The Sheikh's Convenient Bride

That was the understatement of the century. He was a king. A sheikh. A man tied to a past she could hardly imagine. Of course, he wasn’t he wasn’t her type.

Was that why they were so drawn to each other? Was it the old “oopposites attract” thing? He was undoubtedly accustomed to women who didn’t think for themselves; she dated men who treated women as equals. She’d never met a man who went through life taking what he wanted until today.

His attitude was infuriating. It was irritating.

It was incredibly exciting.

Soon, she’d be alone with him in a foreign land with none of the intrusions of the world to keep them from what they both wanted and yes, it was what she wanted, too. Qasim in her bed, his hands on her, his mouth…

Megan shot to her feet.

They wouldn’t be alone, they’d be working. An employer and his employee. Better still, a financial advisor and her client. There’d be no time for the male-female thing. Why was she sitting around thinking about nonsense? She had to pack, and why was she giving a moment’s thought to what to pack?

For all she knew, woman in Qasim’s country wore potato sacks. So what? She wore suits, sensible heels, and panty hose. Why on earth would she change that? Why would she change anything about herself for this job or this man?

Megan took her suitcase from the shelf and began tossing garments into it.

She knew who she was.

Soon, so would the sheikh.

Three days later, sitting in her rooms in Qasim’s palace, she wondered at the innocence of that assessment.

Who was she? A woman in a harem, that was who. All right. Not a harem. She was in the women’s quarters, but it came to the same thing.

It turned out there was no hotel in Suliyam’s capital city. Qasim had explained that as they’d been whisked from the airport to his palace.

She had to admit the palace was magnificent, gleaming under the hot sun like something out of a fairy tale. Her rooms were handsome: large, airy and elegant, with tiled floors and Moorish windows, and the view of a tranquil pond in a beautiful courtyard garden was to die for.

It was all perfect, except for the fact that she’d been relegated to the women’s quarters.

“The what?” she’d said the first day, her voice rising in disbelief as Qasim led her along a series of corridors to a set of enormous double doors.

“The women’s quarters, and keep your voice down. It’s bad enough I’m permitting you to walk beside me where others can see us.”

The arrogance of the remark had put a slow burn in her belly. And what “others” was he talking about? The bowing minions who’d greeted them on the front steps? The stony-faced guards who looked like leftovers from a bad late-night movie?

Megan had stopped in her tracks. “I don’t give a damn about others, and I am not going to be relegated to purgatory just so you can maintain the status quo.”

“You understood the rules when you came here.”

“So did you. I’m your financial consultant, not a member of your harem.”

He’d given a long-suffering sigh, as if her irritation were nothing more than he’d expected.

“I’m simply ensuring my people show you the necessary respect.”

“And that means I have to live like Scheherazade? Next thing you’ll tell me is that I’m going to have a eunuch around to make sure I behave!”

“Sorry,” he’d said, so straight-faced that she’d almost believed him, “I fired the last eunuch a couple of months ago.” His hand had closed on her elbow. “My grandfather was the last to keep a harem. Now, stop arguing and keep walking.”

“You can’t give me orders!”

His hand had tightened on her arm. “Use that tone to me again,” he’d said in a low voice, “and you’ll learn what purgatory really is.”

“I already know. It’s being here, with you.”

“Is that supposed to upset me, Megan? It doesn’t. I don’t give a damn what you think of me or this place, just as long as you do your job.” He’d opened the doors to the rooms that were now hers; a covey of giggling women had rushed forward to surround her. “Your servants,” Qasim had said dryly, as if he knew being presented with servants would only add to her bad temper. While the ladies in question oohed and ahhed and touched her blue wool suit with exploratory hands, he’d bent forward and put his mouth to her ear so only she could hear him. “You want to know the truth, kalila? I think what angers you is that you know you’ll be far away from me.”