The Sheikh's Proposal Page 3

And who was this stranger next to her and how had she wound up agreeing to his scheme? Was there an alternative to his outrageous proposal? Her mind spun trying to find a solution that would suit them both.

  As they sped toward the coast, she reviewed her options. Not many, if her word was to hold. Which it would. Her actions had precipitated the situation. If she could avoid a major scandal with no adverse repercussions to her father and his negotiations, it was important she do so.

  Yet the thought of sneaking away in the dark and catching a ride home on the next available plane held a lot of appeal.

  Should she just throw herself on her father’s good nature and ask for help?

  “It will take at least two hours to reach Staboul City,” Kharun said from her left.

  Sara glanced his way, startled to find his intense gaze focused on her. She felt a shiver of awareness. He seemed to fill the ample space of the limo, though he didn’t crowd her to do so.

  Upon entering the limousine, he’d closed the glass between them and the driver. They were cocooned in a world of two for the next couple of hours. She could smell his faint aftershave, spicy and masculine. She looked away, aware her heart rate had sped up a notch.

  Just then the car hit a pothole, jerked, shuddered and quickly recovered, but not before throwing Sara against his hard chest. She scrambled to regain her seat, even more aware of the differences between them. She was tired, dirty and shaking off the fear of the last few days. He looked as immaculate as he must have done that morning.

  He inclined his head slightly. “One of the benefits of the oil leases would mean funds to repair our roads. Perhaps you should fasten your seat belt.”

  “And help people in villages like the one we just left?” she asked, pulling the belt across her. She didn’t want to wind up in his lap again.

  “The treaty will allow us to do many things, including extending our education for all children, build new medical facilities, provide new jobs. Bring my country from a nomadic past into the technological future.”

  Swallowing hard, Sara tried to focus on the words and not the strange sensations that sparkled through her at his tone. She felt as if he’d touched her, when there were at least twelve inches of space between them. The very air seemed to crackle with tension.

  She looked away, at the growing darkness. Two hours. It seemed like an interminable time to be cooped up with Sheikh Kharun bak Samin. Though not as long a time as it would be if she went through with his crazy scheme to get married.

  “I suggest we use the time until we arrive to get to know each other. If we are to pull this off, I need to know more about you than you tried to take illicit photos in a restricted area and are the daughter of Samuel Kinsale.”

  “Will we be able to pull this off?” She had her doubts. Though she’d do nothing to harm her father’s career, she was afraid her acting skills were far below what was needed to convince people she and this powerful man were in love. She wasn’t even comfortable riding in a car with him. What would it be like to pretend devotion? To be touched by those strong hands, be caressed—

  She shut down her mind. Taking a deep breath she tried for rational thought. Just because the man beside her was the sexiest male she’d ever met was no reason to lose coherent thought. She’d need all her wits about her if she was to come through unscathed.

  “Shall I begin? Hello, I’m Kharun bak Samin.” He held his hand out.

  Reluctantly Sara placed hers in his, hoping for a quick, formal, means-nothing handshake. Did his comment mean he had a sense of humor? So far she’d seen no evidence of one.

  His touch startled her. His hand was warm, firm, holding hers as if she was precious crystal. Tingling sensations danced on her nerve endings, causing her to catch her breath. She felt swept away to another level of existence, as if everything before was a prelude to this wondrous delight.

  Snatching her hand free she tried to smile, but her facial muscles refused to cooperate. Her heart raced in her chest. Warmth infused her. She took a deep breath—a mistake since it filled her with his scent. She scrambled for coherence.

  “How do you do? I’m Sara Kinsale, youngest child of Samuel and Roberta Kinsale.” She could have added “classic misfit,” but she had a feeling he suspected that already.

  “Now where would we have met, Sara? Not here, this is your first visit to my country. Perhaps another locale to which your father has traveled frequently and I had an occasion to visit?”

  “He’s traveled all over Europe. I sometimes go with them. How about Paris?”

  He appeared lost in thought for a moment, then nodded. “That’ll work. My mother is from France and I visit there often. I’ve been twice in the last couple of years. I assume you were there sometime during that time span?”

  She nodded. “I haven’t lived with my folks since I left for college, but did travel with them a few months ago to Paris.” She’d been between jobs and at loose ends. Shortly after she’d returned home, she’d landed the photojournalist position.

  “So you graduated from college, which one?”

  She named one of the famous Ivy League colleges, then frowned slightly. “Only I didn’t graduate. I never could settle on a major.”

  “Photography and journalism not being an option?”

  “Back when I was eighteen I had visions of following in my father’s footsteps. I studied business administration for a while—but found it too heavily focused on math and economics. So then I thought about becoming an interpreter—my French is pretty good. That didn’t take, either.”

  “So the next course of study was?” he prompted when she fell silent.

  “Next I tried drama. I even had a role in one of the college productions. I didn’t succeed beyond my wildest dreams. Actually I was a dismal actress. The reviews didn’t even try to be kind. That’s why I question how this plan of yours will work. How can I pretend to be your fiancée if my acting skills are nonexistent?”

