Читать книгу Taming The Sheik - Carol Grace, Carol Grace - Страница 8

It was the most beautiful wedding of the year. The sun shone through the stained-glass windows of the church atop Nob Hill in San Francisco. The scent of roses filled the air. Bridal consultant Carolyn Evans walked down the aisle to marry Sheik Tarik Oman to the strains of the wedding march played on the magnificent pipe organ. It was an occasion no one would ever forget. Especially bridesmaid Anne Sheridan.

As the groom lifted the bride’s veil and kissed her, there wasn’t a dry eye in the front row where the family sat. Anne’s eyes filled with tears, too. So many they threatened to spill down her cheeks. But it was not because she was overcome with emotion or because her pink silk shoes pinched her toes. It was an allergic reaction. While many people were allergic to grasses and trees, she knew from being tested last year she was allergic to flowers. She was allergic to the peonies and lilies in her bouquet, to the stephanotis at the end of each aisle, and even to the arrangements of roses at the altar.

To prepare for the wedding and guard against sneezing in the middle of the ceremony, she’d asked her doctor for extra-strength antihistamines which she’d taken an hour ago. Even so, her throat was raw and her eyes watered. It was clear she’d need another pill before the flower-filled garden reception to be held at the groom’s mansion. Unable to reach for a tissue, she blinked back the tears and bit her lip. She was grateful all eyes were on the bride so no one would notice her red-rimmed eyes and obvious discomfort.

But someone did notice. One of the groomsmen at the altar was staring at her and not the bride. It was one of Sheik Tarik’s twin cousins she’d met the night before at the rehearsal dinner. He was good-looking in an exotic way, but she couldn’t tell the difference between the twin brothers. They’d both flirted with every woman there except for her. She wasn’t the type men flirted with. She was a sane and sensible private-school teacher who stayed in the background and watched the festivities.

Whichever twin he was, he wasn’t flirting now, he was just looking at her intently as if he couldn’t believe she was getting carried away and crying at her best friend’s wedding. He raised one eyebrow, and she knew he must think she was an emotional basket case. As if she cared. After today she’d never see him again. He and his brother were just two of the out-of-town guests here for the wedding and would be leaving soon afterward.

She tore her gaze from his admittedly handsome face and focused on her friend Carolyn, thinking how happy she was for her. Marrying a rich and gorgeous sheik. After years of planning weddings for others, Carolyn was finally able to plan one for herself. And what a wedding it was. Somehow Anne got through the rest of the ceremony without coughing or sneezing and made it down the aisle and out in front of the church where she took a deep breath of fresh air.

“Are you all right?” A deep voice, a hand on her bare shoulder made a shiver go up her spine. Somehow she knew before she turned around. It was him. “Of course, I’m fine,” she said breathlessly, trying to ignore the warmth of his hand on her bare skin. Telling herself the goosebumps that had popped out on her arms were due to the cool air and not his warm touch.

“Look, it’s just a wedding. Nothing to cry about,” he said. “If anyone’s crying it should be Tarik. Losing his freedom. Yes, it’s enough to make every man in the place weep.” He gave her a good-natured grin and removed his hand from her shoulder.

Immediately she missed the warmth of his touch. Ridiculous. A strange man took his hand away and she felt a chill. She tried to shrug off his remarks, which were obviously those of a confirmed cynic. He was just a typical, macho male with a commitment phobia. “You don’t understand,” she said. “I wasn’t crying….”

“Not crying?” There was amused surprise in his tone. Surprised that she’d try to deny it. Surprised that she’d dared disagree with him. He leaned forward until his face was only inches from hers and studied her carefully. His eyes held her gaze for a long moment. She tried to look away but couldn’t. She was trapped in the depths of those deep-brown eyes. Could that be sympathy she saw there or curiosity or something else? All she knew was she felt he was looking deep into her soul and she didn’t want him to. After all, she didn’t even know him.

He brushed a thumb against her cheekbone to wipe away a tear. A surprisingly gentle touch from a sophisticated man who looked like he came straight out of GQ. She felt a quiver run up her spine. Her legs felt like jelly. What was wrong with her, anyway? It must be the wedding, the tears, the joy and the music that were having an effect on her. Not to mention those allergy pills. No man had ever made her feel like this. No man had ever brushed away her tears either.

