Saved by the Sheikh! / Million-Dollar Marriage Merger: Saved by the Sheikh! / Million-Dollar Marriage Merger

She shifted and he must’ve heard the movement, because he wheeled around and spoke. “You’re awake.”

Too late to squeeze her eyelids shut and fake sleep.

“Yes.” She offered him a tremulous smile, and tried to read his expression, but bright light behind him frustrated her attempt.

“Good.”

Was it? She wasn’t so sure. He moved closer and came into focus. The passionate lover from last night’s dark, delicious world had vanished. Replaced by the aloof man she’d met—was it only the evening before?

Tiffany shuddered.

“You’re already dressed.” Did she have to sound so plaintive?

He shrugged. “I have a busy day planned.”

And it was time for her to make herself scarce.

He didn’t need to speak the words out loud. It was painfully obvious.

But she had no intention of getting out of bed with him standing less than three feet away. She was naked under the sheet. And he was impeccably, immaculately dressed. She’d exposed more of herself than she’d ever intended, and she had no one but herself to blame. He would not see another inch of her body. A fresh flush of humiliation scorched her at the memory of what had passed between them last night.

Tiffany raised her chin and bravely met his granite gaze. “So why are you still here?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to awaken.”

The harsh features that had been aflame with desire last night had reverted to keep-out coldness. Any hope that he’d wanted to tell her something momentous withered. Her stomach balled into a tight knot.

“Why?”

He reached into his jacket pocket.

His fist uncurled. A cell phone lay there—slim and silent.

Tiffany frowned, trying to make sense of the tension that vibrated from him. And what it had to do with her. “That’s Renate’s phone. I slipped it into my belt—”

“You took pictures last night.”

Oh. Darn. She’d forgotten all about that. “I meant to delete—”

“Yes.” His mouth curled. It was not a nice smile. “I’m sure you meant to. But you didn’t. And you assured Sir Julian that you already had deleted the images.”

She’d been scared of losing her job—now she’d been caught in a lie. She wriggled under the sheet, trying to think of how to explain. In the end she decided she’d probably be better off remaining silent, before she dug herself into a deeper hole. What a mess.

“Nothing to say?”

“Why do you care?”

“Oh, I care.” He brandished the phone at her. “One of the photos is of me with Sir Julian—and enough of Renate to make sure the viewer knows exactly what kind of relationship she’s contemplating with him.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Of course, you didn’t.” He sneered. “You were very interested in talking about Sir Julian Carling last night, too.”

“I was making conversation.” Tiffany was utterly bewildered by the turn the conversation had taken. “So what?”

His eyes darkened. “So what? That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

Tiffany drew the top sheet more securely around herself. What had possessed her to let this daunting stranger get so close last night?

“You are wise to be nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” she lied. “I’m confused.”

The silence swelled. Tiffany was growing decidedly nervous. Her gaze flitted toward the door. Even if she made it out the room, she wouldn’t get very far without any clothes. And she doubted she’d have time to scoop up her dress and bag off the floor.

She turned her attention back to him and decided to brazen it out. “Why are you angry?”

His eyebrow shot up. “You expect me to believe you don’t know? Come, come, it’s enough now.”

Tiffany decided it would probably be better to say nothing. It would only enrage him further. So she waited.

“There’s a text message from your friend on her phone asking how your night went.”

The expression of distaste on his face told her that he’d jumped to the conclusion that she’d discussed sleeping with him with Renate.

Damn Renate. “You’re misunderstanding—”

He held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it. How much do you want?”

“What?”

“To forget that you ever saw me with Sir Julian.”

Her mouth dropped open. He was delusional. Or paranoid. Or maybe just plain crazy. That was enough to make her say hastily, “Just delete the images—it’s what I meant to do last night. I forgot … and then I forgot to give the phone back to Renate.”

“How convenient.”

Tiffany didn’t like the way he said that.

“When you didn’t respond, your friend’s texts make it clear she’s decided you must’ve stolen her phone.” He smiled, but his eyes still smoldered like hot coals. “That you’re planning to sell the images yourself.”

“I wouldn’t do that!”

He made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a snort. “Sell the images or steal her phone? Since when is there honor among thieves?”

What on earth was he getting at? She gave him a wary glance, and then said, “Just say what you mean.”

“You and your friend intended to blackmail me and Sir Julian. Your friend has decided you’ve decided to proceed alone. I think she’s right.”