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

Plus, as he turned to leave her she got the distinct and very embarrassing impression that he had not thought she was talking about their next business meeting. ‘I mean when will our next business meeting be?’ she clarified.

‘What else?’ Leaning half in and half out of the car, Raffa spoke to her in a muted and discreet tone that allowed him to get his message across loud and clear: ‘If this doesn’t work out for you, Casey, there are plenty of other jobs in my organization.’

Roger that. ‘But this is the job I want,’ she said stubbornly, holding his gaze for as long as she dared so there could be no mistake.

Sweeping inky brows rose minutely. Shutting the car door, Raffa made some signal, and then both he and the limousine swept away.

So she liked to live dangerously, he mused, turning to watch Casey walk up the steps of the hotel. It amused him to see that she had managed to wrestle her backpack from the horrified doorman already. She was quite determined to go it alone and she made him smile. She hadn’t given him so much as a chance to have the shopping mall closed for her to have a spending spree on him. Oh, no, that wasn’t Casey Michaels’s way.

He eased back in his seat, but found it impossible to relax. He swung round in his seat to take one final look at her.

In fact …

‘Turn around, please,’ he told the driver. ‘We’re going back.’

Oh, wow! She really must stop running around the suite, picking things up and putting them down again, and try to get over the fact that she had been given accommodation that exceeded her wildest dreams by her wildest dreams.

Racing into the bathroom, she turned on the drench shower, getting drenched in the process, before sprinting back into the biggest bedroom she’d ever seen.

Who needed a gym when you had your own running track?

And, no, her backpack wasn’t in here, it was still in the ballroom-sized lounge, Casey remembered, chasing back the way she’d come. She had the whole of the top floor to herself, for goodness’ sake. It was less a penthouse and more a country. Even her bulging pack looked like a doll’s accessory, lying where she had discarded it on the football-pitch-sized rug in the centre of the floor.

Fighting with the buckles, she flung it open and delved inside. The best she could come up with was a white T- shirt, a pair of old jeans and some flip-flops, but at least they were clean and fresh, and they’d have to do. Flinging the chosen outfit onto a chair, she raced back to the bathroom, tugging off clothes as she ran. Stepping gratefully beneath the tepid water, she soaped herself down. This was a bathroom fit for a king—a bathroom the size of her family home—a bathroom lined in pink-veined cream marble with a matching floor. There were black granite surfaces and golden taps. It wasn’t to her taste, but there was no doubt it was the height of luxury, the height of decadence, the height of—well, the height. And there was even a store-sized selection of high end products for her to choose from.

But no time to use them.

She grabbed for towels in her excitement, plucking the first ones that came to hand from the heated rail. Wrapping her hair in one, she almost managed to wrap her body in the other before barging through the door, and—

Paling with shock, she remained rooted to the spot, clutching her wholly inadequate towel over those bits most obviously reacting to the ruler of A’Qaban.

Raffa was currently lounging on the sofa. Surprised, excited and embarrassed, she performed a virginal two-step, backing her way to the bathroom door, conscious all the while her towel was slipping. ‘Wh … who let you in?’

‘Your butler.’

‘My …?’ She didn’t even know she had a butler. How many more invisible men were sharing the penthouse with her?

Unfolding his powerful frame, Raffa straightened up and did the last thing she expected. ‘What are you doing?’ She backed away nervously as he strolled towards her.

‘I thought you might need these …’

He sounded so relaxed she wondered if dealing with half-naked employees was par for the course. But then she saw what he was holding. As Raffa’s cool, sexy gaze remained steady on her face, she extended one hand cautiously to take the jeans and top she’d chosen to wear.

‘Most people who stay here use this space as a meeting room and reception area,’ he explained.

And don’t run around it naked, Casey gathered, pressing back against the bathroom door. ‘Could you …?’ How to make the required gesture without dropping her towel?

Fortunately, Raffa anticipated her. ‘Could I turn around?’ he suggested.

Could he read her mind? She hoped not. ‘Please …’

‘My pleasure …’

It was a relief to turn his back on Casey and allow his stern expression to unbend a little. She was so warm and pink and flustered; she was adorable. Not a quality he sought, necessarily, in his executives.

‘Okay, you can turn round now.’

How piquant to be given permission. But there had been too many compliant milksops in his life recently, and he rated ladies who stood up to him. Executives who stood up to him, he amended.

‘Did you need something?’ Casey sounded concerned, professional, as she straightened her clothes.

‘The shopping trip,’ he reminded her.

‘I’ve got it covered.’

‘You have?’ He narrowed his eyes, viewing the towel she had discarded on the floor. She blushed violently as she explained, ‘I called a cab.’

‘No need.’

‘No need?’

As she angled her face and stared at him with an ingenuous look in her clear blue eyes he got a jolt. She affected him in a way no executive should. That didn’t stop him sticking to his plan. ‘I’ll take you.’

‘You?’

She looked alarmed, as if he had suggested something immoral. His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips. They were full, moist, and slightly parted. He had certainly never wanted to kiss one of his executives before.

‘Why?’ she said suspiciously.

Had he had been expecting wall-to-wall gratitude? ‘Because it’s the least I can do,’ he explained. ‘I brought you here with a backpack and a shovel, and you need a suit.’ He made a gesture, as if to say that was an end of it. ‘Shall we go?’ He looked towards the door.

‘Only if you promise I can pay.’

‘What?’ As he held her gaze he was amused to think anyone could be so humdrum on paper and yet so original in the flesh.

She brandished her purse. ‘Promise me …’

‘I thought Sheikhs were supposed to pay?’ He spoke lightly to restore her mood, but she only blushed again and looked away. He guessed she was concerned she had overstepped the mark and had lost the job without a hand being played. What would the papers have to say about this? he wondered as he gave his word.

‘Thank you. And as for Sheikhs,’ she admitted shyly, ‘I really don’t know—you’re my first.’

And your last, he thought fiercely.

‘Muta assif, Casey Michaels,’ he intoned in a deceptively calm voice. ‘Please accept my apologies if I have insulted you.’

‘No insult,’ she hurried to assure him. ‘It’s just that I’m used to paying my own way.’

‘You should never apologise for that.’ He held the door for her.