by Marsh, Susan
It was like being on a see-saw—first up, then down; she had better make sure her next move wasn’t out, Casey concluded. ‘I won’t fail.’
They stared at each other like combatants across a ring, each of them measuring the other.
‘Whatever happens, unsold items can be offered on the open market after the auction,’ Raffa explained. ‘But you’ll make more during the auction, so I’m relying on you to appeal to each individual’s …’
‘Better nature?’ Casey suggested.
‘Exactly,’ Raffa agreed, sharing an ironic look with her.
‘Then please leave it to me,’ she said, feeling quietly confident suddenly, as right out of the blue an idea occurred to her.
Casey stared in surprise at the low-slung roadster waiting for them by the kerb. ‘No Lamborghini?’ She turned to Raffa.
‘No limousine either …’ His lips curved, making her heart bounce. ‘Knowing your distaste of excess, I thought I’d introduce you to my new green baby.’
‘Green?’ Casey’s forehead pleated with disbelief as she stared at the speed monster crouched on the road.
‘This is the latest in electric vehicles,’ Raffa explained, walking round the impressive sports car. ‘She does nought to sixty in three point nine seconds, making her somewhat faster than a Lotus and almost on a par with my Ferrari, and yet she costs me less than one penny per mile to run.’
‘She?’ She should have known better, Casey realized, as Raffa ran one hand lovingly across the flanks of his new motor car. ‘And it’s cheap to buy, of course?’ she said, tongue in cheek.
Raffa shot a glance at her that made her cheeks fire up.
‘It’s very … striking,’ she admitted, back-pedalling rapidly. In fact, the sleek black beast was the perfect servant of its master.
‘Go on,’ Raffa prompted her dryly. ‘Say it, Casey.’
‘Say what?’ She tensed.
‘It’s sexy …’
Yes, it was—and so was he. But no way was she getting into that.
He had decided to take Casey somewhere she could relax, and where they could continue getting the measure of each other. If she was going to be working for him he had to get to know her, and if she pulled off this auction she would be a real contender for the job. She didn’t know it yet, but all the other applicants had backed out by this stage, or he’d sent them home. If one of the others had offered to run his auction he would have thought it bravado, and wouldn’t have trusted them to do it, but something about Casey suggested he should give her a chance. He’d have someone ready and waiting in the wings in case she got stage fright. This charity was too important to risk on his whim. But as whims went …
‘Get in,’ he said, when she hesitated by the car door.
‘Where are we going?’
She was so wary. It gave him a jolt to see how quickly she could change from confident businesswoman to this. ‘I’m going to take you for a well-earned drink,’ he said. ‘Maybe lunch, if you’d like? Well? What are you waiting for? It isn’t rocket science; yes or no?’
She was waiting for courage and self-belief. She was wondering how to handle all the personal insecurities she felt as a woman, with this man who had no insecurities at all, and how to handle feelings for him that had no connection with the job.
* * *
Raffa took her to what had to be the most fashionable club in the city, judging by the fabulous array of gleaming vehicles parked outside. It wasn’t as if they wouldn’t be noticed here, she thought, but Raffa didn’t seem to care. He made no attempt to claim special status as the manager of the club hurried to greet them.
‘Are you ready?’ he said, offering her his arm.
She’d bet the glamorous women entering the club in front of them with their handsome escorts hadn’t picked out their clothes from the bargain rail. It seemed incredible that she was about to take the arm of the ruling Sheikh. But as she did she realised his bodyguards were just an invisible step away. ‘Do they have to come with us?’ she asked. She found them so intrusive and forbidding.
‘They don’t have to do anything you don’t want them to …’
She felt his strength then, and just for a moment experienced what it would be like to have a man like Raffa in her life. She felt cherished and protected when she was with him.
But she wasn’t with Raffa, Casey reminded herself before her imagination ran away with her. He was her boss and he was taking her to lunch. And the touch of his hand on her arm … and his body brushing against hers …
‘Why are you shivering? Are you cold?’ he said as the maître d’ led them inside.
Cold? Did frigid translate into A’Qabani?
Raffa gave her a reassuring squeeze. ‘Courage,’ he murmured, his warm breath brushing her ear. ‘Many of your potential buyers at the auction will be here. You do want to give them the right impression, don’t you?’
Of course she did. And those few words tipped the balance of the internal see-saw inside her back to business.
As she glanced around the exclusive club Casey realised that some of the younger women present appeared to be glued to every word their companions had to say. They laughed on cue, stared in awe on cue, and rarely spoke unless they were asked a direct question. How long was she going to last here?
It would be useful research, her business head reminded her.
‘Could we sit somewhere where I can people-watch?’
‘If you’d find it helpful …’ he replied. ‘Champagne?’ Raffa suggested once they were settled at a table.
‘I’d prefer juice?’
‘Juice it is.’
This was new for him—this woman who could be one thing in the boardroom and a shy fawn-like creature in her private life. He supposed it was his reward for mixing business with pleasure; something he’d never done before.
