Читать книгу Taming The Sheik - Carol Grace, Carol Grace - Страница 9

Rafik held his breath. She was still there. Still asleep. Curled up on her side, one bare arm on the spread, her copper-colored hair still spread over the pillow, a vibrant splash of color in the soft lamplight. His heart stopped beating for a full moment, maybe longer. Good Lord, whether she was his type or not, she really was beautiful. Damn. He’d been hoping that sneeze meant she’d be up and dressed and ready to leave. Not yet.

What to do? He couldn’t think straight. He was exhausted. He went into the bathroom and stripped down to his boxers. When he came out, he stood at the end of the bed debating about what to do. Watching her sleep make him feel tired and envious. Why should she get a chance to sleep in that big, comfortable bed and not him? He’d had just as hard a day as she had. Was just as tired. On the opposite side of the bed, he slid beneath the sheets and closed his eyes. Just for a few minutes.

The next thing he knew the phone was ringing. It was his wake-up call. He jumped out of bed and did a double take. She was still there.

“Anne,” he said, “wake up. It’s morning.”

She sighed softly. It wasn’t possible for anyone to sleep through a wake-up call. She’d wake up any minute now. But he couldn’t wait around until she did. He hurried into the bathroom to take a shower, then came out and dressed carefully but quickly. He couldn’t be late today. From the closet he chose a London-tailored suit with a pin-striped shirt and dark tie. Then went to the living room and briskly wrote a note on his new business stationery.

“Dear Anne,” he began. No, too formal. He crumpled the paper and tossed it in the wastebasket.

“Anne,” he wrote. No, too brusque. Another toss in the basket.

“Hi.” Yes, just the right casual tone.

Thanks for a great evening. We’ll do it again some time when you’re in better shape. Sorry I couldn’t take you home last night but it didn’t work out that way for obvious reasons. I’ve got things to do this morning or I’d stick around and see some more of you. I’ll give you a call. Here’s some taxi money.

Sheik Rafik Harun.

Anne turned over when she heard a door close somewhere in the distance. She tried to open her eyes, but the sunlight that shone through the window was blinding. She pulled the sheet over her head and wondered what time it was. Though she was enjoying a summer off from teaching, she was usually up early, out in her backyard, filling her bird feeders and the birdbath. Funny. She couldn’t hear the chirp of a single robin or the screech of a blue jay reminding her of her obligation to feed them and give them water.

She threw back the covers, sat up in bed and gasped. She was in a huge king-sized bed. The opposite side from hers was rumpled, covers thrown back and an indentation in the pillow. She picked it up and pressed it against her face. There was a distinct manly smell that clung to the soft cotton. What on earth? Where was she? How did she get here? Who had slept with her and, just as important, what was she wearing? It appeared to be a large man’s shirt with several buttons missing. She always slept in a long flannel nightgown, suitable for the cool San Francisco summer nights. But for some inexplicable reason she had slept in someone else’s shirt. And she hadn’t slept alone.

She swallowed hard. Her pulse was racing. “Hello?” she called weakly. No answer. She tried again, this time louder. Silence.

Across the room her pink dress was spread across a chair. It all came back to her in a rush. The wedding. The champagne. The allergy medicine. The flirtatious sheik. But where was she? She’d obviously never made it home.

Wherever she was, she was alone. And she had a splitting headache. She was scared she couldn’t remember what had happened. Even more scared she might remember.

She jumped out of bed, pressed one hand against her aching head and went to the window. She muffled a shriek. She was high above the sidewalk, looking out at the city and the San Francisco Bay. Fortunately no one could look in the window at that height, to see her in a man’s white dress shirt with missing buttons, but she ought to get dressed. She found her strapless bra on the bureau and stared at it. How, where, why…and who?

She took off the shirt and buried her face in it for a brief moment. The smell was pure exotic masculinity the likes of which she’d never smelled before, and it caused her knees to tremble. The smell of the shirt reminded her of someone or something but she couldn’t remember who it was. It made her head hurt more to try to remember. There were no answers to her questions. No one to ask. It was time to get dressed and get out of there. Before someone came back. The someone who’d slept next to her. The someone who belonged to the shirt.

