People under stress did weird things, and heaven knew she’d been under stress.
She’d concentrate on something positive. Something like dinner. An excellent idea. She was starved, and why wouldn’t she be? Thanks to the sheikh, she’d skipped breakfast and lunch, spending the one getting ready for his visit and the other recovering from it…
And there he was, inside her head again.
Out with thoughts of the sheikh. In with thoughts about supper. Comfort food. That was what she wanted, something as homey and warming as the bath and the old sweat suit.
Megan opened the refrigerator again, her spirits sinking as she peered inside. Low-fat yogurt. Low-fat cottage cheese. Three little containers of low-fat pudding that was supposed to taste like the real thing and didn’t.
Damn.
She didn’t want anything sensible tonight. She wanted something like her mother’s fantastic rice pudding, or a big bowl of macaroni and cheese, anything with enough built-in calories to soothe the soul in every delicious, decadent mouthful.
She sighed, shut the refrigerator door and leaned back against it. She didn’t have macaroni in the pantry, and her mother was hundreds of miles away in Las Vegas, so there’d be no rice pudding tonight. A good thing, too, because how would she ever have explained to Ma that she needed it because she’d managed to let a man she despised turn her on?
Qasim hadn’t just turned her on, he’d turned her inside out.
Damned if she’d let that ruin her weekend.
Forget the cottage cheese, the yogurt, the sheikh. A little Thai takeout place had opened around the corner a couple of weeks ago. They’d tucked menus in all the mail boxes and she’d put hers somewhere…
There it was, stuck to the fridge door with a magnet.
Megan read through the specials. Great. Coconut milk soup. Pad Thai with chicken. Sticky rice. It wasn’t Ma’s rice pudding or her own mac and cheese but it sounded wonderful. It probably was comfort food, if you were Thai.
She smiled for what felt like the first time in a century. Tonight, she’d claim honorary citizenship. Still smiling, she reached for the phone…
Someone rang the doorbell.
She looked up, frowning. Who’d drop over at this hour on such a wet, cold night?
The sheikh’s courier, that was who. Her smile disappeared as she dropped the telephone. She’d told him what he could do with his money but that hadn’t stopped him and now one of his rain-soaked flunkies, probably Hakim of the icy eyes, was at the door with one hundred thousand bucks in his pocket.
Pin money, to a man who owned a couple of dozen oil wells. A fortune to her, and he knew it.
He figured she’d leap at it like a dog jumping for a bone.
Bzzz bzzz bzzz.
The flunky was impatient. Megan’s eyes narrowed. Right. So was she. How many times did a woman have to say “no?”
The almighty prince needed a lesson. What better than to see his check shredded into as many bits as there were raindrops pattering against the roof? Even a thick-skulled despot would get that message.
Bzzz bzzz bzzz bzzz.
Megan grabbed a pair of scissors from a pottery jug filled with kitchen tools and hurried to the door. Bristling with anger, she flung it open.
“Doing your master’s bidding, are you, Mr. Hakim? Okay. It’s time I showed you and him what he can do with—with—”
Her eyes widened. It wasn’t Hakim on the tiny porch.
“Such a warm greeting,” the sheikh said. His gaze fell to the scissors clutched in her hand. A wry smile tilted across his mouth. “Do your always greet your guests with shears in your hand?”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“At the moment, I’m standing in the rain.”
“You know what I mean. How did you get my address?”
“I’ll be happy to answer your questions, Miss O’Connell, but not while I’m drowning.”
She almost laughed at the sight of the man standing beneath the steady stream of water pouring from the sagging rain gutter. Her landlord had ignored her complaints about it.
Now, she was glad he had.
“Consider it a bonus for turning up unannounced,” she said sweetly. “What’s the matter? Don’t you trust your henchman with your money?”
“You’re wrong about Hakim.”
“And you’re wrong in thinking I’ve changed my mind about taking your bribe.”
Good. That sent a little shot of color into his face. “I haven’t come here to offer you money, Miss O’Connell.”
“And I’m not going to let you in. So, goodbye, your highness. Seems to me, that concludes our bus—’’
“We have things to discuss.”
“You’re wrong. It’s late, and you have nothing to say that would interest me.”
“It is late, yes. As for what I might say that would change your mind…” Caz took a deep breath. “How about, ‘I was wrong?’”
“Look, your highness…What did you say?”
Caz cleared his throat. A little while ago, he’d thought nothing could taste as bad as the bitterness of the food he’d eaten with Frank Fisher. He’d been wrong. Humble pie tasted a hell of a lot worse.
“Wrong about what?”
“I may have misjudged you.” Wrong choice of words. He saw her reaction in her eyes. “All right,” he said quickly, I did misjudge you. Now, do you think you could stand aside and let me step into your living room before I go down for the third time?”
He smiled, but he didn’t mean it. Megan could see the banked anger in his eyes. What had happened? Why was he here?
There was only one way to find out. She stepped back and motioned him inside.
“You have five minutes.”
“Thank you.”
The “thank you” had all the sincerity of a cobra thanking a mouse for agreeing to dinner. What was going on here?
