To Catch a Sheikh

Rafiq. A rakish name. It suited him.

He was very good-looking. His face was a composition of high cheekbones, straight nose and square jaw that came dangerously close to male perfection. Broad shoulders and a wide chest fit his tall body. His sinfully expensive suit highlighted lean, masculine strength.

She’s always thought Texas cowboys were the standard of male appeal. Prince Rafiq Hassan just upped the benchmark. She had the heart palpitations, weak knees and sweaty palms to prove it.

“May I come in?” he asked.

“Of course.” She pulled the door wide and stood back, allowing him entrance.

He looked at her. “You’ve changed your clothes.”

She followed his glance to her bare feet, jeans and Don’t Mess With Texas T-shirt. When she met his gaze again, it contained a spark of…something she didn’t understand. And she could only think of one word to describe his black eyes.

Smoldering.

To Catch a Sheikh

Teresa Southwick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Susan Mallery, many thanks for your invaluable assistance and patient encouragement.

TERESA SOUTHWICK

lives in Southern California with her hero husband who is more than happy to share with her the male point of view. An avid fan of romance novels, she is delighted to be living out her dream of writing for Silhouette Books. Teresa has also written historical romances under the same name.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter One

Penelope Colleen Doyle didn’t believe in fairy tales. She put no faith in the idea that kissing a frog would create a handsome prince. In fact, the only guys she kissed stayed frogs—or worse—turned into toads. But walking through the royal palace of El Zafir certainly made her want to believe.

“Are we almost there?”

She posed the question to her dark-eyed, olive-skinned guide.

“Yes, miss,” he said in a softly accented voice. He glanced over his shoulder. “We are nearly there.”

She’d forgotten his name. Normally, she had an excellent memory, but nothing about this situation was normal. This was El Zafir—the land of magic, enchantment and romance. She was in the royal palace, with perfectly shined marble hallways, graceful arched doorways and rooms filled with priceless furnishings. But as she put one sensible, low-heeled shoe in front of the other, she had the most absurd desire to leave a trail of cracker crumbs. Just in case she needed to retrace her steps through the maze that was the royal palace.

It was the royal palace, for goodness’ sake! But even the panic-induced adrenaline rush produced by that thought couldn’t pick up the slack when a body hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. Crossing numerous time zones tended to take the starch out of a girl. At this moment, she felt as if she’d walked every step of the way from the U.S. of A.

They rounded a corner and stopped before impressive mahogany double doors. The ceiling was so high, the awesome barrier reminded her of a scene from the King Kong movie where the humongous gates were supposed to keep out the giant ape. She was no ape and at five feet one and a half inches, certainly no giant.

“This is the business wing of the palace,” her guide explained.

“Is there a map I could use to get my bearings?” she asked. “Something with an X that says you are here and a general layout of the rest of the palace?”

“No, miss.”

The man didn’t crack a smile, not even the barest flicker. If no one in this small but up-and-coming, oil-rich country had a sense of humor, it was going to be a long two years.

He pushed open the right door, revealing a carpeted hall forming a T at the end. Berber carpet if her limited knowledge of fine furnishings could be trusted.

“Follow me, miss.”

“Okay.”

Like it would occur to her to strike out on her own. She could be lost for days. They’d have to send a search party to look for her. Was there search and rescue in El Zafir?

Her guide walked past several doors, then turned to his right and went through an open door into an office. The room was bigger than her apartment back home. Granted, her apartment was small. But this was awfully Texas-sized for an office.

He held out his hand, indicating the leather love seat against the wall. “Sit. You’ll receive instruction regarding your duties presently.”

“From Princess Farrah Hassan?”

“No.”

Then from whom, she wanted to ask, looking around for a clue. She wouldn’t have to guess if the doors had nameplates. You’d think a wealthy nation could find a couple bucks for that.

Without further explanation, her guide turned and left the room. She looked around again, and her jangled nerves kicked up quite a ruckus. Apparently the butterflies in her stomach didn’t need it, but the rest of her could certainly use a blast of caffeine.