Once she was dressed in her own clothes, she walked into the large living room, picked up the phone and pressed O for Operator.

“Front Desk.”

“Yes,” Anne said. “Where am I?”

“You’re in room 2004 at the Stanford Arms,” said a bored, uninterested voice.

“Oh, of course. Thank you.” The Stanford Arms. She couldn’t afford to stay at the Stanford Arms, a luxurious landmark hotel on Nob Hill. She especially couldn’t afford to stay in a top-of-the-line suite there. That was when she saw the note on the table and read, the words ringing through her head:

A great evening…better shape…see more of you…taxi money…Sheik Rafik Harun.

Who on earth was that? What on earth had happened? She sat on the edge of a large overstuffed chair with her head in her hands and told herself to think. To remember. But it was so hard with her head feeling as if it were caught in a vise. Slowly, slowly it came to her. The handsome groomsman. The flirtatious sheik, driving her home. Why hadn’t he? Could it be that he’d never intended to take her home? That he’d wanted to seduce her, not because she was so gorgeous or desirable, which she wasn’t, but just to add another notch to his belt?

But had he? How would she know? She was a virgin. She had no idea how you felt after a night of lovemaking. She only knew that her head hurt and her whole body felt as if she’d been wrung through a wringer. Someone had removed her bra. Someone had put his shirt on her. Someone had slept next to her. That someone was a sheik. What else had he done? What had she done? The jumble of thoughts, the myriad of possibilities made her face flame. Oh, Lord, what was she going to do now? She was going to get out of there. Then she was going to find the sheik and find out what had happened last night.

She stumbled into the bathroom to wash her face. The mirror was still steamed up. The smell of soap and after-shave still in the air. She’d just missed him. Why hadn’t he woken her up? Because that’s the way it was. After a night of seduction, after the man got what he wanted, he left you a note saying he’d call you, left taxi money and then disappeared. Out of your life forever. Though she’d had no experience of spending the night with strange men, or any men for that matter, she knew that’s how it was.

In this case he’d left his address and phone number on the stationery, as if she’d want to call him! She didn’t want him to call her either. She never wanted to see him again. But she had to. She had to find out what had happened. If she could only find her shoes. And more important, her little clutch purse with her money and her house keys. They weren’t under the bed and they weren’t in the closet. The closet contained only men’s clothes. Very expensive men’s clothes. Not only suits and shirts and ties, but slacks and designer jeans and polo shirts.

She took a deep breath, picked up the phone and dialed the office number on his stationery. Her palms were damp. What would she say exactly?

How dare you take advantage of me?

Where are my shoes and my purse?

What happened anyway?

I never want to see you again!

What would he say? Would he pretend nothing happened? That he didn’t know what she was talking about? She didn’t get a chance to say anything because she got his voice mail and she froze. The things she thought she would say, the questions she wanted to ask, could not be spoken into a machine. They had to be spoken to a person. Sheik Rafik to be exact. She hung up.

There was only one thing to do. She’d call the house where the wedding reception had been. Perhaps the housekeeper had found her purse there.

“There was no purse here,” the housekeeper said when Anne got her on the phone. “I believe you had it with you when the gentleman drove you home.”

The gentleman! If only he was a gentleman. Maybe she’d left her purse and shoes in his car. She thanked the housekeeper, grabbed the money from the table and walked out the door, barefoot. She would have loved to have left the money there, but under the circumstances, she couldn’t afford to. She got quite a few stares in the elevator, and even more in the lobby as she sauntered through, head held high, trying to act as if spending the night with a rich, eligible bachelor and sneaking out the next morning in the same dress happened to her every day. Why couldn’t she remember coming in last night?

If only she could sneak out. But it was hard to sneak when you were barefoot, and wearing a pink bridesmaid’s dress. You were bound to get a few curious glances in your direction. She got more than a few.

What a relief to get into a taxi. The driver barely gave her a second glance as she gave him Rafik’s office address. Thank heavens for blasé cabdrivers. The only expression on his face was a frown when she handed him the hundred-dollar bill. He emptied his pockets and gave her change which she clutched in her hand after giving him a generous tip.