  “As my wife, you will be beyond questioning. As long as you can appear dutifully attentive when we are in public, there should be no problem.”

  Her heart skipped a beat, resumed with a rapid pace.

  “I can’t marry you.”

  “That was settled before we left the jail.”

  “I know you said we had to marry, but think about it—it’s crazy.”

  He leaned toward her, his eyes hard as flint. “Listen well, Sara Kinsale. Your actions have jeopardized something important for my country. We are not the richest country on earth, with a standard of living above all others. Poverty and disease affect a lot of my people. I want to improve the lot and to do so we need an influx of cash. Your father is brokering an oil lease that will bring in that influx. It’s the perfect solution and I will not have it destroyed by the flighty irresponsible actions of one woman. You will marry me, you will appear to be my dutiful wife in public and you will say nothing to anyone until that lease is signed, sealed and delivered. At that time, we can arrange a quiet annulment and you can return to your father’s care.”

  “Yes, sir!” She tilted her chin. She was not intimidated by his words, but almost exhilarated. What was wrong with her? She should have been quaking in her shoes. Instead, her blood pounded in her veins, her senses were attuned to every nuance and she felt more alive than at any time in her life.

  So he wanted marriage, did he? All right. She’d just show him what being married to her would entail!

  “So where did you go to school? What’s your favorite color and how come you’re not already married?” she asked.

  She kept surprising him. It had been a long time since someone had done that. For one moment when he challenged her he’d thought she’d quail under his glare. But that little chin came right up and she stood up for herself. If they’d been standing he had no doubt she would have stood toe-to-toe with him, tilting that stubborn chin and glaring at him with silver eyes.

  Jasmine’s idea had been ludicrous, but the longer he lived with it, the longe
r he was around Sara Kinsale, the more it grew on him. At the very least, it wouldn’t be a boring marriage—however short.

  He almost grinned at the surprise he envisioned on his aunt’s face when she met his future bride. His uncle’s wife liked to think she ruled the family. While always courteous and polite, Kharun was ruled by no one—especially his aunt who would have been happy living in the early days of the last century.

  There would also be the possible added bonus of getting the country more firmly on his side. People always were drawn to the romantic, he thought cynically, wondering how they could put a positive spin on the situation. And counter the rumors Garh would be sure to spread.

  “I attended Eton then Harvard, finishing with a graduate degree of business at Wharton in Pennsylvania,” he said as he became aware she was waiting for his response.

  “Oh.” She sat back in her seat, eyeing him with a hint of respect—the first he’d seen in her gaze.

  “My favorite color is green.” Though silver might be moving up to the top spot. “And why I have not married is none of your business. Neither have you. Do you want to tell me why?”

  She opened her mouth and he almost held his breath, wondering what she would come out with. When she snapped it shut and shook her head, he was disappointed.

  “Did you know green is the color most likely to be a favorite of geniuses? Are you super smart?”

  He questioned that, giving his plan to follow his sister’s suggestion.

  “Your favorite color?” he asked.

  “Blue. Favorite ice cream is vanilla, boring, I know, but I love it. Favorite TV show is ‘Star Trek,’ any rendition that comes on. Favorite food is chocolate—made any way and every way it can be. I’ve been supporting myself since I left college. And I don’t have any pets, though I always wished we could have a dog.”

  “Do you ride?”

  She nodded. “Finest lessons to be had. Do you?”

  “Yes. I have a couple of horses. Maybe we’ll find we have something in common after all.”

  “We don’t need anything in common. This is temporary. How long do you think it’ll take to sign that deal? If you sign soon, we don’t even have to get married.”

  “I have no way of knowing how long it’ll take. If everything goes smoothly, another few weeks. If we run into complications, it could take longer. We’ve already been in negotiations for four months.”

  “Four months! Good grief, what’s the holdup? I mean, don’t you read the terms, agree or disagree, hammer them out and sign the darn thing?”

  “It’s a bit more complex than that. And having an American spy thrown into the mix doesn’t help.”

  “I’m not a spy,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “I would have thought a spy more adept at blending in, if nothing else.” He glanced at her hair, still fascinated by it. His fingers itched to test its softness. He wondered if he twirled a curl around a finger if it would cling. “Your hair sets you apart from most of the people in the country. You would have done better to wear a hat or dye your hair.”

  “Look, I’ll make you a deal. You stop referring to me being a spy and I’ll do my best to be an adoring fiancée.”

  “Wife,” he reminded her.

  “Fine! Wife for as long as it takes to sign the blasted treaty.”

  His cell phone rang. Kharun flipped it open and heard his sister’s voice.

  “So, what happened?” Jasmine asked with no ceremony.

  “My fiancée and I are on our way to my villa as we speak. There’s been a slight change in the plans, however. Garh Sonharh found out about our visitor and began to question our relationship. We will be married immediately.”

  Jasmine audibly gasped. “You’re kidding. You’re not going to actually marry the woman! Kharun, that’s even more stupid than my original idea. An engagement is one thing—but marriage?”

  “It is settled. We shall meet the rest of the family in the morning. Tonight would not be auspicious.” He glanced at Sara, taking in the rumpled and stained clothing, the tiredness around her eyes, and the glare that met his gaze.

