Undressed by the Boss (Mills & Boon By Request) (2 page)

She shook off the feeling. She was determined to enjoy every moment of this trip—even the terminal building, which was decked out like the lobby of a six-star hotel. There were fountains to soothe the senses and cool the air, along with an abundance of lush green plants, and even indoor palm trees stretching their spiny fingers towards the twinkling glass ceiling.

It was just Casey Michaels who was feeling a little out of sorts, Casey accepted as she fought the feeling of being a very small speck of travelling dust in a busy, purposeful world. She was under no misapprehension. She was a piece on the Sheikh’s chessboard, and if she didn’t play the right move at the right time she would be swept out of the game.

A group of A’Qabani women distracted Casey as they fluttered past on silent feet, like so many graceful butterflies. As she smiled, kohl-lined eyes smiled back.

The A’Qabanis seemed such a friendly people. They made
her wish she could understand the secret language the women seemed to be transmitting from behind their silken veils. Their language hinted at a hidden world, and it was a world she longed to know more about. But, like the desert interior, that world would have to wait.

Casey passed through Immigration without incident, and at Customs was surprised to be waved on. It seemed strange to her that she, the most disreputable-looking person in the line, hadn’t attracted so much as a challenge. But, heigh-ho, was she complaining? She had no desire to flaunt her stock of big knickers and sensible vests to a line of customs officials dressed in the immaculate robes and headdresses of A’Qaban.

Focusing on the exit signs, Casey quickened her pace. She didn’t expect anyone to be waiting for her so her plan was to call a cab and ask to be taken to the nearest hotel. Once there, she would freshen up and contact the office.

She had barely made it halfway across the concourse when the crowd she was part of peeled away; moments after that she was surrounded by fearsome-looking guards. They wore a uniform of black tunics and baggy trousers, and they all had lethal daggers tucked into their belts. She turned full circle, but there was no escape.

The blood drained from Casey’s face as dark, expressionless eyes confronted her. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before, and it was easily the most frightening experience of her life. What terrible sin had she unwittingly committed?

She didn’t have to wait long to find out. The circle parted almost immediately to admit one man.
A hunk in jeans.

Snug-fitting blue jeans, desert boots and a form-fitting top, to be precise. And that was before she took in the ruffled inky hair, sharp gaze, deep tan, sensual mouth
and
…
an earring?

Casey’s mind went into freefall. For a moment she couldn’t think straight. The man was tall—threateningly so—and built like a kick boxer fresh from the ring. Swallowing deep, she
called on all her powers of quick recovery. This was not the moment to be wrong-footed by the Sheikh.

‘You move faster than I thought, Casey Michaels.’

Sheikh Rafik al Rafar’s brown-black eyes were stunning, she registered shakily, stumbling into an awkward curtsey.
‘Your Majesty—’

‘Leave your toadying at the door and call me Raffa.’

Raffa …

Raffa was not only the best-looking man she had seen in a long time—if ever—he had a voice that was honey-warm and barely accented, which strummed her senses in a way she had never experienced before. ‘Raffa.’

‘Ahlan wa sahlan,
Casey Michaels …’

There was just the faintest touch of mockery in his voice. Could the bad-boy Sheikh tune in to her thoughts? She stared up into eyes that told a story Casey wasn’t sure she was old enough to read, and her heart-rate soared when the ruler of A’Qaban touched his hand to his heart, his lips, and finally to his forehead.

‘Ahlan wa sahlan beek,
Your—er, Raffa.’ She lowered her eyes, thanking her lucky stars that on joining a company owned by an Arab Sheikh she had learned the basics of his language. When she raised her head again it was to find the observant gaze licking over her with interest. Had she managed to buy herself a second chance?

‘Come,’ he said.

Come where? she wondered anxiously. Just so long as it wasn’t the next flight home.

He took her to an office containing a desk and two uncomfortable-looking chairs, which was a relief. She walked in, while Raffa shut the door on the guards.

‘What do you have in your backpack, Casey?’ he asked, turning around.

For a moment she was completely thrown.

‘Your backpack?’ he prompted.