Then she stood in front of the office building on Montgomery Street in the heart of San Francisco’s financial district. The pavement was cold beneath her bare feet as she stood staring up at the high-rise. Bike messengers whizzed by, horns honked, but she scarcely noticed. She wondered which office was his, wondered if she’d have the nerve to actually go up and confront him.

She had to. She had no choice. She squared her shoulders, walked through the revolving doors and strode across the marble lobby as if she belonged there. She looked straight ahead, pretending she had blinders on, ignoring whatever curious looks were directed her way, and they must have been numerous.

The office of United Venture Capitalists was on the fourteenth floor and smelled of fresh paint and new carpets. A well-groomed receptionist behind a cherrywood desk first greeted her with a smile then her mouth fell open in surprise as she took in Anne’s unusual and unbusiness-like appearance.

“My name is Anne Sheridan. I’m here to see Sheik Rafik Harun,” Anne said, summoning all the dignity she had.

“Uh…yes. Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked. As if a barefoot woman in a formal dress would have an appointment with a sheik.

“No, but I have to see him.”

“I’ll see if he’s in,” she said coolly. “Won’t you sit down?”

Anne was too nervous to sit down. Instead she stood looking at the pictures on the wall of the ventures the company had funded. She examined a portrait of the grandfather who’d founded the company, a distinguished-looking sheik in traditional Arab dress. When she heard male voices approaching, she whirled around. It was not Rafik. It was an older man who looked very much like the sheik in the picture on the wall with an American who was wearing jeans and a T-shirt.

“May I help you, my dear?” the older man asked with a slight bow.

She swallowed hard. “I’m here to see Rafik.”

His gaze flicked over her dress. He pressed his lips together in a tight line. He seemed to understand without asking, just what had happened. Though he couldn’t possibly know when she didn’t even know herself. Unless it was a common occurrence for women to appear in evening gowns unannounced, asking for his son. She wouldn’t be surprised.

“I see,” he said. “Where is my elder son?” he asked the receptionist.

Her gaze fluttered from her desk to her telephone to the elder sheik. “I…I believe he’s in his office.”

“Then show the young lady in,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir, right away.” She jumped up from her desk and while the two men watched she led Anne down the hall to the large office on the corner. She knocked on the door and when Rafik yelled for her to come in, the woman opened the door, ushered Anne in and then disappeared.

Rafik was seated behind an enormous desk talking on the phone with his back to the door and to Anne. She had an excellent view of the back of his handsome head and his broad shoulders in his well-tailored suit jacket. Her heart was hammering in her chest like a tom-tom. This was a terrible idea. She should just turn around and walk out while she still could. He’d never know. But his father would tell him. And she still didn’t have her purse.

“Yes, of course I’ll be there,” he said. “The whole family will be there and very pleased to be hosting the benefit this year…. It gives us a chance to meet the community…. No, not yet. I’m new in town, you know. Haven’t had a chance to meet many women….” That was the only reason he’d spent the night with her, Anne thought. He didn’t know any other women. He chuckled, and Anne shivered. If only she had a jacket, a coat, a sweater. Anything. But no sweater would prevent the chill that his words sent through her. If she left now, he’d never know she was ever there. But she couldn’t. Even if she’d wanted to. Her feet were made of lead. She couldn’t move a muscle.

“A woman in my hotel room?” Rafik asked, sounding shocked at the very idea. Anne wished she could sink into the Oriental carpet and disappear. “You must have me confused with someone else,” he said genially. “I know how important the social column is,” he continued, “but I’m afraid I can’t help you there. I can’t imagine who the woman was, but I know she wasn’t with me. I realize I’ve had an image as a swinging bachelor, but all that’s in the past. From now on I’ll have no more time for partying. Well,” he said, “it’s been a pleasure to talk to you. I can’t emphasize enough that the whole family is very serious about being a part of this beautiful city. Both the business community and the social scene and the local charities. We want to do our part.” He hung up and spun his chair around to face her.

Anne swallowed hard. She’d forgotten how handsome he was. So handsome in his dark suit and bronzed skin against his striped shirt that she almost fainted. Of course, that feeling could also come from hunger or shame. She wrapped her arms across her waist.

