The Sheikh's Proposal Page 4

  “Let’s see if your acting skills have improved since college days,” he said as the chauffeur opened the back door.

  Sara climbed out, stiff and awkward.

  Kharun spoke in Arabic when he asked if Sara’s rooms were ready and Aminna responded in the affirmative. His housekeeper was efficient and discreet. And loyal—having been with his parents long before he inherited her services along with the villa.

  “Your mother has already retired. I didn’t know when you’d be home, so did not inform her of your guest,” the older woman said.

  “Well done, Aminna. Time enough in the morning.”

  He placed his hand in the small of Sara’s back and urged her into the house. “I’ll take you to your room,” he said in English.

  Sara had the impression of space as they hurried down the hallway in the direction he indicated. She’d barely glanced into the entrance, or the rooms beyond, though all were lighted. The ceilings were high. The terrazzo floors were cool beneath her feet and the walls were white, adding to the impression of space. The hall itself was wide, with doors opening off it here and there.

  She couldn’t take it all in at the pace he directed. Or with the tingling that had begun when his hand touched her back. She could barely walk! Fatigue had to be the cause. She’d not slept well the last two nights. For one foolish moment, she wanted to lean into that hand, rest against the strong shoulders that were so temptingly near.

  Realizing how dumb the idea was, she stepped out of reach, but the tingling awareness lingered.

  “If you just tell me which room is mine, I’ll be fine.”

  He opened a door, and stepped aside for her to enter.

  The bedroom was like a fairy-tale setting. French doors opened onto a veranda. The breeze from the sea billowed the gauzy curtains. The bed was huge, dominating one wall, with netting draped enticingly around it as if waiting to shelter a princess.

  A small sitting area was carved out of one side. Beyond the bed a door stood open to a luxuriously appointed bathroom.

  “A hot shower sounds wonderful,” Sara said as her gaze skimmed across the furnishings, the cool floor beneath. What a dramatic change from the cell she’d inhabited for two nights.

  “I’ll make sure Aminna has something brought in for you to wear,” Kharun said. “Please ring if you need anything.” He stepped back into the hall, closing the door behind him.

  Sara almost danced across the room. It was heavenly—and a light-year away from the tiny, dusty cell she’d been in that afternoon. She went to the French doors and peered outside. Flowers bloomed near the terrace, a path led away—to the sea?

  She turned back. Time enough tomorrow to go exploring. Right now, she wanted that hot shower!

  Stripping as she walked, she headed directly for the bathroom. She closed the door behind her and in seconds stood beneath the hot spray, relishing the feel of the water slipping over her body. Slowly she washed her hair, soaped her dusty skin.

  As the warm water caressed her skin, her tired, traitorous mind imagined Kharun’s hands caressing her body in a similar fashion, following the curves, touching her breasts, learning every inch of her. The heat that built within at the rampant thoughts matched the heat of the water.

  A cold shower would be better, she thought, shampooing her hair for the second time. She wanted all trace of her recent experience expunged completely! She’d do better to spend her time thinking how to explain the situation to her father than imagining Kharun’s hands roaming.

  She wasn’t usually given to flights of fancy. This was a platonic situation—forged from necessity, not need or want or desire. And she’d best remember that!

  Finally giving in to the tiredness that threatened, she shut off the water. The towels were luxurious—in keeping with everything else she’d seen so far, thick and soft. She wrapped one around her, used another to swathe her hair.

  She gazed around the bathroom. Except for her underwear lying on the tiles, she had nothing to wear. And she wouldn’t wear them again until clean. Snatching them up, she quickly washed them in the sink and hung them over a towel rod to dry. They’d be ready by morning.

  Opening the door, she stepped into the opulent bedroom. Maybe the housekeeper had placed a nightgown on the bed.

  Sara stopped short. Kharun sat in one of the chairs in the sitting area, looking completely at home.

  She gripped the towel. It was tucked firmly against her, nothing showed—indeed, it covered her almost to her knees. But she knew she had nothing beneath but damp skin, and that made her extremely vulnerable.

