Sheikh's Convenient Marriage

Materially, of course, she had been spoiled. When you were the only sister of one of the richest men in the world, that was inevitable. Diamonds and pearls, rubies and emeralds lay heaped in jewellery boxes in her bedroom at the palace. Her late mother’s tiaras lay locked behind glass for Leila to wear whenever the mood took her.

But Leila knew that all the riches in the world couldn’t make you feel good about yourself. Expensive jewels didn’t compensate for the limitations of your lifestyle, nor protect you from a future you viewed with apprehension.

Within the confines of her palace home she usually dressed in traditional robes and veils, but today she was looking defiantly Western. She had never worn quite such figure-hugging jeans before and it was only by covering them up with her raincoat that she would have dared. She was aware of the way the thick seam of material rubbed between her legs. The way that the silky shirt felt oddly decadent as it brushed against her breasts. She felt liberated in these clothes, and while it was a good feeling, it was a little scary too— especially as Gabe Steel was looking at her in a way which was curiously...distracting.

But her clothes were as irrelevant as his reaction to them. She had worn them in order to look modern and for no other reason. The most important thing to remember was that this man held the key to a different kind of future. And she was going to make him turn that key—whether he wanted to or not.

Fighting another wave of anxiety, she opened the briefcase she’d been holding and pulled out a clutch of carefully chosen contents.

‘I’d like you to have a look at these,’ she said.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘What are they?’

She walked over towards a beautiful table and spread out the pictures on the gleaming inlaid surface. ‘Have a look for yourself.’

He walked over to stand beside her, his dark shadow falling over her. She could detect the tang of lime and soap combined with the much more potent scent of masculinity. She remembered him wearing nothing but that tiny white towel and suddenly her mouth grew as dry as dust.

‘Photographs,’ he observed.

Leila licked her lips. ‘That’s right.’

She watched him study them and prayed he would like them because she had been taking photos for as long as she could remember. It had been her passion and escape—the one thing at which she’d shown real flair. But perhaps her position as princess meant that she was ideally placed to take photos, for her essentially lonely role meant that she was always on the outside looking in.

Ever since she’d been given her very first camera, Leila had captured the images which surrounded her. The palace gardens and the beautiful horses which her brother kept in his stables had given way to candid shots of the servants and portraits of their children.

But most of the photos she’d brought to show Gabe Steel were of the desert. Stark images of a landscape she doubted he would have seen anywhere else and, since few people had been given access to the sacred and secret sites of Qurhah, they were also unique. And she suspected that a man like Gabe Steel would have seen enough in his privileged life to value something which was unique.

He was studying one in particular and she watched as his eyes narrowed in appreciation.

‘Who took these?’ he questioned, raising his head at last and capturing her in that cool grey gaze. ‘You?’

She nodded. ‘Yes.’

There was a pause. ‘You’re good,’ he said slowly. ‘Very good.’

His praise felt like a caress. Like the most wonderful compliment she had ever received. Leila glowed with a fierce kind of pride. ‘Thank you.’

‘Where is this place?’

‘It’s in the desert, close to the Sultan’s summer palace. An area of outstanding natural beauty known as the Mekathasinian Sands,’ she said, aware that his unsettling gaze was now drifting over her rather than the photo he was holding. He was close enough for her to be able to touch him, and she found herself wanting to do just that. She wanted to tangle her fingers in the thick, molten gold of his hair and then run them down over that hard, lean body. And how crazy was that?

With an effort, she tried to focus her attention on the photo and not on the symmetry of his chiselled features.

‘I took this after one of the rare downpours of rain and subsequent flooding, which occur maybe once in twenty years, if you’re lucky.’ She smiled. ‘They call it the desert miracle. Flower seeds lie dormant in the sands for decades and when the floods recede, they suddenly germinate—and flower. So that millions of blooms provide a carpet of colour which is truly magical—though it only lasts a couple of weeks.’

‘It’s an extraordinary picture. I’ve never seen anything like it.’

