Читать книгу Undressed by the Boss - Nicola Marsh - Страница 16

CASEY thought she had prepared well enough for her entry into the ballroom, but she was wrong. It was full of the most sophisticated people she had ever seen, all dancing to the strains of a full orchestra, and everyone without exception was in evening dress. Some of the men wore orders over one shoulder, and medals, while the women were in a rainbow-hued selection of couture gowns.

Taking a really deep breath, she tried hanging on to the moment the personal shopper had exclaimed with genuine relief after a whole raft of failures, ‘This is the one!’

She hoped Raffa would approve of the gown. She had tried to strike a balance between modest and fashionable. Anything else in her favour was down to the team of women who had worked on her all day today, endlessly primping and plucking and polishing and buffing. This was their moment, Casey thought, preparing to walk down the steep flight of stairs.

Like every other man with blood running through their veins, he stopped midway through a conversation to stare at Casey, who was standing framed beneath an archway of flowers at the top of the stairs.

She had taken his advice and spoiled herself for once …

Taken his advice? She had gone so far beyond his advice he was transfixed. The diamonds must have come from Harry Winston, and the gown she was wearing—flesh-coloured and form-fitting—defied description. Except to say that it was fabulous.

And so was she.

The gown, in floating silk chiffon, criss-crossed Casey’s breasts before falling in an elegant column to the floor, making her look like a Greek goddess. It exposed her peach-tinted shoulders, but in deference to the traditionalists amongst them she had covered herself with a wisp of beaded silk. Her hair was dressed up, in a way that suited her, with a few tendrils loose around her face, and she hardly needed the fresh flower in the soft blonde chignon to ornament the outfit when she was already the most fragrant woman in the room.

A woman, he noticed now, who had chosen to wear the most ridiculously high-heeled sandals he’d ever seen—which meant he had to get up there before there was an accident. Making his excuses to the ambassador, he headed straight for the loveliest woman in the room.

The most promising candidate, he corrected himself sternly as he strode quickly up the stairs.

The sight of Raffa sweeping up the stairs in regal robes held her spellbound. She should have known the ruler of A’Qaban would be wearing robes of state for such an important event. She should have known that if Raffa had looked good in Savile Row, and even better in jeans, he would look totally fabulous in flowing Arabian robes of night-blue silk.

‘May I escort you?’ he said, offering his arm. ‘Take it,’ he insisted firmly, ‘before you land in a heap at the feet of the people you’re expecting to cajole and charm tonight.’

‘Yes, Your Majesty …’ Aware that the eyes of the room were upon them, she dropped a low curtsey, and as she did so she registered a huge erotic charge. Playing dress-up with a king was far more exciting than any fantasy she’d ever managed to come up with.

* * *

He was pleased to see how greatly Casey had grown in confidence, but a little less pleased to realise they were both intensely aware of each other, even in a room full of people. He knew she could feel his interest, and he liked the fact that Casey’s gaze was no longer uncertain, but direct, intelligent, and challenging enough to hold his interest. Added to which, she walked like a queen at his side, and he found her company a source of constant stimulation as he introduced her round. But none of that was good for business—or for his vaunted self-control.

The rustle of Raffa’s heavy blue silk robes made her think of the hard-muscled form underneath. As he moved around the ballroom introducing her to people it was a struggle not to be distracted—something every other woman present was having trouble with too, Casey noticed. Who could blame them when Raffa’s charm was edged with hard and rugged splendour? His robes were trimmed with gold, like the agal on his headdress, and there was a dangerous-looking dagger at his waist. And a tassel at his neck …

She leaned a little closer, inhaling as she realised the tassel was scented.

‘Do you like the aroma of vanilla and sandalwood?’ he murmured.

She blushed and pulled away, realising she had invaded the ruler of A’Qaban’s personal space to an unforgivable degree. ‘I like it very much …’ Was it possible not to like the scent of warm, clean, sexy man?

‘You’re right in thinking the tassel is scented,’ he explained. ‘It’s part of my traditional dress, like the khanjar at my waist—my dagger,’ he prompted.

‘Your dagger?’ Casey repeated, feeling this was edging dangerously close to verbal foreplay.

