Sandra Marton - The Sheikh's Convenient Bride

“Are you going to give me your address? Or shall my aide get it from Simpson?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Let him send a check to her apartment. Let him send a dozen checks. She’d make the courier wait while she tore them into thousands of pieces and tell him precisely what he was to tell the sheikh to do with all those bits of paper.

At least she’d have the satisfaction of knowing his Mightiness would spend sleepless nights worrying that she’d sue. With luck, he’d have an ulcer by the time he finally realized she wouldn’t.

“Miss O’Connell?”

Megan turned around. “Get out of my sight.”

Caz stiffened. He heard Hakim make a sound that might have been a growl as he took a step forward.

“No,” Caz said sharply, putting his hand on his aide’s shoulder.

“But my lord…”

“She’s American,” Caz said, because that explained everything.

“Damned right I am,” Megan said. “And you’re a pig.”

He forced a smile to his lips, as if she’d handed him a compliment.

“Goodbye, Miss O’Connell. You’ll see my courier this evening.” He moved toward her and was gratified to see the swift rush of panic in her eyes. “But for your sake,” he said softly, so softly that he knew Hakim couldn’t hear him, “you’d better pray that you never see me again.”

The sheikh turned on his heel and strode from the room. His aide gave Megan one last, menacing look, then fell in after him.

Megan drew a shuddering breath and sank into a chair. The Prince of the Desert was gone. He was out of her life, forever.

And not a moment too soon.

MEGAN left work at six-thirty, almost an hour later than usual.

Since she’d expected to be quick-marched out of the building after her confrontation with the sheikh, leaving late wasn’t too bad.

To her surprise, Simpson hadn’t fired her. Either he’d believed her lawsuit threat or…

Or what?

She was glad she still had her job, but she couldn’t figure out the reason.

Megan sighed as she stepped from the elevator.

Actually she couldn’t figure out much of anything anymore, including why she’d never even imagined she could win a legal battle. Not that she regretted anything she’d said to either Simpson or Sheikh Qasim. It was just that nothing seemed quite as black and white as it had hours before.

Rain was beating against the glass lobby doors. Great. The weatherman had predicted overcast skies. How come those guys never got it right?

How come she hadn’t? Megan asked herself as she turned up her collar and stepped into the street.

Threatening to sue had sounded good. Telling the sheikh what she thought of him had felt good. Great…except, all she’d really done was commit professional suicide. Odds were she’d be digging through the employment ads by next week.

A gust of wind blew the chill rain into her face. Too bad something like that hadn’t happened hours earlier. She could have used an icy dousing around then.

Tremont, Burnside and Macomb was a prestigious firm. So what if her boss was an ass? That didn’t change the facts. She’d behaved stupidly, first with her boss, then with her client…

Except, the sheikh wasn’t her client, and that was probably a good thing because she never could have worked with him. How could you work with a man who was so obnoxious? So rude? So over-bearing and demanding and arrogant?

How could you work with a man who kissed you and turned your bones to jelly?

Megan reached the parking lot, unlocked her car and tossed her briefcase and purse on the passenger seat. She slid behind the wheel, started the engine and turned up the heat. She was drenched and her teeth were chattering.

There was no sense in lying to herself. Qasim had kissed her and she’d kissed him back. It had only been a kiss, but it had left her breathless. Who knew what might have happened if his aide hadn’t interrupted them?

She swallowed hard and stared through the rain-streaked windshield. The other cars were blurs of color.

That was how she’d felt when they’d kissed. As if the world had disappeared and only the colors of it remained.

Damn it.

She gave herself a little shake, turned on the windshield wipers and headed into the street.

She’d absolutely made a mess of things, from start to finish. Too much caffeine. Okay, too much caffeine and too little common sense. She shouldn’t have lost her temper and backed herself into a figurative corner.

And she shouldn’t have been such an easy target for a man who undoubtedly thought women were for only one thing.

The truth was that nothing would have happened if Hakim or Akim, whatever the Head Flunky’s name was, hadn’t shown up.

“Nothing at all,” she muttered, and pulled out into traffic, which was even more horrible than usual. Well, why not? An extra hour spent creeping home on slick roads would be the perfect ending to a perfect day.

Her life was starting to feel like a soap opera.

She hit every red light between the parking lot and the freeway entrance ramp. Okay, she thought, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel. That gave her plenty of time to try and figure out why Simpson hadn’t dumped her.

Could he really have fallen for the lawsuit thing?

No. The Worm was a rat and if that was a mixed metaphor, so be it. The point was, rats were miserable creatures but they weren’t stupid. Her boss had seen through her threat.

He had to know that she wouldn’t go to the media, either. Any action she took that would tarnish the company and the sheikh would tarnish her.

Goodbye, career. Goodbye, all these years spent climbing the corporate ladder.

Simpson had to know she’d calm down and come to her senses.

But the sheikh had no way of knowing it. He’d fall for anything she said. Obviously he had. That was the reason he’d made that loathsome offer to buy her off.

Had he gone to Simpson? Told her boss not to worry, that he had things under control? Was that why Simpson hadn’t fired her, or even come near her for the balance of the day?

Maybe so.

Well, they were both in for a big surprise. Just let His Almightiness try and send her a check. Just let the Worm try to think she could be bought off. Just let…

“Stop,” Megan said firmly. “Just stop.” She was working herself up all over again, and for what? She’d already decided what to do with a check, if the sheikh sent one. As for Simpson…She wouldn’t let him buy her off, either. To hell with the big Hollywood client. To hell with the partnership. She’d polish up her résumé, call up a headhunter, find herself a new job…

And lose the chance to make partner. Simpson saw it as a bribe but she deserved it. She was a hard worker. An excellent financial analyst. Was she really going to let Simpson and the insufferable Qasim of Suliyam make her lose everything she’d striven for?

She was not.

If she could just come up with the reason for Simpson’s silence…

Her cell phone rang. Megan ignored it. She hated taking calls when she was driving, especially in heavy traffic made even worse by a steady rain. Whoever it was would call back. Or leave a message. Or—

Or be as persistent as an ant at a picnic. The phone rang again. And again. The fourth time, she kept her eyes on the wet road and dug the phone from her purse.

“This better be important,” she said, “because I am knee-deep in rain and traffic and—”

“Megan?”

“Yes?” she said cautiously. It was a male voice, familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

‘‘Thank God,’’ the voice said, and sighed with relief. ‘‘It’s Frank.’’