Tessa Radley - The Kincaids - Private Mergers - One Dance with the Sheikh

“Believe it or not, there are peaceful places to be found not far from here.”

“Like where?”

“Eli and I came here a couple of times during vacations while we were at Harvard. The desert is vast and undisturbed. Beautiful. Sometimes we’d hike through Red Rock Canyon.”

There was a long pause as she examined him.

“You were homesick,” she said after a moment, a peculiar note in her voice. “You missed Diyafa … and your family.”

Rakin didn’t reply. But he was relieved he couldn’t see her expression behind the dark, opaque veil of the sunglasses. He suspected it would be too kind for comfort. Pity was the very last thing he wanted from this woman he was determined to marry.

He certainly wasn’t going to explain the complicated relationship he shared with his family. The overwhelming expectations of his grandfather that had started when he was barely out the cradle and set him forever at odds with his cousins. His father’s fits of anger, which had caused his mother to weep in-consolably. His own growing resentment against his father that had increased after he’d been sent to boarding school in England. And the lingering guilt for abandoning his mother to deal with his father which had not been eased by the bravely stoic letters written in her perfect, flowing handwriting.

By his thirteenth birthday his parents had been dead—and by the time he and Eli had first hiked Red Rock Canyon they’d been buried for a decade.

So Laurel was wrong. The pilgrimages he and Eli had made to Vegas had nothing to do with missing Diyafa—or his family.

No need for her to know there were no nostalgic, happy memories for him to hanker after—or at least, not until he successfully talked her into marrying him to nullify Prince Ahmeer’s latest round of threats. For now, he’d promised his Southern rebel fun and adventure—and he intended to ensure she experienced plenty of both.

Cupping her elbow, he ushered her in the porter’s wake into the quiet, discreet luxury of the hotel lobby. A hostess rushed forward and offered them each a glass of champagne. Before Rakin could refuse, Laurel shook her head.

She flashed him a rueful glance. “I want a clear head—I’m not missing a moment of this.”

Her humor caused his mood to lighten. “I like you tipsy,” he said softly.

A flush swept along her cheekbones. “It’s not gentlemanly of you to remind me.”

Coming from his lady-turned-rebel, the statement caused him to chuckle. “I thought you were tired of social constraints?”

“Not so tired that I’ll get tipsy again any time soon.”

They’d reached the reservations desk. Laurel leaned forward to answer a question from the reservations clerk and Rakin was instantly all too aware of the taut, lean lines of her body. Her bare arms rested on the polished counter and she spread her hands drawing his attention to the rings that decorated her graceful fingers.

Her ring finger was bare. His gaze lingered on the band of pale skin that evidenced her broken engagement to Eli.

A light, summery scent floated to him. Rakin inhaled deeply. Could one get tipsy on perfume? he wondered, then shook off the absurd notion.

This was about business.

Not about Laurel’s perfume. Not about the pleasure that her company brought. Hard to believe he’d only met her yesterday. It had been tough to convince her to come away today. Once she’d accepted his invitation, she’d immediately tried to buy time. She’d suggested the following weekend. Rakin couldn’t risk her changing her mind. He’d pushed until she’d capitulated. He’d won. She’d agreed to two days. He had two days in which to convince her to marry him—and secure his position in Gifts of Gold, the company of which he’d been appointed CEO.

Two days …

He feared it wouldn’t be enough. He’d have to tempt her to play longer.

Once they’d completed the brief check-in formalities for the penthouse suite he’d reserved, Rakin wasted no time setting his plan of attack into action. Bending his head, he murmured, “I thought we might go exploring.”

Laurel had taken her sunglasses off, and without the shielding screen her green eyes sparkled up at him. “Sounds great—I can’t wait.”

Some of her joyous enthusiasm appeared to be rubbing off on him because Rakin couldn’t stop himself from smiling back at her. “Then there’s no time to waste.”

Laurel very soon discovered that Las Vegas did indeed have spectacular sights.

In fact, her mind was quite boggled by the end of the first hour. The interior of the Luxor hotel was concealed in an immense black glass pyramid guarded by a giant crouching sphinx. But inside, instead of the treasures of ancient Egypt, Laurel was amazed to find the reconstructed bow of the giant Titanic complete with a lifeboat. As she and Rakin wandered through the installations, Laurel was moved by the stories of the last hours of the crew and passengers on the ship’s tragic maiden voyage.

The Liberace Museum, by contrast, with its collection of resplendent, unashamed kitsch, made her giggle. The glittering mirror-tiled piano and the rhinestone-covered grand were wonderfully over the top. On catching sight of Rakin’s appalled expression as he inspected the famed red, white and blue hot-pants suit, a mischievous impulse overtook her.

She eyed the black jeans and dazzling white T-shirt he wore, then leaned close to whisper, “I think your wardrobe should include one of those outfits.”

“It would cause quite a stir in Diyafa if I ever wore such a garment. A national disaster, in fact. There are still some conservative elements who would never recover from the sight of Prince Ahmeer Al-Abdellah’s grandson sporting hot pants.” Across the narrow space separating them, their eyes met, and for one charged moment a connection pulsed between them…. Then it passed and hilarity broke.

“Enough of museums,” said Rakin, reaching for her hand when they’d sufficiently regained their composure. “I think we need a little more action.”

A shock of surprise rushed through her as his hand closed around hers. The clasp was warm and firm. Rakin showed no sign that the gesture had affected him to the same extent—he was striding purposefully forward, seemingly unaware that they were holding hands like a pair of lovers.

She was making too much of it.

Rakin was treating her with the kind of warm friendship she craved. So why spoil it by imagining intimacies that didn’t exist? She should take the gesture at face value and go with the flow. No need to overanalyze the camaraderie that was developing between them. That, too, was part of breaking free.

Easier said than done.

Laurel couldn’t dampen her awareness of their linked hands, and she finally slid her hand out of his and came to a stop when a familiar skyline materialized ahead.

“New York?” The Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building were interspersed with other landmark buildings. This was his idea of more action? But she had to admit the replica skyscrapers were impressive. “Oh, wow, there’s the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“The buildings are about a third of actual life size,” Rakin informed her. “But it’s not the sight of the buildings that will give you the adrenaline rush I promised.”

“New York–New York? A rollercoaster?” she gasped moments later.

“Why not?” He shot her a taunting look. “Scared?”

Even if she had been, his all-too-male I-dare-you expression would have forced her to bite her lip. She’d told him that she craved adventure, so there was no way she was going to back down now.

She stuck up her chin. “Of course not. I love rides.”

Love was a slight exaggeration. She hadn’t been on a ride in years. A quick calculation left Laurel astonished by exactly how long it had been since she’d last experienced such a ride. Where had the years gone? And, more to the point, where had her sense of fun gone? When had she let herself become so staid … so boring? When had she forgotten that there was a world out there beyond the confines of her family and the demands of public relations for The Kincaid Group?