I Married a Sheik (20 page)

"I don't know any such thing." Her voice was not as strong as she would have liked. In spite of her anger, her hurt, she couldn't deny what he said was the truth. His intentions were honorable, his methods were just screwed up.

What hurt was the truth, the truth that she was good enough to play-act the part of his wife-to-be, but she was not a woman he could ever love.

For an instant Faith wondered if her anger was really a bruised ego.

"My parents are deeply fond of you, Faith, and with good reason. You are an incredible woman, and I admire you a great deal." The suspicion in her eyes increased, making him sigh.

Wonderful. He admired her. It made her spirits sink further. That was the equivalent of going on a blind date in college and being told your date had a "great personality." It was the kiss of death.

"Faith, if you will agree to do this for me, you will earn my eternal gratitude."

"With that and a dollar I can maybe buy a cup of coffee." She didn't want his gratitude, what she wanted, she realized, was something he'd already admitted he couldn't give her. His love.

Why was it so important, she wondered, finally looking at him. It struck her then, like a spirited arrow to the heart.

She was, God help her, in love with him.

The knowledge staggered her simply because she had no idea when it had happened, had no idea when she'd let herself care so deeply.

How much of a fool could she be? Loving a man who'd already admitted he could never love her.

Perhaps she hadn't learned as much from her mother's mistakes as she thought. Or perhaps, she thought with an inward sigh, she was destined to make the same mistakes.

"Faith?" He waited until the troubled look in her eyes cleared before continuing. "If you go with me to my parents' this weekend, I will release you from your contract and allow your colleague to finish the job. I will also make sure that Abner Josslyn knows what a fine job you have done for El-Etra."

Her mind and her heart were still reeling. Once the job was over, Ali would be out of her life for good. This weekend might be the last chance she had to be with him, to see him. It might be all she'd ever have.

But she wasn't about to make it easy for him. "I still get the bonus if Peter finishes the job?"

"But of course." He smiled, more relieved than he believed possible.

"I also want a glowing letter of recommendation personally signed by you."

"Done."

"And I want tomorrow morning off."

"What?" Her request took him by surprise. "I do not understand."

"I need to go shopping, Ali. I have no intention of going to your parents' home for the first time without bringing a proper gift for the hostess. And I'll need time to shop."

Pleased beyond measure that she was going away with him, he smiled at her. "It is a lovely gesture, Faith, truly, but not necessary."

One brow rose. "I don't believe I asked for your opinion."

He chuckled, wondering if he'd ever get accustomed to her sharp tongue. He hoped not, it was charming. "No, this is true, you did not."

"When I do want your opinion, I'll ask for it. Until then, please keep it to yourself. Now if you're through, I've got work to do." She sat down.

"As do I." Overjoyed, he laid his hand over hers, causing her pulse to speed up. "Thank you, Faith. You have no idea how much this means to me." He stroked her hand, aching to touch her softness. He had a reprieve, a whole weekend to try to make things right with her. "I shall phone my parents and tell them we'll be there in time for dinner."

"You do that," she said.

"And, Faith, I would just like to say that it would be wise to remember that we are supposed to be engaged. It would not look good if we were hissing and spitting at each other all weekend. In spite of everything, we should at least try to be…friends. And perhaps we will enjoy each other's company this weekend."

"Don't bet the farm on that one."

"What farm?" he asked with a frown, making her laugh.

"Never mind. It's just an expression."

"Do you agree, Faith, that we might at least try to be friends?"

"Well, I normally don't befriend people who threaten and blackmail me, but I have made a deal, so I'll honor it." She sighed in resignation. "I'll be sweet, civil and obedient."

"Ah, the perfect woman," he said, making her glance up at him sharply. Holding up his hands, he laughed at the storm clouds of indignation gathering in her beautiful eyes. "I was only kidding, Faith. With you, somehow, I don't think the words sweet and obedient would be used in the same sentence. At least not by me."