“Those were tears there,” he continued, cocking his head to one side. “You’re not a very good liar, sweetheart. I know what I saw.”

Anne took a deep breath and looked around. She had to get away from this man. Just in case it wasn’t the music, the tears and the flowers, just in case her condition had something to do with this man, with the way he looked at her, the way his thumb left an imprint on her cheek and the way his hand felt on her shoulder. She had to escape, right now. Before this cousin of the groom jumped to the conclusion that his unwanted attention was affecting her one way or another. That it was because of him she felt cold on the outside and hot on the inside. Or that she was afraid to look into his eyes again, which she absolutely was not.

She didn’t know where to go. Looking around, it seemed everyone was with someone. The photographer was snapping candid pictures, people were throwing rice and laughing and talking. No one was looking at her except him. She wished he wouldn’t. She wished he’d go join one of those other groups. But he didn’t. He just stood there looking at her. As if she were some rare bird like the ones she tracked on their migratory routes.

Thank heavens no one heard him call her “sweetheart” or noticed him touching her. Thank heavens no one knew what an effect that touch had on her. She felt it even now, the brush of his thumb on her skin. What an innocent she was. Any other woman would have shrugged it off, because it didn’t mean anything after all. Not to him.

“All right,” she said, “you saw tears, but not because…not for the reason you thought.”

“Cheer up,” he said with a smile that showed a flash of white teeth against his bronzed skin. “Think of it this way, you’re not losing a friend, you’re gaining a sheik.”

“Is that a good thing?” she asked, trying to strike a lighthearted, bantering tone, as if she dealt with handsome sheiks every day of the week. If she did she’d know how to deal with this man who undoubtedly needed a dose of humility. Not that she was the one to teach him. She taught six-year-olds to count and spell and read. She’d never met a sheik until Carolyn introduced her to Tarik, her fiancé, a kind and charming man who was obviously totally different from his cousin.

“A very good thing,” he said, his dark eyes dancing with fun.

Flirting. That’s what he was doing, she realized with a start. He was flirting with her, but she didn’t know how to flirt back. So she just stood there staring at him, wondering why he bothered with her. Why not hit on one of the other bridesmaids who’d know what to do, know what to say to a good-looking bachelor on the prowl. Anyone else would know how to put him in his place with a lighthearted riposte.

She was saved from responding to this bit of braggadocio by a request from the photographer for a picture of the entire wedding party inside the church.

“I guess that means me,” she said, grateful for the distraction.

“It means us,” he said, offering his arm.

She smiled weakly. As much as she wanted to, she knew it would be rude to ignore him, to stalk on ahead as if he hadn’t spoken, as if he hadn’t held out his arm. So she gingerly took his arm, so gingerly that he paused.

“I won’t bite, you know,” he said, slanting a teasing glance in her direction. Again his eyes danced with fun. At her expense. She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything. And they walked back up the aisle of the church. Thank heavens she wasn’t a bride, because she stumbled on the red carpet halfway to the altar, which caused the sheik to tighten his grip on her arm. He finally had to let her go so she could take her place with the bridesmaids and so he could take his place next to the groom.

But before the flashbulbs starting popping, she was compelled to cast a glance in his direction and found him looking at her. When he caught her eye he winked flirtatiously at her, and she quickly looked away.

Luckily she had to help the bride with her train on the way back down the aisle, and she lost sight of the sheik. Otherwise who knew what would have happened? She might have ridden with him back to the reception. She might have been wedged into one of the limos next to him all the way through town. The thought of his thigh pressed against hers, his shoulder next to hers caused the heat to rise to her head. She paused to take another allergy pill while she gave herself a stern warning about handsome men on the prowl.

Instead of riding with the sheik, luckily she caught a ride to the reception with Carolyn’s mother and aunt, during which they oohed and ahhed about what a lovely wedding it was and how beautiful Carolyn looked. Anne agreed enthusiastically, but when they started talking about the twin brothers, Rafik and Rahman, she closed her eyes and leaned back against the leather seat. She didn’t want to hear about them and she didn’t want to talk about them. She had nothing to say. She didn’t even know which one was which. This second dose of allergy medicine made her feel increasingly tired and groggy. If she could just make an appearance at the reception, she’d sneak out early and take a taxi home.

