To Catch a Sheikh. Teresa Southwick
Your—”
“Leave it by the desk,” he said, quickly interrupting her. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Very well.” She bowed slightly and backed out of the room.
Wide-eyed, Penny watched her. “Wow. Is everyone so deferential? We in the States could take lessons. You’re going to have to help me. I wouldn’t want to offend anyone. If you see me doing anything disrespectful, please take me aside so I don’t make a fool of myself.”
“You’re an American,” he said as if that was answer enough. Then he picked up the coffeepot and aimed the silver spout at one of the delicate china cups.
“Would you mind pouring me some, too? I can’t believe I fell asleep. Now I need to kick-start my motor.”
“All evidence to the contrary.”
“Am I talking too much?” She went on without waiting for an answer. “I do that sometimes. But today it’s worse than usual. Probably because I’m tired and nervous. A bad combination. Does it bother you? The princess didn’t seem to mind.”
“She is a very strong woman. Cream or sugar?”
“Black is fine,” she said.
He handed her the cup. “You were saying?”
“Where was I?” She took a sip and thought for a moment. “Oh, yes. I was in New York to meet the princess. Wouldn’t you know it? My flight was delayed.”
“North Texas weather?”
She nodded. “You really listen, don’t you? Then there was traffic getting through the city. By the time I got to her suite in the hotel, which was pretty hoity-toity I can tell you, she had already hired someone else.”
“A plain nanny?”
“Yes.” She frowned. “I still can’t imagine why that would be a criteria for employment. Go figure.”
“Indeed.”
“Anyway, the princess was so nice and easy to be with. She invited me to stay for lunch. We did the girl-talk thing and bonded over chocolate.”
“Bonded?”
“You know. Where women share stories that bring them closer together?”
“Ah. Chocolate, you say?”
She nodded. “Godiva, I think. Very yummy. Anyway, she said she liked me and she was in need of an assistant. So she hired me. She made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. But then you already know how well a job in the palace of the royal family of El Zafir pays.”
“I do indeed,” he agreed.
“Room and board is included.”
“Truly a fine offer.”
“You can say that again— What did you say your name was?” she asked, then took another sip of coffee. “How rude of me to forget. I can only plead fatigue. After a good night’s sleep, I’ll be back in fighting form. I’m usually very good with names.”
“I don’t believe I mentioned it.”
He found her intriguing. For a woman pleading weariness, she had an amazing amount of energy. With proper rest she would no doubt be a, what was that American expression? Ball of fire? Yes. That was definitely Penny. He couldn’t help wondering if her dynamic verve was reserved strictly for work. Or if it spilled over to the personal—to the man in her life.
“You’re staring at me with the oddest expression. Do I have a smudge on my face? A wart on my nose? Do you find me strange looking?” she teased.
“Not at all.”
“Surely your name can’t be that bad. Since we’re going to work together, it might be a good idea to tell me so I don’t have to call ‘hey you.”’
He straightened to his full six-foot-two-inch height. “I am Rafiq Hassan, Prince of El Zafir, Minister of Domestic and Foreign Affairs.”
Her eyes grew round as the china cup fell from her hands, hit her knees, then the floor, splattering the coffee that hadn’t stained her dress on the light-colored Berber carpet.
Her mouth opened, but no words came out. A victory indeed. He’d finally rendered her speechless.
Rafiq knocked on the door to his aunt Farrah’s suite of rooms in the wing of the palace where the royal family resided. At her muffled “Come in,” he entered. His footsteps echoed on the marble tiles of the foyer as he walked into the living room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Arabian Sea. A large semicircular white sofa on the plush light-colored carpet dominated the center of the room. The only splash of color in the suite came from expensive original paintings hanging on the walls. His father’s sister owned a world-famous art collection.
He stood by the sofa and looked down at her, with papers in her lap and spread around her. “I would like to speak with you, Aunt Farrah.”
“Of course. What is it, Rafiq?”
“In a word—Penny.”
She smiled, and the years melted away. His aunt, in her fifties, was still an attractive and vibrant woman. Her dark hair was cut in a sleek style that brushed the collar of her tailored turquoise Chanel suit.
“She is wonderful, no?”
“She is—something.”
“Why? What is wrong?” she asked, frowning. She set aside her work.
“She fell asleep on the couch in my office.”
“Poor thing. In her defense I have to say it’s quite a comfortable couch.” She clucked sympathetically. “A grueling trip. I was told the dear child insisted on beginning work as agreed. Wouldn’t hear of postponing her start even for a day.”
“I want her beheaded.”
“Certainly a fitting reward for her dedication.”
“I’m joking.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Farrah laughed. “The government outlawed that form of punishment many years ago, even before I was born.”
“Cutting out her tongue would be more appropriate, I think.” He paced in front of her. “Yes. Excellent idea if I do say so myself. Make the consequences fit the crime.”
“My dear nephew, what crime has she committed?”
“She is—” He stopped, unable to find the words to describe his feelings. “A woman.”
“Ah,” his aunt said, as if that explained everything. “You are bemused by her.”
“Certainly not. I’ve never met a woman I couldn’t understand.” The lie was a very small one. He hadn’t ever met a woman he couldn’t understand. Until today.
“So you’re intrigued.”
“Nonsense.” He shook his head and turned away, staring out the French doors to her balcony that looked out over the ocean. “Completely, utterly absurd.”
“Rafiq, have you ever been in love?”
He didn’t know how to answer the question. Many women had charmed him. Certainly infatuation had been involved, but love?
“Don’t start with me, Aunt. Love is a luxury not permitted a prince of the royal blood. It’s all about duty. I will marry and produce heirs.”
“When?”
“When I am ready.” Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “But I fail to see what this has to do with Penny Doyle.”
Farrah clasped her hands together in her lap. “Because of your mother’s tragic premature death, I can’t help feeling as if your education in this regard has been sadly neglected. Servants,