Taming The Sheik. Carol Grace
“No, absolutely not,” Rafik said. “Wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole. Not my type. Not yours either.”
“Okay. Just asking. What a party, huh?”
It was quite a party, and Rafik would have been a fool to miss a moment of it. He threw himself into enjoying the music, the dancing, and oh, yes, chatting up the women. So much so, he almost forgot about the auburn-haired bridesmaid in the pink dress. Out of sight, out of mind. That’s the way it always was with him. But in one small corner of his mind during the fun, he wondered what had happened to her. He hoped his brother had followed his advice and ignored her. Not that he really cared. Not that she was his responsibility. It was just that she seemed so fragile and so vulnerable. It was obvious somebody ought to be responsible for her. Just so it wasn’t him or anyone he knew.
Yes, he’d all but forgotten about her, until at the end of the afternoon, as dusk was falling over the manicured grounds, after the eating, drinking and dancing, he was called upon to make a toast. He stood on the dance platform in front of the musicians who were packing up and told some anecdotes about Tarik that made everyone laugh. Just as he lifted his glass of champagne to toast his cousin and his bride, he saw Anne at the edge of the crowd. She lifted her glass and caught his eye. She definitely looked like she’d had a few too many glasses of champagne. Funny. He wouldn’t have picked her for a lush.
Maybe he ought to bring her a piece of wedding cake and see how she was doing. But when he went looking for her, cake in hand, she was gone. It was just as well.
“Rafik.” Carolyn got up from the small table where she was sitting with a group of older people and caught his arm. “Do me a favor, will you? Anne isn’t feeling well. Could you give her a ride home?”
“Sure. Where is she?”
“At the front door. She wanted to call a taxi, but I’m a little worried. I want to be sure she gets home all right.”
“Okay,” he said.
He pulled his car up in front of the house and left the motor running while he bounded up the front steps. He found her standing in the doorway of the house, looking confused.
“Oh,” Anne said, startled to see Rafik at the door.
“Come on,” he said, putting his arm around her waist.
“I’m waiting for a taxi. Thanks anyway,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to disengage his arm.
“I’m the taxi,” he said. “I’m taking you home. Orders from Carolyn.”
“That’s not necessary,” she said. Of all people. She did not want to be indebted to this man, who thought he was God’s gift to womankind. Who’d already seen her at her worst. She’d managed to avoid him for the past few hours, and now here he was again.
“Really. I’m fine. I just need….” She just needed to lie down and close her eyes. Her head was pounding, the room was spinning, and Rafik’s face was going in and out of focus. When he picked her up as easily as if she weighed no more than a rag doll and carried her down the steps to his waiting car, her head bobbed against his shoulder. She pounded him on his back in an attempt to make him let her go, but it had no effect on him at all.
He very carefully installed her in the passenger seat, taking her small clutch bag from her hand and removing her shoes before he tucked her feet in. She sighed. Despite her protests, she had to admit it felt so good to be taken care of. So good to have those tight shoes off. Again she was surprised that a big, broad-shouldered, dashing man-about-town would have such a gentle touch. As he fastened her seat belt, his hand grazed the bodice of her silk dress and she gasped. Her eyes flew open and met his amused gaze.
“Just following the seat-belt law,” he said innocently. “Wouldn’t want to be stopped for any kind of violation.”
“Right,” she said.
Did he know, could he tell she was unaccustomed to being touched there? Unused to being touched at all by a man? That just a brush of his hand had left her shaky and breathless? Or was that, too, the effect of the champagne and the medicine? What did it matter? He’d been instructed to take her home and he was doing it. She ought to be grateful.
“Where do you live?” he asked.
“In the Sunset,” she said. “Out by the….you know….” She hoped he knew because the names of the streets of San Francisco were going round and round in her brain. Such nice names. Which one was hers? “Octavia. Laguna. Chestnut. Larkin. Pine and Bush,” she murmured.
“What?” he said. “I’m new in town. You’ll have to give me better directions than that.”
“Take Geary,” she said. “No, no better take California.”
“I know California Street,” he said confidently. “No problem. You just relax till we get there.”
Relax? She was so relaxed she might never move again. “Nice car,” she said, though all she knew was that it smelled like leather and the seat was so comfortable she wanted to stay there forever.
“It’s new,” he said. “I didn’t need a car when we lived in New York, but I do here,” he said. “My life is about to change. Drastically.”
“No more playboy, hmm?”
“Where’d you hear that?” he asked sharply.
“Heard you talking.”
“I thought maybe you’d been talking to my father.”
She shook her head. Just to utter another word would require too much effort.
“He thinks it’s time I grew up. Took over the business and got married. I’m the elder son, you know.”
“I thought…twins,” she murmured.
“Yes, we’re twins, but I was born first. By thirty minutes. So Rahman’s allowed some slack while I’m the heir apparent. I’m the one who gets the corner office. I’m the one who gets the responsibility of running it. I’m the one who’s supposed to find a wife and settle down. Don’t tell anyone I said that. I’m trying to talk him out of that one.”
As if she could tell anyone anything. Her lips were numb, her eyes refused to open. He was still talking. She could hear the words but they made no sense. None at all.
When Rafik got to California Street he turned to ask Anne which way to turn, but her eyes were closed and she was breathing softly and steadily. She’d fallen asleep.
“Hey, wake up,” he said. “Which way on California?” He shook her gently by the shoulder. Nothing. “Anne. Where do you live? Come on, sweetheart, speak to me.” But she didn’t. She slid down even farther in the seat. Too much to drink, obviously. Well, it wasn’t the first time he’d been stuck with an inebriated date. Though he usually knew where they lived. He could go back to the wedding or call Carolyn, but the truth was, he was tired himself. It had been a week of nonstop pre-wedding parties along with setting up a new office and frankly he was beat. He, the man who loved a good time, who’d never met a party he didn’t like, was slowing down. What was the matter with him?
Another thing. He didn’t relish telling Carolyn her friend had passed out before he even got her home. It might put a damper on the remainder of the party for her. And it would make her best friend look bad. The only thing to do was take her back to his hotel with him. It was a comfortable suite with great room service and a giant king-sized bed. When she came to, he’d sober her up with coffee, find out where she lived and drive her home.
Unfortunately Anne was still out of it when they arrived at the hotel. How was he going to get her up to his room without causing a scene? He pulled up to the front entrance and tried once more to wake her up. “We’re here,” he said loudly. “Come on. Do me a favor and wake up.” She didn’t stir.
The doorman opened the passenger door and waited.
Rafik