But she couldn’t ignore the conversation floating around her in the car. She couldn’t help feeling as if she were listening to a dialog from a movie.

“Aren’t those twins the handsomest men you’ve ever seen? You know, they arrived for the wedding a few weeks ago, but I heard they like it so much in San Francisco, they’re opening a branch of the family business here,” Carolyn’s mother said. “They’re going to be quite an addition to the social scene. With their looks and their money and their status.”

“So handsome,” Carolyn’s aunt murmured.

“Absolutely adorable, if I were thirty years younger….”

The two women burst into girlish laughter and even Anne had to smile. What was it about weddings that brought out the frivolous in everyone? Everyone but her.

“Anne, dear, how are you?” Carolyn’s mother asked anxiously observing her daughter’s best friend. “Weddings can be so exhausting. I know I’m going to spend the next week recovering. But you’ll feel better once we get to the reception. They’ve booked the most wonderful band and the caterer is the best in town.”

Anne nodded. She was sure everything about the reception would be perfection, if she knew Carolyn. They’d been friends since high school, spending hours together daydreaming about the future. Carolyn sketching bridal gowns, clipping articles on weddings from the society pages, destined for bridal bliss herself. Anne studying hard, determined to be a teacher, picturing herself surrounded by children as she read the stories to them that she’d loved as a child.

When Anne was diagnosed with scoliosis in her sophomore year Carolyn stood by her. She took notes for her friend when she had to miss school for doctor’s appointments. Cheered her up when she had to wear a back brace right up to graduation. Tried to lure her out to parties and dances. But Anne was shy and unsure of herself around boys. Who in their right mind would be interested in a girl in a brace? No one, that’s who.

Anne was never jealous of Carolyn. Even now with a lifetime of happiness ahead of her, Anne only wished her the best. Carolyn deserved it. After spending years planning weddings for other people, she’d finally planned her own to a man she was madly in love with.

Anne was determined to try to enjoy the reception for as long as she could. The good news was she’d been able to avoid the groom’s cousin completely so far. The bad news was she was so terribly tired. All she wanted to do right now was to lie down and take a nap. It was a side effect of the medicine, she knew. At least her tears had dried up and she wouldn’t be accused of getting emotional over a wedding.

The house on the bluff above the ocean was beautiful. The view from the garden was spectacular. Guests were handed a glass of champagne or sparkling fruit juice as they arrived at the entrance to the patio. Anne sipped her champagne gratefully. Her mouth was as dry as cotton. She found a chair half hidden behind a native fern and drained her glass. She heard voices, saw shapes and forms but hoped that no one, especially no one from the wedding party, could see her or they’d ask her what was wrong, insist she join the party, meet someone and say something. Never a social butterfly, she had never felt less social than today.

Suddenly the murmur of voices got louder. Voices she recognized.

“Say, Carolyn,” a familiar male voice said, “have I told you how beautiful you look? Too bad Tarik saw you first. He has all the luck.”

“I’m the one who’s lucky, Rafik. And so happy. One of these days we’ll be dancing at your wedding.”

“Have you been talking to my father? That’s his idea of happiness, not mine. Why get married when there are so many wonderful willing women around. By the way, who’s your bridesmaid?”

“Which one?”

“In the pink dress.”

“They’re all in pink dresses.”

“Reddish hair, blue eyes.”

“You mean Anne. My best friend from high school. Stay away from her, Rafik. She’s a wonderful woman, but she’s not willing. And she’s too good for a player like you,” Carolyn said in a teasing voice.

“Why don’t we let her decide?” he asked. “Besides, everything’s about to change. I’m going to be in charge of the new office here in San Francisco. I’m afraid my party days are over and my playboy ways are going to be sharply curtailed. Not that I’ll ever settle down, but I can’t stay out all night partying anymore if I’m going to be in the office at nine every morning. Woe is me.”

“You’re too much, Rafik. Let me introduce you to Lila. She’s a lot of fun.”

