Undressed by the Boss: Sheikh Boss, Hot Desert Nights / The Boss's Bedroom Agenda / Taken by the Maverick Millionaire

But this interview process must never become something more. Casey’s innocence prevented it. She was so tender and vulnerable outside her job, and that should never be exploited. And besides, with so much appetite on his side and so much untapped passion on hers, if their relationship ever did overstep the mark they would take off into sexual space and never come back to earth again.

As he watched her moist lips embrace the straw plunged deep into fresh papaya juice, he could only be thankful she hadn’t agreed to champagne. He needed a clear head and all his sternest resolve if this apparently innocent meeting in a club was going to remain the safe side of sin.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘TELL me something about your family, Casey …’

‘My family?’ Casey’s throat constricted as Raffa leaned towards her. Was her family being considered for the job now? She made herself calm down by reasoning that this was a perfectly acceptable question for an employer to ask. It was by no means unique, and it allowed Raffa to paint a clearer picture of who she was. But still …

‘We’re nothing special.’

‘Nothing special?’ Raffa frowned, his dark eyes glinting in the discreet lighting. ‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?’

‘I’m sure you’d find us terribly boring.’

‘And I’m equally sure I won’t …’ As he spoke Raffa straightened up and put his hands flat on the table, where the delicious entrées they had ordered lay largely untouched.

They had a lot to say to each other, Casey reflected, except when it came to their private lives; then both of them clammed up. But she didn’t have the option of holding out on him if she wanted this job. ‘You’ve read my file—’

‘So I know a lot about you on paper,’ he countered. ‘But I want you to tell me. My intention in bringing you here to A’Qaban is to go way beyond the printed page, Casey. I need to know you.’

‘I understand …’

‘And I understand that your parents’ job is a little unusual,’ he said in a reassuring voice. ‘So don’t feel embarrassed.’

‘I’m not …’ His hard mouth had softened fractionally, she noticed, and there was genuine warmth in his eyes.

‘Why don’t you tell me about them?’

‘I’m okay with their work,’ she admitted, hearing in her voice that she had made it sound like a lie.

‘Expand a little,’ Raffa encouraged, pouring a glass of water for her.

How much did he want to know? She had never discussed her parents’ work with anyone outside the family before. How could she, when she could never take a man home to ‘meet the family’, knowing that any boyfriend would only end up as a lab rat to be quizzed and evaluated by her sex therapist parents before being added to their latest batch of trial statistics.

‘Do you know my parents’ work?’

‘I know their work well,’ he said, as casually as if her parents ran a market garden. ‘They’re world-renowned academics; it would be hard not to.’

He wasn’t mocking her, as so many others had. He was genuinely interested, she realised.

‘I never forget we are all products of our background, to some extent, and so it’s only natural for me to be curious about your formative influences.’

‘And about whether I can talk of them without embarrassment?’ she said bluntly. ‘I’m proud of my parents’ achievements.’ She was. They had helped so many people. Except for her, of course. But it went without saying that that had never been on the cards.

‘So you’ve grown up in a loving family?’

‘Absolutely. My parents may seem unconventional to some people, but they always put me first and were very good role models.’

Raffa eased back, appearing to consider this. She was overheating. It was the first time she had talked so openly about a side of her life that, for all the sex talk round the dinner table, was repressed. In spite of the casual way her parents discussed intimacy, she had never found it possible to open up. Her parents had heard it all before, she had reasoned when she was younger, and she knew it would only embarrass them to realise what a failure their daughter was in an area in which they specialised.

‘You’re very lucky,’ Raffa said. ‘Tragically, I never knew my parents.’

His manner prevented further discussion, and she respected his silence. What she had so reluctantly revealed was insignificant by comparison to what Raffa had just told her. It was so totally unexpected she sat stunned for a moment. They had both opened up—perhaps more than they had intended to. How often did that happen? Casey wondered.

‘That’s why this country means so much to me.’ Raffa’s eyes were burning with passion. ‘I am investing everything I have, everything I am, in the future of A’Qaban. I have trained my whole life for this moment.’

