, into her hair.
It was happening again. What she’d felt minutes ago, except now it was real. She was in his arms, her body pressed to his, and what was happening had everything to do with desire instead of anger, with wanting instead of hating.
She moaned, parted her lips to the feathery brush of his tongue, let him take possession of her mouth. Of her senses.
He said something in a language she didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. She understood all the rest. What he wanted. What she wanted, and when he angled his mouth over hers, took the kiss deeper and deeper until she felt the earth spinning away, Megan raised her arms, wound them around his neck. He ran a hand down her spine, cupped her bottom, lifted her into him, into his heat, his hardness…
Someone knocked at the door. The sound was like a clap of thunder exploding within the confines of the quiet room.
Caz’s hands fell away from her. He stepped back; her eyes flew open. Breathing hard, they stared at each other like partners who’d lost their footing in some intricate dance.
The knock at the door sounded again. A voice called out. It took Caz seemingly endless seconds to realize it was Hakim, calling his name.
“Sire? Sire, forgive me for disturbing you…”
Caz stared at the O’Connell woman. What in hell had just h
appened? A shared hallucination? An aberration? His gaze hardened. There were those among his people who would say she was not just a liar and a cheat but a sorceress. He knew better. She was only a woman. A seductive woman, and he’d played right into her hands.
Perhaps she thought she could sleep her way into the job she wanted, rather than blackmail her way into it. Or that she could use the last few minutes against him, either in a court of law or in ways that had the potential to be even more damaging.
He could almost see the headlines in the Wall Street Journal. Wouldn’t his enemies love it if she denounced him to the press?
“Sire?”
She was still staring at him, her green eyes huge and seemingly clouded with confusion. If nothing else, she was an excellent actress.
Caz forced a smile to his lips. “Thank you for the taste of your wares, but you’re wasting your time. I’m not interested.”
“You arrogant son of a bitch!” Her face went white and she raised her hand, swung her fist at his jaw, but he slipped the punch with ease, caught her wrist and dragged her hard against him.
“Be careful,” he said softly, “or before you know it, you’ll be in water so deep it will be over your head.”
“Don’t you ever, ever, touch me again!”
A chilling smile angled across his mouth. “That’s the first thing you’ve said that pleases me.” He let go of her, took a breath to compose himself and opened the door. Hakim stood just outside, his expression as inscrutable as always.
“What is it, Hakim?”
“I am sorry to trouble you, my lord, but you told me to remind you of your luncheon appointment.”
Caz nodded. He had not told Hakim any such thing, but his aide de camp had served first his father and now him. The man had a sixth sense about trouble, and the courage to act on his own initiative when he thought it necessary.
There were times it was an annoyance, but right now, Caz was glad he had.
“Yes. Thank you.” He shot a glance at Megan O’Connell. She had turned away from him and was standing by the window, back straight, hands in the pockets of her mannish skirt, looking out at the street as if nothing had happened, but then, nothing had.
This had been a momentary slip in the fabric of time. Nothing more. It surely would never be repeated. Not only didn’t she appeal to him; he would never see her again.
“A courier will deliver the item we discussed to your home this evening, Miss O’Connell.”
The sheikh’s voice was brisk and businesslike. Megan knotted her hands. Flying across the room and beating her fists against that arrogant face would serve no purpose. Besides, he’d never let it happen. He was too strong, far stronger than she. Hadn’t he just proved it by overpowering her? Because that was what he’d done. Overpowered her. He’d forced that kiss on her, forced her to kiss him back…
“Are you going to give me your address? Or shall my aide get it from Simpson?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Let him send a check to her apartment. Let him send a dozen checks. She’d make the courier wait while she tore them into thousands of pieces and tell him precisely what he was to tell the sheikh to do with all those bits of paper.
At least she’d have the satisfaction of knowing his Mightiness would spend sleepless nights worrying that she’d sue. With luck, he’d have an ulcer by the time he finally realized she wouldn’t.
“Miss O’Connell?”
Megan turned around. “Get out of my sight.”
Caz stiffened. He heard Hakim make a sound that might have been a growl as he took a step forward.
“No,” Caz said sharply, putting his hand on his aide’s shoulder.
“But my lord…”
“She’s American,” Caz said, because that explained everything.
“Damned right I am,” Megan said. “And you’re a pig.”
He forced a smile to his lips, as if she’d handed him a compliment.
“Goodbye, Miss O’Connell. You’ll see my courier this evening.” He moved toward her and was gratified to see the swift rush of panic in her eyes. “But for your sake,” he said softly, so softly that he knew Hakim couldn’t hear him, “you’d better pray that you never see me again.”
The sheikh turned on his heel and strode from the room. His aide gave Megan one last, menacing look, then fell in after him.