"Dogs are obedient. Cookies are sweet. Women are human." She raised her chin a notch. "You'll do well to remember that."

He felt once again the heat that always seemed to leap between them, drawing them closer, entangling them. How on earth was he going to get through an entire weekend with her without making a fool of himself?

He honestly didn't know.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow afternoon."

His hands itched to touch her, so he slipped them back in his pockets. He had to leave, fearing if he didn't, he'd do something they might both regret.

Eleven

"W
hat? What? What is this mess?" Pierre, hair stylist extraordinaire plucked up bunches of Faith's long hair and frowned in disdain as he ran his fingers the length of the dry strands. "Did you use a lawn mower to cut this?" Another clump. "Or perhaps a weed whacker? No, no, I've got it, pruning shears, correct?" One brow rose imperiously and he scowled down his perfectly sculptured nose at Faith, who was doing a little scowling of her own.

"Can you fix it?" she asked, wondering for the tenth time what she was doing here. She knew what she was doing, but still, it annoyed her. As long as she was going to spend the weekend with Ali's parents, and since she was supposed to be his fiancée, she figured she might as well play the part and at least try to look like the kind of woman he should be engaged to.

She couldn't very well show up at his folks in Palm Springs in torn jeans and a T-shirt, let alone her hair in a ponytail. She'd have looked like a ragamuffin, as Martha told her when she'd insisted Faith come to see Pierre.

It was Martha who had made the appointment at this very chic, very expensive day salon where she would be made over from head to toe. Insisted, nagged and forced was more like it, Faith thought with a scowl, pushing back a strand of hair from her face.

Martha had booked her for a full day's treatment—whatever that meant. All she knew was that she was going to have people tugging, pulling and fussing over her all day and she just hoped she had the patience for all this nonsense.

It wasn't that she didn't enjoy looking good or feminine, she just felt it was a horrific waste of time and money to do all the boringly feminine things required to look like she stepped out of a fashion magazine.

She had so many more important things to do with her time and money. Faith blew out a breath and garnered some patience. She'd promised Martha, she reminded herself, and if the truth be known, she was actually looking forward—just a little bit—to seeing what kind of magic, if any, Pierre and his troops could do.

She knew she was scheduled to have her hair cut and styled, colored perhaps as well. A makeup artist was going to paint her face, but teach her how to do it as well. A manicure and a pedicure, as well as something called a mud wrap. Why she was paying good money to have someone wrap her in mud was a mystery.

She glanced at Pierre through the mirror in front of her. He was still scowling over her hair. "Can you fix it?"

"Fix it?" He fairly shuddered. "My dear, that's my job." His chin lifted as he continued to glare at her head. "By the time I'm finished with you, even your mother wouldn't recognize you." He bent and lifted one of her hands. "Mercy, you obviously have found more than one use for those pruning sheers."

"I work with my hands," she said, snatching her hand back and tucking it under her leg so he couldn't see it.

"A ditch digger, perhaps?" he asked, then smiled, retrieving her hand. "Please don't worry my dear." He patted her hand affectionately. "I can see that you haven't had the time or the inclination to do the things necessary to make yourself beautiful."

"Beautiful?" She gaped at him. He was either blind, or a very bad liar. No one had ever called her beautiful before.

His smile widened and his eyes softened. "Yes, dear, beautiful." He tipped her chin up. "Very," he added softly as his gaze studied every inch of her delicate features. "You've just never had anyone to teach you how to make the most of your beauty." He clapped his hands together. "But I'll teach you, dear, and before the day is out, you'll not recognize yourself."

Faith scooted lower in the chair, staring at her familiar reflection.
Not recognize herself?
She scooted lower. That's exactly what she was afraid of.

* * *

She hadn't actually meant to buy new clothes, it was an impulse really. She'd been out shopping for a proper present to bring Ali's parents, and was merely window shopping, looking at all the lovely fall clothes on display in the store windows.

She hated skirts and dresses, hated all that female fussiness, but she'd spotted a beautiful silk pantsuit in a shade of green that caught her eye.