  She glanced at the trail of dusty clothes and wanted to snatch them up, so he wouldn’t notice. But of course he’d had ample time to notice. How long had he been in her room?

  He raised an eyebrow, letting his gaze travel from her wrapped hair, across damp shoulders, down the length of her.

  Heat swept through her. Her heart began to pound heavily. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  “What are you doing in here?” she asked, going on the offensive.

  He rose and started toward her. His hand held a gossamer nightgown. “I brought you something to sleep in.”

  She stared at the delicate material, knowing it was as light and sheer as the curtains that billowed in the breeze. She raised her gaze to meet his, surprised by the heat she saw. Her heart raced. Mesmerized by the look in his eyes, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t utter a word. The fantasy in the shower played out in her mind. She wanted to slam the door shut on the images, but couldn’t.

  He came so close she could feel the heat from his body, see the fine lines around his eyes, smell the male scent mingling with that from the sea air.

  For a moment neither moved. Then slowly—oh, so slowly—he lowered his head, blocking out the room, blocking out everything except him.

  When his lips touched hers, Sara gave a small sigh and closed her eyes. His lips were warm and firm, moving gently against hers.

  She almost missed it when his arms encircled her, pulling her against his hard body. She was too busy wrapping her own arms around his neck; holding on as his kiss inflamed every cell. His embrace was hot and exciting, as he moved against her with sensuous pleasure. Her body felt consumed with growing desire. She was transported away from the memory of recent events, away from anything she’d ever experienced. Swept away with the magic of his touch, of his taste, of his caresses.

  When he ended the kiss, she clung. Her lids were so heavy, she had to force them open, gazing into the deep, dark eyes of the man who still held her.

  “The first kiss is always awkward. Better to have it in private than before an audience,” he said.

  Releasing her, he stooped to retrieve the nightgown that had dropped to the floor. He pressed it into her hands and then brushed her lips once with his thumb as if capturing some of the moisture to take with him.

  Sara watched, dazed, as he spun around and left. The slight click when the door shut released her from the spell.

  Dazed, she crossed slowly to the bed, sinking down on the edge, holding the nightgown against her breasts, feeling the softness of the material and the damp terry cloth of the towels.

  The first kiss? Oh, Lord, there were going to be more?

  CHAPTER THREE

  WHEN Sara awoke the next morning, her first thought was of Kharun. Wouldn’t that stroke his ego? But not in the way he might like. She’d spent a long time last night trying to figure a way out of this outlandish proposal of his. There had to be a way to scrape through with neither side losing.

  Last evening before she slept, Aminna had brought her soup and salad and a soothing pot of tea. Once finished, Sara had slipped into bed, wishing for the oblivion of sleep. It proved elusive as she worried about today.

  Her parents were the first obstacle. Or maybe Kharun’s mother. Would she meet the ministers who questioned their relationship today? Have to defend herself to them? Show them how much she loved Kharun? A man she’d met less than twenty-four hours
ago.

  How about his sister, or his trusted adviser, Piers?

  She pulled the sheet over her head, wishing she could go back to sleep and not wake up until the leases had been signed. The day loomed ahead, overwhelming and terrifying. They’d never pull this off!

  But the scent of the sea beckoned. Long moments later she threw back the covers, rising to pad over to the wide-open French doors. The veranda was covered, sheltered from the morning sun. A narrow width of sunshine still warmed the tiles near the edge. Soon it would be gone. She stepped out, feeling the coolness of the tile gradually warm beneath her bare feet.

  The breeze swirled the nightgown around her and she raised her head, letting the air brush through her hair. She wanted to go swimming, splash in the warmth of the Mediterranean, forget for a little while the mess she’d made of things.

  But she couldn’t. She had first to face the day. She turned and reentered her room. On the chaise longue near the door were her clothes—washed and neatly pressed. Sighing softly, she fetched them and headed for the bathroom. It was time to face reality.

