Charlene Sands - Saved by the Sheikh! / Million-Dollar Marriage Merger - Saved by the Sheikh! / Million-Dollar Marriage Merger

“Your father was in the military?”

She didn’t want to talk about Taylor Smith. “No—but he traveled a lot.”

“Ah, like a salesman or something?”

“Something like that.” She took another sip of her drink and set it down on a round glass-topped table. “What about you? Where do you live?”

He considered her. “I’m from Dhahara—it’s a desert kingdom, near Oman.”

“How fascinating!”

“Ah, you find me fascinating ….”

Tiffany stared at him.

Then she detected the wry mockery glinting in his eyes. “Not you!” She gave a gurgle of laughter and relaxed a little. “Where you live fascinates me.”

“Now you break my heart.”

“Are you flirting with me?” she asked suspiciously.

“If you must ask, then I must be losing my touch.” He stretched out his long legs and loosened his tie.

The gesture brought her attention to his hands. In the reflected glow of the lamplight his fingers were lean and square-tipped, and dark against the white of his shirt. The gold of a signet ring winked in the light. His hand had stilled. Under his fingertips his heart would be beating like—

“You might not think I’m fascinating but most women think I’m charming,” he murmured, his eyes half-closed, his mood indecipherable.

She reared back. Did he know what was happening to her? Why her pulse had gone crazy? “You? Charming?”

“Absolutely.”

Tiffany swallowed. “Most women must be mad.”

A glint entered his eyes. “You think so?”

Danger! Danger! She recklessly ignored the warning, too caught up in the surge of adrenalin that provoking him brought. “I know so.”

“You don’t believe I could be charming?” He smiled, his teeth startlingly white in the darkening night, and a bolt of metallic heat shot through Tiffany’s belly.

“Never!” she said fiercely.

“Well then, I’ll have to convince you otherwise.”

He bent his head. Slowly, oh, far too slowly. Her heart started to pound. There was plenty of time for her to duck away, to smack his face as she’d earlier in the cab told herself he richly deserved. But she didn’t. Instead she waited, holding her breath, watching his mouth—why hadn’t she noticed how beautiful it was?—come closer and closer, until it finally settled on hers.

And then she sighed.

A soft whisper of sound.

He kissed with mastery. His lips pressed against hers, moving along the seam, playing. tantalizing, never demanding more than she was prepared to give. No other part of him touched her. After an age Tiffany let her lips part. He didn’t take advantage. Instead he continued to taste her with playful kisses until she groaned in frustration.

He needed no further invitation. He plundered her mouth, hungrily seeking out secrets she hadn’t known existed. Passion seized her. Quickly followed by a rush of hunger. His hand came up and cupped the back of her neck. The heat of his touch sent quivers along undiscovered nerve endings.

Tiffany swayed, eyes closed beneath the sensory onslaught.

At last, an eternity later, he lifted his head and gazed down at her with hooded eyes.

“So,” he said with some satisfaction, his fingertips rubbing in soft circles against the sensitized nape of her neck, “you will agree that most women are right. You are charmed.”

Tiffany reeled under the deluge of what could only be cool calculation.

“ I think that you are the most arrogant and conceited playboy —” she spat that out “—I have ever met.”

For an instant he stared at her, and she steeled herself for retaliation … of a sexual kind.

He threw his head back and laughed.

“Thank you,” Rafiq said when he was finally through laughing, bowing his head with mock grace, his eyes still gleaming with hilarity. “I am honored.”

And Tiffany wished with wild regret that she’d smacked his face until her hand stung while she’d had the chance. Through lips that still burned from his kiss, she said, “You don’t charm me.”

His amusement instantly evaporated.

Rafiq suppressed the flare of annoyance and studied her dispassionately. Her hostility surprised him. He’d thought she’d leap at the opportunity to seduce him. Had she gauged he was not easily swayed? Intrigued by the idea, he assessed her. Was the taunt a ploy to capture his attention? Was it possible that she’d known exactly who he was? Researched him?

He shook off the sudden concern.

No, she might be street-smart. But she was a nobody—an insignificant foreign girl illegally working in a dubious club in the backstreets of Hong Kong. He dismissed his apprehension.

“Don’t look at me like that, you arrogant jerk.”

No one talked to him like that. Certainly not a woman like her. With a growl he grabbed her hand and yanked her toward him. She made a little squeaking sound as she landed in his lap. Rafiq softened his hold, stroking his fingers in long sweeps along her spine. Bending his head, he nuzzled the soft skin of her neck, murmuring sweet words. Her gasp quickly turned to a moan of delight. He marshaled every seductive trick he knew. She responded like a moonflower opening, overwhelming him with her sweet response.

Rafiq fought against the intoxicating pleasure her soft body unlocked. Told himself he was still in control. After all, he’d only teased her … flirted with her … kissed her to determine how far Tiffany was prepared to take this scam.

It was a test.

He told himself she’d failed. Dismally. Even as she’d kissed him like angel. He should’ve been thrilled he’d been proved right.

Instead he drowned in her unresisting softness.

When she shoved at his chest, he blinked rapidly in surprise and shook his head to clear it. “What?”

She scrambled to her feet, her breathing unsteady, her eyes blazing. “You misled me. I didn’t come here for this. I’m not so desperate for a place to sleep.”

Before she could spin away, he caught her arm.

“Tiffany, wait. You insult both of us. You might think I’m a jerk but I never assumed you came with me to find a bed for the night.” Although perhaps the possibility should’ve occurred to him.

There was something about her that made him want to believe she wasn’t like that. Maybe it was her wide brown eyes that gave her such an air of sincerity. Or the baby-soft skin beneath his fingertips …

He brushed the observation aside. She was a woman—of course her skin was soft. It made her no different from a million other women.

Time to get rid of her, before she had him believing the tales she’d spun. He dropped her arm and drew his wallet from the back of his pants, flipping it open to extract a five-hundred-dollar bill. To his surprise his fingers still shook from the aftershocks of the kiss. “Here, this is your tip for serving me drinks—that should help cover your accommodation for a couple of nights.” If indeed, that story was true.

Bowing her head, Tiffany mumbled, “I can’t take that.”

“Why not?” By Allah, she drove him mad. What did she want from him? “I always intended to give you something to tide you over.”

Rafiq tried to figure out her agenda. He still wasn’t sure what she was after. She was such a curious mix of sophistication and spontaneity. On the one hand she’d almost convinced him her purse and passport had been stolen and all she wanted was a few dollars for a couple of nights’ budget accommodation. Hah, he was even ready to give it to her. In the next breath she’d told him she couldn’t afford the airfare home, leaving him certain that he was being manipulated by an expert.

He couldn’t work out whether she was simply a victim or extremely smart.