She could hear the sense of wonder in his voice and she felt another swell of pride. But suddenly, her work didn’t seem as important as his unsettling proximity. She should have been daunted by that and she couldn’t work out why she wasn’t. She was alone in a hotel room with the playboy Gabe Steel and all she was aware of was a growing sense of excitement.

With an effort, she forced her attention back to the photo. ‘If...if you look closely, you can see the palace in the distance.’

‘Where?’

‘Right over there.’ The urge to touch him was overwhelming. It was the strongest impulse she’d ever felt, and suddenly Leila found herself unable to resist it. Leaning forward so that her arm brushed almost imperceptibly against his, she pointed out the glimmering golden palace. She felt his body stiffen as she made that barely there contact. She thought she could hear his breath catch in his throat. Was his heart hammering as hers was hammering? Was he too filled with an inexplicable sense of breathless wonder?

But he had stepped away from her, and his cool eyes were still curious. ‘Why did you bring these photos here today, Leila? And more importantly, why were those men pursuing you?’

She hesitated. The truth was on her lips but she didn’t dare say it. Because once he knew—he would change. People always did. He would stop treating her like an ordinary woman and start eyeing her warily—as if she were a strange creature he had never encountered before. And she was enjoying herself far too much to want him to do that.

So why not tell him part of the truth? The only part which was really important.

‘I want to work for you,’ she said boldly. ‘I want to help you with your campaign.’

He raised his eyebrows in arrogant query. ‘I don’t recall advertising for any new staff,’ he said drily.

‘I realise that—but can’t you see that it would make perfect sense?’ Leaning forward, Leila injected real passion into her voice. ‘I know Qurhah in a way you never can, because I grew up here and the desert is in my blood. I can point you in the direction of the best locations to show the world that our country is a particular kind of paradise. I’ve done plenty of research on what a campaign like yours would involve and I know there’s room on this project for someone like me.’

She stared at him hopefully.

There was silence for a moment and then he gave a short laugh. ‘You think I’d hire some unknown for a major and very lucrative campaign, just on the strength of a pretty face?’

Leila felt the sharp stab of injustice. ‘But surely my “pretty face” has nothing to do with the quality of my work?’

‘You don’t think so?’ He shot her a sardonic look. ‘Well, I hate to disillusion you, sweetheart—but without the raven hair and killer figure I’d have kicked you out of here just as soon as those goons had gone.’

Leila tried to keep the sulk from her voice, because this was not what was supposed to happen. She couldn’t let it happen. She narrowed her eyes in a way which would have made her servants grow wary if they had seen her. ‘So you won’t even consider me?’

‘I won’t consider anything until you satisfy my curiosity, and I am growing bored by your evasion. I’m still waiting for you to tell me who those men were.’

‘My bodyguards,’ she said reluctantly.

‘Your bodyguards?’

She had surprised him now. She could see it in his face. She wondered how he would react if she told him the whole truth. That she had been born to be guarded. That people were always watching her. Stifling her. Making it impossible for her to breathe.

‘I’m rich,’ she said, by way of an explanation. ‘In fact, I’m very rich.’

His grey eyes were speculative. ‘So you don’t need the work?’

‘What kind of a question is that?’ she questioned heatedly. ‘I want to work! There’s a difference, you know. I thought a man like you would appreciate that.’

Gabe acknowledged the reprimand in her voice. Yes, he knew there was a difference—it was just one which had never applied to him because he had always needed to work. There had been no wealth or legacy for him. No cushion waiting to bolster him if ever he fell. He had known only hunger and poverty. He had known what it was like to live beneath the radar and have your life subsumed by fear. He had needed to work for reasons of survival and for the peace of mind which always seemed determined to elude him. Even now.

‘Oh, I appreciate it all right,’ he agreed slowly.

‘So you’ll think about it? About hiring me?’

He looked down into her beautiful eyes and felt his heart twist with something like regret. He saw hope written in their azure depths—just as he saw all kinds of passionate possibilities written in her sensual lips. What would happen if he kissed this beautiful little rich girl who had marched into his hotel suite with such a sense of entitlement? Would she taste as good as she looked? He could feel the savage ache at his groin as he realised how badly he wanted to kiss her and for a moment temptation washed over him again.