The Sheikh's Convenient Virgin

Anton grunted his displeasure and Morgan tuned out. She was turning to leave—right now was probably not the best time to ask for tea—when she heard the words, ‘We leave for Jamalbad at first light tomorrow. All you need do is prepare a light breakfast and then you are free to go. You will have the day to clear your things before the house is closed up.’

They were leaving? Tomorrow? So that was why they wouldn’t need a chef any longer. And if they didn’t need a chef…

She stood there, drinking in the knowledge that her services were about to be terminated prematurely, and the clatter of pans coming from the kitchen as Anton grudgingly came to terms with the news echoed her mood.

She’d thought she still had two weeks of being Nobilah’s companion. Now she had less than twenty-four hours. Damn. Working nine to five in some office hellhole was going to seem very ordinary after this assignment.

‘Miss Fielding?’

Morgan blinked and swung around to see Kamil watching her from the kitchen door, a frown creasing his brow. Mentally she prepared herself, waiting for the axe to fall. Kamil had been the one to hire her. If her services were about to be terminated, he might as well get it over with right now. But he just stared right back at her.

‘Was there something you wanted?’

She hesitated, still expecting him to take advantage of finding her outside the kitchen to deliver the news of her own dismissal. But when he failed to speak again, Morgan could put it off no longer. She nodded, feeling awkward. ‘Nobilah requested tea.’

He looked at her oddly, his expression a mix of concern and something that looked like pity. Then he simply glanced over his shoulder. ‘Anton, tea for Nobilah, if you please.’ He turned back to Morgan. ‘Was there anything else?’

You tell me, she was tempted to say. ‘No,’ she whispered instead. ‘Just the tea.’

‘In that case, please excuse me. I have much to arrange. Anton will have the tea ready for you in just a moment.’ He nodded and turned to leave, but all of a sudden she couldn’t let him go—not without knowing for sure.

‘Kamil…’

He halted and swivelled back round. ‘Yes?’

‘I…I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help but overhear. You’re leaving for Jamalbad? Tomorrow?’

He inclined his head. ‘That is true.’

‘The entire household, including Nobilah?’

‘Again, this is true.’

‘Oh,’ she whispered. ‘I see.’

Kamil hesitated a moment, and once more she caught almost a look of pity in his features—but in a blink it was gone, his usual mask of efficiency returned.

‘If that is all…?’

‘Of course,’ she said, letting him withdraw. He would have plenty to do to organise the family’s early departure without her getting in his way.

Why had he looked at her that way? she wondered as she carried the tray from the kitchen. Unless Kamil had assumed she might be expecting a generous bonus for the early termination of her contract too?

He needn’t be worried on that score. Anton had been with them for the best part of two months, and was a top-flight chef, while she’d been Nobilah’s companion for little more than a week. Under the circumstances she’d be more than happy to have her contract paid out.

She slowed as she crossed the terrace, her pulse starting to beat irregularly as she took in the sight of Nobilah with her son. They were walking side by side along the stone flagging that lined the large, Italian-inspired pool. Tajik dwarfed his mother, a petite woman for all her curves, rendered all the more petite by the man walking alongside her and whose elegance could not be disguised by the abaya she wore, its fabric swirling about her like poetry as she walked.

And then there was Tajik. Tall and broad-shouldered and hard, as if he’d been carved from stone and breathed into life by the kiss of the gods. His pale blue sweater could not mask a firm chest and flat abdomen; his dark trousers could not disguise lean hips and long legs.

As she watched, he angled his face towards his mother, and Morgan found herself reacquainted with the determined angles of his jaw, the strong line of his nose. Everything about the man said power, even the fire-flecked golden eyes and the passionate slash of his mouth.

What did his return today have to do with the family’s sudden departure? It couldn’t be coincidental. There’d been no hint of a possible early return to Jamalbad before now.

Not that there was anything she could do about it. With a sigh she pushed herself off the deck, heading for the pool area while the pair were still strolling around the far end of the pool. Screened by trees, she’d take the opportunity of leaving the tea on the table and make herself scarce while mother and son enjoyed their reunion. She had no desire to lock horns—or gazes, for that matter—with Sheikh Tajik again, not when he had such a disconcerting ability to get under her skin.