“Do you think you could put those scissors aside?”
“Why?” Megan smiled thinly. “Do they make you nervous?”
“Perhaps we can sit down, like civilized people.”
“Me at your feet?”
“Miss O’Connell. I understand that you’re angry—”
“Me?” Megan slammed the door, strode past Qasim and tossed the scissors on a table. “Don’t be silly. What possible reason would I have for being angry?”
“I suppose I should have called first.”
“Yes, you should. You’d have saved yourself a trip.” She folded her arms. Her heart was beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. Well, why wouldn’t it? It surely had nothing to do with the way he looked, tall and incredibly handsome with drops of rain glittering like diamonds in his dark hair. “What’s the problem, your highness? Why would you possibly think you’d misjudged me?” She smiled tightly. “Last I saw, you and your flunky had me all figured out.”
“Hakim isn’t anybody’s flunky. He’s an old and trusted friend.”
“Friends don’t click their heels and salute.”
“Hakim does neither.”
“A matter of opinion.”
“A matter of fact.” Caz ground his teeth together. Why was he letting her sidetrack him? Bad enough he’d had to beg to come in out of the rain, that he was going to have to plead for forgiveness. Did he have to take this woman’s insults, too?
Yes, he thought glumly, he did. He was, as the Americans said, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Megan O’Connell had an attitude problem. Thanks to her employer’s duplicity, he was going to have to get used to dealing with it.
Caz forced a smile to his lips.
‘‘I haven’t come to talk about Hakim.’’
“No?”
“No. As I said, I came to tell you I misjudged you.”
Her eyes flashed. “Stop dancing around the subject, your highness. Say what you mean.”
“I had dinner with Frank Fisher.”
“And? What’s the problem. Did Frank eat his peas with a spoon?”
He took a quick step forward. Megan’s breath caught, but she stood her ground.
“I warn you,” he said softly, “I’m not in a good mood.”
“Good. Neither am I. I take it your meal didn’t go well.”
“It was fine, until I began discussing the proposal.” Caz’s eyes darkened. “Mr. Fisher tried to change the subject.”
Megan folded her arms. “I’ll bet he did.”
“I was persistent, at which point he excused himself and went to the men’s room.” Caz smiled coldly. “He went to the men’s room a number of times over the next few minutes.”
“Ah. Well, maybe the food you’d eaten didn’t agree with him.”
“The conversation didn’t agree with him. The last time he left the table, I followed him. He didn’t go to the men’s room, Miss O’Connell, he went to make a phone call. In fact, I’m sure he’d made several phone calls.” He shot a pointed look at the blinking light on Megan’s answering machine. “But the person he was trying to reach wasn’t home…or wasn’t interested in taking his calls.”
“Why don’t I save us both some time, Sheikh Qasim? You wanted to talk about the Suliyam proposal. Frank didn’t. Maybe I should say he couldn’t, because he doesn’t know the first thing about it.”
“That’s correct. And after some pointed questioning, he told me everything. That you’d written it, not he. That Simpson had promised you’d stay in the States and feed him whatever information he might need.”
“And that it wasn’t going to happen, because I wouldn’t play along.”
“Yes.”
“And when Frank came clean, you realized you had a problem. You’ve got a complex plan to deal with, and nobody who understands it.”
‘‘That’s an oversimplification but, yes, that’s the bottom line.’’
“Well, Frank’s a quick study.” Megan smiled coldly. “It shouldn’t take him more than, oh, two or three years to figure things out.”
“I’m sure you think that’s amusing,” Caz said, even more coldly, “but I’m returning to my country tomorrow. There’s no time for Fisher to figure things out—even if he could, which I doubt.”
“And you want me to save your bacon.”
Caz ground his teeth together. Thank God she’d said it, because he doubted if he could.
“Yes.”
Megan smiled. “No.”
“What do you mean, no? Your company wrote this thing. We have a contract—”
“And you have Frank Fisher.” She started past him, toward the door. “Good night, Sheikh Qasim. I wish I could say I’m sorry to see you sweat, but—”
Caz caught hold of her and spun her toward him. “All right,” he said in a low voice, “that’s it. I’ve had enough.”
“And so have I.” Megan’s voice trembled with suppressed anger. “If you think I’m going to go along with you and Simpson, that I’m going to sit by a phone here in Los Angeles and feed information to Frank Fisher—”
“Fisher is out of the picture,” Caz snapped.
“Try telling that to Jerry Simpson!”
“I already did. That’s how I got your address.”
“And I’m telling you again, you’ve wasted your time. I will not let Frank use my work, my ideas, my—
“Damn it, woman, will you shut up and let me talk? I’m offering you the job!”
That did it. For the first time since he’d met her, Megan O’Connell was speechless. She just stared at him, eyes wide with shock, hair loose in a froth of autumn-colored curls, face scrubbed free of makeup.
He remembered what he’d tried to forget. That kiss. The taste. The feel of her in his arms, of her lips parted to his…
“The job?”
Caz cleared his throat. “The job you were supposed to have, as my financial consultant. Will you accept?”
Would she accept? Her career had just done a 180, and the man was asking if she’d accept!