“I met her. She’s fine but not my type. Have you seen Anne around?”

“Rafik, I warned you…” Carolyn sighed. “No, I haven’t seen her since the church.”

Just as Anne was congratulating herself on her apparent invisibility, the pollen from the flowers that bordered the ferns she was hiding behind overcame her antihistamines and she sneezed.

Carolyn peeked around the plants. “There you are,” she said. She and Rafik circled around the ferns and stood looking down at her. “Come on and join the party. You’ve met Tarik’s cousin Rafik, haven’t you?”

“Yes, of course, I mean, that is I…I….” she stammered. “Not formally.”

Rafik held out his hand and he pulled her to her feet. If it weren’t for him she might have fallen over. Her knees wobbled and she felt dizzy. She hoped they wouldn’t notice. Carolyn didn’t, but then her head was in the clouds. Rafik gave Anne a searching second glance.

“Happy to meet you, Anne,” he said, trapping her hand between both of his. She tugged, but he had no intention of letting her go. Maybe it was just as well. Without his support she might have toppled over.

“If you two will excuse me,” Carolyn said. “I must say hello to some people. Rafik, remember what I said,” she added pointedly.

Anne wanted to go with her. Surely there were people she had to say hello to, too. But she couldn’t move. So she stood there, her hand still being held tightly by the sheik who showed no sign of remembering anything Carolyn had said. Why? she asked herself. Why didn’t he go off and dance with Lila, why stay with her?

“You look like you could use something to drink,” he said, studying her with narrowed eyes.

She nodded. “I’m really thirsty.”

“Let’s get some champagne and a few of those delicious hors d’oeuvres.” He tucked her hand securely under his arm for the second time that day and they strolled over to a table laden with all kinds of delectable canapés. With his support, she felt stronger, more in control.

“Champagne?” she asked. “I didn’t know you were permitted to drink.”

“My brother and I were sent to boarding school in the U.S. as kids. Then we stayed in this country for university on the east coast since the family business is multinational. I’m afraid we’re pretty much Americanized by now. For better or worse.” Again that disarming grin. The one that charmed all those willing women who were no doubt in his life. “You notice Tarik is serving fruit juice, too, for those like my parents who observe the religious rules of our country.”

Anne felt much better after she’d eaten two stuffed mushrooms and drunk another glass of champagne. “I’m fine now,” she said to the sheik. “Thank you.” You can go now. Don’t feel obliged to take care of me.

“Sure you’re all right? Not going to cry anymore?”

“For the last time, I wasn’t crying.” Goodbye.

“Right. You notice I didn’t mention it to your friend Carolyn.”

“I appreciate that,” Anne said. “If you’ll excuse me I’m going to uh…I see some friends over there. Nice meeting you.” If that wasn’t a decided exit, she didn’t know what was, she thought as she walked slowly across the lawn, her high heels scraping the ground. She didn’t turn to see if she’d hurt his feelings. She was sure she wasn’t capable of any such thing. He was most likely on his way to find another woman, chat up another bridesmaid, hoping she’d be more receptive to his so-called charm.

Rafik stood watching the woman wobble across the lawn, Carolyn’s words ringing in his ears. A wonderful woman. Stay away from her. Too good for you.

She was right. Anne was just the type he was not interested in. Shy. Quiet. Emotional. Heaven save him from the weepy kind of women who cry at weddings. Oh, it was okay if you were the mother of the bride or groom. So what was wrong with him, hitting on a woman who was most definitely not his type? There was something about her, the way she tried to hold back the tears that brought out the protector in him. She made him feel admirable. The way she looked at him through damp lashes, cheeks flushed, her face framed in that gorgeous red-gold hair.

He reminded himself he was not interested in being admirable. He was not looking to protect someone. He was looking for a smooth, sexy, smart and sassy woman who could protect herself. Anne Sheridan was none of the above. Besides she was a friend of Carolyn’s, his new cousin-in-law whom he respected. Half-reluctantly, he turned and looked over the bevy of lovely women, enough women gathered here to please a whole family of sheiks. For some reason he couldn’t seem to focus on any one of them.

“Hey,” his brother threw an arm around his shoulders. “Having fun? Who was the lady in pink I saw you with?”

