She thought about stepping closer to let him enjoy the smell—eau de prison cell and two days of sweat, but she wanted out and this guy might be her key to that.
He swept a courtly bow that might have been ridiculous if anyone else had done that. “I’m Sheikh Khalid Al-Qasimi.” “As if I didn’t know. What, you think I’d crash just anyone’s wedding.” She crossed her arms. “Now can I call the American Embassy so we can clear up this misunderstanding?”
He shook his head and the ends of his headscarf swayed. “It is not a misunderstanding when you violate a private ceremony against the expressed wishes of the Sultan of Sharjah. And this is not America—our laws our quite different.”
Dropping her arms to her sides, she chewed on her lower lip. Was it better to go damsel in distress or stay a reporter who knew her stuff. Sharjah might not be the most forward-looking of countries, but it also wasn’t backwater—they had a lot of ties to American businesses, which was why she’d targeted them for a quote from one of the CEOs. She lifted her head and told him, “Do you really want to escalate this into an international incident? And that’s after the bad press you already earned? What did they call you? The sulky Sheikh? The sultan’s sorry son?”
He winced, but waved aside her remarks. “As you note, honor does matter in Sharjah. Your actions interrupted my wedding and humiliated the bride.”
Casey bit down on her lower lip again. She let out a breath. “About that…I am sorry if your bride’s angry. But, honestly, she seemed a nice girl, and too nice to be pushed into something without her express consent.”
“Oh, she won’t be. The wedding is, as you Americans might say, off.”
Casey blinked—and held still, cutting off the urge to pump a fist into the air and shout, “Yes!” That would be rude. Something, however, must have showed up in her eyes, for Khalid shook his head. “My father is undecided what to do about you. He may simply forget about you. If that happens, there’s no telling how long you’ll stay in here.” He waved a hand at the iron bars, the concrete walls and floor. Sharjah was certainly modern with its ideas of prisons being a lot of hard surfaces.
“You’re bluffing,” Casey said. “Your father has far too many connections to American businesses to risk sanctions or worse.”
Khalid shrugged. It seemed an elegant gesture, smooth and practiced, but Casey couldn’t help noticing his eyes had darkened. It was possible he was as upset with her as his father must be—from what she’d seen, the bride had been a lovely girl.
Staring at him, she lifted her chin and cut to the chase. “You’re not here to tell me all this, so just what do you want?” She could have sworn she saw a shift in his expression, a quirk of his lips and those arched eyebrows that betrayed what seemed irritation. Over what?
Before she could figure it out, he asked, “I wish to know why did you crash my wedding?”
Turning her head to one side, she chewed on her lower lip. Did she go for honesty? Or something that might get her out of here? Giving up—she was a damn poor liar—she waved a hand at him. “Look, yours wasn’t the first arranged wedding I’ve been to. I’ve seen girls shoved into matches with rich old men, and women obviously terrified to say no or so unhappy that you could feel it in the room. But yours is…was…high profile. A story about a dozen women sold by their family into virtual slavery gets a few lines of page five and people going tsk-tsk. But—”
“The Sultan’s Sulky Son—is that what you said I was named—I will get front page. Yes?”
Talking faster now, she spread her hands wide and said, “I’ve read about your…exploits. I figured if anyone could bring a spotlight onto this wrong, it would be you. Well, actually, it would be your notoriety.”
“I am so happy to see you are an honest woman. Did you even think of the shame you could bring down on Fadiyah and her family?” She stiffened. “Frankly, no. I figured I was saving her—”
“From a fate worse than death? Fadiyah would one day have been sultana.”
She propped a hand on her hip. “And maybe she didn’t want that? Anyone ever ask her what she wanted? Did you even meet her before the ceremony?”
A blush reddened his cheeks slightly, but again he brushed away her words with an impatient swipe of one long-fingered hand. No man should have hands that elegant, Casey decided. And then she tried to focus on his words. “…possible to arrange your release without having to involve your embassy or any official paperwork.”
She blinked. “Uh…how? Do you have a magic carpet?” He stared at her. She lifted one shoulder. “Sorry—bad joke.”
“Well, this is not. If you were my fiancée, I could have you immediately given into my custody.”.
She stared at him for a long moment. The urge to laugh welled in her chest, but he sounded serious about that. She shook her head. “I’ve heard of some lame pick-up lines, but that…you want me to step into that poor girl’s shoes? I’ve seen how little respect women get in Sharjah. Thanks, but no thanks.”
Khalid folded his arms over what was, she noticed, a very broad chest. “You think do you not—what is the phrase, owe me? I made a promise to my father—and in my world honor matters more than riche—to marry. You have ruined my chances for that, leaving me in what you might call a tight spot. If you pose as my fiancée, not only do you repair what you have done to insult me, it is possible my father will see an American bride—one outspoken as you—is not a daughter he wishes to add to the family. He will release me from my promise—I will be free, and so will you.”
It sounded too damn simple.
Casey didn’t think for one moment that she should trust him. He was smiling again—that charming, little-boy lost quirk of the mouth with eyes that were imploring her to see his side of things. Oh, yeah—this was his plan all right, and one that could end with her in even deeper trouble.
On the other hand, his dad really could keep her locked up and unable to reach out to anyone who could help her. That would prevent any American businesses from having to back away from Sharjah deals. But she wasn’t ready to jump into this farce. Not yet.
Shaking her head, she said, “And what do I get from this?.”
Pushing off the wall, he faced her. “Your freedom is not enough?”
“You are not exactly in a position to make demands.” “Oh, I think I am. Your dad runs this country. Meaning, you can get me in anywhere. I could get a story on the inside of an arranged marriage. An interview with Fadiyah even. I’ll pose as your fiancée and you help me get a story that’s Pulitzer worthy.”
“Very well. You have my word. Now is there anything else? Money perhaps?” He sounded so smug, her palm itche