Teresa Southwick - To Kiss a Sheikh

“Your Highness,” she began. “Let me make sure I understand. If you are unable to stay on task, as we say in the education field, it is the fault of the woman—if she happens to be beautiful?”

Again she lifted her chin and met his gaze straight on, letting him get a good look at her. If her disguise couldn’t hold up under scrutiny, it was best to know now. She’d considered a wig, buck teeth and a fake wart on her nose. In this situation, she felt simplicity was the cornerstone of success. Yet she’d always been unable to suspend her disbelief when no one could tell that Clark Kent was who he really was—merely because he slicked down his hair and wore unappealing glasses. There was still that mouthwatering body. A hunk by any other name… Right?

She didn’t consider herself beautiful—not in the leagues Prince Fariq Hassan played in. But back home she’d had her share of attention, not all positive. She had the scars to prove it. She didn’t think her looks, or lack thereof, should be the basis for whether or not she was qualified to care for his children.

They stared at each other for several moments, and she wished he would say something. She figured this was where her mouth had yet again written a check her cockiness couldn’t cash. Still, it was better to know now—for both of them. And especially for the children.

“Let me see if I understand the question,” he said. There was a gleam in his eyes that could be humor. “If I am unable to concentrate in the presence of a beautiful woman you are asking who’s to blame?”

“That about sums it up.”

“It’s her fault, of course.”

Again she didn’t know whether or not he was joking and decided to behave as if he wasn’t. “Then there’s something you need to know about me before we go any further.”

He folded his hands together, then placed them on his desk as he leaned forward. “What is that?”

“The foundation of my philosophy in dealing with children is that one always needs to take responsibility for one’s actions.”

“And there’s something you should know about me.”

“What is that?”

“I’m not a child. And I’m never wrong.”

He was so inherently masculine in such a very primal way that his first statement bordered on ludicrous. “Duh” was her instinctive mental response and nearly distracted her from the swagger in his second statement. Never wrong?

“It’s always good to know where your employer stands on an issue,” she said. “Assuming you still are my employer. Or that I’m your employee.” She held her breath.

“I think my aunt has chosen well. You’ll do nicely.”

Crystal realized she should have been elated that she’d passed muster. She was in. Hired. She’d cleared the hurdle. Before meeting the prince it was what she’d hoped to do. Unfortunately, now that her job was in the bag, she felt oddly deflated at her rousing success. He believed she was as plain as she pretended. How about them apples?

Most people associated all of Washington state with apples. Even Fariq had. Which just goes to show you should never assume anything. But he took her clothes, hair and glasses at face value and looked no further.

She sighed. Oddly enough, she felt that life could be compared to an apple—at its core. You could always count on the fact that there were seeds to spit or swallow and Fariq was hers. And yet she had to respect the man. In spite of a thumbs-up from a trusted family member and the fact that people in his position paid others to raise their children, he loved his kids so much he’d insisted on meeting her. It was obviously important to him to see for himself and approve of the person who would care for them.

“I’m very anxious to meet the children,” she said. If this were an interview, she would be guilty of leading it. But technically it wasn’t. And she was eager to meet her charges.

“I will take you to them and introduce you.” There was a note of pride in his voice and a tender look in his eyes.

He stood and rounded the desk, then held out his arm indicating she should precede him. She stopped at the heavy wooden door. At the same time they both reached out to open it, and their hands touched.

“Allow me,” he said. His butterscotch-and-brandy voice made her shiver.

“Thank you.”

In the hall outside his office, she looked around. Her low-heeled shoes sank into the thick, plush carpet. Wood paneling lined walls hung with ornately framed enhanced photos of El Zafir in various stages of development.

In all her life she’d never seen such luxury as she had since arriving at the palace. Marble floors, grand staircases, a fountain in the foyer, lush gardens. There were sinfully expensive furnishings and gold fixtures everywhere—priceless art, paintings, vases and tapestries, oh, my.

And big. The number of rooms in this place would give an army of Molly Maids a lifetime of job security. Not to mention a girl could walk off a whole lot of chocolate indulgence here. “Wow” didn’t do justice to her feelings, but it was the first word that kept coming to mind.

When she’d arrived in the business wing for her meeting with the prince, her nerves had obscured her surroundings. Now that she’d passed the first hurdle, she noticed a lot more. There were four offices. The king’s was first, then the crown prince, followed by Fariq’s, where she now stood. To her right at the end of the hall was the last one, and she guessed it belonged to Rafiq, the youngest of the brothers. She thought she heard children’s voices, then shrieks of laughter.

Glancing up—way up—at her employer and guide, she cocked her thumb in the direction of the noise and said, “They went thataway.”

“A reference to the B-Westerns of your country,” he commented.

“You know the expression.”

“I attended college and graduate school in America.”

“Of course. I knew that.”

They turned into the last office and there on the leather sofa against the wall sat two children and a man who could only be Fariq’s brother. A little girl sat on one knee and was messing up his hair. At the same time Prince Rafiq was tickling the boy who occupied his other knee, the child shrieking with laughter at the same time he begged him to stop. No doubt these were the five-year-old twins who would be in her care.

“And they say men are incapable of multitasking,” Crystal couldn’t resist saying.

Fariq lifted one eyebrow. “Guard the secret well.”

The gleam in his eyes and the smile curving his lips told her he was teasing and capable of humor. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with the information and didn’t have a chance to figure it out. Suddenly the boy and girl squealed.

“Papa!” the children said at the same time.

They jumped off the couch and ran to him, each wrapping their arms around one of his long legs. He bent at the waist and embraced them.

“Hello, little one,” he said, running a knuckle tenderly down his daughter’s nose. She looked up at him adoringly. “And you.” He grinned at his son as he ruffled the boy’s hair. “There’s someone here who wants to meet you,” he said. Suddenly two pairs of very dark, very curious and just a bit shy eyes were turned on her. “This is Miss Rawlins. What do you say?”

“Hi,” the boy glanced up at his father. “I mean how do you do?”

Fariq nodded approvingly.

The little girl still clutched his leg. “How do you do?” she mimicked her brother.

The prince smiled tenderly at his daughter then angled his chin toward the other man. “That poor excuse for a nanny is my younger brother Rafiq.”

“Your Highness,” she said, acknowledging the adult introduction first.

The prince stood and ran his hands through his disheveled hair, attempting to correct the damage his niece had inflicted. Any man who would play with children at the expense of his appearance was all right in her book.