Читать книгу Engaged To The Sheikh - Sue Swift, Sue Swift - Страница 11

What Jerome Carrington had said to the reporter kindled Kamar’s desire to corner the old man and find out what silly game he was playing.

If the story got out, Kamar would face a lot of trouble at home. His father had warned him time and again against sullying the family’s reputation. When People magazine had named Kamar the “sexy sheik,” his father threatened to relegate him to a boring desk job if he brought further dishonor on their house through his relationships with American women.

Kamar’s bad temper about this morning’s matter led him to rent a yacht from the resort so he and the Carringtons could find some privacy.

The rental was met with unconcealed glee by the resort manager, one Merry Montrose. Kamar couldn’t fathom why. Surely none of the proceeds of the rental would make their way to Ms. Montrose’s pocket. Nevertheless, she reacted to the news that he intended to take the Carringtons on a boat ride as though he’d guaranteed that his country would supply the resort’s jewelry shop with free diamonds forever.

The forty-foot craft boasted a galley, sleeping accommodations for three and a crew of two: one to pilot the boat and the other to manage the passengers’ food and beverage needs. After the yacht was provisioned, Kamar gave the galley crew member the afternoon off. He didn’t want anyone to overhear the conversation he planned to have with Jerome. Kamar assumed that Selina would handle the galley chores while the men talked.

At twelve-thirty, Selina minced aboard, ungainly in the same ridiculous sandals she’d worn that morning. Their heels fully three inches high, the white platforms forced her to clutch her grandfather’s elbow as she tottered. Jerome carried a briefcase in his other hand.

The rest of Selina’s ensemble consisted of a lime-green bikini with a halter top and high-cut panties, only partially covered by a loosely crocheted white tunic that fell to the middle of her hips. The lime-green emphasized her pearlescent skin and absolutely unbelievable legs.

A white canvas beach hat flopped over her face and shoulders, protecting them from the sun. Unfortunately, the hat also concealed her sexy, swan-like neck, the sight of which was the only thing that could compensate him for an afternoon he dreaded.

Sure that the Carringtons were setting him up, Kamar gritted his teeth and swore that he would not be enticed into a liaison he didn’t choose, even with bait as delectable as Selina.

As the Carringtons settled themselves into deck chairs, the pilot cast off the ropes tying the yacht to the dock. He climbed a short ladder to the flying bridge, and a few moments later the boat’s engines rumbled to life. The yacht began to back out of its slip.

Selina took off her white tunic, exposing lithe curves, then reached into a carry-all and took out a tube of sunscreen. Opening the tube, she squeezed a dollop into her palms, rubbed them together and began smearing the cream onto her belly.

Kamar swallowed and looked away. On the wharf, an angular figure in a gray pantsuit rushed toward the slip while pulling a little camera from a pocket. Stopping at the end of the dock, Marta Hunter began snapping pictures.

Scowling, Kamar stationed himself between Selina and the reporter, then turned his back toward land. He might suspect the Carringtons of ulterior motives, but they were still his guests. He refused to subject them to publicity in a sleazy rag like the National Devourer.

“The woman won’t leave us alone,” he grumbled.

“You poor thing. Being known as the sexy sheik must be such a burden.” With a brilliant smile, Selina joined him at the rail.

He told himself he wouldn’t be affected by her proximity, her lime-green bikini or her smile. Or the knowledge that her seductive neck was now only a few inches away from his lips.

She continued, “Why don’t we head below and see if this tub has something to eat? That way the mighty Hunter can’t spy on us so easily.”

“A fine idea,” Kamar said grudgingly. He went to the galley, a space enclosed by walls at the side, but open to the stern. The front of the galley led, he knew, to a small sleeping area and a toilet.

Selina followed.

Oh, no. He’d be trapped with her in the tiny galley. He didn’t want to think about the possibilities.

Her grandfather also came in, and Kamar released a relieved breath. He needed a chaperon when around Selina.

Why did the most gorgeous girls have to be so utterly wrong? And why did he have to be so susceptible to their charms?

Selina knelt at his feet and glanced up at him, her lovely neck arching. He closed his eyes and thought about his father, the honor of his family and that boring desk job.

When he looked at her again, she’d found a small, cube-shaped refrigerator tucked beneath the counter. “Ooh, look, Grandpa Jerry. There’s iced tea, bottled water, juice and wine. You want iced tea, right?” Straightening, she poured for her grandfather, who took his glass to the deck.

Kamar smiled. Selina might be a mouthy American girl, but she knew her place: the kitchen. “What would you like?” he asked her.

“Um, a bottle of water, I think. The sun is very dehydrating.” She reached into the refrigerator at the same time Kamar bent to help, and their bodies collided in the small space.

