Down, girl.
She should focus on the fact that Khalid’s father had hunted down Khalid for some reason—she didn’t know what.
Khalid seemed both tense and quiet on the drive back, and she couldn’t blame him. So far her take on the sultan was that he was way too used to getting his own way—in other words, a lot like Luke only worse.
The limo pulled up in front of the palace. Casey got out without waiting for the driver again, which seemed to exasperate the man, given the way he huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes. She did, however, wait for Khalid so she could climb the front steps with him.
They found the sultan in the main hall, pacing the floor, looking far too much like an elderly, caged bear that wasn’t too happy. He stopped his pacing and turned on Khalid. “What was so important that you could not stay?”
Khalid shrugged and put an arm over Casey’s shoulder. She stiffened—just what was he planning? “Why should I say? I have a bride to be to entertain. What—did you think marriage would change my ways?”
The sultan’s face reddened. Casey glanced from him to Khalid and decided she was done being a pawn for this night. Obviously, Khalid was using this sham of an engagement to irritate his father and his father was just about as easy to poke as a bear in a cage. More importantly, if Khalid picked a fight with his father right this second, the whole engagement might end up being tossed out and her along with it and she’d never get her interview.
Slipping out from under Khalid’s arm—and okay, it felt more than good, but she needed a brain back—she offered up what she hopped was a charming smile for the sultan. “We’ve been to Med-Men, the spa, and I’m starting to think I should take up travel writing. Why if more folks knew about that place, you’d be overrun with tourists. It’s an amazing place. A muntajae sihi, Khalid called it. You should be proud of such an attraction.”
The flatter seemed to sooth some of the sultan’s sour mood. His color settled. He smoothed his mustache and turned to Khalid. “Nevertheless, it was inappropriate to abandon our guests as if you were a boy with no thought to your duties.”
Now Casey wanted to roll her eyes—did these two never give up picking at each other? The sultan needed a few lessons in how to parent, and Khalid needed a few in how to prove to his father that he could be trusted. Instead, the two men stared at each other, as if each of them was waiting for the other one to blink. Casey decided enough was enough.
Faking a yawn—and she had no idea if that was rude or not—she stretched and then said, “Think I’ll turn in. Good night.” She headed for the stairs, leaving father and son to sort out whatever they could. At least she didn’t hear shouting coming up the stairs after her, just some low words swapped—no doubt the two of them poking at each other still—and then a firm set of steps.
From the top landing, she glanced back to see Khalid coming up the steps after her. He offered up a crooked smile. “My father ordered me to see you to your room to ensure you might be comfortable.”
She propped on hand on her hip. “You do know he does that just to see if you’re going to jump when he cracks that verbal whip of his.”
Khalid lifted a shoulder as if it didn’t matter to him, but she could see his mouth tighten. She was going to bet he didn’t like being treated as if he was twelve still—what man would? Mouth relaxing, Khalid reached her side. “Fathers and sons in this family have always been half at war—the stories I have heard of my grandfather from my uncles have him being a worse tyrant than my father.”
“You know that still doesn’t make it right.”
He shrugged again and let her to her room. “Right is a matter of perspective at times.”“And other times it’s just a matter of right and wrong.”
His lips twitched. They stopped outside the door to her room and he touched a fingertip to her cheek. “So American—always seeing things in absolutes.”
She smiled. “It’s one of the things you love about me—remember?”
His smile faded. “And this is another.” Leaning close, he touched his mouth to hers. She put a hand on his chest, unable—and unwilling—to resist. She’d been wanting this ever since she’d seen him naked and dripping wet—and looking good enough to eat with a spoon. She gave a moan and he deepened the kiss, his lips softening, his mustache and beard scraping her skin ever so slightly. He smelled of the minerals from the spa waters, of spiced oil from his massage and of something male and compelling—some scent that had to be his own.
Her head spun and a spark sizzled through her, incinerating every intent to keep her distance. She wound her arm around his neck and pulled him closer. He tasted exquisite—exotic and all too tempting.
Before she could lose herself utterly, she pulled back, pushing gently on his chest. He let her break the kiss. She was breathing hard and so was he.
She stared at him. His eyes had darkened. “Invite me in,” he said the words a husky rasp that sent a shiver through her.
She kept her hand firmly on his chest. “I understand we need to keep up appearances, but let’s not start fooling ourselves. I’m gone as soon as I have my story, and you’re not a man who settles down with any one woman.”
“How do you know I have not met the right woman?” He took her hand in his and kissed her palm. Then he licked a strip across her wrist where her pulse was skipping. She gave a small laugh. “Yeah, I’ll believe that story when the world turns upside down. Good night, lover. Hope you have sweet dreams.”
She stood on tiptoe to kiss the corner of his mouth, because she couldn’t resist. Before he could put his arms around her, she opened her door and slipped inside. She closed the door fast, flipped the lock and collapsed against it, letting out a long breath. And she was still thinking about all that naked, dark skin and strong muscles she’d just turned down.
Chewing her lower lip, she wondered if she should open the door and invite him in after all. But she’d been honest—they had no possible future. He was going to be a sultan one day—she was aiming for a Pulitzer. Where was there any room for the two of them in that?
Could be a great fling.
Shaking her head, she pushed off the door. She needed to keep her mind on her story—and on the fact that women in Sharjah didn’t get much choice about their marriages or their lives.
A cold shower and changing from that amazing dress into her baggy sweats brought her back down to earth. She rummaged through her backpack and pulled out her laptop. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she booted up the computer and started to type notes.
With immeasurable wealth comes immeasurable power.