Undressed by the Boss: Sheikh Boss, Hot Desert Nights / The Boss's Bedroom Agenda / Taken by the Maverick Millionaire

‘Unless you don’t want me to …?’

She stared at him for the longest time, and then said shyly, ‘Thank you … I’d like that.’

‘Go,’ he murmured, touching her arm to urge her on. ‘Go and enjoy your triumph, Casey Michaels. Tonight belongs to you …’

She had checked the pages of numbers so many times her eyes were blurring, but there was no mistake. They had raised a record amount of money—an astonishing amount of money—and she should be smiling. She wasn’t smiling. She might be inexperienced, but she hoped her integrity was unquestioned. Even she had placed a bid for something she could afford at the auction—a pretty shawl, hand-woven by Bedouin weavers. She had been thrilled to find it overlooked in the feeding frenzy for so many more costly items.

Throwing her beautiful purchase around her shoulders, Casey pulled it close like a comfort blanket. It was softest alpaca, woven so fine it would have passed through a wedding ring. The colours of sky-blue and honey pleased and soothed her—but not enough for her to forget that the one person who could have purchased everything in the auction hadn’t placed a single bid … Not enough for her to forget that her heart was broken, or that Raffa was not the man she had thought him.

Casey pulled herself together as members of the team clustered round to show her photographs of the latest mobile hospitals. She was determined to hide her feelings from everyone who had worked so hard alongside her. On the outside she was smiling, as they were, but inside she was cold with anger and disappointment—because Raffa, in his arrogance, had chosen not to donate a single penny to the scheme.

The trust between them was lost. The jolt out of her fantasy into reality was almost more than she could bear. Raffa had helped her grow in confidence to the point where sleeping with him had moved beyond an erotic fancy to a true desire for fulfillment. But now …

What hurt the most was that Raffa had made such a big deal out of her role in the auction. She wasn’t looking for praise, just for him to take a personal interest and join in. Perhaps Sheikhs didn’t do that. But it took a lot more than a bottomless pit of money to impress her. It was looking as if this event had been nothing more than a cynical exercise on Raffa’s part—an entertainment to amuse the jaded palates of the rich. Had she really imagined she was falling in love with him? Had her body really responded with such excitement to every passing glance? She could never love a man like that.

‘His Majesty is waiting, when you’re ready,’ one of Raffa’s aides discreetly prompted.

Tumbled out of her reverie, Casey took a moment to respond. In the heat of her disappointment she had forgotten Raffa’s promise to take her home. She had agreed to it before she had known he would remain coldly aloof whilst tempting his guests to empty their coffers in support of his good cause.

‘Thank you,’ she told the messenger politely. ‘Would you please tell His Majesty that I have unexpectedly developed a headache and that I’m going straight home?’

The other helpers were already filing out of the room, and the man was clearly uncomfortable with the message she had given him to carry back to Raffa, but it couldn’t be helped. There wasn’t a prison cell grim enough to frighten her into sucking up to His Majesty Rafik al Rafar bin Haktari of A’Qaban.

The moment she was alone Casey scooped up the hem of her dress and checked around the room one last time, to be sure she was the last to leave and that everything was neatly put back in its place. She had barely made it through the door before she sensed a storm approaching—and at the head of that storm was a man … She couldn’t run in her shoes. Bending down to take them off, she realised it would take too much time and, kicking one off, she had to hobble away as best she could—with the ruler of A’Qaban in full hunter mode striding after her.

CHAPTER TEN

SHE’D had it with fairytales. Snapping Raffa an angry glance, Casey continued on to the exit, where she threw the door open and stumbled out into the night, leaving one shoe behind her.

Raffa followed moments later. Flinging the door wide, he caught hold of her within seconds. This was not the elegant, restrained Sheikh of the ballroom, but a fierce man stripped back to nature.

‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ Thrusting her up against the wall, he held her still with the weight of his body.

She whipped her face away with a sound of contempt.

‘You’d better explain what’s going on, Casey. I announced your name on the platform, and everyone in the ballroom is waiting to congratulate you. How could you come so far and let the team down now?’

The team? She went hot and cold all over, not having realised the enormity of what she’d done. ‘I don’t want praise!’ she exclaimed, feeling angry and confused.

‘No, you’d rather make a fool out of me and your team, who are standing on the stage right now, waiting for you.’

‘I had no idea …’

‘This isn’t all about you, Casey.’

Her eyes filled at the accusation. ‘I never thought it was. I—’

‘So what did you think, Casey? That I was inviting you to share my bed tonight?’

She couldn’t have felt more humiliated, and Raffa held her in front of him where there was no escape from his gaze.

‘I thought as much,’ he said softly.

Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she turned away. Tears were threatening, and this was no time for a show of weakness; she had made herself look foolish enough as it was.

‘I informed everyone that you were temporarily overwhelmed.’ Raffa sounded distinctly unimpressed. ‘I also told them that you would be back with us shortly, and that you would join your team to accept my congratulations.’

That was not a suggestion, Casey gathered, meeting an iron stare. ‘You want to humiliate me,’ she whispered.

‘On the contrary,’ Raffa said coldly. ‘I want to thank you publicly for everything you and your team have done tonight.’

‘And you, Raffa? What have you done tonight?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You didn’t bid for anything. You didn’t bid one single penny for any of the items on offer.’

‘You should be flying high on your success at this moment,’ he said firmly, ‘and not worrying about what I did or didn’t do.’

‘I wish I could, but you’ve made it all seem pointless.’

‘Because I didn’t buy into your idea? Is that what you think?’ His dark eyes scanned her face. ‘Know this about me, Casey—I do what is right and not what is expected of me.’

‘And I should be content with that?’

‘You should trust me.’

‘I don’t know you, Raffa.’ Still suffering what felt like terminal heartache, she jerked away. And only succeeded in stumbling on the step.

But Raffa caught her.

And slowly drew her close.

‘I didn’t do a thing,’ he said.

‘I know …’ He was making a habit of that lately. She turned her face away, trying to remain immune to his persuasive warmth.

‘Let me look,’ he said, when she winced and tried not to put any weight on her shoeless foot.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Well, clearly you’re not. Let me see, habibi.’

How could he call her sweetheart in Arabic after everything that had happened? This just wasn’t fair. She stared at Raffa’s outstretched hand suspiciously.

Slowly and reluctantly, she came to him. With the utmost care he bent her knee and lifted her tiny foot to examine it. Fortunately the sharp stone she must have trodden on had done no damage, but he massaged the sole of her foot, where the redness was showing, to ease any remaining discomfort.

‘Better now?’ he murmured, looking up.