The Desert Sheikh's Defiant Queen. Jane Porter
soft. He dropped his hand quickly and hardened himself to her pleas. “It’d be better to let the boys take the blame and accept the consequences. That way they’d learn from this.”
“Maybe,” she argued, “maybe in other circumstances they would learn. But not now, not when Will’s mom is nearly gone.” She held his gaze, held it long, her expression beseeching. “Do this for me, Sharif, do this and I will do whatever I can for you.”
His pulse quickened. His interest sharpened. “What exactly are you offering?”
Shadows chased through her eyes, shadows of worry and mistrust, and then she shook her head and her expression cleared. “You need me,” she said firmly. “You came to me today because you wanted me for the summer. Well …” her voice wavered for a moment before she pressed on. “Help me sort the boys out, and then I will help you for the next two weeks—”
“No. Not two weeks. The summer.”
The clouds were back in her eyes, and some of the pink faded from her cheeks. “But the trip. My trip …”
“So what do you want more? Your holiday or your children rescued?”
She stared up at him, her lips pressing grimly, and he could see her thoughts, could see her frustration and resentment but also the realization that he alone could do what she needed, wanted, done.
“You love children,” he added quietly, surprised by the sudden tightness in his chest. Pressure and pain. “And my children need you. My children need you as much as these two.”
And still she looked up at him, weighing, judging, deciding. She didn’t trust him, he could see it in her eyes and that alone made him want to drag her back to Sarq. She was the one who had betrayed him, not the other way around. She had no right to mistrust him. He was the one who’d been deceived.
He was the one who was owed not just an apology but the truth. And he’d have the truth. After nine years he was going to have that truth.
Jesslyn touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip. “So, if I give you the summer, you will make this problem go away?”
“The entire summer,” he said.
If Jesslyn felt any trepidation she didn’t show it. Instead her eyes flashed and her chin jutted up. “We have a deal, then?”
His lashes dropped and his gaze drifted slowly across her face. “Your head for his?” He paused, considered her. “I don’t know if it’s fair, but I’ll take it.”
CHAPTER THREE
AN HOUR and a half later Sharif stood in the shadows of the McInnes house and listened to Jesslyn give Will McInnes the talking to of a lifetime.
If Sharif hadn’t heard Jesslyn’s severe tone, he wouldn’t have known she had it in her. But apparently she did, for she let Will know in no uncertain terms that she knew what he had done, and he was in serious trouble.
Not only did she want all the stolen tests back—tonight— but he should also consider himself on probation. If he so much as broke a pencil or stepped on a bug, she’d have his head. That is, if she didn’t go to his father right now and tell him what Will had done this afternoon.
When Jesslyn returned to the car twenty minutes later, she carried a stack of exams and handed them to Sharif before getting in the car. “There. Yours. Mission completed.”
“You weren’t easy on him,” he said.
Seated in the car Jesslyn sighed and rubbed the back of her neck, her head aching. The day felt positively endless. “No, I wasn’t. I was angry and disappointed, and I let him know it.”
One of the guards closed the door behind her. “Is that why he was crying when he brought you the tests?” Sharif asked.
Her lips pursed. “He was crying because I told him if he ever did anything stupid like that again that you’d have him arrested and thrown into prison, and who knew what would happen to his family.”
Sharif’s eyebrows lifted. “You didn’t.”
“I did.” She wrinkled her nose as she reflected on what she’d said and done. “Was that so terrible?”
“Not if you can save him from a life of crime.”
“My thoughts exactly.” She turned to look out the tinted window. The limousine was again winding through the quiet downtown streets, but this time they were heading the opposite direction from which they’d come, away from her apartment and on toward Dubai. “We’re not going back to my apartment?”
“No. We’re going to stay at a hotel in Dubai tonight and then fly out in the morning.”
“But my things …”
“I’ve taken care of that. A courier picked your suitcase and travel bag up from your apartment. You’d left both by the front door.”
She shot him a cool glance. “You left nothing to chance.”
The corner of his mouth lifted, but it wasn’t much of a smile. “I try not to.”
So that was that, she thought. There’d be no holiday this summer. Instead she was going back to work.
Tired tears started to come, but she squeezed her eyes closed, forced them away, refusing to feel sorry for herself. She’d done the right thing. She knew she had. How could she possibly have gone on holiday when Aaron would have faced horrible fines and stiff charges? Better to miss some beaches and skiing and live with a clear conscience.
“You must be hungry,” Sharif said, his voice deep in the car’s dark interior. “It’s nearing eleven, and I can’t imagine you’ve eaten since noon.”
“No, but I haven’t been hungry. Too many emotions,” she answered, sinking back deeper against the impossibly soft leather seat. She was tired and thirsty and virtually numb from the roller-coaster day.
When she’d woken up this morning she’d thought she would be flying to Brisbane tonight. Instead the plane had taken off without her and she was facing the prospect of a long summer in Sarq.
The thought alone sent prickles of fresh panic up and down her spine.
How could she do this? How could she spend ten weeks with Sharif and his family? The fact that he was widowed changed nothing for her.
“I know nothing about this job I’ve accepted,” she said. “You’ll have to tell me about your children. How many … then-names, their ages, as well as your objectives.”
“I will,” he answered. “But first things first, and that’s a proper dinner, because I know you—you need to eat. You always skimp meals to get things done, but in the end, it backfires. You just end up irritable.”
“I don’t.”
“You do. And you are already. You should see your face. You’re famished and exhausted.”
She bit back her immediate retort. It wouldn’t help to get into a hissing contest with Sharif. The fact was, they were going to spend a considerable amount of time together. Better to try to get along with him than become adversaries. “So, distract me from my hunger. Tell me something about your family. How many children will I be teaching?”
“Three.”
“Boys and girls, all boys …?”
“All girls.” His expression never outwardly changed, but Jesslyn sensed tension and didn’t know why or what it was.
“They’re bilingual?” she asked, knowing her Arabic would get her by on market day but wouldn’t be considered proper Arabic by any stretch of the imagination.
“Yes, but you’ll discover all that tomorrow when we head home.”
Home. His home. Sarq. A country she’d visited only once,