But this interview process must never become something more. Casey’s innocence prevented it. She was so tender and vulnerable outside her job, and that should never be exploited. And besides, with so much appetite on his side and so much untapped passion on hers, if their relationship ever did overstep the mark they would take off into sexual space and never come back to earth again.
As he watched her moist lips embrace the straw plunged deep into fresh papaya juice, he could only be thankful she hadn’t agreed to champagne. He needed a clear head and all his sternest resolve if this apparently innocent meeting in a club was going to remain the safe side of sin.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘TELL me something about your family, Casey …’
‘My family?’ Casey’s throat constricted as Raffa leaned towards her. Was her family being considered for the job now? She made herself calm down by reasoning that this was a perfectly acceptable question for an employer to ask. It was by no means unique, and it allowed Raffa to paint a clearer picture of who she was. But still …
‘We’re nothing special.’
‘Nothing special?’ Raffa frowned, his dark eyes glinting in the discreet lighting. ‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?’
‘I’m sure you’d find us terribly boring.’
‘And I’m equally sure I won’t …’ As he spoke Raffa straightened up and put his hands flat on the table, where the delicious entrées they had ordered lay largely untouched.
They had a lot to say to each other, Casey reflected, except when it came to their private lives; then both of them clammed up. But she didn’t have the option of holding out on him if she wanted this job. ‘You’ve read my file—’
‘So I know a lot about you on paper,’ he countered. ‘But I want you to tell me. My intention in bringing you here to A’Qaban is to go way beyond the printed page, Casey. I need to know you.’
‘I understand …’
‘And I understand that your parents’ job is a little unusual,’ he said in a reassuring voice. ‘So don’t feel embarrassed.’
‘I’m not …’ His hard mouth had softened fractionally, she noticed, and ther
e was genuine warmth in his eyes.
‘Why don’t you tell me about them?’
‘I’m okay with their work,’ she admitted, hearing in her voice that she had made it sound like a lie.
‘Expand a little,’ Raffa encouraged, pouring a glass of water for her.
How much did he want to know? She had never discussed her parents’ work with anyone outside the family before. How could she, when she could never take a man home to ‘meet the family’, knowing that any boyfriend would only end up as a lab rat to be quizzed and evaluated by her sex therapist parents before being added to their latest batch of trial statistics.
‘Do you know my parents’ work?’
‘I know their work well,’ he said, as casually as if her parents ran a market garden. ‘They’re world-renowned academics; it would be hard not to.’
He wasn’t mocking her, as so many others had. He was genuinely interested, she realised.
‘I never forget we are all products of our background, to some extent, and so it’s only natural for me to be curious about your formative influences.’
‘And about whether I can talk of them without embarrassment?’ she said bluntly. ‘I’m proud of my parents’ achievements.’ She was. They had helped so many people. Except for her, of course. But it went without saying that that had never been on the cards.
‘So you’ve grown up in a loving family?’
‘Absolutely. My parents may seem unconventional to some people, but they always put me first and were very good role models.’
Raffa eased back, appearing to consider this. She was overheating. It was the first time she had talked so openly about a side of her life that, for all the sex talk round the dinner table, was repressed. In spite of the casual way her parents discussed intimacy, she had never found it possible to open up. Her parents had heard it all before, she had reasoned when she was younger, and she knew it would only embarrass them to realise what a failure their daughter was in an area in which they specialised.
‘You’re very lucky,’ Raffa said. ‘Tragically, I never knew my parents.’
His manner prevented further discussion, and she respected his silence. What she had so reluctantly revealed was insignificant by comparison to what Raffa had just told her. It was so totally unexpected she sat stunned for a moment. They had both opened up—perhaps more than they had intended to. How often did that happen? Casey wondered.
‘That’s why this country means so much to me.’ Raffa’s eyes were burning with passion. ‘I am investing everything I have, everything I am, in the future of A’Qaban. I have trained my whole life for this moment.’
Raffa’s words moved her deeply and her own concerns paled into insignificance. But he didn’t need her to be ‘moved’, he needed action—and she was confident she could give him exactly what he wanted if he would give her the chance.
‘I’ll support you in any way I can,’ she assured him. ‘We’re going to make a success of this.’
Raffa stood up, preparing to leave. ‘Why do I believe you, Casey Michaels?’
‘Because I haven’t let you down yet?’ The wry tug of her lips acknowledged that she hadn’t been tested yet either. But she would come through for him. She savoured the moment her hand remained in Raffa’s warm, secure grip. She would run this auction for him and his charity and make it work—whatever it took.
Releasing her hand, Raffa shot a look at his no-nonsense steel watch. This was the signal that brought their informal lunch meeting to a close. There was a subtle change in him, she thought, as if he had returned everything to a strictly business footing. Which it always had been for him, she reminded herself.
They left the club with Raffa’s security guards falling into silent formation behind them. Some people outside on the pavement braved the guards’ stern, forbidding faces to call out in support of their new young leader. As Raffa paused to acknowledge these salutations Casey thought how fine the line was between success and disaster. She had so very nearly been sent home on the next plane, and now she had been given a task that exceeded even her wildest expectations.
‘Am I walking too fast for you?’ Raffa turned to look for her.
