Taming The Sheik. Carol Grace
at the lights of the city below. As tired as he was, he just couldn’t go to bed. His mind was spinning. Images of the wedding filled his mind. The bride, the groom. The bridesmaid. Some time later there was a knock on the door.
“What happened to you?” his brother asked when he opened the door. “Couldn’t believe you left so early. You missed the throwing of the garter. I caught it.”
“Good, that means you’ll be the next to be married. And not me.”
“You first,” Rahman said. “You’re the eldest.”
“Forget it. I’ve heard enough of that from father. You know what happened the last time he tried to arrange a marriage for me.”
“Don’t blame father for that. It was nobody’s fault,” his brother said. “You can’t give up on marriage because of one woman.”
“I can’t? Why not? If you feel that way, then why don’t you lead the way and set an example for me,” Rafik said, knowing it was a safe suggestion. Rahman was an even bigger playboy than Rafik had ever been.
“I’ll give it a thought,” Rahman said amiably. “Hey, aren’t you going to invite me in? We can order up some coffee and rehash the wedding.”
“Uh…I don’t think so.” Good Lord, what if the woman woke up and stumbled into the room? Not that Rahman would be shocked. Rafik just…he just didn’t want his brother to think she was that kind of woman. Of course he himself didn’t know what kind of woman she really was, but he could guess. She was the type to drink to cover her shyness, to make it easier to socialize.
“All right. But you still haven’t explained why you left so early. I thought you and I would be rolling up the sidewalk.” Leaning against the door frame, Rahman looked at his brother curiously.
“I’ve got to be in the office at nine tomorrow. They’re installing the computer system. That’s why I left early. Yeah, that’s it. I can’t carouse the way I used to, you know.” Brilliant. That ought to satisfy his brother who knew about the increased duties his father had put on him.
Rahman observed him closely. No one knew him as well as his brother. If he could fool him, he was home free.
A soft muffled sound came from the bedroom. A sound like a sneeze. “What was that?” Rahman asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Nothing.” Damn. She hadn’t made a peep since they’d arrived and she chose that moment to sneeze. Next thing he knew she’d be opening that bedroom door and…
Rahman grinned. “You’ve got somebody in there, haven’t you? You’re holding out on me. Who is it? Is it that bridesmaid I saw you with? Yeah, it’s her, isn’t it?”
“No, it isn’t. Goodnight, Rah. Get some sleep. You need it. See you tomorrow.” Very firmly and very forcefully Rafik closed the door on his brother and locked it. Then he strode across the room and flung the bedroom door open.
Chapter Two
Rafik held his breath. She was still there. Still asleep. Curled up on her side, one bare arm on the spread, her copper-colored hair still spread over the pillow, a vibrant splash of color in the soft lamplight. His heart stopped beating for a full moment, maybe longer. Good Lord, whether she was his type or not, she really was beautiful. Damn. He’d been hoping that sneeze meant she’d be up and dressed and ready to leave. Not yet.
What to do? He couldn’t think straight. He was exhausted. He went into the bathroom and stripped down to his boxers. When he came out, he stood at the end of the bed debating about what to do. Watching her sleep make him feel tired and envious. Why should she get a chance to sleep in that big, comfortable bed and not him? He’d had just as hard a day as she had. Was just as tired. On the opposite side of the bed, he slid beneath the sheets and closed his eyes. Just for a few minutes.
The next thing he knew the phone was ringing. It was his wake-up call. He jumped out of bed and did a double take. She was still there.
“Anne,” he said, “wake up. It’s morning.”
She sighed softly. It wasn’t possible for anyone to sleep through a wake-up call. She’d wake up any minute now. But he couldn’t wait around until she did. He hurried into the bathroom to take a shower, then came out and dressed carefully but quickly. He couldn’t be late today. From the closet he chose a London-tailored suit with a pin-striped shirt and dark tie. Then went to the living room and briskly wrote a note on his new business stationery.
“Dear Anne,” he began. No, too formal. He crumpled the paper and tossed it in the wastebasket.
“Anne,” he wrote. No, too brusque. Another toss in the basket.
“Hi.” Yes, just the right casual tone.
Thanks for a great evening. We’ll do it again some time when you’re in better shape. Sorry I couldn’t take you home last night but it didn’t work out that way for obvious reasons. I’ve got things to do this morning or I’d stick around and see some more of you. I’ll give you a call. Here’s some taxi money.
Sheik Rafik Harun.
Anne turned over when she heard a door close somewhere in the distance. She tried to open her eyes, but the sunlight that shone through the window was blinding. She pulled the sheet over her head and wondered what time it was. Though she was enjoying a summer off from teaching, she was usually up early, out in her backyard, filling her bird feeders and the birdbath. Funny. She couldn’t hear the chirp of a single robin or the screech of a blue jay reminding her of her obligation to feed them and give them water.
She threw back the covers, sat up in bed and gasped. She was in a huge king-sized bed. The opposite side from hers was rumpled, covers thrown back and an indentation in the pillow. She picked it up and pressed it against her face. There was a distinct manly smell that clung to the soft cotton. What on earth? Where was she? How did she get here? Who had slept with her and, just as important, what was she wearing? It appeared to be a large man’s shirt with several buttons missing. She always slept in a long flannel nightgown, suitable for the cool San Francisco summer nights. But for some inexplicable reason she had slept in someone else’s shirt. And she hadn’t slept alone.
She swallowed hard. Her pulse was racing. “Hello?” she called weakly. No answer. She tried again, this time louder. Silence.
Across the room her pink dress was spread across a chair. It all came back to her in a rush. The wedding. The champagne. The allergy medicine. The flirtatious sheik. But where was she? She’d obviously never made it home.
Wherever she was, she was alone. And she had a splitting headache. She was scared she couldn’t remember what had happened. Even more scared she might remember.
She jumped out of bed, pressed one hand against her aching head and went to the window. She muffled a shriek. She was high above the sidewalk, looking out at the city and the San Francisco Bay. Fortunately no one could look in the window at that height, to see her in a man’s white dress shirt with missing buttons, but she ought to get dressed. She found her strapless bra on the bureau and stared at it. How, where, why…and who?
She took off the shirt and buried her face in it for a brief moment. The smell was pure exotic masculinity the likes of which she’d never smelled before, and it caused her knees to tremble. The smell of the shirt reminded her of someone or something but she couldn’t remember who it was. It made her head hurt more to try to remember. There were no answers to her questions. No one to ask. It was time to get dressed and get out of there. Before someone came back. The someone who’d slept next to her. The someone who belonged to the shirt.
Once she was dressed in her own clothes, she walked into the large living room, picked up the phone and pressed O for Operator.
“Front Desk.”
“Yes,” Anne said. “Where am I?”
“You’re in room 2004 at the Stanford