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

‘Didn’t you find any sandals to fit?’

Jolted reluctantly from her daydream, Casey was immediately self-conscious in the face of Raffa’s blistering glamour. ‘No, I … I didn’t think—’

Springing up, he handed her the long stick he was using to adjust the tinder. ‘Watch the fire for me for a minute—and for goodness’ sake stand well back from the flames.’

‘I’m not a—’ Too late. Raffa was gone. She could hear him moving about in the tent.

He was back moments later, with a pair of simple thonged sandals. ‘Put these on. You’ll feel better with something protecting your feet from the sand. The way it moves can make your feet ache after a while …’

And was there a cure for a heart that ached all the time? Casey wondered as she slipped her feet into the sandals.

They ate together seated on cushions outside the tent. From there, as Raffa had promised, they could see the stars. The simple meal Casey had suggested hadn’t taken much preparation, but it had been long enough for their mood to return to the easy companionship they had established before the erotically charged episode at the oasis.

‘This is good,’ Raffa commented with approval as he wolfed down the last of the griddled halloumi cheese Casey had arranged in slices, alternated with fresh mango. She’d put a sprinkling of toasted pine nuts on top of the salad she had prepared. ‘Where did you learn to cook like this?’

This definitely wasn’t the moment to admit she had downloaded the recipe from a supermarket site. She had to keep her fantasy alive beneath the stars. ‘I must have a natural talent.’

Raffa stopped chewing for a moment to stare at her. ‘Either that or you used a recipe.’

They both laughed, and then he said, ‘And as the next course is down to me I’ll have to look to my laurels, I can see …’

So the unreconstructed alpha male could prepare food as well as look hotter than hell in a desert robe? Life just wasn’t fair sometimes, Casey thought ruefully as Raffa sprang up.

‘Figs,’ he said, dangling them in front of her. ‘Ripe, succulent, fresh from the tree.’

He made figs sound like the most erotic fruit on earth. She gulped as he selected a fat purple fruit just for her, and was so flustered by the time he touched it to her lips she managed to knock the coffee over.

‘Kab al gahwa khay!’ Raffa exclaimed.

‘What did you say?’

‘It’s a good omen,’ he explained. ‘Knocking coffee over is considered to be lucky in A’Qaban. So what I said to you was, bad luck often brings good luck in its wake.’

‘Oh …’

Fat chance.

But the fig was delicious, and as she sucked the ripe pulp from the skin she tried not to notice how very thoroughly Raffa was doing the same.

‘That was a good meal,’ he said, having rinsed his hands in a bowl of water. Drying them on a soft towel, he held her gaze. ‘I might keep you on as a chef if you’re a good girl.’

‘And if I’m bad you’ll keep me twice as long?’ She only meant it as a joke, but Raffa’s eyes warned her not to play with fire.

He was just too much of a distraction in his black robes sitting next to her, but their night-time picnic beneath the stars had taken her back to being a child at camp, which she had enjoyed, and that safety blanket allowed her to relax. Leaning back on her hands, she gazed at the sky and it took her a moment to realise that Raffa had got up and was walking away.

‘Where are you going?’ She regretted the note of concern in her voice, because it made Raffa smile in a way that just wasn’t safe.

‘Would you rather I stayed?’ he murmured

‘No. No, of course not—I realise you must have lots to do.’

‘Good. Then I’ll leave you in the capable hands of these ladies.’

Casey turned to see a group of women hovering on the fringes of the trees. They were carrying earthenware jars, fluffy towels, and steaming jugs of fragranced water. ‘What do they want?’ Her voice was full of anxiety, to which Raffa responded with a careless gesture. ‘Oh, to prepare you for the Sheikh, I expect.’

‘What?’ Casey whirled around to stare at the women, and by the time she turned back again Raffa had disappeared.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

SHE could deal with most things, but this was way out of her comfort zone. She sprang to her feet as the women approached. ‘No—no, thank you,’ she said, fending them off with dramatic gestures. Every part of her that had been trembling with desire while Raffa was about had instantly shrivelled to a dried-up walnut. ‘There must be some mistake,’ she insisted when they kept on coming.

‘No mistake,’ one of the younger women explained in a cheerful voice with barely the trace of an accent. ‘His Majesty thought you would enjoy a spa treatment after your long day. Please don’t be alarmed, Ms Michaels. We anticipate many tourists will be coming to the desert to experience the special treatments passed down from generation to generation in A’Qaban. His Majesty told us that you will be responsible for encouraging this new industry, which is the reason he would like you to sample the various balms we have prepared.’