‘You may have noticed that the royal khanjar has a pommel that is smaller than the rest.’

Was he teasing her?

‘Oh …’ Must she sound quite so disappointed?

‘But it is heavily weighted and sharpened on both edges,’ he went on, his lips tugging in the suspicion of a smile. ‘It is infinitely more effective than other, inferior khanjars …’

‘Ah …’

Or so relieved?

She thought for a moment. ‘But if it’s a royal khanjar, shouldn’t it be larger than the rest?’

‘Maybe I have another one I don’t show everyone …’

Ah, again.

‘I see,’ she managed hoarsely.

‘Why, Ms Michaels, I think you’re flirting with me.’

‘No, I’m not—’ Casey’s eyes cleared instantly, but before she had a chance to defend herself properly a guest appeared at Raffa’s elbow.

‘Ambassador, I’d like you to meet Ms Michaels, who has organised the auction for me this evening and is threatening to break all records …’

As he spoke Raffa gave Casey a look that made her tingle all over.

‘Allow me to wish you every success, Ms Michaels,’ the ambassador said, bowing low over Casey’s hand.

The surprise at having her hand kissed didn’t come close to Casey’s surprise at the expression in Raffa’s eyes. He was pleased at the honour paid to her by the ambassador, and yet he was uncomfortable with the other man touching her.

Raffa wanted her, Casey realised with a jolt, and was doing nothing to hide it. His fiercely appreciative look was daunting, and yet it made her feel empowered. Without her realising it he had given her confidence—something she had never thought to have.

It was good to be wanted. And to be wanted by a man she was already a little in love with was the most wonderful feeling on earth. She felt strong as a woman for the first time in her life.

But …

Could she finally live the fantasy? Casey wondered, stealing a look at Raffa. Could she sleep with him?

Her body responded eagerly to the thought, and the expression in Raffa’s eyes as he met and held her gaze said anything was possible if she wanted it badly enough. And as his eyes warmed and his lips tugged with just the suggestion of shared humour she knew she did want it. She wanted Raffa to make love to her more than anything in the world.

Casey surprised everyone except Raffa and his team with the form her auction took. Instead of standing at the podium, which she would have found difficult, she played to her strengths as he had advised and ran a silent auction. It left all the billionaires guessing. There could be no public showing off, and instead all the bids had to be written down in secret.

The buzz in the ballroom was electric. Would this prince or that ambassador offer more than another? Surreptitious glances flew as people tried to guess what bid they would have to place in order to secure the most coveted objects, while envelopes with sealed bids inside were placed in the huge drum Casey had ready.

Perhaps only he could accurately predict that his fellow Sheikhs would err on the side of caution and offer extraordinary amounts, Raffa conjectured, rather than risk being pipped to the post by some inferior rival. Whatever—Casey had guessed it right.

And so the evening progressed, until a new drum was called for and even that was overflowing. Through it all Casey remained modest and charming, and in his eyes more beautiful than any other woman there as she hurried about the vast ballroom working as hard if not harder than any member of the team. She had excelled herself, thinking of everything—gold pens for men who normally had others to write for them, and sparkly crayons for the flock of spoiled princesses. And as he watched her he thought Casey possessed something far more valuable than money. The ability to instigate change for the better. She had displayed courage and determination in turning something so alien to her into a personal triumph.

‘Running this event as a Dutch auction was a stroke of genius,’ he told her bluntly when, after what seemed to him an unfeasibly long time, she returned to his side. Her face was flushed, and her eyes were sparking with success, and he had never seen her looking more beautiful.

‘Thank you,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I think we’ve raised the record you were looking for, but I can’t be sure until it’s all been counted—there’s so much of it.’ She laughed, spreading her hands in innocent wonder that such wealth existed. ‘There’s a team working on it now. It’s a real headache for them,’ she confessed, ‘trying to fathom out who has won what when some of the bids have so many noughts on them they have to count the numbers twice to be sure. And some of the shrewder individuals have even stooped to offering a mix of currencies to confuse the outcome,’ she confided, as if she could not imagine greater shenanigans.

‘Blackguards!’ he exclaimed, taking her arm in his. He felt her immediate response to his touch and hoped she wouldn’t find some reason to pull away. ‘But I’m sure you’ll work it out,’ he said soothingly.