‘No, this is just fine,’ she said, hurrying after him. Tilting her chin at a determined angle, she assured him, ‘Don’t you worry, I’ll keep up …’
Casey shivered with awareness as Raffa held the car door for her. She passed close enough to feel his energy and inhale his cologne. Her parents had told her that it would take a certain type of man to end Casey’s self-imposed chastity. And she had no doubt Raffa was that type of man. But imagining anything would happen between them was shooting for the stars, and she was certain that this wasn’t what her serious-minded parents had had in mind for her.
‘I have a question for you,’ he said as they settled in the car.
She had to shake her mind free of the illusory promise of erotic instruction at his hands and focus carefully. He would be a master of the art. Raffa had that sort of promise in his eyes. Shake it off!
‘Yes?’
‘If you had to live in A’Qaban, Casey, could you?’
She gave him her honest thoughts. ‘I’d have to—at least until I was confident my side of the operation over here was running smoothly.’
‘But could you?’ he repeated.
She resisted the lure of Raffa’s firm, sensual lips, only to lock in combat with his stare. ‘I’ll live anywhere I must in order to give the most to my job.’
‘Wouldn’t your parents miss you?’
‘Of course they would, and I’d miss them dreadfully—but, as they quote Kahlil Gibran to me non-stop, I’m guessing they’d be a little bit pleased for me too.’
‘Khalil Gibran? The Lebanese-American author and philosopher?’ His dark eyes lit with remembered pleasure. ‘Do you remember the quote?’
‘Of course I do.’ She smiled. ‘“You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.”’
There was a moment of stillness and then Raffa nodded his head, reminding Casey that he’d been forced by tragedy to be both bow and arrow.
As he started the engine she noticed the scar on his face for the first time. It ran from just below his eye to the corner of his mouth, and must have been the result of a serious injury. She guessed it was a legacy of his time in the Special Forces, and wondered how hard that had been for Raffa, with no family to anchor him. He had hinted at some catastrophe in his youth, and she guessed it must have denied him the love she’d known.
She was gaining in confidence all the time, Casey realised, and a lot of that was due to Raffa. It was time to remind herself that he was a king, and that she was growing far too interested in him.
Too interested? She could so very easily fall in love with a man with whom she seemed to share many of the same goals, Casey realised with a jolt, as Raffa released the brake and turned the wheel in the direction of her hotel.
Having furnished her with an inventory of the items she would have to sell, Raffa left Casey at the door to her suite.
‘And I have how long to do this?’ she said, fingering the thick sheaf of paper.
‘Forty-eight hours.’
‘Forty-eight—’ She almost choked, but remembered it was crucial to remain positive and clear-headed if she was to have a chance of doing this. ‘Forty-eight hours,’ she repeated. Her thoughts might be tumbling over each other in disarray, but there could be no excuses.
‘Sorry—duty calls,’ Raffa said, fielding a call on his phone.
Duty would always call Raffa. She knew that.
‘I’m sorry to rush away,’ he said, touching her arm lightly and leaving an electric charge in his wake. ‘We’ll finish this later.’
‘No problem. Goodbye—’ But Raffa was already on his way.
Wanting to put the idea that had occurred to her earlier into a more formal structure, Casey decided to burn the midnight oil. Late that night, having taken a shower, she changed into pyjamas and called
for pizza and coffee. While she was waiting for the food to arrive, she started making notes. She knew exactly how she was going to handle the auction. The plan she’d come up with would do exactly as Raffa had suggested and make the most of her strengths …
She was on her second cup of coffee when the doorbell rang. She remained where she was, hoping the invisible butler was still on duty, but the bell rang again. She reached distractedly for the intercom, her mind still half on her plan.
‘Raffa?’ Casey blenched. Raffa was not just in the building, he was at the door.
The space between the desk and the bathroom had never felt so far, but she had to grab a robe. Belting it tightly, she slipped her feet into slippers and with her heart thundering ten to the dozen ran back again to let him in.
How magnificent he looked in a tailored suit. Even with the earring and disreputable-looking stubble he was an imposing sight. And so was the team of businessmen and women standing in formation behind him.
Swinging the door shut with a gasp, she pulled it open just enough for him to hear her whisper, ‘Did you need something?’
‘May we come in?’
That was not a request, Casey gathered. ‘Could you give me a minute?’
‘Two minutes?’ Raffa suggested dryly.
She closed the door with barely a click. Two minutes to call room service, find clothes more suitable for a business meeting than her teddy bear print pyjamas, and summon the invisible butler from wherever he hung out. Shouldering the phone, she ordered juice, coffee, iced water and pastries. Scraping her hair back on her way to the bathroom, she secured it in the band she always wore round her wrist. Scrubbing her teeth, she gargled with mouthwash before tearing into the bedroom, where she tugged on her work clothes and forced a pair of shoes onto her feet more or less simultaneously.
‘Please come in,’ she invited two minutes later, hitting the deadline square on the nail.
He leafed through the notes Casey had prepared for him. Her handwriting was bad, but she had bullet-pointed everything, and her ideas leapt off the page. They were great.