She didn’t see coffee but everything else about the place was pretty darned intimidating. In front of her stood a U-shaped cherry-wood desk, polished to such a shine she could use it for a mirror to do her hair. Although twisting her waist-length hair into a knot at the back of her head was a simple matter and didn’t require visual aids. The desk held a computer with printer, scanner and fax machine. Behind it, next to the wall, was a copier. She wondered if all the offices were as well equipped. Or did everyone in the business wing use these machines? If this was the tech center, it made sense that this was where her job orientation would take place.

Then she noticed a closed door to her right. Maybe there was coffee behind it. She could knock and poke her head in to ask. Nope. She’d been ordered to wait and wait she would. With a weary sigh, she sat on the love seat. A second later she sighed for a very different reason. Never in her life had she felt such supple softness. Who knew leather wasn’t cold and could feel so fabulously luxurious? She settled in to wait for orders and struggled to keep her eyes open.

Rafiq Hassan, Prince of El Zafir, Minister of Domestic and Foreign Affairs, opened his office door to confer with his secretary. The empty desk reminded him he had no secretary. First thing that morning the efficient young man had been appropriated by his father, King Gamil. His aunt Farrah had promised to send a replacement. Glancing to his left, he saw a young woman sitting on the couch. Sitting was too active a word. Slumped would be more to the point. Was this his substitute?

He walked over and looked down at her. She was dressed in a shapeless khaki dress that covered her from the neck to below her knees, leaving visible her very shapely ankles. Low-heeled shoes covered her feet. She could have been a child except that there was the suggestion of a bosom filling out the bodice of the unflattering garment. She was quite small, he noticed. Unfortunately, the ugly, black-rimmed glasses on her oval face were not.

At the moment she didn’t need the spectacles, because her eyes were closed. He was reminded of the American story, the one of Goldilocks that he’d read to his niece and nephew. Her hair was golden, and she was sound asleep. Did that make him one of the three bears? His two brothers, Fariq and Kamal, would no doubt be less than flattered at being compared to American bears. Besides, Rafiq had been told he was the family charmer. How bearish could he be?

He bent at the waist and said, “Excuse me?”

Long, lush lashes fluttered. Did they look long and lush because the ugly glasses magnified them? Did objects behind the thick lenses appear larger? When she lifted her eyelids, he wondered that again as very big blue eyes were revealed.

“Hmm?”

“Miss?”

“Hi.” She blinked several times and sat up straight, looking around as if she were disoriented. Then she met his gaze. “Guess I’m not in Kansas anymore.”

“True.”

Before she covered her yawn with a delicate hand, he noted that her teeth were straight and white.

“It’s an American expression from the movie The Wizard of Oz—when Dorothy realizes that she’s very far from home.”

“I’m aware of it.” He knew the story—the quest of the characters to find home, brain, courage and heart. The last he could relate to very well. “So you’re American?” he asked, a purely rhetorical question since her accent clearly placed her.

“Yes,” she said. “Just off the plane from Texas.”

“I have heard of it.”

She smiled. “I’d be surprised if you hadn’t. You work here, too?”

“Yes.”

“This must be one busy office if there’s enough work for two assistants.”

Assistant? She thought he was an assistant? He opened his mouth to set her straight when she slid to the edge of the love seat and stretched, arching her back so that her suggestion of a bosom became rounded breasts straining against the buttons of her dress. No thick magnifying lenses there, and the objects were most impressive.

“Could you point me in the direction of the coffeepot?” she asked.

“I can ring for some,” he said absently, his gaze preoccupied.

“That would be great. I’ll be forever in your debt.”

Rafiq went to the desk and picked up the phone. “Coffee, please. Very strong.”

“Bless you.”

When he looked at her again, she was peering intently at him through the hideous lenses of her glasses, not unlike the way he’d been looking upon her.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just—”

“Tell me.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You’ll think I’m weird. If we’re going to be working together, weird isn’t exactly the best foot to put forward.”