Raffa’s words moved her deeply and her own concerns paled into insignificance. But he didn’t need her to be ‘moved’, he needed action—and she was confident she could give him exactly what he wanted if he would give her the chance.

‘I’ll support you in any way I can,’ she assured him. ‘We’re going to make a success of this.’

Raffa stood up, preparing to leave. ‘Why do I believe you, Casey Michaels?’

‘Because I haven’t let you down yet?’ The wry tug of her lips acknowledged that she hadn’t been tested yet either. But she would come through for him. She savoured the moment her hand remained in Raffa’s warm, secure grip. She would run this auction for him and his charity and make it work—whatever it took.

Releasing her hand, Raffa shot a look at his no-nonsense steel watch. This was the signal that brought their informal lunch meeting to a close. There was a subtle change in him, she thought, as if he had returned everything to a strictly business footing. Which it always had been for him, she reminded herself.

They left the club with Raffa’s security guards falling into silent formation behind them. Some people outside on the pavement braved the guards’ stern, forbidding faces to call out in support of their new young leader. As Raffa paused to acknowledge these salutations Casey thought how fine the line was between success and disaster. She had so very nearly been sent home on the next plane, and now she had been given a task that exceeded even her wildest expectations.

‘Am I walking too fast for you?’ Raffa turned to look for her.

‘No, this is just fine,’ she said, hurrying after him. Tilting her chin at a determined angle, she assured him, ‘Don’t you worry, I’ll keep up …’

Casey shivered with awareness as Raffa held the car door for her. She passed close enough to feel his energy and inhale his cologne. Her parents had told her that it would take a certain type of man to end Casey’s self-imposed chastity. And she had no doubt Raffa was that type of man. But imagining anything would happen between them was shooting for the stars, and she was certain that this wasn’t what her serious-minded parents had had in mind for her.

‘I have a question for you,’ he said as they settled in the car.

She had to shake her mind free of the illusory promise of erotic instruction at his hands and focus carefully. He would be a master of the art. Raffa had that sort of promise in his eyes. Shake it off!

‘Yes?’

‘If you had to live in A’Qaban, Casey, could you?’

She gave him her honest thoughts. ‘I’d have to—at least until I was confident my side of the operation over here was running smoothly.’

‘But could you?’ he repeated.

She resisted the lure of Raffa’s firm, sensual lips, only to lock in combat with his stare. ‘I’ll live anywhere I must in order to give the most to my job.’

‘Wouldn’t your parents miss you?’

‘Of course they would, and I’d miss them dreadfully—but, as they quote Kahlil Gibran to me non-stop, I’m guessing they’d be a little bit pleased for me too.’

‘Khalil Gibran? The Lebanese-American author and philosopher?’ His dark eyes lit with remembered pleasure. ‘Do you remember the quote?’

‘Of course I do.’ She smiled. ‘“You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.”’

There was a moment of stillness and then Raffa nodded his head, reminding Casey that he’d been forced by tragedy to be both bow and arrow.

As he started the engine she noticed the scar on his face for the first time. It ran from just below his eye to the corner of his mouth, and must have been the result of a serious injury. She guessed it was a legacy of his time in the Special Forces, and wondered how hard that had been for Raffa, with no family to anchor him. He had hinted at some catastrophe in his youth, and she guessed it must have denied him the love she’d known.

She was gaining in confidence all the time, Casey realised, and a lot of that was due to Raffa. It was time to remind herself that he was a king, and that she was growing far too interested in him.

Too interested? She could so very easily fall in love with a man with whom she seemed to share many of the same goals, Casey realised with a jolt, as Raffa released the brake and turned the wheel in the direction of her hotel.

Having furnished her with an inventory of the items she would have to sell, Raffa left Casey at the door to her suite.

‘And I have how long to do this?’ she said, fingering the thick sheaf of paper.

‘Forty-eight hours.’

‘Forty-eight—’ She almost choked, but remembered it was crucial to remain positive and clear-headed if she was to have a chance of doing this. ‘Forty-eight hours,’ she repeated. Her thoughts might be tumbling over each other in disarray, but there could be no excuses.