Morgan gave a wry smile as she reached the table. If she had to find a bright side to the early end to this assignment, she guessed being saved any further contact with Sheik Tajik would probably fit the bill. That would be some consolation at least.

He’d known the second she’d emerged from the house. He’d felt her presence like a sigh of satisfaction. She’d taken a long time, much longer than it took to collect a mere pot of tea, and he’d wondered if he’d actually scared her off completely. After all, she’d almost bolted for the sanctuary of the house the second Nobilah had mentioned the word “tea”.

He’d waited with unexpected enthusiasm for her to rejoin them while he’d gone over the plans to leave with his mother, until finally Morgan had reappeared, but even then she’d hesitated, like some quaking virgin on her way to her wedding feast—knowing but not really comprehending what was in store for her.

He allowed himself a smile at the parallel as his mother headed back to the house to check with Kamil on progress.

Morgan was perfect. Up close he could see she was both good-looking enough for everyone to believe he’d chosen her as his bride for just that reason alone, and meek enough not to complicate his plans. She was exactly what he needed to quash Qasim’s lust for the throne.

He watched her place the tray on the table, her cream linen trousers moulding to her neat backside as she bent down, emphasising the flare of her hips and firing off a primitive spike of need in his loins that took him both by surprise and delight. Oh, no, he thought as he circled the pool towards her, appreciating the neat waist between those feminine curves, it would be no hardship playing Qasim at his own game. Not with such an appetizing partner in crime.

The object of his attention straightened and set off without a backward glance. He smiled to himself. She was kidding herself if she thought she could escape that easily.

‘Miss Fielding,’ he called. ‘You will be joining me for tea.’ It wasn’t a question.

She stopped with a jolt, before her back straightened and she swung around.

The polite smile on her face did nothing to hide her obvious discomfiture at being caught.

‘I’m afraid I only brought two cups.’

He swung his hand around in a sweeping arc that could only emphasise the leanness in his body, the sheer latent strength. ‘As you can see, there are only two of us.’

‘But Nobilah?’ Frantically her eyes scanned the pool area.

‘Has gone to organise the staff,’ he finished.

She took a step towards the house. ‘Then I should help her.’

‘No.’ His hand whipped out and caught her forearm, arresting her mid-turn. ‘Not just yet. I wanted the opportunity to talk to you.’

She looked up at him, her hazel eyes wide with what looked almost like panic, her lips still parted with surprise. Underneath his hand her skin felt smooth and warm, and his thumb picked up the race of her pulse through her slender limb.

Then her chin kicked up on a swallow. ‘If it’s about leaving tomorrow, I already know.’ She looked down at his hand. ‘So, if you’ll kindly take your hand away…’

He didn’t. Not right away. He let it linger long enough to drink in more of the touch of her skin, long enough to tell her that he was the one who would decide what and where. As she would soon come to know.

Finally he let her go, and she clutched her arms around her as if she was cold. But he knew from her touch that she wasn’t cold. Far from it.

‘Walk with me,’ he said, ‘and tell me what you think you know.’

Her eyes sparked at the implication, but she said nothing, merely falling into step alongside him as he set off along the path that threaded through the palms around the perimeter. She walked with a slight limp, he noticed, a limp she was working hard at disguising.

For a moment he wondered if he was acting too rashly and there might be some pressing medical reason why he would be foolish to take this woman as his wife, but if Kamil had not listed it amongst his concerns, as surely he would have, then it must be a detail of no consequence. Beside him the woman gave a small sigh of resignation.

‘Just that the household is returning to Jamalbad tomorrow and that everyone will be leaving.’

‘You’re not sorry? I believe from Kamil that your contract has two weeks to run?’

‘I will miss Nobilah.’

He nodded, liking the way this conversation was developing. ‘As my mother seems to like you.’

She smiled in return, transforming her features to dazzling. ‘I love hearing Nobilah’s stories of life in Jamalbad. I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘It just all sounds so exotic.’

She looked up at him, her eyes bright and her smile wide, until, as suddenly as if she’d flicked a switch, her eyes clouded over and she let her smile slide away.

‘Anyway,’ she continued, looking ahead once more, the prim miss back in control, ‘I will miss her.’