  Dressed, hair brushed, and wishing for some makeup, Sara entered the hallway and walked toward the entryway. She heard the murmur of voices, the clink of silver against china. Following the sound, she reached the dining room. It faced away from the sea. The French doors in this room opened to a garden. Riotous flowers bloomed everywhere—bright yellows, rich reds, and a waterfall of white blossoms, all contrasting with the deep green of leaves and stems.

  The scent mingled with that of fresh-baked croissants and heavenly coffee.

  Kharun sat at the head of the table, an older woman to his right. She was dressed in a fashionable dress of French design. The pearls around her neck and in her earrings were understated, but undoubtedly worth a fortune. She caught sight of Sara and paused, coffee cup raised halfway to her lips.

  Kharun looked up.

  “Sara, I thought you’d sleep in longer or we would have waited.” He rose and came to the doorway, capturing her hand in his. Raising it to his lips, he pressed a kiss upon her soft skin, his eyes catching hers—narrowed in warning.

  “Good morning.” The tone was intimate, the look one of possession and desire.

  All resolve fled. What was it about this man that had her reacting like some teenager when the captain of the football team noticed her?

  He switched to French. “May I present my mother, Angelique bak Samin? Ma mère, this is Sara Kinsale, my bride-to-be.”

  She arose to join them and gave Sara a kiss on each cheek.

  “Enchantée, mademoiselle. My son was just telling me of your betrothal. I know you kept it a secret because of my husband’s recent death, but such happy news deserves its time in the sun. It will lift the gloom that settles on our family. Welcome. You may call me Angelique.”

  Next to the two of them, Sara felt frumpy and awkward. She wished she had something to wear beside the khaki safari outfit she had thought so dashing only a few days ago.

  “I am happy to meet you,” she replied in French. At least she’d get some practice out of her expertise in the language.

  What else would Kharun wish to practice? she wondered as he solicitously seated her at his left hand and summoned Aminna to bring a new pot of coffee.

  “Tell me all about this whirlwind courtship. I was beginning to worry about my son. He has been so consumed with business since his father put him in charge. Now I’m pleased to know he is also taking time to assure his future and that of the family. You have brought joy to my heart.”

  Sara smiled awkwardly, feeling guilty as sin, grateful when Aminna arrived with the coffee. She stalled, making a great to-do of preparing the beverage to her liking. Please let something happen to deflect the inquisition, she prayed. She looked at Kharun for help. He got them into this particular situation, he could get them out!

  Despite her worry, breakfast proceeded without a hitch. Kharun did indeed get them out of the awkwardness, regaling his mother with the most fantastic tale of how they met. Sara listened spellbound, hoping she could remember every word in case she was asked. It would prove smoother sailing if their stories matched.

  By the time breakfast was over, Sara almost believed the fantasy herself—how they met in Paris, fell in love on the Rue de Calais, danced until dawn on the Left Bank, and learned more about each other strolling in the gardens of the Tulleries.

  “I had planned to visit for a while,” Angelique said. “But I will move immediately to Jasmine’s apartment. You two will wish to be alone. Especially if you cannot take a proper honeymoon at this time. Kharun explained that once the oil leases are signed, he’d be able to take time. You are very understanding to allow the delay.”

  Sara blinked, her gaze moving to Kharun. What had he been telling his mother before she arrived? She smiled, wondering what she was supposed to say. She hadn’t been a good actress when she had lines to memorize. Improvisation was even more difficult!

  “We would not cut short your visit, Mother,” he said.

  “Nonsense, I remember how your father and I were—” Tears welled in her eyes and she blotted them with her linen napkin. She pushed back her chair. “Excuse me. I will instruct one of the maids to begin packing immediately.” She left the room almost at a run.

  “She should stay,” Sara said, looking after her. “It’s not like she’d interrupt anything.”

  “She and my father had a passionate love affair from the moment they met. I suspect she considers our situation similar. It’s the only way she would have understood an immediate wedding.”

