Undressed by the Boss (Mills & Boon By Request) (11 page)

‘Let me look,’ he said, when she winced and tried not to put any weight on her shoeless foot.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Well, clearly you’re not. Let me see,
habibi.’

How could he call her sweetheart in Arabic after everything that had happened? This just wasn’t fair. She stared at Raffa’s outstretched hand suspiciously.

Slowly and reluctantly, she came to him. With the utmost care he bent her knee and lifted her tiny foot to examine it. Fortunately the sharp stone she must have trodden on had done no damage, but he massaged the sole of her foot, where the redness was showing, to ease any remaining discomfort.

‘Better now?’ he murmured, looking up.

‘Better,’ she admitted softly.

She sighed involuntarily and looked flustered—torn between believing the worst of him and wanting to be wrong, he guessed. Meantime she was forced to hang on to his shoulders to keep her balance, and he could feel her slender fingers shift slightly—as if she was tempted to explore further, and only her lack of experience married to her pride prevented it.

Standing up, he sensed the mood change between them; she had softened slightly. ‘May I escort you back to the ballroom?’ he suggested. ‘But first you had better put this on.’ He handed her the discarded shoe.

She looked at it, and then at him. Any comparisons to Cinderella would cost him dearly, he suspected. She tipped her chin and firmed her jaw. ‘I’d better hurry,’ she said, all business now. ‘I’ve kept the team waiting long enough.’

He steadied her while she secured the strap on her shoe. He was proud of her, and proud of the team she had led, but there had to be easier women …

And he did easy now?

‘Ready?’ he said, calmly offering her his arm.

‘Yes, I’m ready now.’

He felt the weight of her small hand on his arm as he held the door for her with his free hand. He liked that modest weight. He liked standing with Casey at the entrance to the ballroom until he was certain she had captured everyone’s attention. And he liked the warm feeling inside him because he was so proud of her.

‘Aren’t you embarrassed, doing this?’ she whispered as he led her forward.

‘Embarrassed to be escorting my record-breaking employee to the stage, where she will receive her well-deserved acclaim? Why should I be embarrassed?’

He stood back while Casey and her team received everyone’s thanks. They had raised a phenomenal amount of money in the shortest imaginable time, and it pleased him even more to see Casey standing back to urge her colleagues forward. She was more like him than she knew—a thought that under other circumstances might have amused him, but tonight made him regret the fact that very shortly he would have to turn his attention fully to ruling his country and this interlude with Casey Michaels must come to an end.

But not yet, he thought as she prepared to leave the stage—not now, when she had grown so much in confidence. Because that opened up a whole raft of possibilities.

‘Remember you’re leaving with me,’ he murmured discreetly as he escorted her off the stage.

There might have been an electric charge beneath his hand, and the air was certainly electric between them as he adjusted her shawl. It was the pretty shawl fate had tempted her to bid for that night.

‘Or perhaps you’d rather take a cab?’ he said, noticing how she trembled when his breath brushed her neck.

‘I’m sure there will be plenty,’ she retorted, staring him steadily in the eyes. ‘Raffa, you have to stop teasing me like this. If I’m going to work in A’Qaban you must let me do things for myself.’

‘Are
you going to work here, Casey?’

She fell quiet, and he guessed she was still confused. She thought him arrogant. She hadn’t forgiven him for his supposedly miserly actions that night.

‘That’s in your hands, Raffa,’ she said at last.

‘Maybe you will. But I’d like you to come somewhere with me before I make you an offer, and before you decide whether to take it or not.’

‘Come with you where?’ she said suspiciously.

‘Let’s find out, shall we?’ he murmured, taking hold of her arm.

He waved his guards away, wanting Casey to himself. He kept on walking until they reached a long, silent corridor, at the end of which some double doors led on to impressive formal gardens. It would be difficult, if not impossible for Casey to remain tense and angry here. As he’d expected, she stopped and gazed around, forgetting her anger and confusion as she took in their surroundings.