On impulse, she'd gone in and tried it on. It fit like a glove. Smelling a sale, the saleswoman had brought in several other pantsuits in sparkling fall colors, insisting Faith try on each and every one.

In the end, she'd walked out of there with three new outfits, and since she had no other shoes but her tennis shoes, she headed to a shoe store.

As luck would have it, they not only were having an enormous sale, but she found shoes in almost the same shade as her new outfits.

Pleased, and now running late, she'd dashed home to shower, change and pack her new things.

A littler nervous about her appearance, when she spotted Ali's car in the driveway, she pulled open the door.

He was halfway up the drive before he realized she was standing in the doorway. His brain fogged and he blinked. Once. Twice.

"Faith?" Her hair was down, spilling to her shoulders in a wild tangle of fiery curls. The outfit she had on was a beautiful jade-green that matched her eyes and hugged her figure in a way that had his breath backing up in his lungs.

"It's me," she said, pleased by his response. She could have kissed Martha in gratitude.

He took her hands in his, noticing they were trembling. She's nervous, he thought with an inward smile, totally disarmed by her. "You look absolutely beautiful."

Beautiful.
Closing her eyes for a moment, she savored the word. No one had ever told her she was beautiful before, and at this moment, with the way he was looking at her she felt beautiful.

She would never want to compete with all the beautiful women he dated and romanced; she was not in the least bit interested in becoming a revolving mannequin for some designer in order to impress a man. She had far more important things to do with her time and money.

But that didn't mean she couldn't dress up when the situation required it. Especially if this was the response she got.

"Thank you," she stammered a bit self-consciously, running a damp hand down her thigh.

"Let me get your bags." He couldn't take his eyes off her. The outfit was neither daring nor revealing, but classic and elegant in spite of its tailored design.

It was absolutely perfect for her, on her. It wasn't just that her beautiful hair was down, either. It was something more.

Perhaps it was just seeing her like this, outside of the work environment, outside of her usual jeans. Why had he not realized that she was beautiful in her own distinct way?

He grabbed her bags while she locked up, then took her arm as he guided her toward his car.

Scowling, she came to a halt right at the edge of the driveway. "Ali, what is this thing?"

He shook his head, following her gaze. "I do not understand. What do you mean?"

She nodded toward his car. "What is that?"

"This is a car, Faith," he said with some confusion, opening the back and depositing her luggage.

"No," she said, pointing to her sensible four-door compact parked in the street. "That's a car." She turned back to him, pointing at the screaming fire-engine red contraption in her driveway. "This is a can opener with a removable cover."

He laughed. "Faith, you are the only woman I know who would call a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar Maserati a can opener with a removable cover."

She almost dropped her small clutch purse. "You paid a quarter of a million
dollars
for a car that doesn't even have a back seat?" Shock had her voice edging upward. "For that kind of dough they could have at least thrown in a back seat, two and a half baths, and a two-car garage."

"Faith, it is a two-seater roadster. Imported and custom-made. It's not supposed to have a back seat."

Most women adored this exquisite, expensive vehicle. She merely wrinkled her nose in disdain. Would she never stop surprising him?

When they were in the car, Ali said, "Now, Faith, you cannot start out this weekend scowling." Smiling, he traced a finger down her nose. "It will spoil the trip. I thought we'd drive along the coast, take our time and enjoy the wonderful afternoon. It will give us a chance to talk."

"Talk?" Faith repeated as if she'd never heard the word before.

"Yes, you know, exchange pleasantries, pretend we are having a good time." He reached out and covered her hand. She looked at his hand, so strong, so masculine, and yet so gentle over hers. "After all, we are supposed to be engaged, remember?"

How on earth could she forget? She wouldn't be here now, with him, if she wasn't pretending to be something she wasn't, something she could never be.

Blowing out a breath, she ordered herself to relax. She had agreed to this charade and she might as well make the best of it.

"I bought you a present," he said a bit mysteriously.