“Just one of the bridesmaids.”

“I know it was one of the bridesmaids,” Rahman said. “What’s her name?”

“Anne Sheridan. A friend of Carolyn’s. Why?”

“I don’t know. Don’t remember her from the rehearsal dinner. Thought I’d met every pretty woman there. I might introduce myself. Unless you…?”

“No, absolutely not,” Rafik said. “Wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole. Not my type. Not yours either.”

“Okay. Just asking. What a party, huh?”

It was quite a party, and Rafik would have been a fool to miss a moment of it. He threw himself into enjoying the music, the dancing, and oh, yes, chatting up the women. So much so, he almost forgot about the auburn-haired bridesmaid in the pink dress. Out of sight, out of mind. That’s the way it always was with him. But in one small corner of his mind during the fun, he wondered what had happened to her. He hoped his brother had followed his advice and ignored her. Not that he really cared. Not that she was his responsibility. It was just that she seemed so fragile and so vulnerable. It was obvious somebody ought to be responsible for her. Just so it wasn’t him or anyone he knew.

Yes, he’d all but forgotten about her, until at the end of the afternoon, as dusk was falling over the manicured grounds, after the eating, drinking and dancing, he was called upon to make a toast. He stood on the dance platform in front of the musicians who were packing up and told some anecdotes about Tarik that made everyone laugh. Just as he lifted his glass of champagne to toast his cousin and his bride, he saw Anne at the edge of the crowd. She lifted her glass and caught his eye. She definitely looked like she’d had a few too many glasses of champagne. Funny. He wouldn’t have picked her for a lush.

Maybe he ought to bring her a piece of wedding cake and see how she was doing. But when he went looking for her, cake in hand, she was gone. It was just as well.

“Rafik.” Carolyn got up from the small table where she was sitting with a group of older people and caught his arm. “Do me a favor, will you? Anne isn’t feeling well. Could you give her a ride home?”

“Sure. Where is she?”

“At the front door. She wanted to call a taxi, but I’m a little worried. I want to be sure she gets home all right.”

“Okay,” he said.

He pulled his car up in front of the house and left the motor running while he bounded up the front steps. He found her standing in the doorway of the house, looking confused.

“Oh,” Anne said, startled to see Rafik at the door.

“Come on,” he said, putting his arm around her waist.

“I’m waiting for a taxi. Thanks anyway,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to disengage his arm.

“I’m the taxi,” he said. “I’m taking you home. Orders from Carolyn.”

“That’s not necessary,” she said. Of all people. She did not want to be indebted to this man, who thought he was God’s gift to womankind. Who’d already seen her at her worst. She’d managed to avoid him for the past few hours, and now here he was again.

“Really. I’m fine. I just need….” She just needed to lie down and close her eyes. Her head was pounding, the room was spinning, and Rafik’s face was going in and out of focus. When he picked her up as easily as if she weighed no more than a rag doll and carried her down the steps to his waiting car, her head bobbed against his shoulder. She pounded him on his back in an attempt to make him let her go, but it had no effect on him at all.

He very carefully installed her in the passenger seat, taking her small clutch bag from her hand and removing her shoes before he tucked her feet in. She sighed. Despite her protests, she had to admit it felt so good to be taken care of. So good to have those tight shoes off. Again she was surprised that a big, broad-shouldered, dashing man-about-town would have such a gentle touch. As he fastened her seat belt, his hand grazed the bodice of her silk dress and she gasped. Her eyes flew open and met his amused gaze.

“Just following the seat-belt law,” he said innocently. “Wouldn’t want to be stopped for any kind of violation.”

“Right,” she said.

Did he know, could he tell she was unaccustomed to being touched there? Unused to being touched at all by a man? That just a brush of his hand had left her shaky and breathless? Or was that, too, the effect of the champagne and the medicine? What did it matter? He’d been instructed to take her home and he was doing it. She ought to be grateful.

“Where do you live?” he asked.

“In the Sunset,” she said. “Out by the….you know….” She hoped he knew because the names of the streets of San Francisco were going round and round in her brain. Such nice names. Which one was hers? “Octavia. Laguna. Chestnut. Larkin. Pine and Bush,” she murmured.

