Bedded By The Boss: The Boss's Demand / Something about the Boss... / Beguiling the Boss

He chuckled. “I do.”

“By yourself?”

Sara! Shove some food in your mouth to stop it flapping!

“Sometimes.” His dark eyes flashed at her in the flickering firelight. The suggestion she read in them made her gut kick like a gun recoil.

It’s all in your imagination!

Quickly she unwrapped her fajita and took a bite. Elan sat cross-legged on the blanket. The glint of gold from his watch caught her eye as he unwrapped his own food. The strangeness of the situation struck her. She was seated by a fire in the midst of an empty desert, with a filthy-rich tycoon she had a massive and embarrassing crush on.

If my friends could see me now.

She sneaked a glance at him. He regarded her with a curious expression. Was he laughing at her? He hadn’t started eating yet, and she hesitated before taking her next bite.

“After many years in England I like to begin a meal with a toast,” he said. The fire flared, illuminating his face, where she read nothing but goodwill. “To you surviving your first plane flight.” He lifted his soda cup and held it in the air. “Cheers.”

She bumped her cup gently against his. “Cheers.” She took a sip of her soda. The cool bubbles tickled her throat. “And my second plane flight. Though I only barely survived that one, didn’t I?”

“Your response to the plane’s descent was rather unexpected.” His eyes twinkled with humor.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” Her face heated as she realized she had no idea how she’d gone from being strapped in her seat to awakening in Elan’s arms.

His dark eyes remained fixed on hers. “It was my pleasure.” His husky voice and challenging stare sent her thoughts tripping over each other as they ran in a number of unseemly directions.

She took another bite of her fajita, trying hard not to think about him bending over her, lips poised mere inches from her own, his hands unbuckling her seat belt, loosening her clothing…

No, her clothing had not been loosened. Earth to Sara!

Elan did not seem the least bit preoccupied with thoughts of their rather eventful journey as he ploughed through three entrées with impressive gusto. She nibbled at her food and sipped her soda while she watched with amazement.

At last he looked up at her and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

“What?” A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth.

“Nothing.”

“Rubbish. Your eyes are smiling. What’s so amusing?”

“I’ve never seen anyone eat so much.”

“I’m a man of prodigious appetites.” He looked at her steadily, his head cocked.

I can imagine.

His lips twitched slightly, as if anticipating something other than eating. Sara suppressed a little shiver as her imagination started to work overtime.

“And we missed lunch today.” His mouth creased into a smile. The flickering firelight danced over his proud features and made Sara’s insides churn in a most disturbing way.

“Oh, yes, you’re right. No lunch.” She hadn’t even noticed. Food was the last thing on her mind when Elan was around.

“I’ve been starving for hours.”

Me, too.

He leaned back, braced himself on one powerful arm, and rested a hand on his belly. A belly as firm and flat as the desert floor, hidden by his white shirt. She knew exactly how hard it was since she’d been crushed against it only half an hour ago.

His hand was silhouetted against the pale cloth of his shirt, long fingers splayed. It was a hand that looked as though it could cradle the world in its palm. She could still feel his fingers on her flesh as if the heat of them had seared through her clothing and left a smoking imprint on her skin.

The fire sputtered and dimmed. Elan lifted himself and leaned across the blanket, reached past her to rearrange the mesquite strips. He knelt and rested his weight on one powerful arm—like a tiger ready to pounce—as he tended the blaze with one hand.

She struggled to keep her breathing inaudible as his torso almost brushed against her.

He blew on the flames and they flared. He pulled back and knelt beside her.

“This mesquite does not burn as steadily as camel dung.” A wry smile curved his lips as he surveyed her with hooded eyes. She let out a laugh, glad of an excuse for a release.

“I guess it’s not easy to find things to burn in the desert.”

“You learn to make the most of what’s at hand.”

“Did you actually grow up in the desert?”

“Yes.” He looked back into the fire. “We had a home in Muscat, the capital city, but my father usually went there on business alone.”

“Do you miss your country?”

“Sometimes.” He looked at her and an odd expression crossed his face. “It’s a strange confession for me to admit that.”

“Why?”

“I’ve lived here for many years. I left Oman at age twenty-one under circumstances that made me wish never to return.” Hooded eyes gazed at the fire as his quiet, controlled voice mingled with the crackling flames. “I’m accustomed to a life of exile.”

“Don’t you miss your family?”

“My parents are dead.” A flicker of emotion passed over his features and Sara battled the urge to ask more about them. It wasn’t her place.

“Do you have siblings?” She couldn’t imagine growing up without the companionship of her brothers and sisters. While her parents sniped at each other and tore each other down, her siblings had carried her through. She was the youngest and they’d brought her up to be the woman she was today.

Each of them had given up opportunities to help support the family and raise her after their dad had died. While they all wanted to help, she and her brother Derek were the only ones with enough income to make a serious dent in the debts from their mom’s cancer treatments, and Derek had given up so much for Sara already. It was her turn to give back, and she’d better remember that when she was tempted away from the path of reason.

“I have two brothers.” Elan glanced up from the fire, his eyes black, unreadable in the darkness. “I barely know them now.”

The sadness in his voice clutched at her. He turned his head to look back at the fire and the flames danced over the hard edges of his profile.

“What are their names? Do they still live in Oman?” She wanted to draw him out, to learn more about him. But as his eyes met hers in surprise, her simple questions sounded like unseemly prying. Her stomach tightened. Once again she’d overstepped her bounds.

He looked at her for a moment, an oddly vulnerable expression in his eyes.