He waited a stride or two before answering, taking his time to appreciate the slightly irregular sway of her hips as they walked together. It was good. Even the way she moved pleased him. ‘That will not be necessary,’ he told her.

He heard the rapid intake of air that preceded her words. ‘Look, it may not be necessary, as you put it, but I do like your mother. I’ve enjoyed her company immensely, whether you believe me or not.’

Her sudden outburst took him by surprise. So the meek-looking girl had some spirit after all? That might be a drawback if it meant she would not fall in with his plans, but then again it might make this a more interesting exercise than he’d imagined. Right now, though, he could do without getting her off-side.

‘You misunderstand me,’ he soothed. ‘I do not doubt your affection for my mother. I am saying merely that you will have no reason to miss her.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘That you are traveling to Jamalbad with us.’

‘Me?’

‘You are needed in Jamalbad.’

‘As Nobilah’s companion?’

He looked down at her. He would have to remember to thank his mother—she had made his job so much easier. ‘Fatima will be at least six weeks regaining her strength following her surgery.’

‘So you’ll be extending my contract?’

‘In a matter of speaking. I promise you it will be worth your while.’

Something about the way he said that managed to pierce the bubble of enthusiasm she’d been feeling at the news.

Jamalbad—she’d loved the very thought of the place since Nobilah had first mentioned it. The earth buildings looking as if they’d emerged fully formed from the surrounding sands, the white shell-encrusted palace walls glistening in the midday sun, the jewel colours of the women’s robes. The thought of seeing it for herself had been nothing short of a dream, and now she was being offered a chance to make that dream come true. And yet something about the offer seemed almost too good to be true.

Something didn’t feel right.

‘Surely there are plenty of women in Jamalbad who could perform the role of Nobilah’s companion?’

‘I have no doubt of that. Would that stop you from going?’

‘Well, no, but—’

‘Then perhaps you have had a better offer?’

‘No, it’s not that.’

‘Then it is settled.’ He smiled. ‘Come,’ he said, directing her back to the table, where the tea sat waiting, ‘have tea with me.’

Morgan wavered. She wasn’t sure she wanted to have tea with him. Especially now she felt she was being railroaded into going to Jamalbad—which was crazy when visiting Jamalbad was something she wanted to do. But tomorrow?

She almost never acted on impulse. That was her twin sister Tegan’s department. Gutsy Tegan, who’d come home from her aid work in Somalia and agreed to swap places with Morgan for a week while she attended a wedding in Fiji. Gutsy Tegan, who’d had no choice but to stay on for two months after Morgan’s broken leg and surgery. Gutsy Tegan, who’d fallen in love with Morgan’s boss from hell and turned him into the perfect husband.

Tegan would jump at such an opportunity, she knew. But Morgan had always been the quiet one. The sensible one. She hauled in a breath, only to find it tinged with the rich scent of the man beside her—sandalwood, exotic spices, musk—an alluring mix that seemed to latch into her senses and beckon to her.

But tomorrow?

‘It’s just not as simple as that,’ she said at last.

‘It’s not?’ he asked ingenuously, with a shrug. ‘It is only tea.’

Exasperated, she slipped into a chair when it was clear he was not going to take no for an answer. Without asking he picked up the delicate teapot and, with an unexpected sensuality of movement, tilted the pot to pour tea into her cup. It was there in the curve of his fingers around the teapot. It was there in the steady pour of tea into her cup, in the heady scent of spices in the heated steam. It was there in the unwavering way he met her gaze with those golden eyes that seemed to see right inside her.

She cleared her throat, hoping it might go some way to clearing her mind. ‘I didn’t actually mean the tea. I’m talking about going to Jamalbad with you…I mean with Nobilah.’

‘I know what you meant. But you’ve already said that you don’t have a better offer. You yourself said you love what Nobilah has already told you about Jamalbad. I am offering you the chance to go there and see it for yourself. Why should you have any reason to turn down this opportunity?’ He paused, his cup almost to that sensuous slash of mouth. ‘Unless there is a man?’ He shrugged. ‘A boyfriend, perhaps?’

Maybe it was the earnest way he said it, but Morgan wanted to laugh out loud. Except one look at his eyes warned her not to. He was serious.

‘Does Jamalbad have a problem with women who have boyfriends?’