The galley’s closeness intensified her scent. She smelled like sunscreen, perfume and the ocean breeze, and her slim body felt like paradise pressed against his, her skin satiny and slick. He dropped the heavy plastic bottle. It crashed onto her toes, left bare by her idiotic sandals.

She yelped, and he winced. What was it about this girl that turned him into a blithering idiot? First the potatoes, now his clumsiness with the water.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Leaning against the counter, she wiggled her toes. The bottle rolled away. “I don’t think anything’s broken.”

“Let me check.” He knelt in the small space, telling himself he wouldn’t be ensnared by Selina Carrington. She wasn’t so special.

She let the counter take her weight, so he could pick up her foot to examine it. He’d never before been fascinated by a woman’s toes, but hers were polished in an appealing, shiny orange that reminded him of the citrus candy that street vendors sold in Zohra-zbel.

Lime green and orange. Everything she wore made him think of eating. Devouring her.

There was a tiny white flower painted on Selina’s biggest toenail. It was enchanting.

He kissed it.

She gasped.

Remembering himself and the situation, he stopped himself from licking up the arch to her ankle and said, “You seem all right to me,” as brusquely as he could. He reached for the water bottle and stood, twisting off the cap for her. He took a bottle of juice for himself and went on deck. Before he sat, he tugged off his polo shirt and used it to mop the sweat off his forehead.

Selina stayed behind, clutching the water, then rolled the cool bottle along her cheek. No one had ever kissed her foot before, and she didn’t know what to make of it. She’d heard from other women about the various forms that lovemaking took, but no one had mentioned toe kissing. She’d read about that in racier magazines, but it wasn’t something that she had ever contemplated doing or having done to her.

The entire concept seemed yucky. Dirty. Gross.

But when Kam did it…a sensual heat flared through her body. She closed her eyes, reliving the moment.

He’d held her foot in his big, brown hand. Kissed it.

She’d judged him as arrogant, but did an arrogant man kiss a woman’s foot?

Stop it, she told herself. People magazine says that Kam is one of the sexiest men in the world. He kissed your toe because it’s sexy, not because he likes you, and not because he’s Mr. Humility.

She went outside, where Grandpa Jerry and Kam occupied the deck chairs, talking. He’d set his cell phone on a nearby table. Selina eyed it, then dragged another chair forward and joined them, placing her untanned self in the shade of an umbrella.

“It’s the perfect cover story.” Grandpa Jerry leaned back into his deck chair and sipped iced tea.

“What’s perfect about it?” Kam frowned, his eyebrows forming a dark bar.

“The reporter will want to chase Selina, not you and me,” Jerry said. “While we’re talking, she can distract the press by pretending to choose a dress and order flowers.”

“Gee, thanks, Grandpa Jerry.”

“Sellie, you have nearly two weeks off. I checked with your boss.” Jerry shook a finger at her. “You don’t have to be back in the office until a week from next Monday. You can take an afternoon or two to look at some catalogs.”

Selina scrutinized Jerry, who’d put her into an untenable position. Last night, she’d promised that she’d be nice to Prince Kamar, but at the time she hadn’t known what “being nice” would entail. If she didn’t cooperate, Jerry would think she was reneging. He’d guilt trip her all the way to Timbuktu and Kalamazoo.

“Okay, I’ll pretend to be his girlfriend—under one condition.” She pointed her water bottle at Kam. “You have to be nicer to people.”

“Me? I am perfectly nice to people. Everyone loves me.”

“You are not perfectly nice to people, and people don’t love you. I saw you with that bartender last night.”

“She was quite negligent.” Kamar sipped juice.

“She was not negligent, and you were an arrogant buffoon.”

“Selina!” Jerome looked scandalized.

Ignoring her grandfather, she went on. “I won’t be the girlfriend or fiancée, or whatever, of an arrogant buffoon.”

“You are calling a prince of the Zohra-zbel an arrogant buffoon?” His unibrow was now punctuated by two deep furrows above his nose.

“If you’re a prince of the Zohra-z-whatever, then yes, I guess I am.”

He sat back, clearly bewildered. “I am an arrogant buffoon? No other woman has told me that.”

“Maybe you never made a spectacle of yourself the way you did last night,” Selina said, “but I doubt it.”

“Me? A spectacle? How was I a spectacle?” He twirled the stem of his Matrix-style sunglasses.

Selina grinned. “How were you not a spectacle?”

“The bartender was a complete twit.” Kam’s stuffy British accent had become more pronounced.

“A twit? Did you actually call her a twit?” Selina laughed.

“Yes. As in nitwit.”