  Having experienced one of Kharun’s kisses, she had no trouble instantly imagining them in a passionate embrace, ignoring the world around them, caught up in the splendor and excitement of touch and feelings and passion. What would it be like to be loved by this man?

  But what he’d just said suddenly hit her. “Immediate wedding?”

  “The sooner the better. Are you almost finished?”

  She gulped the last of her coffee, blotted her lips with her napkin and laid it neatly on the table. Thoughts about Kharun were the last thing she needed. If she was to get through this charade, she needed her wits about her—not be daydreaming.

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  “It’s early yet. We have time.”

  “It’s never too early at a hotel—they’re open twenty-four hours.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said you’d take me to the Presentation Hotel this morning. I’m ready.”

  “After our wedding.” He looked at his watch, then met her stunned gaze. “Which is scheduled for ten. I think Jasmine has found you a suitable dress.”

  “What?”

  He rose and was gone before she could formulate a coherent sentence. She followed him from the room with her gaze, stunned at the announcement. He couldn’t have been serious! She couldn’t marry him this morning. Weddings took tons of planning. Invitations and fittings and…and…She didn’t know what else, having never married before. But she didn’t think you could schedule a wedding with no more than twelve hours’ notice. And without telling the bride first.

  She jumped up, intent on finding him and telling him why they couldn’t marry today. A few hours away from that awful jail and she’d begun to think of alternative scenarios that would let them off the hook. She had to find Kharun and offer different ideas before this one got out of hand.

  As she walked into the entryway searching for her reluctant host, the front door opened and a petite, slender young woman entered, wearing a lovely rose-colored silk suit. Accompanying her was a tall man dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform carrying a garment bag over one arm. The woman’s dark hair gleamed in the sunshine looking almost blue-black. The two of them stared at each other for a moment.

  “You must be Sara,” the woman said in flawless English.

  “Jasmine, I presume,” Sara guessed. The woman looked like a small, feminine version of Kharun.

  The sunny sm
ile that broke out was a surprise. Jasmine nodded, studying Sara. “No wonder my brother said yes to that crazy spur-of-the-moment idea.”

  “It’ll never work,” Sara said.

  “If Kharun says it will, it will. I have brought your wedding dress.” She flicked a glance to the man standing beside her. “Which room did Aminna give you?”

  “Down there,” Sara indicated. “But—”

  Jasmine took the garment bag from the chauffeur and dismissed him. She turned to head for Sara’s room.

  “Quickly, you need to try it on. It wasn’t easy to get something in your size on a moment’s notice. Kharun called me at seven this morning asking if I would pick up a wedding dress. Doesn’t he know most boutiques don’t open before ten? Silly question, of course he doesn’t. Let’s see if this fits.”

  Sara followed, feeling swept away by a whirlwind.

  Twenty minutes later Sara stared at her reflection in the floor-length mirror. Everything was spinning out of control. She hadn’t found Kharun, but had been bustled along with Jasmine, coerced into trying on the gown. The creamy-white dress fit as if it had been made for her, lacy and elegant—suitable for cocktails, a trip to the theater, or a morning wedding. The shoes were a size too big, but Jasmine had already stuffed cotton in the toes, and they were low-heeled enough to manage.

  Sara’s blond curls encircled her head like a soft cloud. The light touch of makeup Jasmine brought enhanced every feature, deepening the mysterious look of her eyes, bringing a hint of blush to her cheeks—making her look almost like a bride.

  What would Kharun think?

  At least she looked one hundred times better than when he’d first met her—when he’d made his proposal. Surely he could find no fault with the end result.

  Slowly, Sara smiled. She liked how she looked. Maybe, just maybe, people wouldn’t wonder what he saw in her. Maybe they could pull this off. For the sake of her father she had to try.

  Jasmine met her gaze in the mirror, her expression solemn. “Bring no disgrace on my family. Do no harm to Kharun. Do you understand?”