“What?” he said. “I’m new in town. You’ll have to give me better directions than that.”

“Take Geary,” she said. “No, no better take California.”

“I know California Street,” he said confidently. “No problem. You just relax till we get there.”

Relax? She was so relaxed she might never move again. “Nice car,” she said, though all she knew was that it smelled like leather and the seat was so comfortable she wanted to stay there forever.

“It’s new,” he said. “I didn’t need a car when we lived in New York, but I do here,” he said. “My life is about to change. Drastically.”

“No more playboy, hmm?”

“Where’d you hear that?” he asked sharply.

“Heard you talking.”

“I thought maybe you’d been talking to my father.”

She shook her head. Just to utter another word would require too much effort.

“He thinks it’s time I grew up. Took over the business and got married. I’m the elder son, you know.”

“I thought…twins,” she murmured.

“Yes, we’re twins, but I was born first. By thirty minutes. So Rahman’s allowed some slack while I’m the heir apparent. I’m the one who gets the corner office. I’m the one who gets the responsibility of running it. I’m the one who’s supposed to find a wife and settle down. Don’t tell anyone I said that. I’m trying to talk him out of that one.”

As if she could tell anyone anything. Her lips were numb, her eyes refused to open. He was still talking. She could hear the words but they made no sense. None at all.

When Rafik got to California Street he turned to ask Anne which way to turn, but her eyes were closed and she was breathing softly and steadily. She’d fallen asleep.

“Hey, wake up,” he said. “Which way on California?” He shook her gently by the shoulder. Nothing. “Anne. Where do you live? Come on, sweetheart, speak to me.” But she didn’t. She slid down even farther in the seat. Too much to drink, obviously. Well, it wasn’t the first time he’d been stuck with an inebriated date. Though he usually knew where they lived. He could go back to the wedding or call Carolyn, but the truth was, he was tired himself. It had been a week of nonstop pre-wedding parties along with setting up a new office and frankly he was beat. He, the man who loved a good time, who’d never met a party he didn’t like, was slowing down. What was the matter with him?

Another thing. He didn’t relish telling Carolyn her friend had passed out before he even got her home. It might put a damper on the remainder of the party for her. And it would make her best friend look bad. The only thing to do was take her back to his hotel with him. It was a comfortable suite with great room service and a giant king-sized bed. When she came to, he’d sober her up with coffee, find out where she lived and drive her home.

Unfortunately Anne was still out of it when they arrived at the hotel. How was he going to get her up to his room without causing a scene? He pulled up to the front entrance and tried once more to wake her up. “We’re here,” he said loudly. “Come on. Do me a favor and wake up.” She didn’t stir.

The doorman opened the passenger door and waited.

Rafik jumped out of the car and lifted Anne up in his arms.

“Fell asleep in the car,” Rafik explained to the blue-uniformed doorman. “She’ll be fine. Have the valet park it, will you?”

“Certainly, sir,” he said, as if comatose guests arrived every day and had to be carried into the hotel.

The lobby was crowded with well-dressed guests. There was a party going on in one of the ballrooms. Not all of the people turned to stare at the man in the tuxedo carrying a redheaded woman in a strapless pink silk dress to the elevator. But most of them did. The decibel level fell about twenty points as a kind of hush fell over the crowd. The hush was replaced with murmurs.

“Who is that?”

“One of those sheiks. He shut down the bar the other night. Isn’t he too much?”

“No, I mean her. Who’s she? I’ve never seen her before.”

“It couldn’t be…no, if I didn’t know better I’d think it was Emma’s teacher, Miss Sheridan.”

“Anne Sheridan, the first-grade teacher at Pinehurst?”

“It isn’t, of course, but the hair…such a gorgeous color. There aren’t many people…No, what am I thinking? It couldn’t be her. What would she be doing in the arms of a playboy going up to his hotel room or hers? She’s not the type. All of the teachers at Pinehurst are screened carefully. Models of decorum. At least in public. No, it can’t be her.”