“You’d still be working for Tremont, Burnside and Macomb at your regular salary arrangement, but I’d add a bonus.”
“Really,” she said, hoping she sounded casual.
Caz named a figure. Megan decided it was a good thing he was still holding her arm or she might have fainted with shock.
“Is that satisfactory, Miss O’Connell?”
It was wild, not satisfactory, but she wasn’t going to let him off that easy.
“You offered more when you thought you could buy me off.”
He nodded. “Very well. One hundred thousand dollars. Will that do?”
“It will,” she said, as if that much money fell into her lap every day.
“Good.” He hesitated. “There’s just one problem.”
“What problem?”
“The status of women in the traditional culture of my country.”
“You mean, their status in your eyes.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“You are Suliyam, your highness. You made that clear this morning. All you have to do is wave your scepter and change their status.”
“It isn’t that simple, damn it! I—”
He what? He was a master at international diplomacy, but how could he explain the culture of his forefathers to a fiery American redhead? She’d never understand it, even if he had the time, and he didn’t. He was expected home tomorrow.
“If you expect me to help you, you’re going to have to accept the fact that I’m a woman.”
Accept it? Caz narrowed his eyes. He was painfully aware of it, even more so now that he was standing close to her, inhaling a faint lemony fragrance that reminded him of the orchards at Khaliar in midsummer.
“I can accept it,” he said carefully. “However, despite your view of me, Miss O’Connell, I can’t change centuries of tradition in my country overnight.”
“Then how can you offer me a job?”
She wasn’t going to like this, and he knew it. ‘‘There’s only one solution. I’ll openly acknowledge you as my consultant in-house, at Tremont, Burnside and Macomb. In financial circles in general, if you wish.’’ He cleared his throat. ‘‘But we’ll adhere to Simpson’s plan. Fisher will fly to Suliyam with me, you’ll stay here and—’’
“No.”
“I’ll double your bonus.”
“I said no.”
“Miss O’Connell—”
Megan folded her arms and began tapping her foot. Not a good sign, Caz thought uneasily. He remembered that from the morning.
“You really have a problem with that word,” she said coldly. “Must be a cultural thing. Here, in the States, ‘en oh’ means—”
“I know what it means,” Caz said, trying hard to sound reasonable, “but these are special circumstances.”
“You’re right. You want me to help you perpetuate a lie.”
“How much clearer can I be? I’ll have to take the proposal to my people. I’ll need Fisher beside me.”
“What good would Frank do if he had to do his running-to-the-bathroom routine each time someone asked a question?”
It was an excellent point, one Caz had been doing his best to ignore.
“No good at all,” Megan said without waiting for him to answer. “Your choice, your highness. Me, or nobody.”
It wasn’t a choice. Caz knew that. He’d known it ever since he’d unmasked Fisher.
“Well? Do I go to Suliyam or don’t I?”
“You drive a hard bargain,” Caz said coldly.
“Is that a yes?”
“Assuming it is, you’ll have to put up with some things you won’t like.”
Megan wanted to pump her fist in the air. Instead she smiled politely.
“I put up with today, didn’t I?”
“For example, you can’t walk beside me in public.”
She wanted to laugh. Not walk beside him? “No problem,” she said, pleased at the sincerity in her tone.
“You can’t talk to me when we’re with others. You’ll direct your comments to Hakim, who wil
l then repeat them to me.”
“I can manage that.” Another lie, but once she was in Suliyam, he’d see how wrong he was to think a man could keep a woman living in the ancient past.
He hesitated. “And there’s one last thing…”
Megan lifted her eyebrows. “Yes?”
“But this one is strictly my problem, not yours.”
“Well, what is it?”
Caz moved quickly, as he’d done in the morning. She knew what was going to happen, knew it in the sudden race of her heart as he clasped her shoulders and lifted her to her toes.
“I’ll have to find a way to keep my hands off you,” he said thickly, and crushed her mouth beneath his.
CHAPTER FIVE
HER mouth was warm as the sun and sweet as the flowers that grew in the gardens of his palace.
And welcoming.
So welcoming.
Caz felt as if he were sinking into the kiss.
There was no pretence this time. He saw her eyes widen in shock but the instant his lips brushed hers, she sighed, leaned into him and opened her mouth to his.
She wanted him as badly as he wanted her.
There was no way to pretend, not when he was holding her so close to him that he could hardly tell where his body ended and hers began. She was clinging to him, her arms wound around his neck, her breasts lush against his chest, her thighs hot against his.
The room, the world, everything but the woman in his arms, spun away. Caz whispered her name, slid his hands into the glorious mass of autumn curls that was her hair. He tilted her head back, exposed the long line of her throat to his kisses.
She moaned as he nipped her flesh with his teeth, then soothed the tiny wound with his tongue, and when he sought her mouth again she moved against him, a shift of her hips so that her pelvis thrust against his straining erection.
Caz groaned, slid his knee between hers and cupped her bottom. She made a wild little sound that sent a fierce surge of pleasure coursing through his blood.
He could have her now, and reality be damned.
The Sheikh's Convenient Bride Page 5