‘Would it be an issue for you if it did?’

She tried to hold his gaze, but she knew the rising heat she could feel colouring her skin would give her away anyway. ‘No,’ she acknowledged with a shake of her head.

He nodded. ‘That is for the best.’

She blinked. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Jamalbad is in a lot of ways a modern Arab emirate. However, we come from a very traditional society where women are still prized for their…shall we say, “purity”? While you are in our country, we would expect you to behave with a certain modesty.’

‘You mean as opposed to jumping into bed with every man I meet?’

His cool golden gaze collided dispassionately with her own. ‘I wouldn’t have put it quite so coarsely myself.’

‘Yet you have no problem thinking it.’ She replaced her cup on her saucer. ‘Well, it may just surprise you to know that there are some women in Australia who don’t jump into bed with every guy they meet.’

‘That is encouraging news. And would you count yourself in their number?’

She stood up quickly, the metal legs of her chair scraping across the sandstone tiles of the pool surrounds.

‘What is this? Next you’ll asking for some kind of medical certificate or something.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ he said, rising alongside her. ‘I think you’ve made your point. You see, the women of the palace are easily influenced by the lure of the western life, and, while I encourage their education in most respects, there are some practices I would prefer them not to adopt.’

‘Well, you have no fear on that count. They’re hardly likely to learn anything from me.’

His golden eyes glimmered in a way that sent vibrations dancing along her nerve-endings. Why did he look that way at her? Like a jungle cat sizing her up for the kill rather than someone who had to decide if she was morally upright enough to be invited to his country?

‘I expected you to be totally docile, but you surprise me with your anger. Do you have any idea how beautiful you are when you are angry?’

His words blindsided her. Nobody had called her beautiful—not since Evan—and she couldn’t believe what he’d said anyway. But the man opposite her was right about one thing—she was certainly angry. Morgan Fielding—who prided herself on staying cool under pressure—was cracking up. Something she’d never done even with Maverick, the boss with the worst reputation in the Gold Coast.

‘Well, then,’ she said, uncomfortable in the loud silence that followed, ‘given that I have such a fiery temper, I wonder if I have given you yet another reason not to be considered morally upright enough to accompany Nobilah to Jamalbad?’

She tried to toss the question off lightly, to head off the mounting tension filling the air between them, but his eyes just crinkled at the edges, their golden depths deepening like warm caramel.

‘On the contrary,’ he murmured, his voice deep and resonant. ‘You will be perfect.’

CHAPTER THREE

TEGAN eased the sleeping baby from her breast and offered her to her twin. ‘Would you like to burp her, seeing as you won’t have the chance again for a while? Maverick will be home in a couple of minutes, and I just want to finish the salad.’

‘Please,’ Morgan said, taking the infant and propping her gently over her shoulder as she swayed from side to side, rubbing the infant’s back.

After a frantic few hours helping Nobilah pack and arranging her own affairs, it was so restful to hold her new niece while standing looking out through the palms to the placid waters of the Gold Coast canal beyond. There was still plenty to organise, but Nobilah had insisted Morgan take some time to visit her sister and her family before she left. Very soon her sister’s husband, Maverick, would be home, and their conversation would not be so open. Right now it was worthwhile to be able to talk sister to sister.

Baby Ellie rewarded her ministrations with a very unladylike burp. She laughed as the infant briefly nuzzled her neck before settling back into a doze. ‘Oh, I’m going to miss you, little one,’ she said, pressing her lips to the baby’s head.

‘When will you be back?’ her sister asked from the spacious kitchen.

‘I’m not exactly sure. A few weeks, I guess.’

Tegan looked up sharply. ‘You mean you don’t know when you’re coming back? That you’re being whisked away to some tiny Arab emirate and you have no idea when you’re coming home?’

Morgan shrugged. ‘Sheikh Tajik didn’t say, but I guess it’s just until Fatima recovers enough to take over her duties again. I don’t expect it to be for more than a few weeks.’

Tegan opened the refrigerator, pulling out the salad dressing she’d prepared earlier.

‘So what’s he like, this Sheikh?’

