Sheikh's Revenge

Addison dug even more into her pancakes, stuffing her mouth in hopes that her brother would stop questioning her. There was no way she could explain she’d been the courtesan or harem girl or whatever for a guy who was basically pretending to be Rudolph Valentino. God, seriously, what had she been thinking? What kind of a crazy moron was she?

Of course, then her mind flashed back to the way his tongue had felt lapping at her inner sanctum, at the pleasure crashing over her in gargantuan waves, and part of her wasn’t so embarrassed after all. Besides, no one would ever have to know. He was long gone to who knew where, and it wasn’t like she was going to spill the beans to her brother. Some things, even twins didn’t share.

“Then it was definitely something else,” he said. “I mean, I saw tons of cancan dancers and superheroines and even cheerleaders with masks. I didn’t see any sheikhs. Hell, most guys were about as creative as me, just grab a domino mask or something. If there was a sheikh guy there, then I have to give him credit for at least going all out.”

“Heh, right now can you pass the bacon?”

***

Addison’s life had taken a bizarre turn in the last few days. First she’d been fired, then she’d been trashed for one of the only times in her life, and then she’d had the best sex ever with a mystery man. Now, she was sitting in the waiting room of Amun Petrol waiting for a job interview with the owner, Sheikh Zahir Amun. It seemed that in the last week or so, her life had somehow become Middle Eastern themed. She had no real expertise in oil and knew nothing about the Middle East. She knew vaguely that most of Dubai, where the company was based, had the reputation of being a great tourist spot and full of shopping centers that appealed to the upper class. Since she was far from being rish, it wasn’t like Addison had thought much about it.

So why she’d gotten a call from the owner’s sister, Fairuza Amun, who’d asked her at seven on Monday morning if she could come in for an interview that Wednesday, Addison didn’t know. She was the least qualified person she could think of to start working for an international oil conglomerate.

Not that she had been offered the job.

Considering what a disaster she’d been lately, Addison would be happy if she could get in and out of this without tripping or spilling something or any other embarrassing mishap. She had no hope that she’d actually be hired. Even if she didn’t have a terrible work record now, there had to be hundreds of secretaries with more experience to work for Sheikh Amun. So that left her clutching her resume portfolio tightly to her chest and trying not to get too nervous as she waited for Sheikh Amun to call her back.

All you have to do is not humiliate yourself for thirty minutes. I know you can do that.

Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she almost wanted to leave before the door opened and the sheikh stepped out. He was tall, probably about 6-foot-3 with broad shoulders and a physique that complimented his tailored suit. He had a dark, olive complexion and his eyes seemed vaguely familiar, which seemed absurd. And yet, she’d rarely seen someone with eyes that looked like gold.

Her breath caught in her throat even as she scuttled into the office.

It can’t be. It just can’t be. What are even the odds?

She sat in front of his desk and watched as Sheikh Amun sat on the opposite side.

Feeling awkward and overwhelmed by her suspicion, she stammered, “I…thank you for interviewing with me. This came as quite a surprise.”

He nodded, even as he looked over her resume. “You have a degree in design but you were Clayton McDermott’s personal secretary for almost nine months. How does that match?”

Her heart fell down to her toes. She knew that voice. How he hadn’t recognized hers, she didn’t know. Okay, so she’d been talking pretty huskily up on the roof, especially with the passion overtaking her. She hadn’t exactly sounded like her typical “perky assistant” self, and her mask had been far more ornate than his. Between those obvious eyes, that voice that could melt her with a few syllables, and his domino mask, she knew exactly who Sheikh Amun truly was.

But does he know me? He’s definitely playing this ridiculously cool if he does.

“I…well, I took whatever job I could. Then I was doing fairly well with Mr. McDermott, but he wanted to ‘go a different direction’ with his help.”

“And that means?”

“Well, older maybe? I guess he thought I was too inexperienced in some areas. So maybe a bit of reverse ageism?” she said, hoping it didn’t sound too stupid.

Sheikh Amun considered that. “I’ll be honest. I’ve been looking for a new secretary, and with your design skills, I anticipate that you can do quite a bit with Photoshop and in other arenas as well.”

“Of course.”

“Then, good. I have quite a few clients to see to during the next two days, but your skill set is disparate and interesting. I think and hope to be calling on you again, Miss Morgan.”

She crossed her legs, trying to will away the shivers. She could easily remember him calling her “kitten” in that same, silky voice. If she didn’t get out of here soon, she’d be more than tripping over herself.

“Don’t you want to ask me anything else?”

“I think your resume speaks for itself, and if anyone can last almost a year with that louse, then you’re definitely tough.”

She chuckled, despite herself, thinking back to her twin brother basically saying the same thing. “So I guess he’s not someone whom other CEOs are fans of, huh?”

Sheikh Amun’s expression darkened, something black seeming to creep into his golden eyes. His jaw clenched for a moment before he shook his head. “No, I’d say that Clayton’s reputation precedes him over and over again. I know that if you worked for him for eight months and didn’t murder him then you have more self-control than I’ll ever have.”

“Thanks, I think,” she said, s