Sold To The Sheikh

When Renée stared at her, she laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t eat any dinner tonight and I’ll punish myself in the gym tomorrow.’ As she always did. Every single day.

But then her whole life was now a punishment, wasn’t it? For her sins, especially that one really wicked sin, the one she could never forgive herself for, the one she would never forget.

‘You’ll have to if you hope to fit into that dress you’re planning to wear on Saturday night,’ Renée pointed out. ‘As it is, it looks as if you’ve been sewn into it.’

‘Oh, darn, you’re right. I’d momentarily forgotten about that.’ She sighed and looked up at the patiently waiting waitress. ‘Could I change my order to something less fattening, like a lettuce leaf au naturel?’

The waitress grinned. ‘I’m so glad you have to watch what you eat, too. If I thought you could look the way you do without suffering even a little, it would kill me.’

‘Then do not despair,’ Charmaine said drily. ‘I suffer more than a little. I suffer a lot every single day.’ And then some! ‘OK, give me the fish of the day, grilled, with a side salad. No dressing. No dessert. And black coffee to follow. How’s that?’ she asked Renée.

Renée laughed. ‘Perfect. I’ll have the same.’

CHAPTER TWO

THE ballroom at the Regency Hotel was a popular Sydney venue for top-drawer functions. Its spectacular Versailles-inspired walls had borne witness to many society balls, awards nights, fashion extravaganzas, product launches, company Christmas parties and, yes, quite a few charity benefits. Its ornate, high-domed ceilings and huge chandeliers had looked down upon the rich and famous on many occasions as they gathered in their finery to celebrate or support whatever cause had brought them together.

Tonight’s cause was one which never failed to touch even the most hard-hearted. Kids with cancer. Charmaine knew that for a fact. And she’d exploited it shamelessly as she’d put together this, her first charity banquet and auction.

But it had been one hell of a lot of work, taking up every spare moment of her time for the last six months. Her social life—what there was of it these days—had suffered accordingly. Even her career had suffered, with her refusing any assignments that would take her overseas for more than a few days.

But it was all worth it to see the fantastic turn-out tonight. Every table filled, and all by people who could well afford the hefty thousand-dollar price tag on each ticket. For which they would get a moderately nice sit-down dinner which probably cost less than fifty dollars a head to produce.

Not that the Friends of Kids with Cancer foundation had to pay anything at all for the catering. The relatively new owner of the Regency Hotel had been persuaded to donate the three hundred dinners required, plus all the drinks and the ballroom itself. Charmaine had discovered that Max Richmond’s brother had died of cancer when quite a young man, an unfortunate tragedy which she’d been quick to capitalise on.

Ah, yes, there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t stoop to to raise money to reach tonight’s ten-million-dollar target, including going without food of any appreciable kind both yesterday and today so that she could fit into the dress she was wearing as co-host of tonight’s auction, a dress that almost defied description.

Wicked was the word that sprang to mind.

How she came to be wearing this particular dress was intriguing. She’d gone to see the head of Campbell Jewels at her home, as she’d personally visited all of the CEOs of Sydney’s top companies, begging and bulldozing them for donations for her auction. Most accommodated her in some way. Celeste Campbell had been very amenable, donating a lovely selection of jewellery. She’d also had that no-nonsense, straight-down-the-line manner that Charmaine admired in a woman. Charmaine had warmed to her immediately, and vice versa.

When Celeste found out the charity auction was being held in the Regency ballroom, she’d related to Charmaine the story of another auction that had been held there a decade earlier, not long before Charmaine herself had first come to Sydney. Apparently there’d been a sit-down banquet, like tonight, followed by the auction of the famed black opal called the Heart of Fire, which was now in the Australian Museum.

Charmaine had been startled to learn that during the course of the evening there’d been an attempted robbery and a shooting. Charmaine had been fascinated by the woman’s story, then totally blown away when Celeste showed her the dress she’d worn that night. It was one of the most provocative evening gowns Charmaine had ever seen.

When Celeste proclaimed she was too old to wear such a dress these days, Charmaine had swiftly jumped in and asked if she could borrow it to wear to the charity auction. She’d known straight away that it was just the thing to get some rich fool to bid a ridiculous price for a dinner date with her. Celeste Campbell had refused—and given her the gown instead! Charmaine had been thrilled.

And now here she was, wearing it, but not feeling quite so confident, or so cocky. Her stomach was doing more somersaults than it had on her very first modelling assignment. Yet she was never nervous these days, no matter how much flesh she was flaunting.

Not that Celeste Campbell’s dress showed all that much bare flesh. Its wickedness was far more subtle than that.

There was nothing at all risqué about its basic full-length strapless style, except perhaps that her breasts were having difficulty being confined in the tightly boned bodice, which was two sizes too small for her. Even that little problem was hidden to some degree by the layer of sheer chiffon stretched over the satin underdress, the chiffon reaching high up around the neck and running tightly down her arms to her wrists.

It was the skin tone of both the satin material and the chiffon, plus the selected beading on the front and back of the gown that was wicked, because it created the illusion of her wearing not a ballgown, but a very skimpy and exotic costume. From even a short distance, the skin-coloured material took on the appearance of bare flesh, with just the shimmering pattern made by the gold beads standing out.