“I promise not to think that.” Now he was curious. “Why did you have that look on your face? Do I have a wart on my nose? A smudge on my face? You find me strange looking?”

“Oh, no. You’re very handsome.” She ducked her head, obviously flustered. “I mean if the rest of the men in this country are anything like you—” Her cheeks flushed a delightful pink. “I’m sorry. I hope you don’t mind my saying that. It’s just— I had no idea. In my research on El Zafir, I didn’t see anything about— I’m sorry. But you did ask.”

“Yes, I did.” Her flustered manner told him she hadn’t planned to say that. The compliment was honest, ingenuous and charmingly innocent. He very nearly forgave her for mistaking him for an assistant.

“Where I come from, cowboys are the masculine standard. Most women wouldn’t think of office staff as macho. But most women haven’t been to El Zafir.”

He couldn’t decide whether to be flattered or insulted and made a mental note to make discreet inquiries about Texas cowboys. He also revoked his momentary weakness regarding forgiveness. But strangely enough, he wanted her to go on. “So you’re an assistant?”

She nodded, then took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. He expected to see black makeup, mascara or raccoon eyes as women had told him it was called when it ran. But, there was none. She wore no cosmetics. Still, her skin was flawless—smooth and quite soft-looking.

“I just arrived in El Zafir this morning,” she explained. “I was supposed to be here two days ago, but flights out of North Texas were delayed because of storms. Where I come from they say if you don’t like the weather, just wait a minute. But this time I wasn’t that lucky.”

“So how did you come to my—to El Zafir, Miss—”

“Doyle. Penelope Colleen Doyle. It rhymes with oil.”

“Yes.”

“You can call me Penny.”

“Penny,” he said, testing the name given to the lowest valued coin in U.S. currency.

“I was hired by Princess Farrah Hassan. Have you met her?”

His lips twitched, but he held back the threatening smile. “Once or twice.”

“She’s pretty impressive. A real force of nature. The king’s sister. I’m to be her assistant.”

“When did this happen?”

“A month ago.”

“And you’ve just arrived today?”

She nodded. “I had to settle the lease on my apartment and arrange storage for my things.”

She looked very young to have the responsibility of living on her own. “How old are you?” he couldn’t help asking.

One blond eyebrow lifted questioningly. “In the States if you ask that question, you’re likely to get decked. It’s not considered politically correct to inquire about a woman’s age.”

“I know politics.” And women, he added silently. “You look too young to be—”

“I’m twenty-two.” She sat up straighter. “Not that it’s your concern, but I have a degree in early childhood education as well as business. I had a double major in college. I needed a job. With a good salary. So I submitted my résumé with an exclusive agency that handles child care for wealthy families. After looking at qualifications and pictures, the princess picked me, among others. According to the agency director, she was looking for a plain nanny.”

“Is that so?”

“I didn’t think it was appropriate to ask. But why do you suppose the princess was specifically looking for someone plain?”

There was no reason to reveal that he was responsible for the stipulation. “I can’t say.”

She shrugged. “Me, neither. But I was confident that I fit the qualifications and was just what they were looking for.”

“I see.” He might be the family charmer, but her straightforward declaration left him at a loss. His knowledge of women was based on the tall, sophisticated, glamorous type. Not small women with big, unattractive glasses.

“I prefer to meet life head-on. If you bury your head in the sand, you leave your—” She stopped and pushed her glasses up more securely on her nose. “Well, the rest of yourself exposed. If you know what I mean. I’m nothing if not practical. It’s best to face facts and not expect the fairy tale. Don’t you agree?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer. Best to go in a different direction. “So you got an interview with my—with the princess?”

“Yes. I received a round-trip plane ticket to New York. It was my first time on an airplane. Very exciting. But there was a problem.”

“Is that so?”

The office doors opened and a female servant wheeled in a cart bearing a silver service and china cups. “Thank you, Salima.”

“You’re welcome, Your—”

“Leave it by the desk,” he said, quickly interrupting her. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Very well.” She bowed slightly and backed out of the room.