Ah.

‘I see.’ And she did see—unfortunately. Every time she thought her confidence was going to be rewarded by her fantasies becoming reality, Raffa turned things back to business. ‘You speak perfect English.’

‘I learned at the beauty college, where I trained …’

‘Of course.’ Casey blushed. ‘Forgive me.’

‘There is nothing to forgive,’ the young girl said frankly with a friendly smile. ‘I can well understand your surprise, finding beauticians waiting to trial their treatments on you in the middle of the desert. So, will you take the treatment, Ms Michaels?’

‘I’d love to.’ With her business head firmly in place, Casey told herself there was nothing to compare with first-hand experience.

There was a bath beneath the stars on a wooden platform, which the women filled with the warm, fragranced water before scattering its steaming surface with petals. They even arranged the greenery to make sure she would be completely private.

‘That’s the benefit of the oasis,’ the young therapist explained. ‘There’s no shortage of screening here, and every product we use is fresh.’

‘And wonderful,’ Casey agreed, stepping into the water whilst the other woman held a towel to preserve her modesty. ‘Oh, this is magic,’ she murmured, sinking low and inhaling deeply, closing her eyes as she breathed in the delightful aroma of the water. ‘What did you say it was? Only I’m tingling all over.’

‘The rich scent of black coffee.’

‘Raffa!’ Water bounced over the side of the bath as Casey shot out of it. Realising he only had a towel wrapped around his waist and she was completely naked, she splashed down again, sinking as low as she could go.

‘Combined with the earthy notes of native grass, temple incense and tree bark to lend a little warmth and woodiness,’ he continued. ‘Oh, and a touch of desert magic …’

‘Where has everyone gone?’ Casey demanded anxiously, looking around.

‘That desert magic I mentioned.’

‘Raffa—stop teasing me.’ She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘You’ve frightened the women away.’

‘They bowed and left when I arrived.’

As they would to their king, she realised, trying to get her head around everything that was happening. Raffa’s expression, however, was anything but regal. ‘Arrogant—’

‘Brute?’ he suggested, his lips tugging with amusement as he moved closer to the platform on which her bath was resting. ‘Well, what do you think of it?’ he said, gesturing around. ‘Do you think the intrepid explorers you hope to attract to A’Qaban will approve of a desert spa?’

‘How could they not?’ What did she think? What did she think? There wasn’t a thought in her head that wasn’t X-rated. Hard-muscled, toned and tanned, with just the right amount of chest hair, Raffa had a tattoo running from just below his neck to somewhere she wasn’t prepared to look. If she had thought him sexy before, the ruler of A’Qaban half naked, with a rampant lion clambering all over him, was sin made flesh.

‘You can come up now,’ Raffa suggested. ‘I’ve seen it all before—or had you forgotten?’

No, she hadn’t forgotten, Casey thought, feeling deflated. The magic of the desert didn’t seem to be working in her favour, somehow. ‘So is this the end of my spa treatment?’ She was feeling thoroughly fed up as Raffa picked up a towel.

‘Not unless you want it to be …’

As he held it out, she demanded hoarsely, ‘Raffa, is this fair?’ And when he didn’t respond, she insisted, ‘Raffa, say something.’

‘Adam al-jawab jawab …’

‘Say something I can understand.’

‘Stand up first, and then I’ll translate.’ He jutted his chin when she hesitated. ‘You don’t want to catch cold, do you?’

Catch cold? She had enough heat for both of them. ‘You promised to explain,’ she insisted, as Raffa wrapped her warmly in a towel.

‘No answer is an answer—or, as you might say, silence speaks volumes.’

‘Well, that’s no good if I can’t understand your brand of silence,’ Casey pointed out. Her first thought was to keep the conversation going, distracting Raffa from her extremely aroused nakedness beneath the towel, but then the penny dropped. ‘Are you saying your being naked is fair?’

‘You’re naked, aren’t you?’

‘I’m here for a spa treatment.’

‘So am I. And you’re going to give it to me.’

Had the pussy cat found her claws? For a moment, as Casey gasped and looked truly alarmed, he wondered if she was ready for this. But then she gazed at him, and both challenge and determination crept into her eyes, and he changed his mind. He preferred a match of equals, but women constantly disappointed him. Casey was proving to be the exception to that. Money and status, in particular, were the last things on her mind.

Casey was searching for reality, one she could deal with. He wanted her to know a reality that existed beyond the pages of her parents’ books. That was one of the reasons he had brought her here. It was his intention to prove that there was nothing to be ashamed of in the naked body, that in all its exciting variations it was beautiful; he intended to start this tutorial with his own.