Megan drew a shuddering breath and sank into a chair. The Prince of the Desert was gone. He was out of her life, forever.
And not a moment too soon.
CHAPTER THREE
MEGAN left work at six-thirty, almost an hour later than usual.
Since she’d expected to be quick-marched out of the building after her confrontation with the sheikh, leaving late wasn’t too bad.
To her surprise, Simpson hadn’t fired her. Either he’d believed her lawsuit threat or…
Or what?
She was glad she still had her job, but she couldn’t figure out the reason.
Megan sighed as she stepped from the elevator.
Actually she couldn’t figure out much of anything anymore, including why she’d never even imagined she could win a legal battle. Not that she regretted anything she’d said to either Simpson or Sheikh Qasim. It was just that nothing seemed quite as black and white as it had hours before.
Rain was beating against the glass lobby doors. Great. The weatherman had predicted overcast skies. How come those guys never got it right?
How come she hadn’t? Megan asked herself as she turned up her collar and stepped into the street.
Threatening to sue had sounded good. Telling the sheikh what she thought of him had felt good. Great…except, all she’d really done was commit professional suicide. Odds were she’d be digging through the employment ads by next week.
A gust of wind blew the chill rain into her face. Too bad something like that hadn’t happened hours earlier. She could have used an icy dousing around then.
Tremont, Burnside and Macomb was a prestigious firm. So what if her boss was an ass? That didn’t change the facts. She’d behaved stupidly, first with her boss, then with her client…
Except, the sheikh wasn’t her client, and that was probably a good thing because she never could have worked with him. How could you work with a man who was so obnoxious? So rude? So over-bearing and demanding and arrogant?
How could you work with a man who kissed you and turned your bones to jelly?
Megan reached the parking lot, unlocked her car and tossed her briefcase and purse on the passenger seat. She slid behind the wheel, started the engine and turned up the heat. She was drenched and her teeth were chattering.
There was no sense in lying to herself. Qasim had kissed her and she’d kissed him back. It had only been a kiss, but it had left her breathless. Who knew what might have happened if his aide hadn’t interrupted them?
She swallowed hard and stared through the rain-streaked windshield. The other cars were blurs of color.
That was how she’d felt when they’d kissed. As if the world had disappeared and only the colors of it remained.
Damn it.
She gave herself a little shake, turned on the windshield wipers and headed into the street.
She’d absolutely made a mess of things, from start to finish. Too much caffeine. Okay, too much caffeine and too little common sense. She shouldn’t have lost her temper and backed herself into a figurative corner.
And she shouldn’t have been such an easy target for a man who undoubtedly thought women were for only one thing.
The truth was that nothing would have happened if Hakim or Akim, whatever the Head Flunky’s name was, hadn’t shown up.
“Nothing at all,” she muttered, and pulled out into traffic, which was even more horrible than usual. Well, why not? An extra hour spent creeping home on slick roads would be the perfect ending to a perfect day.
Her life was starting to feel like a soap opera.
She hit every red light between
the parking lot and the freeway entrance ramp. Okay, she thought, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel. That gave her plenty of time to try and figure out why Simpson hadn’t dumped her.
Could he really have fallen for the lawsuit thing?
No. The Worm was a rat and if that was a mixed metaphor, so be it. The point was, rats were miserable creatures but they weren’t stupid. Her boss had seen through her threat.
He had to know that she wouldn’t go to the media, either. Any action she took that would tarnish the company and the sheikh would tarnish her.
Goodbye, career. Goodbye, all these years spent climbing the corporate ladder.
Simpson had to know she’d calm down and come to her senses.
But the sheikh had no way of knowing it. He’d fall for anything she said. Obviously he had. That was the reason he’d made that loathsome offer to buy her off.
Had he gone to Simpson? Told her boss not to worry, that he had things under control? Was that why Simpson hadn’t fired her, or even come near her for the balance of the day?
Maybe so.
Well, they were both in for a big surprise. Just let His Almightiness try and send her a check. Just let the Worm try to think she could be bought off. Just let…
“Stop,” Megan said firmly. “Just stop.” She was working herself up all over again, and for what? She’d already decided what to do with a check, if the sheikh sent one. As for Simpson…She wouldn’t let him buy her off, either. To hell with the big Hollywood client. To hell with the partnership. She’d polish up her résumé, call up a headhunter, find herself a new job…
And lose the chance to make partner. Simpson saw it as a bribe but she deserved it. She was a hard worker. An excellent financial analyst. Was she really going to let Simpson and the insufferable Qasim of Suliyam make her lose everything she’d striven for?
She was not.
If she could just come up with the reason for Simpson’s silence…
Her cell phone rang. Megan ignored it. She hated taking calls when she was driving, especially in heavy traffic made even worse by a steady rain. Whoever it was would call back. Or leave a message. Or—
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