The Sheikh's Convenient Bride

“Be careful,” he said softly, “or before you know it, you’ll be in water so deep it will be over your head.”

“Don’t you ever, ever, touch me again!”

A chilling smile angled across his mouth. “That’s the first thing you’ve said that pleases me.” He let go of her, took a breath to compose himself and opened the door. Hakim stood just outside, his expression as inscrutable as always.

“What is it, Hakim?”

“I am sorry to trouble you, my lord, but you told me to remind you of your luncheon appointment.”

Caz nodded. He had not told Hakim any such thing, but his aide de camp had served first his father and now him. The man had a sixth sense about trouble, and the courage to act on his own initiative when he thought it necessary.

There were times it was an annoyance, but right now, Caz was glad he had.

“Yes. Thank you.” He shot a glance at Megan O’Connell. She had turned away from him and was standing by the window, back straight, hands in the pockets of her mannish skirt, looking out at the street as if nothing had happened, but then, nothing had.

This had been a momentary slip in the fabric of time. Nothing more. It surely would never be repeated. Not only didn’t she appeal to him; he would never see her again.

“A courier will deliver the item we discussed to your home this evening, Miss O’Connell.”

The sheikh’s voice was brisk and businesslike. Megan knotted her hands. Flying across the room and beating her fists against that arrogant face would serve no purpose. Besides, he’d never let it happen. He was too strong, far stronger than she. Hadn’t he just proved it by overpowering her? Because that was what he’d done. Overpowered her. He’d forced that kiss on her, forced her to kiss him back…

“Are you going to give me your address? Or shall my aide get it from Simpson?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Let him send a check to her apartment. Let him send a dozen checks. She’d make the courier wait while she tore them into thousands of pieces and tell him precisely what he was to tell the sheikh to do with all those bits of paper.

At least she’d have the satisfaction of knowing his Mightiness would spend sleepless nights worrying that she’d sue. With luck, he’d have an ulcer by the time he finally realized she wouldn’t.

“Miss O’Connell?”

Megan turned around. “Get out of my sight.”

Caz stiffened. He heard Hakim make a sound that might have been a growl as he took a step forward.

“No,” Caz said sharply, putting his hand on his aide’s shoulder.

“But my lord…”

“She’s American,” Caz said, because that explained everything.

“Damned right I am,” Megan said. “And you’re a pig.”

He forced a smile to his lips, as if she’d handed him a compliment.

“Goodbye, Miss O’Connell. You’ll see my courier this evening.” He moved toward her and was gratified to see the swift rush of panic in her eyes. “But for your sake,” he said softly, so softly that he knew Hakim couldn’t hear him, “you’d better pray that you never see me again.”

The sheikh turned on his heel and strode from the room. His aide gave Megan one last, menacing look, then fell in after him.

Megan drew a shuddering breath and sank into a chair. The Prince of the Desert was gone. He was out of her life, forever.

And not a moment too soon.

CHAPTER THREE

MEGAN left work at six-thirty, almost an hour later than usual.

Since she’d expected to be quick-marched out of the building after her confrontation with the sheikh, leaving late wasn’t too bad.

To her surprise, Simpson hadn’t fired her. Either he’d believed her lawsuit threat or…

Or what?

She was glad she still had her job, but she couldn’t figure out the reason.

Megan sighed as she stepped from the elevator.

Actually she couldn’t figure out much of anything anymore, including why she’d never even imagined she could win a legal battle. Not that she regretted anything she’d said to either Simpson or Sheikh Qasim. It was just that nothing seemed quite as black and white as it had hours before.

Rain was beating against the glass lobby doors. Great. The weatherman had predicted overcast skies. How come those guys never got it right?

How come she hadn’t? Megan asked herself as she turned up her collar and stepped into the street.

Threatening to sue had sounded good. Telling the sheikh what she thought of him had felt good. Great…except, all she’d really done was commit professional suicide. Odds were she’d be digging through the employment ads by next week.

A gust of wind blew the chill rain into her face. Too bad something like that hadn’t happened hours earlier. She could have used an icy dousing around then.

Tremont, Burnside and Macomb was a prestigious firm. So what if her boss was an ass? That didn’t change the facts. She’d behaved stupidly, first with her boss, then with her client…

Except, the sheikh wasn’t her client, and that was probably a good thing because she never could have worked with him. How could you work with a man who was so obnoxious? So rude? So over-bearing and demanding and arrogant?

How could you work with a man who kissed you and turned your bones to jelly?

Megan reached the parking lot, unlocked her car and tossed her briefcase and purse on the passenger seat. She slid behind the wheel, started the engine and turned up the heat. She was drenched and her teeth were chattering.

There was no sense in lying to herself. Qasim had kissed her and she’d kissed him back. It had only been a kiss, but it had left her breathless. Who knew what might have happened if his aide hadn’t interrupted them?

She swallowed hard and stared through the rain-streaked windshield. The other cars were blurs of color.

That was how she’d felt when they’d kissed. As if the world had disappeared and only the colors of it remained.

Damn it.

She gave herself a little shake, turned on the windshield wipers and headed into the street.

She’d absolutely made a mess of things, from start to finish. Too much caffeine. Okay, too much caffeine and too little common sense. She shouldn’t have lost her temper and backed herself into a figurative corner.

And she shouldn’t have been such an easy target for a man who undoubtedly thought women were for only one thing.

The truth was that nothing would have happened if Hakim or Akim, whatever the Head Flunky’s name was, hadn’t shown up.