Rafik, who’d done just about every outrageous thing in the last few years in New York, felt his ears turn red. Not the type. Not his type. He knew that. But he’d brought her here anyway. What was wrong with him? He knew what was wrong with him. He didn’t want to let her go. Didn’t want to leave her anywhere. Not until he knew she was all right. On the other hand, she was a big girl. She could take care of herself. But not tonight. Tonight he was taking care of her whether she wanted him to or not. It made no sense. It made no sense at all. But there it was.

At least he should have covered Anne with something. It was one thing, as part of a colorful and wealthy international family, to be talked about in hotel lobbies. It wasn’t the first time that had happened to him. But to expose Anne to gossip was not fair. He shouldn’t have brought her here. He should have driven back to the reception, found out where she lived and taken her home. But hindsight is always 20/20. It was a little late to change his game plan.

He stared straight ahead, his teeth clenched in his jaw, praying for an early arrival of the elevator. After an eternity it arrived and gratefully he entered, Anne’s face pressed against his chest. He awkwardly hit the button for the twentieth floor and heaved a sigh of relief. But he wasn’t home free.

The elevator wasn’t empty.

“Big night?” a man in a dark suit asked with a smirk.

Rafik managed a tight smile. There was no way to explain that wouldn’t exacerbate the situation.

“Oh, my,” said an elegant woman in a beige suit, eyeing Anne’s inert body with surprise. “Is she all right?”

“Fine. She’s just fine. Just tired.”

“Beautiful red hair. Say, aren’t you one of those sheiks?” she asked.

He’d removed his headdress this morning, but somehow the woman knew. Maybe because the family had taken over the entire twentieth floor.

“Yes,” he said. “I am.”

Damn. He could have lied. Could have said he was the hotel manager escorting a guest to her room or a doctor with a case of Lyme disease on his hands. How many more people was he going to run into before he got her to his floor, to his suite? He could only be glad he wasn’t going to meet any family members, presumably all still at the reception. He especially wanted to avoid his father who’d had a talk with him that very morning about his new image, about public relations and the family business. This kind of situation was exactly what his father was talking about. Only it wasn’t really. It just looked like it. Unfortunately his father was into appearances. In a big way.

He finally arrived in the cool, calm, quiet, high-ceilinged suite. He strode into the bedroom and laid her down on the bed on her back. Her face was pale. He sat on the edge of the bed and pressed his ear against her chest. She was breathing slowly and regularly. Thank God. Rafik knew from experience she just needed to sleep it off.

It would be just a matter of time before she came to. When she did, he’d offer her coffee and if that didn’t work, he’d mix her up a concoction that worked for him—tomato juice with Worcestershire and a touch of lemon and pepper. He’d spirit her out of the hotel, down the back stairs, if there were any, and take her home. And that would be that. Carolyn would never know. She’d be on her honeymoon. All she wanted was for him to take the woman home. Which he’d tried to do. Which he would do. Eventually.

He sat on the edge of the bed observing her, his forehead furrowed. The woman in the elevator was right. She had beautiful hair. A delicious strawberry color that curled in wisps around her face. A smattering of freckles across her nose. She looked so young and innocent. She couldn’t be that young. She was Carolyn’s age. So she couldn’t be innocent either, could she? He sighed. He knew many beautiful women with beautiful hair. Blondes, brunettes and redheads. He’d met several today at the wedding.

But he’d never met anyone quite like this woman here on his bed. Damned if he could say what it was about her that intrigued him the way she did. Maybe it was just that she wasn’t his type. Yes, that must be it. Opposites attract. Combine that with Carolyn’s warning and it had made her damned near irresistible. He loosened his tie and looked down at her. He had an uncontrollable desire to run his fingers over her bare shoulder and down her arm to her hand that was curled up. He knew what her skin would feel like. Satin smooth. Just the way it had when he touched her this afternoon after the wedding. He fought off a shaft of desire that threatened to overtake him.

He sighed loudly, wishing she’d wake up. Wishing he could get out of this monkey suit. He imagined Anne would be more comfortable without the fancy dress she’d been wearing all day, too. After a long moment of contemplation, he rolled her gently on her side and tugged clumsily at the zipper on the back of her dress.