“Oh,” he said, standing and stuffing his hands in his pockets. If he was surprised to see her, he didn’t show it. Neither did he show pleasure or dismay at her appearance. Of course, sheiks were probably trained to handle situations like this. Smoothly, suavely, with savoir faire. “It’s good to see you again…Anne.”

He remembered her name. That was a good start.

“What happened last night?” she blurted.

“Happened? As in between you and me?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Well, you passed out,” he said matter-of-factly. “A little too much champagne. It can happen to anyone. It’s happened to me. Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about? I was in your car. You were taking me home. Why didn’t you?”

“I tried, believe me, I tried. But I didn’t know where you lived, and you were in no condition to tell me.”

“So you took me to your hotel,” she said.

“Right,” he said. “I had no choice. Then you fell asleep in my bed. End of story.”

“That’s it? That’s all?” How desperately she wanted to believe that. “Wait a minute. How did I get my dress off and your shirt on?”

He raised his right hand. “Guilty as charged. Only because you looked so uncomfortable. I thought you’d sleep better in my shirt.” He walked around his desk and gave her a long, lingering look, trying but not succeeding to conceal the smile on his face. “Yes, you looked much more…how shall I say, comfortable, in my shirt. You’ll be glad to know I averted my eyes at all the appropriate moments. As any gentleman would.”

“Any gentleman would have woken me up.”

He shook his head. “I tried, darling, believe me, I tried. You were out cold. Don’t tell me it’s never happened to you before?”

“No, it hasn’t. But I imagine it’s happened to you. Taking a woman back to your hotel and then…and then…”

“Yes, it has. A time or two. But last night was different.”

“Really.” What did that mean?

He smiled. “Definitely.”

“Maybe you think this is funny,” she fumed, running out of patience. “To be stuck in a hotel without your shoes or your purse.” Not to know if you’d made love to a total stranger. “But I don’t.”

“No, of course not,” he said. “Here’s what happened. I took your shoes off in my car. And I saw your bare feet. You can’t object too strongly since everyone else you’ve run into today probably enjoyed the same pleasure.”

“I’m not worried about people seeing my feet. It’s my…it’s the rest of my…you know.”

“I can assure you no one saw but me. No one knows but me. No one will know for sure what really happened. Some may have doubts, like my father and my brother who are both suspicious types. But I won’t tell if you don’t tell.”

“How can I tell when I don’t know?”

“You’ll just have to trust me.”

Trust him? Trust a Middle Eastern sheik whom she didn’t even know? Not likely.

“I need my shoes and my purse,” she said.

“They must be in my car. I forgot completely. I’ll send someone to get them right away.” He picked up the phone and gave the order. Then he turned back to her. “Why don’t you sit down and make yourself comfortable? It will only take a few minutes. In the meantime, take my jacket. You look…” he shot her a swift appraising look “…cold.” He went to a closet and removed a soft, cashmere suit jacket and put it around her shoulders. His fingertips grazed her bare shoulders. It all came back to her. The wedding, her tears, his touch. Her face grew hot. She thrust her arms stiffly into the sleeves of the jacket.

“I’ll stand,” she said. Though she didn’t know how long her legs would hold her up, she had her pride. He shrugged. There was a long silence. He leaned against his desk and his gaze locked with hers. Those eyes, those deep, dark eyes a woman could get lost in. A woman could forget why she was there, forget the questions she’d come to ask. Especially a woman with no experience in matters like this.

In a few minutes someone would appear with her shoes and her keys and she’d leave, never to see him again. If she didn’t ask now, she’d never know.

She took a deep breath and gathered her wits about her. “What really did happen in your hotel room?”

He didn’t answer for a long moment. She could almost sense the indecision that hovered in his mind. Something flickered in his dark eyes. Then he spoke. “You and I had the most incredible night of our lives. At least I did. I can’t speak for you.”

Before her knees collapsed under her, Anne sank into the leather chair next to his desk, the one she’d spurned a few minutes ago, and buried her head in her hands. “I don’t believe it,” she said in a muffled tone.

“Why not? Am I that unattractive? Do I repulse you?” he asked.

She peeked at him between her fingers. No, he didn’t repulse her. In fact, he was the most attractive man she’d ever met. The thought of him making love to her raised the temperature of her whole body about ten degrees. Surely he knew how handsome he was. He was teasing her.