  “I’m sorry I suggested the idea. You should listen to Piers, his idea made more sense,” Jasmine said.

  “We have settled the matter.”

  “You always were headstrong. Why not stick with the engagement and to hell with Garh? Or let her stay in jail. It’s not worth risking your future.”

  “I can take care of my future. I’ll call you in the morning, Jasmine.”

  “I thought you were taking me to the hotel,” Sara said as soon as he’d disconnected.

  “Perhaps I shall do that in the morning.”

  “In the morning? I want to go tonight!”

  “Looking like you do? Wouldn’t there be a question or two about where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing?” he asked silkily.

  “I thought you were concerned about my parents worrying about me,” she tried.

  “My secretary has already phoned them to assure them you are well—and with me. What’s more natural than lovers who haven’t seen each other in months to wish to be reunited?”

  “Lovers?” She almost squeaked the word.

  He had not thought beyond the ceremony that would join them in marriage. He had not thought about the reality after their vows. Now he considered how difficult it might prove to be to ignore this woman when she was living in close proximity.

  Her turn of mind already intrigued him. Her blond, silky hair drew his gaze time after time, and he found himself deliberately saying things to annoy her just to see the sparkle in her eyes.

  She had passion in her. Would that passion carry over to bed? Would she be hot and wild and as captivating as Sheherazade?

  For the right man, he had no doubt. Did she even suspect the direction of his thoughts? Was she having similar ones?

  “We’re not lovers!” she said.

  “We could be.”

  “In your dreams.”

  “Time will tell.”

  “Hold on a minute. If you think getting married gives you the right to share my bed, we need to talk about this some more.”

  “It does give me the right. Whether I exercise that right or not remains to be seen.”

  “I have some say in this.”

  “Of course. The same vows give you the right to my bed.”

  “Oh.”

  She leaned back in her seat, her eyes wide, staring into space as if she’d just realized the full implication.

  Kharun watched her in the dim illumination. She looked lost and lonely and stunned with the thought. And imminently kissable. His gaze focused on her lips, damp from her tongue, faintly pink and full. What would she taste like? How would she respond if he pulled her into his arms and kissed her? Could he spark all that passion and have it focused on him?

  “You stay out of my bed and I’ll stay out of yours,” she said at long last.

  “Shall we continue our briefing?” He didn’t agree with her suggestion. Had she noticed? Apparently not, she continued with a litany of likes and dislikes, of vignettes of family life and friends. He settled back to watch her, enjoying the play of emotions across her face. And he continued to fantasize about threading his hands in that silky hair and coaxing curls around his fingers.

  It was long after dark when they arrived at his villa. A few miles outside of Staboul City, it hugged the sea. Seventeen acres of privacy, with a beach that he too rarely used. It had been a legacy to him from his father upon his death. He had offered his mother free access for her life and she sometimes resided with him for weeks at a time. Always leaving when the memories became too much and she needed a change of scenery.

  For a moment he remembered how happy his parents had been in their marriage. Had his grandparents opposed the match? He’d never heard, but often wondered if they had approved of their son marrying a foreigner. Born in France, his mother had been raised in Morocco. She loved the desert, loved the culture and had adored his father.
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  His aunt had never fully accepted her sister-in-law. He had no doubts how she would react to his marriage to Sara. It was best done quickly. They could excuse the lack of celebration and ceremony to the untimely death of his father six months ago. His family was still in mourning.

  “I smell the sea,” Sara said.

  “My house is on the beach. You can swim in the sea every day if you wish. Just make sure someone is around in case you get into trouble.” During her recital of likes and dislikes, she’d revealed how much she loved the ocean. If nothing else, she should be content living here until they annulled their marriage.

  He had made a quick call to his housekeeper when they’d been halfway home, requesting she make up a guest suite for his fiancée. She’d informed him of his mother’s arrival. While he could have used another day or two before presenting Sara to his family, it wasn’t all bad his mother was already in residence. He’d need all the allies he could get to pull this off. Jasmine would help. Now he’d have his mother on his side.

  If only his aunt had taken a quick trip somewhere.

  But life never ran smoothly. Look at the situation he was presently in.

  “Wow, is that yours?” Sara gazed at the house, lit up from top to bottom as it awaited the return of its master.

  “It is.”

  “It looks like a French villa, or something on the Spanish Riviera, not Arabian.”

  “My father built it for my mother. She is French. It is a good thing your French is excellent. She’ll love conversing in her native tongue. She learned Arabic, of course, but I know she misses her first language.”

  “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. It’s one thing to fool your ministers, but your mother?”

  “Your parents, too.”

  She looked at him. “I thought I could at least explain—”

  He shook his head. “Unwise. One wrong word and the entire situation would blow up in our faces. I’d lose whatever steps I’ve gained and the lease negotiations would be crushed. Only you, me and Jasmine will know the truth.”

  “Jasmine is your sister. Why can’t I tell someone in my family?”

  “No.”

  The car slid to a stop before the large double doors. They were opened wide and a woman dressed in a uniform stood quietly to one side.