She put it down on the floor, leaning it against the utilitarian desk.

‘Open it.’

Her cheeks fired up. Nature had granted Sheikh Rafik al Rafar a fierce, stubble-shaded face full of heart-stopping force and resolve. This was not your usual polished royal, but a hard man of the desert; there was no court of appeal here.

She opened the pack and straightened up. This was business, Casey reminded herself in an attempt to rebuild her flagging confidence. Business she could deal with; men were the problem. In business men were normal human beings, like anyone else, but when they stepped out of that box and became yang to her yin, that was something else. Plus, men as good-looking as this one never noticed her, let alone spoke to her. She’d had no practice dealing with someone so …

She was staring at Raffa’s lips, Casey realised, jerking alert as he spoke.

‘Just show me what you’ve got, Casey.’

‘S
HOW
you what I’ve got?’ Casey gulped as her mind reviewed the contents of her backpack. Raffa would hardly be impressed by her selection of giant-sized white cotton knickers.

‘Take a seat, if you prefer,’ he suggested, easing away from the wall.

And have him tower over her? ‘I prefer to stand, if you don’t mind.’

‘As you wish.’

Oh, she did wish. And that was half the trouble. He only had to shrug to draw her attention to the width of his shoulders. She shrank back as he prowled closer.

‘I just want to see how well you have prepared for the desert.’

His gaze was potent; his presence electrifying. He was toying with her, measuring her, pushing her to the limit in ways she had never been pushed before—and her body was really letting her down. This might be business, but she was acutely aware of Raffa and the hard masculine form beneath his casual clothes, and it was almost impossible not to think of the enormous bulge in the front of his jeans as a third presence in the room. Not that she should be thinking about it at all, of course.

And now tears were threatening. Casey Michaels—businesswoman printed through her like a stick of rock—was in serious danger of meltdown. Because if landing this job rested on her female attributes she might as well go home right now.

* * *

He had never done this before. He took it for granted that any executive working for him knew what they were doing. He had never plucked an employee hot from their flight and brought them to a private office to interrogate them before, and he had no excuse now. Except to say Casey Michaels intrigued him. He dreaded her turning out to be a vacuous blonde. He’d encountered his fair share over the years, and there was no place for them in his business.

As she pulled out the first object he realised with some amusement that she was anything but. The photo in Casey’s personnel file was as misleading as his own official portrait. In fact, if she got the job, Casey’s first task would be to put the presentation of company profiles out to tender.

She believed she had packed everything necessary, but had she? So much hung on this, Casey reflected tensely, pulling out her plastic sheet for collecting drinking water.

Raffa’s lips pressed down with approval.

She held up her mirror, for signalling if she became lost …

The mirror garnered another nod.

Scissors, string and a fire stone for lighting tinder.

‘Scissors?’

‘Along with my Swiss army knife, my folding spade, and my water canister. They were packed in the hold in a waterproof zip-bag, which I have here—’ She produced it.

Raffa indicated with a wave of his hand that she should continue.

A box of water-purifying tablets, six tubes of salt tablets, and an industrial-sized tub of insect repellent, along with a first-aid kit.

‘And a map?’ he pressed.

‘Of course …’ She produced the map, safely contained in a plastic cover to prevent it getting wet or ripped. ‘And a compass.’

She was rewarded by the smallest tug of Raffa’s lips.

‘And the bulge?’

She dearly wanted to look at
his
bulge, but managed not to. ‘My spare clothes.’

‘A business suit?’

Not unless it was a grow-your-own-business suit, stowed in a water canister … ‘Unfortunately, no.’

‘Well,
fortunately
…’ The word was laced with ironic emphasis ‘ … we have shops here.’

A flood of heat rushed to Casey’s face. ‘If I’d known I was coming to the city I would have packed differently.’ She froze. Judging by the expression on Raffa’s face, no one ever interrupted him. Which raised another problem. Reining herself in she could do. Changing her personality completely in the short time available was going to prove a little more difficult.

