The Sheikh's Convenient Bride

Caz could feel the anger rushing through him. Control, he told himself, control…but this woman needed a lesson.

“It’s time somebody showed you what women really are,” she said, and those few words pushed him over the edge.

“At least we agree on something,” he answered, and before she could twist her head away, his mouth came down over hers.

His kiss was harsh. Dominating. He was a man intent on proving his strength and her weakness, his power to subdue her.

Megan fought back. Hard. When he tried to open her mouth with his, she sank her teeth into his bottom lip. He grunted, turned, pushed her back against the wall; she shoved against his chest, freed her hands, beat them against his shoulders…

And then, in a heartbeat, it all changed.

Later, she’d think back and remember the sudden stillness in the room, as if the universe was holding its breath. Now all she knew was the feel of his mouth as it softened on hers, the gentling of his hands as they slid up her shoulders, her throat, into her hair.

It was happening again. What she’d felt minutes ago, except now it was real. She was in his arms, her body pressed to his, and what was happening had everything to do with desire instead of anger, with wanting instead of hating.

She moaned, parted her lips to the feathery brush of his tongue, let him take possession of her mouth. Of her senses.

He said something in a language she didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. She understood all the rest. What he wanted. What she wanted, and when he angled his mouth over hers, took the kiss deeper and deeper until she felt the earth spinning away, Megan raised her arms, wound them around his neck. He ran a hand down her spine, cupped her bottom, lifted her into him, into his heat, his hardness…

Someone knocked at the door. The sound was like a clap of thunder exploding within the confines of the quiet room.

Caz’s hands fell away from her. He stepped back; her eyes flew open. Breathing hard, they stared at each other like partners who’d lost their footing in some intricate dance.

The knock at the door sounded again. A voice called out. It took Caz seemingly endless seconds to realize it was Hakim, calling his name.

“Sire? Sire, forgive me for disturbing you…”

Caz stared at the O’Connell woman. What in hell had just h

appened? A shared hallucination? An aberration? His gaze hardened. There were those among his people who would say she was not just a liar and a cheat but a sorceress. He knew better. She was only a woman. A seductive woman, and he’d played right into her hands.

Perhaps she thought she could sleep her way into the job she wanted, rather than blackmail her way into it. Or that she could use the last few minutes against him, either in a court of law or in ways that had the potential to be even more damaging.

He could almost see the headlines in the Wall Street Journal. Wouldn’t his enemies love it if she denounced him to the press?

“Sire?”

She was still staring at him, her green eyes huge and seemingly clouded with confusion. If nothing else, she was an excellent actress.

Caz forced a smile to his lips. “Thank you for the taste of your wares, but you’re wasting your time. I’m not interested.”

“You arrogant son of a bitch!” Her face went white and she raised her hand, swung her fist at his jaw, but he slipped the punch with ease, caught her wrist and dragged her hard against him.

“Be careful,” he said softly, “or before you know it, you’ll be in water so deep it will be over your head.”

“Don’t you ever, ever, touch me again!”

A chilling smile angled across his mouth. “That’s the first thing you’ve said that pleases me.” He let go of her, took a breath to compose himself and opened the door. Hakim stood just outside, his expression as inscrutable as always.

“What is it, Hakim?”

“I am sorry to trouble you, my lord, but you told me to remind you of your luncheon appointment.”

Caz nodded. He had not told Hakim any such thing, but his aide de camp had served first his father and now him. The man had a sixth sense about trouble, and the courage to act on his own initiative when he thought it necessary.

There were times it was an annoyance, but right now, Caz was glad he had.

“Yes. Thank you.” He shot a glance at Megan O’Connell. She had turned away from him and was standing by the window, back straight, hands in the pockets of her mannish skirt, looking out at the street as if nothing had happened, but then, nothing had.