Morgan took a deep breath, her lungs filled with the fresh scent of newborn baby, while her mind battled to get a grip on the confusing images and impressions of Sheikh Tajik. It was hard to mesh the images—the dutiful son who had taken over the leadership of his country after his father’s tragic death. The man who had bossed her mercilessly by the pool and told her everything was settled before she’d even had a chance to assimilate the news of her invitation to Jamalbad. The man who’d gazed into her soul with those golden eyes and left her strangely shaken…

‘I don’t know,’ she said at last. ‘I only met him today.’

‘So he’s not tall, dark and handsome, then?’

This time Morgan shook her head with no hesitation at all. ‘No,’ she said, ‘not exactly. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, and his hair is dark…’

‘But he’s not handsome?’

Morgan wavered. “Handsome” seemed too soft a word. He was strong-featured. With eyes that saw too much and revealed nothing that didn’t scare her. No, he wasn’t just handsome. He was beyond handsome.

He was disturbing.

A tremor moved through her and she clutched tiny Eleanor to her chest to disguise it. ‘Not exactly,’ she replied, wishing for a change of subject.

‘And is he married?’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘You tell me,’ responded Tegan with renewed interest as she arranged a couple of things on the table. ‘You’re the one who seems a bit affected by him.’

‘Forget it,’ Morgan lied. ‘It’s just that this is all a bit sudden. Besides, you know I’m not looking for a relationship.’

Tegan regarded her solemnly. ‘But you’re obviously desperate to have your own family.’

Morgan opened her mouth to defend herself, but Tegan was right there.

‘Just look at the way you are with Ellie! Don’t try telling me you’re not getting clucky.’

‘I love my niece. Isn’t that normal?’

‘It’s not normal to be pining over a failed relationship years after the event.’

‘I am not!’

Tegan gave her a searching look that left her sister in no doubt she disagreed. ‘Look at yourself, Morgan. You’ve buried yourself in your work for years, covering yourself up like a nun—just because that idiot Evan didn’t appreciate what he had.’

Morgan grunted. ‘Oh, he appreciated what he had, all right. Getting engaged to me meant he could protect his precious family from the truth about him. He used me, and I was so stupid I fell for it.’

Tegan placed the salad on the table and came over to wrap an arm around her sister’s shoulders, giving them a squeeze. ‘Hey, you were in love with him.’

‘No,’ Morgan said, shaking her head. ‘I thought I was. But I was just in love with the idea of being in love—and with the idea that someone wanted to marry me. He didn’t want me at all, except to use me. I’m never letting anyone do that to me again.’

‘Which doesn’t mean you have to shut yourself off from the entire world! You’ll hardly find a man if you lock yourself away. In fact, I’m glad you’re going on this trip. Who knows where it might lead?’

Morgan didn’t answer straight away, instead thinking that since marrying Maverick her sister had become a hopeless romantic. She kissed the sleeping infant’s hair and laid her down in her bassinet, tucking the light blankets in around her. Her task complete, she turned to her sister.

‘I know you only want me to be as happy as you are now, but I really think you’ve got the wrong idea. I’m going to the desert for a few weeks to keep a middle-aged woman company, nothing more. So if you think I’m going to be coming home with any more than a toy camel, then you’re in for a big disappointment.’

After dinner Maverick offered to drive Morgan back to the sprawling mansion that served as a holiday home for Nobilah, stopping off along the way to let her pick up her passport and a few odd things she wanted to collect from her apartment, and to let her neighbours know she’d be away for a few weeks.

It was late by the time Maverick steered the car through the gates and pulled up outside the mansion that stood silent and imposing under the bright moonlight.

‘Thanks for the lift,’ she said, keeping her voice low as he hauled her bag from the boot and swung it down onto the paving alongside her. ‘You take care of my little sister and Ellie.’

‘You know I will,’ he replied, placing one hand on her shoulder. ‘But who’s going to take care of you? Tegan’s worried about you going off with no idea of when you’ll be back.’

‘Don’t you start,’ she said, wishing everyone would stop mirroring the very misgivings she was having. It was one thing to head off to Jamalbad to accompany Nobilah. It was another thing entirely to know that Sheikh Tajik, with his golden eyes and unsettling presence, was going to be part of the package. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, as much to convince herself as anything, and she stretched up to give her brother-in-law a hug and a heartfelt kiss on the cheek.