‘Sorry—duty calls,’ Raffa said, fielding a call on his phone.

Duty would always call Raffa. She knew that.

‘I’m sorry to rush away,’ he said, touching her arm lightly and leaving an electric charge in his wake. ‘We’ll finish this later.’

‘No problem. Goodbye—’ But Raffa was already on his way.

Wanting to put the idea that had occurred to her earlier into a more formal structure, Casey decided to burn the midnight oil. Late that night, having taken a shower, she changed into pyjamas and called for pizza and coffee. While she was waiting for the food to arrive, she started making notes. She knew exactly how she was going to handle the auction. The plan she’d come up with would do exactly as Raffa had suggested and make the most of her strengths …

She was on her second cup of coffee when the doorbell rang. She remained where she was, hoping the invisible butler was still on duty, but the bell rang again. She reached distractedly for the intercom, her mind still half on her plan.

‘Raffa?’ Casey blenched. Raffa was not just in the building, he was at the door.

The space between the desk and the bathroom had never felt so far, but she had to grab a robe. Belting it tightly, she slipped her feet into slippers and with her heart thundering ten to the dozen ran back again to let him in.

How magnificent he looked in a tailored suit. Even with the earring and disreputable-looking stubble he was an imposing sight. And so was the team of businessmen and women standing in formation behind him.

Swinging the door shut with a gasp, she pulled it open just enough for him to hear her whisper, ‘Did you need something?’

‘May we come in?’

That was not a request, Casey gathered. ‘Could you give me a minute?’

‘Two minutes?’ Raffa suggested dryly.

She closed the door with barely a click. Two minutes to call room service, find clothes more suitable for a business meeting than her teddy bear print pyjamas, and summon the invisible butler from wherever he hung out. Shouldering the phone, she ordered juice, coffee, iced water and pastries. Scraping her hair back on her way to the bathroom, she secured it in the band she always wore round her wrist. Scrubbing her teeth, she gargled with mouthwash before tearing into the bedroom, where she tugged on her work clothes and forced a pair of shoes onto her feet more or less simultaneously.

‘Please come in,’ she invited two minutes later, hitting the deadline square on the nail.

He leafed through the notes Casey had prepared for him. Her handwriting was bad, but she had bullet-pointed everything, and her ideas leapt off the page. They were great.

‘This is good,’ he said briefly, before handing it around.

Casey’s ideas were unique and fresh, and he was glad he had passed responsibility for running the auction over to her. His only problem was with the large reception room they were using for this meeting. It was the same place he’d seen her half naked, and it was proving to be a real distraction. His position was clear, he reminded himself sternly. Casey was pure. He was not. She was under his protection.

Which wasn’t nearly enough to stop him wanting her.

The muted murmurs of Raffa’s team discussing her proposal provided a soothing soundtrack to Casey’s turbulent thoughts. Raffa watched his board members while she watched him. He glanced up once, and, seeing her looking at him, turned away. She knew her cheeks must be flushed, betraying her, but some-thing made her look at him again … and this time their gazes held. Was Raffa approving her or warning her?

Thankfully, her body quivered a warning, which was enough to make her excuse herself from the table. At precisely that moment the invisible butler chose to make a welcome appearance at the head of a team of waiters with their midnight feast.

‘Thank you—just put it down over here, would you, please?’ Casey murmured as the discussion of her proposals continued to gather momentum around the table. She’d return in a minute and add her own thoughts to the discussion, but in the meantime … Was she imagining Raffa’s gaze on her back? She tensed, every sense on high alert. She concentrated hard on showing the waiters where to put things. ‘Thank you,’ she said to them again, handing over the tip she’d kept by.

‘You’ve thought of everything,’ Raffa murmured, appearing by her side.

‘Coffee?’ she said, struggling for normality in a world full of just one man.

‘Coffee would be good for everyone at this point.’

Raffa called a ten-minute break while she tried to ignore the effect his deep rich baritone was having on her senses.

‘No one wants to stop talking,’ he said, returning to her side. ‘They’re too enthused by your plan.’

‘I’m pleased they like it.’

‘Like it? They own it already.’