Raffa’s powerful shoulders eased in a shrug. ‘I wanted you here,’ he said, as if that were the only explanation necessary. But it was not the end of her frustration. Raffa was just so aggravatingly nonchalant, while she was …

So out of her depth in his presence?

It wasn’t her business sense letting her down now, but the tension crackling between them.

‘You can pack everything away,’ Raffa said, providing her with a welcome distraction. ‘I’m satisfied you are as prepared as you could be for the desert …’

Inwardly, she cheered. Thank goodness he hadn’t asked her to dig any deeper and reveal the six sets of sensible underwear, the rape alarm, and the condoms her ever-practical if misguided mother had insisted she must pack.

He brooded as he watched Casey pack away her belongings. Her qualifications were good on paper, her work ethic unquestioned, but he needed more than that. The person who would eventually lead his marketing team must show total commitment to A’Qaban, and be a questing, innovative, initiative-seizing individual, capable of working solo and producing results without requiring constant monitoring or supervision.

His gaze swept over Casey again. Her outfit was outlandish, almost comical, but somehow she managed to pull it off. The combination of naivety and absolute determination gave her an unaffected charm—though he suspected she could be stubborn, given half a chance.

He’d take that as a plus, he decided, though she would have to be prepared to travel as and when required, and adapt to changing itineraries if necessary. She would also have to cope with the interior. He’d had the last candidate airlifted out when they couldn’t hack it, and until he was sure of Casey she was staying in the city.

The question was, could she cope with anything more rigorous than a sanitised desert kingdom? He was quite keen to find out, and found himself silently urging her on.

Come on, Casey Michaels, show me what you’ve got…

She was tired from the travelling and shaken up by the speed of events. And by Rafik al Rafar.

By him mostly.

She held him entirely responsible.

She could even identify, with a nose well trained at the perfume counter of countless department stores, each ingredient in his exotic cologne: vanilla—an aphrodisiac, sandalwood—a sultry spice, and—

‘Shall we go?’ he prompted. ‘Casey?’ Dipping his head, he gave her a disturbingly direct stare. ‘I’m going to take you to your hotel to drop your bag,’ he said, ‘and then—’

Her face flamed red with embarrassment. She was twenty-five years old and didn’t possess a single atom of know-how when it came to men.

‘Then I’ll buy you a suit,’ he said, rather disappointingly.

‘You don’t need to. I—’

‘Never accept gifts from men?’ He raised one sweeping brow.

‘I’ve got money with me.’

He shrugged. ‘If you prefer to pay, that’s okay with me.’

She was still staring into his eyes like an obedient puppy, Casey realized—something it was all too easy to do.

Holding the door, Raffa was waiting for her. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Raffa paused just in front of the main exit doors leading from the concourse. His guards, anticipating this, stopped instantly and stood to attention.

‘Welcome to A’Qaban,’ he said to Casey. ‘My country is your country for the next few days.’

Heat was sweeping over her in waves. It had nothing to do with the brilliant sunshine. She felt so grubby and travel-stained compared to Raffa, who was coolness personified. His gaze was measured as he looked at her, and faintly amused. She felt under a scrutiny from which she suspected there would be no let-up while she was in A’Qaban. It was impossible not to feel honoured by the pledge he’d just made her, and also impossible not to feel very much threatened on the personal front. It was as if her very womanhood was on the line. It shouldn’t matter to her if that was found wanting just so long as she landed this job—but it did matter; it mattered far more than it should have done.

He gestured towards the limousine that had pulled up at the curb. ‘Let me take your backpack for you.’

‘That’s very kind of you.’

‘I don’t do kind.’

Blunt words that for some reason made her quiver all over.

Raffa’s fierce fighting men had formed a private corridor in order for them to make the short transit from the airport doors to the royal vehicle. It had blacked out windows—a hermetically sealed chamber lined in softest kidskin, where she would be shut off from the world.

Panicking, she held back. Overheating, she dragged off her unbecoming hat.

‘You should wait until you are under cover,’ Raffa warned as
she shook out her hair. ‘The sun is deceptively strong. While you are in A’Qaban you must take every opportunity to avoid the heat.’ But the heat was all in his eyes.