‘Raffa, this is beautiful …’

The scent of strawberry
sheesha
smoke was in the air, and fountains played tinkling background music. Even he, who had seen this many times before, paused to appreciate the elaborate mosaics and lush green planting. The architects he had employed to make his vision a reality had exceeded his wildest dreams. As had Casey, he reflected wryly.

Taking her hands, he said, ‘I want to add my personal thanks to the guests’ for what you did tonight. You can’t imagine how many people will benefit from the money you raised.’

‘Then I’m pleased …’ Her voice faded and her gaze dropped as she remembered her disappointment.

He drew her closer.

‘Raffa …’ She placed a hand against his chest, but she didn’t press very hard, and then her fingers curled around the edges of his robe. ‘I wish …’

He didn’t let her get any further. Perhaps it was the tears in her eyes, or the trembling of her lips, but he was overwhelmed by the need to reassure her.

Tasting her was tasting heaven. Holding her against him was an education in everything he’d been missing. He deepened the kiss and felt a surge of desire when she responded, and he went on kissing her until Casey’s reluctance was transformed into whimpering sighs.

But then his sane side took over. What was he doing? Where was this going? There was only one possible destination, and he would never take advantage of Casey while she was tired and confused and so vulnerable. Kissing the corner of her mouth, he pulled back. Bringing out his phone, he summoned his limousine, and then, taking her by the hand, he led her back through the doors.

The limousine was at the kerb. Knowing she was tired, he supported her arm so she wouldn’t stumble. ‘My driver will take you home.’

Her eyes cleared and she stared at him in bewilderment. Gradually the realisation came to her that the kiss had been a kiss, and nothing more.

‘Goodnight, Casey,’ he murmured, handing her safely into the car.

She turned to stare back at him through the rear window. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see the anger and confusion in her eyes, but whatever he had chosen to do for the auction, whatever his reasons for drawing back from wanting to make love to Casey, wasn’t anyone’s business but his own.

As soon as breakfast had been delivered the following morning she went back to bed and hid her head under the pillow. What she thought that would achieve Casey had no idea. The day had to be faced, even if the night before had been the utmost in humiliation. Tossing her pillow to the floor, she sat up cross-legged on the bed. Touching her fingertips to her mouth, where Raffa’s sharp black stubble had abraded her, she realised her lips were still tender and swollen from his kiss.

His kiss …

Closing her eyes, she relived every moment of the embrace, quivering with arousal. And quickly jerked herself round. Sometimes her body frightened her. The way it reacted so violently to thoughts of Raffa—as if it knew something she didn’t—was truly alarming.

With a sigh, she shook her head, forced to accept that nothing, not even her own fear of intimacy, could stop her wanting him.

Leaping out of bed, she stood hugging herself as she thought things through. How bad did Raffa have to be for this longing to go away? He was no good for her. He lived his life behind a guarded façade, thinking money was the answer to everything. But when the chips were down …

She didn’t want to think about the auction. And she had to eat to get through the day. She looked at the delicious food and juices waiting on the table. Maybe if she ate breakfast … maybe if she went through the motions of a normal day … her heart wouldn’t ache so much and she could screw her business head back on.

She was so tense by the time she sat down at the table she didn’t even notice the fabulous view over the marina and the pearlescent ocean beyond. Having poured a cup of fresh mint tea, she unfurled a copy of that morning’s
A’Qaban Times
—and got no further than the headline.

A groan escaped Casey’s throat. Putting the paper down, she pushed her plate away and stood up. Suddenly she wasn’t hungry any more.

Raffa was on the polo field, his office told her.

She didn’t have an outfit for polo, but she did have her various purchases stowed in the wardrobe. Selecting the modest skirt and cardigan she had bought for work, along with her low
heeled office shoes, she decided on no make-up and hair tied back. This was not an outing but a penance, and perhaps the last appointment she would ever have with Raffa. She had been far too quick to jump to conclusions.

But he had thrown money at the auction rather than taking part, Casey reflected in the hotel limousine on the way to the polo field. That being the case, once she had made this apology she wasn’t sure they had much left to say to each other. How Raffa lived his life was no business of hers, but somehow she had imagined them being close in a place where all the jewels and couture clothes in the world made no difference. And now she had to face the fact that wasn’t so.