‘It’s only in the planning stages at the moment,’ she pointed out. ‘But if you think it’s what you want …’

‘It is what I want.’

His gaze strayed to her lips. She tried hard not to react or show by any means that her body yearned to be touched by him.

‘Shall we return to the table?’ Raffa suggested, as if this highly charged moment had never happened.

She practically galloped there.

They finally broke at three in the morning, by which time Casey was wide awake. But, as Raffa pointed out, they all ought to get some sleep as they had to start again first thing in the morning. This morning, Casey reflected as the team filed out. It was hardly worth going to bed.

Raffa was the last to leave. During the course of the meeting he had taken off his suit jacket and loosened his tie, and his shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, revealing a tempting few inches of hard, bronzed flesh. With his sleeves rolled back, revealing hard muscled forearms, he was quite a distraction—one she hadn’t had the chance to appreciate fully during the meeting. As she said goodbye to him he looked at her another beat too long. His stubble was blacker than ever, making him look like a buccaneer. He made her feel very small and not very safe, and suddenly she wasn’t sure what to say next. A brisk goodnight was safest, Casey concluded, reaching for the door handle.

She drew a swift intake of breath when Raffa’s hand covered hers. Was this the moment? She remained motionless as he lightly ran the knuckles of one hand down her cheek.

‘You did well tonight, Casey …’

‘Thank you …’ Everything slipped out of focus while she examined the effect Raffa had on her inexperienced body.

That had to be why it took her a moment to realise he’d gone.

CHAPTER EIGHT

CASEY let her clothes lie where they fell and collapsed into bed. She’d probably been unconscious before her head had hit the pillow, she realised when the bedside alarm rang. She hadn’t noticed how tired she was—but Raffa had. Was that why he had left her so abruptly? She traced the path his hand had taken down her face. She still wore the memory of his touch, which led seamlessly on to wondering how the rest of her might feel now if he had continued his explorations.

Don’t even think that way, she told herself firmly, swinging her legs over the side of the divan. She was innocent, she was inexperienced, and this was business. She might have had only three hours’ sleep, but another working day had started and she had to be ready for anything Raffa threw at her.

The phone was ringing when she came out of the bathroom. She pounced on it, thrilling at the sound of the familiar voice—though she started smiling when she heard his words. ‘This time don’t tell me you’re ready if you’re not.’

‘Give me five minutes.’

‘I’m in the lobby.’

And pacing up and down, Casey guessed as the line went dead.

Raffa took Casey to the venue where the auction would be held. It was the ballroom of his latest hotel. He showed her the guest list, as well as the table plan she’d asked to see. She said it was crucial to understand the rivalries between the various tables, and that was where he could help out. By lunchtime she had a good overview, and had convinced Raffa that he had a strong new team member in Casey Michaels. He had only one small niggle left. Casey could pull people together and work effectively in a team, but could she whip jaded billionaires into a frenzy of competition? That remained to be seen. Meanwhile …

‘Lunch?’ he suggested.

‘I’ve no time for lunch,’ she said as a florist arrived.

‘Delegate,’ he said, taking hold of her arm.

‘But, Raffa, I—’

‘Can you delegate or not? You’re no good to me if you can’t.’

‘I can delegate.’

‘Then do so. Give the florist credit for knowing what she’s doing. You can’t handle everything single-handedly, Casey.’ His eyes lit with humour. ‘Even I can’t do that.’

He took her to his private elevator. Discreet and luxurious, it played host to one man. There were no bodyguards here, and no glass walls. There was just one man and one woman on a three-hundred-metre trip to a fabulous penthouse that took up the whole of the top floor.

He brought the elevator to a halt halfway to its destination. Casey stared at him in alarm. ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.

‘Absolutely.’ As he spoke he placed one fist against the wall next to her face, effectively pinning her in position.

She stared at him. Her eyes darkened. ‘I don’t understand …’

‘I think you do.’

‘Did you lean on the controls by accident?’

‘Have some confidence in yourself, Casey.’

She looked at him, and then her glance flickered away.