Carefully he pulled the dress down over her hips and tossed it on a chair. Underneath the dress she was wearing lace bikini panties and a strapless bra. He sat there staring as if he’d never seen a woman in that state before. Truth was, he’d seen many female bodies in his time. Dressed and undressed. But there was something special about this one. Something that made his heart pound. Made him short of breath. It might have been the scattering of freckles across her chest, the swell of her breasts, or the curve of her hips. She was defenseless and therefore untouchable. And oh, yes, not the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and definitely not his type, but very appealing, and very desirable.

This was a situation where other men might have taken advantage of her. But there was a code of conduct he adhered to which was based on a respect for women and an obligation to help those in his care.

An obligation to make them comfortable. To protect them. He tore off his shirt, the buttons flying and covered her with it. Then he very carefully put one of her arms in the sleeve, then awkwardly the other arm. He was breathing hard from exertion. Very slowly he reached under the shirt for the strapless bra she was wearing. From experience he knew how those bras worked. Unhook the front and slip it off. But should he? What if she woke up? If she did, he’d just explain. And if she did, well, wasn’t that what he wanted after all?

Under the shirt, unable to see what he was doing, he reached for the snap, but his fingers, usually so deft, felt like stubs. Finally he slid the bra off, pulled the blankets back and covered her up. She was now wearing his shirt and her panties. He’d done the best he could do.

He stood at the edge of the bed looking down at her. The red-gold hair against the white pillow. The pale face and the curve of her cheek. So sweet, so lovely. And so wrong for him. He knew that. Of course he did. As soon as he could he’d get her out of here. But when would that be? How long before she woke up? Did he dare doze off himself? All he wanted was to get her out of his bed, out of his room and out of his mind. But he couldn’t. Not now. Not yet while she was still sleeping it off.

He closed the bedroom door behind him and paced back and forth in the living room, staring out the window at the lights of the city below. As tired as he was, he just couldn’t go to bed. His mind was spinning. Images of the wedding filled his mind. The bride, the groom. The bridesmaid. Some time later there was a knock on the door.

“What happened to you?” his brother asked when he opened the door. “Couldn’t believe you left so early. You missed the throwing of the garter. I caught it.”

“Good, that means you’ll be the next to be married. And not me.”

“You first,” Rahman said. “You’re the eldest.”

“Forget it. I’ve heard enough of that from father. You know what happened the last time he tried to arrange a marriage for me.”

“Don’t blame father for that. It was nobody’s fault,” his brother said. “You can’t give up on marriage because of one woman.”

“I can’t? Why not? If you feel that way, then why don’t you lead the way and set an example for me,” Rafik said, knowing it was a safe suggestion. Rahman was an even bigger playboy than Rafik had ever been.

“I’ll give it a thought,” Rahman said amiably. “Hey, aren’t you going to invite me in? We can order up some coffee and rehash the wedding.”

“Uh…I don’t think so.” Good Lord, what if the woman woke up and stumbled into the room? Not that Rahman would be shocked. Rafik just…he just didn’t want his brother to think she was that kind of woman. Of course he himself didn’t know what kind of woman she really was, but he could guess. She was the type to drink to cover her shyness, to make it easier to socialize.

“All right. But you still haven’t explained why you left so early. I thought you and I would be rolling up the sidewalk.” Leaning against the door frame, Rahman looked at his brother curiously.

“I’ve got to be in the office at nine tomorrow. They’re installing the computer system. That’s why I left early. Yeah, that’s it. I can’t carouse the way I used to, you know.” Brilliant. That ought to satisfy his brother who knew about the increased duties his father had put on him.

Rahman observed him closely. No one knew him as well as his brother. If he could fool him, he was home free.

A soft muffled sound came from the bedroom. A sound like a sneeze. “What was that?” Rahman asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing.” Damn. She hadn’t made a peep since they’d arrived and she chose that moment to sneeze. Next thing he knew she’d be opening that bedroom door and…

Rahman grinned. “You’ve got somebody in there, haven’t you? You’re holding out on me. Who is it? Is it that bridesmaid I saw you with? Yeah, it’s her, isn’t it?”

“No, it isn’t. Goodnight, Rah. Get some sleep. You need it. See you tomorrow.” Very firmly and very forcefully Rafik closed the door on his brother and locked it. Then he strode across the room and flung the bedroom door open.