‘I’m sure we will,’ she agreed. ‘And I really should get back to lend a hand …’

‘Not yet.’ He felt the tremor run through her as he held her gaze.

She blushed and looked away, but then said with touching sincerity, ‘Just so long as we’ve done some good for your Bedouin project …’

‘You’ve done more good than you know.’

‘I’d like to think so,’ she said softly.

‘You will be the first to see the results of that. I promise you.’ Even as he spoke he knew he would take her to the desert to see the truth of those words—for how else could he reward someone like Casey?

Raising her eyes, she looked at him, and as she slowly smiled he saw that not only had he regained her trust, but she had grown in confidence again, and that gave him more pleasure than he could safely express.

‘You should be getting back to your guests,’ she reminded him quietly.

‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘but then I’m going to take you home.’

She was instantly alert.

‘Unless you don’t want me to …?’

She stared at him for the longest time, and then said shyly, ‘Thank you … I’d like that.’

‘Go,’ he murmured, touching her arm to urge her on. ‘Go and enjoy your triumph, Casey Michaels. Tonight belongs to you …’

She had checked the pages of numbers so many times her eyes were blurring, but there was no mistake. They had raised a record amount of money—an astonishing amount of money—and she should be smiling. She wasn’t smiling. She might be inexperienced, but she hoped her integrity was unquestioned. Even she had placed a bid for something she could afford at the auction—a pretty shawl, hand-woven by Bedouin weavers. She had been thrilled to find it overlooked in the feeding frenzy for so many more costly items.

Throwing her beautiful purchase around her shoulders, Casey pulled it close like a comfort blanket. It was softest alpaca, woven so fine it would have passed through a wedding ring. The colours of sky-blue and honey pleased and soothed her—but not enough for her to forget that the one person who could have purchased everything in the auction hadn’t placed a single bid … Not enough for her to forget that her heart was broken, or that Raffa was not the man she had thought him.

Casey pulled herself together as members of the team clustered round to show her photographs of the latest mobile hospitals. She was determined to hide her feelings from everyone who had worked so hard alongside her. On the outside she was smiling, as they were, but inside she was cold with anger and disappointment—because Raffa, in his arrogance, had chosen not to donate a single penny to the scheme.

The trust between them was lost. The jolt out of her fantasy into reality was almost more than she could bear. Raffa had helped her grow in confidence to the point where sleeping with him had moved beyond an erotic fancy to a true desire for fulfillment. But now …

What hurt the most was that Raffa had made such a big deal out of her role in the auction. She wasn’t looking for praise, just for him to take a personal interest and join in. Perhaps Sheikhs didn’t do that. But it took a lot more than a bottomless pit of money to impress her. It was looking as if this event had been nothing more than a cynical exercise on Raffa’s part—an entertainment to amuse the jaded palates of the rich. Had she really imagined she was falling in love with him? Had her body really responded with such excitement to every passing glance? She could never love a man like that.

‘His Majesty is waiting, when you’re ready,’ one of Raffa’s aides discreetly prompted.

Tumbled out of her reverie, Casey took a moment to respond. In the heat of her disappointment she had forgotten Raffa’s promise to take her home. She had agreed to it before she had known he would remain coldly aloof whilst tempting his guests to empty their coffers in support of his good cause.

‘Thank you,’ she told the messenger politely. ‘Would you please tell His Majesty that I have unexpectedly developed a headache and that I’m going straight home?’

The other helpers were already filing out of the room, and the man was clearly uncomfortable with the message she had given him to carry back to Raffa, but it couldn’t be helped. There wasn’t a prison cell grim enough to frighten her into sucking up to His Majesty Rafik al Rafar bin Haktari of A’Qaban.

The moment she was alone Casey scooped up the hem of her dress and checked around the room one last time, to be sure she was the last to leave and that everything was neatly put back in its place. She had barely made it through the door before she sensed a storm approaching—and at the head of that storm was a man … She couldn’t run in her shoes. Bending down to take them off, she realised it would take too much time and, kicking one off, she had to hobble away as best she could—with the ruler of A’Qaban in full hunter mode striding after her.