Wide-eyed, Penny watched her. “Wow. Is everyone so deferential? We in the States could take lessons. You’re going to have to help me. I wouldn’t want to offend anyone. If you see me doing anything disrespectful, please take me aside so I don’t make a fool of myself.”

“You’re an American,” he said as if that was answer enough. Then he picked up the coffeepot and aimed the silver spout at one of the delicate china cups.

“Would you mind pouring me some, too? I can’t believe I fell asleep. Now I need to kick-start my motor.”

“All evidence to the contrary.”

“Am I talking too much?” She went on without waiting for an answer. “I do that sometimes. But today it’s worse than usual. Probably because I’m tired and nervous. A bad combination. Does it bother you? The princess didn’t seem to mind.”

“She is a very strong woman. Cream or sugar?”

“Black is fine,” she said.

He handed her the cup. “You were saying?”

“Where was I?” She took a sip and thought for a moment. “Oh, yes. I was in New York to meet the princess. Wouldn’t you know it? My flight was delayed.”

“North Texas weather?”

She nodded. “You really listen, don’t you? Then there was traffic getting through the city. By the time I got to her suite in the hotel, which was pretty hoity-toity I can tell you, she had already hired someone else.”

“A plain nanny?”

“Yes.” She frowned. “I still can’t imagine why that would be a criteria for employment. Go figure.”

“Indeed.”

“Anyway, the princess was so nice and easy to be with. She invited me to stay for lunch. We did the girl-talk thing and bonded over chocolate.”

“Bonded?”

“You know. Where women share stories that bring them closer together?”

“Ah. Chocolate, you say?”

She nodded. “Godiva, I think. Very yummy. Anyway, she said she liked me and she was in need of an assistant. So she hired me. She made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. But then you already know how well a job in the palace of the royal family of El Zafir pays.”

“I do indeed,” he agreed.

“Room and board is included.”

“Truly a fine offer.”

“You can say that again— What did you say your name was?” she asked, then took another sip of coffee. “How rude of me to forget. I can only plead fatigue. After a good night’s sleep, I’ll be back in fighting form. I’m usually very good with names.”

“I don’t believe I mentioned it.”

He found her intriguing. For a woman pleading weariness, she had an amazing amount of energy. With proper rest she would no doubt be a, what was that American expression? Ball of fire? Yes. That was definitely Penny. He couldn’t help wondering if her dynamic verve was reserved strictly for work. Or if it spilled over to the personal—to the man in her life.

“You’re staring at me with the oddest expression. Do I have a smudge on my face? A wart on my nose? Do you find me strange looking?” she teased.

“Not at all.”

“Surely your name can’t be that bad. Since we’re going to work together, it might be a good idea to tell me so I don’t have to call ‘hey you.”’

He straightened to his full six-foot-two-inch height. “I am Rafiq Hassan, Prince of El Zafir, Minister of Domestic and Foreign Affairs.”

Her eyes grew round as the china cup fell from her hands, hit her knees, then the floor, splattering the coffee that hadn’t stained her dress on the light-colored Berber carpet.

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. A victory indeed. He’d finally rendered her speechless.

Rafiq knocked on the door to his aunt Farrah’s suite of rooms in the wing of the palace where the royal family resided. At her muffled “Come in,” he entered. His footsteps echoed on the marble tiles of the foyer as he walked into the living room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Arabian Sea. A large semicircular white sofa on the plush light-colored carpet dominated the center of the room. The only splash of color in the suite came from expensive original paintings hanging on the walls. His father’s sister owned a world-famous art collection.

He stood by the sofa and looked down at her, with papers in her lap and spread around her. “I would like to speak with you, Aunt Farrah.”

“Of course. What is it, Rafiq?”

“In a word—Penny.”

She smiled, and the years melted away. His aunt, in her fifties, was still an attractive and vibrant woman. Her dark hair was cut in a sleek style that brushed the collar of her tailored turquoise Chanel suit.