“Of course not,” she said. “If it was the most incredible night of my life, I wish I could remember it.”

“All I can say is we’ll have to do it again,” he said, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “When you’re in better shape.”

“Wait a minute. You think I was drunk, don’t you? I wasn’t. I’d taken a strong antihistamine for my allergies and that combined with two glasses of champagne did me in. Not that it matters. I just didn’t want you to think I was the kind of person who drinks too much and passes out in some stranger’s bed.”

“You’re not?” he asked, a spark of laughter in his eyes. “That’s too bad.”

Anne opened her mouth to retort, but no sound came out. She had no practice in bantering with sexy men. He was an expert in lighthearted repartee. She wasn’t. He wasn’t serious. But what if he was? What if she’d made love to a perfect stranger? She knew for sure they’d shared a bed. Anything could have happened. But did it? Would she ever get a straight answer from him?

Fortunately, Rafik’s phone rang and he began another conversation, as if she weren’t there at all, sparing her the effort of trying to pin him down and him the effort of continuing to evade her questions. She crossed and uncrossed her legs. She squirmed and wiggled. It was a comfortable chair but she was far from comfortable. It was that awful dress. At one time she’d thought it beautiful. She’d helped Carolyn pick them out and agreed that they were not only becoming, but could be worn again, to the kind of party Anne never went to. But never mind about that.

The dress made her skin itch and squeezed her waist. But the jacket was wonderfully warm and smelled like him. Like leather and exotic soap. How did she know what he smelled like? That was a good question. But not the question. Had they been intimate?

When was the person coming with her purse and shoes so she could get out of there? Rafik didn’t want her there, and she didn’t want to be there. There was a knock on the door. Rafik hung up. She got to her feet. At last. But it was not her shoes and purse. It was his father.

“May I present my father, Sheik Massoud Harun.”

Anne murmured something polite.

“Who, may I ask, son, is this lovely lady? She looks familiar, but I can’t quite place her. You must forgive an old man, my dear, but my memory is not what it used to be.”

“This is Anne…Anne Sheridan,” Rafik said. “You met her at the wedding yesterday, Father. She was one of the bridesmaids.”

“Ah, yes, of course. How nice to see you again.”

Anne murmured something polite. It was too bad Rafik didn’t have half the charm his father did. Maybe some day, years from now, he’d acquire it. But she wouldn’t be around to see it. If the old man thought her apparel strange or wondered why she was there, dressed as she was in a dress and his son’s jacket, he gave no indication at all. Or else he was past wondering at his son’s exploits.

“Well, I won’t interrupt you two young people any longer,” Rafik’s father said. “I imagine you have a lot to talk about. Don’t forget to invite her to our gala benefit this month, Rafik. Since we’re new in town, we want to expand our circle of acquaintances. Beautiful female acquaintances especially.”

Rafik stared at his father with surprise. Not a happy surprise. He recovered quickly. “Consider it done,” he said swiftly. “Ms. Sheridan is on our guest list. It will be delightful to see her again.”

His father left the room wearing a satisfied smile, his mission obviously accomplished.

“Don’t worry,” Anne said as soon as the door closed behind him. “I have no wish to go to any gala benefit. I’ve had enough fancy parties this month to last me a lifetime.”

“I understand completely,” Rafik said, feeling a giant surge of relief. “I’ll convey your regrets to my father.” Anne Sheridan would have been totally out of place at this party. Ostensibly a benefit for a charity, it was really a thinly veiled device for his father to find a bride for him. Not Rahman, just him. It wasn’t fair. Thirty minutes seniority and his father’s focus was on him. While Rahman played the field, played golf whenever he wanted to, and came to work whenever he felt like it, Rafik was expected to take over the investments of a huge family corporation.

He agreed it was time to get to work, he welcomed the chance to put his stamp on the family investments, but he didn’t agree it was time to get married. His plan was to reject all the women as unsuitable no matter what his father said or how impeccable their credentials. He didn’t know if it would work, but he’d give it a try because there was no way in hell he was going to get married. He’d tried that. He’d gone so far as to get engaged. It hadn’t worked. His father knew it, but he hadn’t given up. Not yet.