‘Come,’ he said, holding out his hand to her. He walked unselfconsciously, aware that Casey was trying very hard not to look at him.

He walked with her from the open-air bathroom into the main part of the tent where, at his instruction, the women had left the creams and oils she would need to perform the treatment he had in mind.

‘I’ll just climb up on the bed,’ he said, dropping his towel.

‘The bed?’ she gasped.

‘We’ll call it the treatment couch, if you prefer.’

‘I do prefer,’ she assured him, staring fixedly away.

He hid his smile to save her blushes. That he should meet a woman so fresh and challenging had really opened his eyes. He could share his life with a woman like this—a woman who could fulfil public duties at his side with the same enthusiasm that she should for other, more caring issues, closer to his heart. But he was wedded to duty and to A’Qaban, he reminded himself sternly. There had never been any room in his life for the self-indulgence of a love affair.

‘Well? Get up on the couch,’ Casey rapped impatiently, bringing his honourable thoughts to an abrupt close.

She plunged her arms up to the elbows in a tub of cream. She could do this. She would do this. Timid virgin or not, she had confidence. She just needed to dig deep and prove it—to herself and to Raffa. To herself mostly, Casey admitted silently.

‘Don’t forget to warm your hands up first,’ Raffa told her dryly, moving his face to one side as he eased his position on the couch.

‘Don’t worry—I will.’ They were warm already—very warm—and so was she.

She hadn’t looked at Raffa properly yet. She needed a moment to prepare before doing that. She glanced at his towel on the floor, and checked her own towel was securely fastened.

Casey’s breath caught in her throat as she took her first look at Raffa’s naked form.

‘Steady,’ he warned as she slapped two handfuls of goo on his back. ‘Half of that landed on the floor.’

Possibly because she had her eyes tightly shut. ‘I read somewhere that a firm touch is needed,’ she defended, wondering if the spasms of delight she was experiencing would ever stop racing from her fingertips to her arms, from where they spread outwards to every part of her body.

‘Firm, but not slapdash,’ Raffa agreed huskily. ‘Would you like me to show you how?’

Rippling with muscle, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him anywhere—which was quite a bit different from her own well-upholstered form. ‘No, that’s all right—I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it.’

‘Rub the cream in well, but catch any dribbles on the towel first.’

‘Dribbles?’

‘Of cream?’

‘On my towel?’

‘On any towel …’

Leaning over him, she managed to hold onto the towel with her elbow and dab at him with the hem at the same time.

‘Don’t be so prissy—rub it in.’

Casey stared at Raffa’s sculpted shoulders before tentatively resting her fingertips against them.

‘Now, rub.’

Her whole body fired in response to the warm, firm flesh beneath her hands.

‘Use more pressure …’

She leaned against the couch, craving contact with Raffa in places that had never felt this much action before.

‘More …’

More? How could there be more than this? She felt swollen in certain places, short of breath, and hungry for Raffa in a way that made her throat tight and everything else rather too loose.

‘More pressure, Casey …’

‘I’m using all I can.’

‘Pathetic,’ he growled. ‘Try harder.’

Any harder than this and she’d explode. But she had to try, Casey told herself firmly. She couldn’t back down now. She explored the wide expanse of Raffa’s back with infinite care and absolute slowness. If she was going to do this, she was going to enjoy every minute of it. Closing her eyes, she used a little more pressure, and was rewarded by Raffa’s sigh.

‘Nice?’ she murmured.

‘Don’t distract yourself by talking—I’ll tell you when to stop.’

‘Okay …’ But he felt so good, so warm and full of energy; she wanted to be a lot closer to him than this. She leaned over, pressing herself against Raffa’s side, longing to ease the pressure inside her.

‘That’s much better,’ he said, with the suggestion of a smile in his voice. ‘I think you’re getting the hang of it at last …’

His face was deadpan, and his deep voice was muffled against his powerful forearms as she worked on his back, but his sigh of pleasure gave him away—he was enjoying this as much as she was. She took a detour over his bulging biceps and on down each of his forearms, which gave her the opportunity to press her chest against his back …

‘Much, much better,’ he husked contentedly.

She was enjoying herself so much by this time she wasn’t prepared when he turned on his back. ‘Now feel me,’ he said.

‘Feel you?’ She gulped.

‘My chest … Feel it … Explore, Casey.’

She shut her eyes and started tentatively to do as Raffa had suggested. But as she explored she grew bolder. He was magnificent. Raffa was a magnificent fighting machine … or a lover.

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