“She is wonderful, no?”

“She is—something.”

“Why? What is wrong?” she asked, frowning. She set aside her work.

“She fell asleep on the couch in my office.”

“Poor thing. In her defense I have to say it’s quite a comfortable couch.” She clucked sympathetically. “A grueling trip. I was told the dear child insisted on beginning work as agreed. Wouldn’t hear of postponing her start even for a day.”

“I want her beheaded.”

“Certainly a fitting reward for her dedication.”

“I’m joking.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Farrah laughed. “The government outlawed that form of punishment many years ago, even before I was born.”

“Cutting out her tongue would be more appropriate, I think.” He paced in front of her. “Yes. Excellent idea if I do say so myself. Make the consequences fit the crime.”

“My dear nephew, what crime has she committed?”

“She is—” He stopped, unable to find the words to describe his feelings. “A woman.”

“Ah,” his aunt said, as if that explained everything. “You are bemused by her.”

“Certainly not. I’ve never met a woman I couldn’t understand.” The lie was a very small one. He hadn’t ever met a woman he couldn’t understand. Until today.

“So you’re intrigued.”

“Nonsense.” He shook his head and turned away, staring out the French doors to her balcony that looked out over the ocean. “Completely, utterly absurd.”

“Rafiq, have you ever been in love?”

He didn’t know how to answer the question. Many women had charmed him. Certainly infatuation had been involved, but love?

“Don’t start with me, Aunt. Love is a luxury not permitted a prince of the royal blood. It’s all about duty. I will marry and produce heirs.”

“When?”

“When I am ready.” Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “But I fail to see what this has to do with Penny Doyle.”

Farrah clasped her hands together in her lap. “Because of your mother’s tragic premature death, I can’t help feeling as if your education in this regard has been sadly neglected. Servants, tutors, boarding school…”

“I had an excellent education. Now, about this small American—”

“Penny. I found her a breath of fresh air. But it’s just as well you don’t agree.”

He turned and steeled himself against the knowing expression on his aunt’s face. He reminded himself that she was a woman, his elder, a cherished family member and deserving of his respect, honor and protection. But the gleam in her eyes made him wonder if he might not be the one in need of protection.

“Why would I agree? She’s a small, insignificant young woman from Texas.” He walked to the French doors and stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “It was my understanding that things from Texas were much larger.”

“Yes. Penny is the exception, I assume.”

“Penny. Even her name is trifling.”

“Have you ever heard the expression ‘find a penny, pick it up, all day long you’ll have good luck’?”

“Perhaps. Penny Doyle—rhymes with oil,” he murmured, unable to stop his mouth from curving up at the memory of her words. He was glad his back was to his keen-eyed aunt so that she didn’t see.

Behind him she coughed. He turned and noticed the glitter of amusement in her black eyes. “Are you all right?” he asked. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was laughing at him.

“I’m absolutely marvelous.”

“And why is that?”

“Your reaction to Penny is just what I’d hoped. Now, I don’t have to warn you to keep your distance.”

“If you’re concerned about it, Aunt, then why did Father take my own assistant and give me a woman?”

She shifted slightly. In anyone less regal, it would have been a squirm. “He needed someone experienced. And he is the king. Penny is perfect for your…needs. Business needs,” she added. “If I were you, I would think twice before questioning your father.”

“All right then. But I’m wounded that you feel it’s necessary to question my behavior.”

“Aside from your reputation as a bit of a rogue with women, I’m concerned about Penny.”

“Why? She could talk the ears off an elephant,” he pointed out.

“She was badly used by a man.”

Rafiq frowned. Penny was vexing, but in an impish sort of way. “How?”

“She told me the whole horrid story in New York. Her mother died when Penny was twelve or thirteen. The woman was single, a teacher. Yet she managed to leave her daughter an inheritance that was put into trust. The dear child planned to open a preschool until that unprincipled scoundrel romanced her in order to abscond with her money. She’s unlikely to trust a man ever again,” she finished.