‘Would you like me to say I leaned on the controls by accident? Would that make you feel more relaxed?’ He angled his head to look at her—to drink her in. She was aroused, and their lips were only inches apart. ‘Yes?’ he prompted when she remained silent. She eased her shoulders in a tiny shrug and looked away, but he cupped her chin and made her look at him. ‘Believe in yourself, Casey …’

Her breathing was unsteady in the silence, and he remembered how innocent she was. The comfortable banquette, the mirror and accommodating padded wall would all have to go to waste, he accepted.

‘Are you hungry?’ he murmured.

‘I’m starving,’ she said with relief.

‘Then I’m going to feed you.’ As he spoke he activated the control that would take the elevator the rest of the way up. ‘I’m afraid it will only be a lunchtime snack,’ he warned, ‘since we don’t have time for the type of banquet I have in mind.’

Her eyes widened. She was off in her fantasy world, he realised. Her lips were swollen with arousal, as if he had kissed them for hours, and her blue eyes had turned black with just the tiniest rim of sapphire remaining. He turned away to give her a moment, ruffling his hair as he stared into the mirror.

‘Do you like sushi?’ he said then.

‘I love sushi.’

‘Sushi it is, then,’ he said, smiling at her infectious enthusiasm.

In Casey’s opinion everyone deserved at least one fairytale in their life. And this was hers, she thought as Raffa led her over the threshold of his fabulous apartment. She wasn’t a fairy princess, but a rather ordinary girl from the north of England who happened to have a talent for marketing—but look where that talent had brought her! She was standing at the side of the hottest man in town, in the middle of an interior designer’s dream.

‘What do you think?’ Raffa said, turning to her.

With the light flooding in from the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the harbour, she thought that he looked magnificent … that he looked like a true warrior king of the desert, with his powerful legs firmly planted in his golden lion kingdom …

Was everything made of gold?

‘Vulgar, isn’t it?’ he said.

She blinked, trying to take in the apartment and give him her honest opinion—but he was so distracting. ‘I think it’s lovely, actually,’ she admitted. What was a fairytale if it was all magnolia walls and plain furniture? This was luxury such as she had never seen before, luxury on an unprecedented scale, and she thought it absolutely perfect for her lion of the desert.

‘Just try to bear in mind this is a hotel room and not my home,’ Raffa told her dryly.

A hotel room? Right. They really did come from two different worlds. Hotel rooms in Casey’s world came with a bed, a chair and a Formica desk.

‘Describe what you see in one sentence,’ Raffa suggested.

‘Fabulousness pumped up on gold dust and dressed like a movie set fit for a king?’

‘Bravo!’ He laughed, strong even teeth a flash of brilliant white against his bronzed face.

With her heart thundering like an express train she took a look around to distract herself … Venetian glass, Italian leather, and a vast wall of windows overlooking the marina and the turquoise ocean far below. On the walls Fauvist paintings, flaunting colour. She crossed the room to take a closer look at them, remembering Fauvist was French for wild beast. Casey smiled. Someone here really had a sense of humour.

‘Do you like them?’ Raffa asked as she went to take a closer look at a Matisse.

‘I love them. They’re so vibrant …’ And she was trembling all over. Her enthusiasm could so easily get the better of her, Casey realised, reining it in. She was alone with Raffa in his apartment; this was not the time to get carried away.

‘I’m glad you like them. Which one is your favourite?’

The group of naked people, dancing free, hand in hand around a grassy mound …

‘The townscape …’

‘Ah, the view of Collioure …’

‘Yes, that’s the one,’ she lied.

Raffa’s darkly luminous stare had followed her gaze, and now he looked openly disbelieving. She had told a silly lie that only betrayed her lack of sexual confidence. Lucky for her that wasn’t a consideration for him when it came to deciding on the best candidate for the job.

Seated on facing sofas a safe distance apart, they settled down to enjoy the food the waiters brought them. The tempting platters of savoury and sweet delicacies were delicious, as was the freshly squeezed mango juice served with ice and fizzy water.

And Raffa was delicious too. Everything about him said he was a sensualist, a man of potent sexuality who would be completely without inhibition in the bedroom. Maybe he could help her … Maybe she should find out …