C
ASEY
wasn’t sure quite what to do when she arrived at the polo field. Seeing as the hotel driver was instantly recognised by the security guards, she decided it was best to ask him to take her as far as he could to avoid any run-ins with Raffa’s bodyguards.

Having thanked the driver, Casey left the car and walked up to the fence bordering the field of play, where she stood leaning over it. The match had already started, and her gaze was immediately drawn to Raffa. Wearing pale breeches and a dark shirt, he had a ferocious-looking face-guard in place and was altogether a formidable sight. She remembered reading somewhere that a polo ball could travel at up to a hundred miles an hour—which explained the guard, as well as the chunky leather knee protectors strapped to his legs.

Legs which were currently wrapped around the quivering flanks of a sweating mare. She was transfixed by his strength and control. If she hadn’t been half in love with him already, Raffa at full gallop, wielding a mallet with such remarkable skill, would have been enough. She moved closer, drawn in by the speed and power of the game and wanting to speak to him when he dismounted in the paddock at the end of the chukka.

As he pulled off his helmet and ruffled his thick black hair, he confirmed her opinion that in close-fitting breeches Raffa was prodigious in every sense of the word. She blushed selfconsciously when he glanced her way. Having weighed up the
leggy blondes hanging round him, though, she decided her apology must wait.

‘Excuse me, Ms Michaels?’

She started guiltily, finding a security guard standing at her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t have a pass,’ she hurried to explain. ‘But I do work for His Majesty.’

The man waited until she had finished before politely informing her that His Majesty had asked him to escort her to the pavilion, where she could sit in the shade.

‘Oh, I see …’ Casey smiled and relaxed, and then glanced anxiously towards Raffa, who was busy checking on his polo pony and didn’t see her looking.

A shady pavilion would be just the place for him to fire her, Casey reflected.

Or he might just be being considerate, her sensible inner voice suggested, as the sun was blazing down.

Thanking the messenger, she followed the man towards the large marquee. She paused on the threshold, seeing it was full of noisy, confident people—the sort of people she designed campaigns for but never mixed with.

‘Ms Michaels?’ the man escorting Casey prompted.

She couldn’t keep him waiting, Casey reasoned. Bracing herself, she walked inside.

The interior of the tent was the epitome of luxury, with large squashy sofas upholstered in cream linen, and any number of easy chairs gathered around low, pale wood tables. The whole area was temperature controlled, and there were beautiful flower arrangements everywhere. There was even a bar and a buffet, with waiter service.

Stepping over colourful rugs, she was tempted to linger by plump cushions whose pattern reminded her of her beautiful auction purchase. In bolder colours, perhaps, the cushions boasted the same intricate pattern as her shawl. There was even a giant screen on which to watch the match, though the game was taking place only a few yards away.

It seemed most of Raffa’s guests preferred to collect around the bar and the buffet table, in small, tight-knit intimate groups, Casey noticed, deciding she would keep to herself. But she was soon restless. She wanted to see the match—and not on a giant screen.

‘Would it be possible for me to watch the match outside the pavilion?’ she asked the guard before he left.

‘Not on the screen in here?’ He seemed surprised.

What was the point in that? Casey wondered. When she could watch it just as well on a screen in her hotel room? ‘I’d prefer to sit outside, if it’s not too much trouble for you …’

‘No trouble at all,’ the man said. ‘But the sun is very strong.’ Sensing her disappointment, he added, ‘Perhaps if we put a chair for you beneath the awning you would still be in the shade, as His Majesty has requested …’

The last thing she wanted was to get this man in trouble with Raffa. ‘If His Majesty won’t think you went against his orders, that would be perfect; thank you.’

A large chair was brought and positioned for her in the shade, where she still had a clear view of the field. She perched tensely on the edge of it, conscious that Raffa was already well into the next chukka. Glancing at the scoreboard, she saw that his side was winning by one goal. She watched him marshalling his troops as the other side drew even. His grim determination to win was obvious as he turned his pony in tight, tense circles. The members of his team responded instantly, seeming to draw themselves up in the saddle and firm their resolve.