A few minutes later, the messenger knocked on the door, handed Anne her purse and shoes then closed the door behind him.

“My driver will take you home,” Rafik said. “He’ll be waiting at the front entrance.” He took her by the hand and leaned over to give her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. But she turned her face at the last moment and their lips met. Just a brush of her lips, and he felt as if he was falling down a slippery slope. He couldn’t stop himself. Operating on pure instinct, he put one hand on her shoulder, the other cradled the back of her head and he deepened the kiss. He felt her gasp of surprise, felt her try to back off, then sigh and give in. She didn’t kiss him back, but neither did she pull away. She could have. He wasn’t holding her that tightly. Frankly he was shocked at his reaction. An ordinary kiss had caused a surge of desire to course through his veins. What the hell was wrong with him?

When he came to his senses and dropped his hands he saw she had turned several shades of pink brighter than her dress. “How dare you,” she said.

“How dare I? After what we’ve been through together? That was nothing.” It was nothing. Just a kiss. But what a kiss. Didn’t she feel it, too?

“Nothing?” She spun on her bare heels and headed for the door. But before she left, she raised her arm and threw a handful of dollar bills across the room. “There. That’s the change from your hundred dollars. I’ll send you a check for what I owe you for the cab fare.”

“Come on, Anne, I don’t want your money.”

“And I don’t want yours. I never want to see you again.”

“Wait a minute.” He couldn’t let her leave like this, thinking he’d seduced her. It was a matter of pride. “Nothing happened last night. I mean it. I was teasing you.”

“Nothing?” she said again.

Solemnly, he shook his head.

She gave him a long look, then she shook her head, walked out the door and slammed it behind her. Rafik collapsed into the same chair she’d been sitting in. Which was where his brother found him ten minutes later.

Rahman sat on the edge of Rafik’s desk and observed his brother with a mixture of humor and complacence. “So you got caught, did you?”

“I don’t know,” Rafik said. “Did I?”

“Father thinks so. Of course I told him nothing of what I knew.”

“That’s because you know nothing.”

“So you say,” Rahman said. “I know she was with you last night and I know she was here today. The woman in pink. Still wearing the same dress as yesterday. How can you deny something happened between you?”

Rafik sighed loudly. “Why should I bother? No one believes me. In any case, she’s history.”

“That’s not what I heard. Father says she’s coming to the party,” Rahman said.

“He invited her but she won’t come. Not her kind of thing. She’s really not the party animal you think.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. What do you think?” Rahman asked.

“I don’t think. I just did what I had to do. Can we forget the woman for a moment? I told you she’s history. She doesn’t want to see me again and I don’t want to see her.”

“A one-night stand.”

“Yes. Whatever.” Rafik didn’t want to see Anne, think about her, talk about her or examine his unexpected reaction to that strange kiss. “I have bigger problems. The biggest being this damned scheme of Father’s to find me a bride. What am I going to do? How am I going to put him off?”

“What you need is a decoy. How do they call it? A beard.”

“What’s that?” Rafik asked. Sometimes his brother was amazing. Often when he’d discounted him as a hopeless hedonist, he’d come up with a brilliant idea. He hoped this was one of those times.

“You find a woman who will pretend to be your girlfriend, fiancée, whatever it takes to pacify Father, then he’ll stop looking,” Rahman said.

“But I don’t know anyone like that. I’m new in town as are you. We don’t know any women we can ask such a favor of.”

“We don’t?” Rahman asked. “Are you sure?”

“Sure. Absolutely sure.”

“What about that woman you spent the night with last night. What’s wrong with her?”

“Wrong with her? Everything. No, absolutely not. Didn’t you hear me tell you she didn’t ever want to see me again?”

“When has that ever stopped you from pursuing a woman? Usually you like a challenge.”

“Anne Sheridan is more than a challenge. She’s a stone wall.” But kissing her was not like kissing a stone wall. It was more like kissing flower petals. The memory caused a wave of sensual awareness to rocket through his body.

“We’ll buy her off. Even a stone wall has a price. We’ll offer her money to play the part. She can’t refuse,” Rahman suggested.

“Hah. You see this money all over the floor? She threw it there. Does that sound like a woman who can be bought? No, your plan won’t work. Besides…”