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

Oh, she did wish. And that was half the trouble. He only had to shrug to draw her attention to the width of his shoulders. She shrank back as he prowled closer.

‘I just want to see how well you have prepared for the desert.’

His gaze was potent; his presence electrifying. He was toying with her, measuring her, pushing her to the limit in ways she had never been pushed before—and her body was really letting her down. This might be business, but she was acutely aware of Raffa and the hard masculine form beneath his casual clothes, and it was almost impossible not to think of the enormous bulge in the front of his jeans as a third presence in the room. Not that she should be thinking about it at all, of course.

And now tears were threatening. Casey Michaels—businesswoman printed through her like a stick of rock—was in serious danger of meltdown. Because if landing this job rested on her female attributes she might as well go home right now.

* * *

He had never done this before. He took it for granted that any executive working for him knew what they were doing. He had never plucked an employee hot from their flight and brought them to a private office to interrogate them before, and he had no excuse now. Except to say Casey Michaels intrigued him. He dreaded her turning out to be a vacuous blonde. He’d encountered his fair share over the years, and there was no place for them in his business.

As she pulled out the first object he realised with some amusement that she was anything but. The photo in Casey’s personnel file was as misleading as his own official portrait. In fact, if she got the job, Casey’s first task would be to put the presentation of company profiles out to tender.

She believed she had packed everything necessary, but had she? So much hung on this, Casey reflected tensely, pulling out her plastic sheet for collecting drinking water.

Raffa’s lips pressed down with approval.

She held up her mirror, for signalling if she became lost …

The mirror garnered another nod.

Scissors, string and a fire stone for lighting tinder.

‘Scissors?’

‘Along with my Swiss army knife, my folding spade, and my water canister. They were packed in the hold in a waterproof zip-bag, which I have here—’ She produced it.

Raffa indicated with a wave of his hand that she should continue.

A box of water-purifying tablets, six tubes of salt tablets, and an industrial-sized tub of insect repellent, along with a first-aid kit.

‘And a map?’ he pressed.

‘Of course …’ She produced the map, safely contained in a plastic cover to prevent it getting wet or ripped. ‘And a compass.’

She was rewarded by the smallest tug of Raffa’s lips.

‘And the bulge?’

She dearly wanted to look at his bulge, but managed not to. ‘My spare clothes.’

‘A business suit?’

Not unless it was a grow-your-own-business suit, stowed in a water canister … ‘Unfortunately, no.’

‘Well, fortunately …’ The word was laced with ironic emphasis ‘ … we have shops here.’

A flood of heat rushed to Casey’s face. ‘If I’d known I was coming to the city I would have packed differently.’ She froze. Judging by the expression on Raffa’s face, no one ever interrupted him. Which raised another problem. Reining herself in she could do. Changing her personality completely in the short time available was going to prove a little more difficult.

Raffa’s powerful shoulders eased in a shrug. ‘I wanted you here,’ he said, as if that were the only explanation necessary. But it was not the end of her frustration. Raffa was just so aggravatingly nonchalant, while she was …

So out of her depth in his presence?

It wasn’t her business sense letting her down now, but the tension crackling between them.

‘You can pack everything away,’ Raffa said, providing her with a welcome distraction. ‘I’m satisfied you are as prepared as you could be for the desert …’

Inwardly, she cheered. Thank goodness he hadn’t asked her to dig any deeper and reveal the six sets of sensible underwear, the rape alarm, and the condoms her ever-practical if misguided mother had insisted she must pack.

He brooded as he watched Casey pack away her belongings. Her qualifications were good on paper, her work ethic unquestioned, but he needed more than that. The person who would eventually lead his marketing team must show total commitment to A’Qaban, and be a questing, innovative, initiative-seizing individual, capable of working solo and producing results without requiring constant monitoring or supervision.

His gaze swept over Casey again. Her outfit was outlandish, almost comical, but somehow she managed to pull it off. The combination of naivety and absolute determination gave her an unaffected charm—though he suspected she could be stubborn, given half a chance.

He’d take that as a plus, he decided, though she would have to be prepared to travel as and when required, and adapt to changing itineraries if necessary. She would also have to cope with the interior. He’d had the last candidate airlifted out when they couldn’t hack it, and until he was sure of Casey she was staying in the city.

The question was, could she cope with anything more rigorous than a sanitised desert kingdom? He was quite keen to find out, and found himself silently urging her on.

Come on, Casey Michaels, show me what you’ve got…

She was tired from the travelling and shaken up by the speed of events. And by Rafik al Rafar.

By him mostly.

She held him entirely responsible.

She could even identify, with a nose well trained at the perfume counter of countless department stores, each ingredient in his exotic cologne: vanilla—an aphrodisiac, sandalwood—a sultry spice, and—

‘Shall we go?’ he prompted. ‘Casey?’ Dipping his head, he gave her a disturbingly direct stare. ‘I’m going to take you to your hotel to drop your bag,’ he said, ‘and then—’

Her face flamed red with embarrassment. She was twenty-five years old and didn’t possess a single atom of know-how when it came to men.

‘Then I’ll buy you a suit,’ he said, rather disappointingly.

‘You don’t need to. I—’

‘Never accept gifts from men?’ He raised one sweeping brow.

‘I’ve got money with me.’

He shrugged. ‘If you prefer to pay, that’s okay with me.’

She was still staring into his eyes like an obedient puppy, Casey realized—something it was all too easy to do.

Holding the door, Raffa was waiting for her. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Raffa paused just in front of the main exit doors leading from the concourse. His guards, anticipating this, stopped instantly and stood to attention.

‘Welcome to A’Qaban,’ he said to Casey. ‘My country is your country for the next few days.’