At a glance, front-on, it looked as though the beads were stuck to her nude body in the shape of a bikini. Side-on, where there were no beads, she looked naked. Viewed from the back, the sight was possibly even more provocative, with nothing but skin-coloured chiffon to her waist, a triangular smattering of beads across her behind and a split up the middle back seam to the very top of her thighs. At least the split meant she could walk with her usual long-legged stride instead of tottering around.

Because walk she had to do, right out onto the catwalk that had been put together for the fashion parade conducted earlier during the dinner. The long, well-lit walkway jutted out from the middle of the stage, bisecting the ballroom and giving the occupants of all the tables a top view, especially the ones seated close by. In rehearsal the other night Charmaine had told Rico she would parade out there whilst he auctioned off her dinner-date prize, an idea that hadn’t seemed all that bold at the time, possibly because she’d been wearing jeans.

This outrageous dress, however, had sent her usual boldness packing. Charmaine had been bothered by it all evening. Fortunately, during the dinner she hadn’t eaten, she’d been sitting down. Seated, the dress was quite modest.

But she was no longer seated. She was up on the ballroom stage, peering through the heavy, wine-coloured stage curtain at the huge crowd down below and trying to control this alien fear that she was about to make the most shameless display of herself.

What on earth was wrong with her? She wasn’t usually like this. Usually, she didn’t give a damn how little she wore or if people stared at her, especially the men.

A scornful anger quickly replaced these highly uncharacteristic qualms. Let them think what they liked. She really didn’t care as long as one of them coughed up with a big fat cheque for her foundation.

Feeling marginally better, she glanced at her slender gold wrist-watch and was thinking it was high time for Rico to make an appearance to begin the auction when a very male whistle split the air behind her. She whirled and the man himself was standing there, smiling a wry smile.

‘That is some dress, Charmaine. Are you sure you won’t be arrested for wearing it?’

‘I’ve worn less,’ she retorted, nervous tension making her snappy.

‘Yes, but in this case more is worse.’

‘Do try not to leer, Rico.’

‘I never leer.’

‘No,’ she conceded with a sigh. ‘No, you don’t. Sorry. Actually, you’re much nicer than I thought you’d be, for someone who’s so darned good-looking.’ Which he was. Tall, dark and handsome. But not the kind of tall, dark and handsome that she’d once found irresistible. Big and macho were not her preference. She’d always preferred the leaner, more elegant kind of man.

‘Thank you,’ Rico replied. ‘I think.’ Straightening his bow-tie, he scooped in a deep breath. ‘So! Shall we get this show on the road?’

Again, nerves rushed in, making her want to turn tail and run. Which in turn brought forth a redeeming rush of defiance. ‘Too right,’ she said. ‘It’s time to make those poor kids some serious bucks.’

‘Amen to that!’ Rico agreed.

The auction started off well, at that point the target of ten million looking within easy reach. But the economic times were tough and around halfway the bids began to lag. No matter how much Rico cajoled, by the time the auction had only two prizes left, the amount raised was just under seven million. Charmaine sighed her disappointment. The island holiday Rico was about to offer might make fifty grand. But that would still leave a shortfall of nearly three million. Even if she went out onto the catwalk stark naked, no man here was going to bid that much just to have dinner with her.

‘We’re not even going to make seven million,’ she groaned after Rico sold the holiday for a paltry thirty thousand.

‘No, it doesn’t look like it,’ Rico replied quietly, having placed his hands over the microphone. ‘Perhaps you should have got yourself a real auctioneer.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve been marvellous. It’s not you. It’s the times. People are getting tight. We’ve really done quite well. My hopes were too high. Come on, let’s see what we can get for my pathetic prize.’

‘Now who’s being ridiculous? A dinner date with you is anything but a pathetic prize, Charmaine.’

‘Flatterer. Just get on with it. I want to get this torment over and done with.’ A telling comment, but true. She’d never felt this reluctant to sell herself.

‘Now, ladies and gentlemen, on to the last prize of the evening,’ Rico began again, reviving that Italian accent which seemed to come and go at will. ‘Our lovely hostess, Charmaine, one of Australia’s top supermodels, is offering a dinner date with herself right here in the Regency’s own fabulous By Candlelight restaurant, to be taken next Saturday night. This is a fabulous prize to end this evening with and one which I’m sure will command a top offer.’

He flashed Charmaine an encouraging smile then muttered, ‘Off you go, sweetheart,’ under his breath. ‘Strut your stuff.’

Charmaine rolled her eyes at him, but off she went, undulating her way down the catwalk, doing her best to smile through gritted teeth, well aware that all eyes in that ballroom were glued to her body. Not that she could see much. The footlights that bathed her in light threw the rest of the ballroom into relative darkness. She could see silhouetted shapes but no details, no actual eyes.

Yet she could feel them stripping her in a way that she had never felt before. It had to be because of this darned dress. What else could it be?

‘Might I remind you that Charmaine was recently voted the sexiest woman in Australia by a national magazine?’ Rico raved on. ‘You can see for yourself that that tag is no exaggeration. I would imagine having a private dinner with such a stunning creature would be some man’s dream come true. So come along, gentlemen, make your bids for this once-in-a-lifetime privilege!’