The Sheikh's Tempting Assistant Read online

  “I’m waiting,” the man said, his golden gaze narrowed. “Who are you and why have you trespassed here?”

  “Trespassed?” Laura managed to creak out of her dry throat. She coughed and the man cocked his head toward one of the guards. A water bottle was handed to her and she drank half of it in one long gulp. Never had water tasted so good in her life. Afterward, she wiped the moisture off her chin and gazed around, heat prickling up her sunburned cheeks as she realized every eye in the room was watching her. Right. Diplomacy might be a better tack than snark in this situation. She cleared her throat and started again, struggling to keep her tone calm this time. “Um, I’m sorry. Can you please tell me exactly where I am again? I’m afraid I’ve gotten lost.”

  Another guard stepped forward and held out her camera. Laura’s hopes soared. She’d thought she’d lost it in the desert and her production company would not have been happy. It was the latest model with all the fancy bells and whistles.

  “We found this near where she was located, sir,” the guard said, handing the camera over.

  The robe-bedecked man held it aloft by the strap with one finger, looking at it—then Laura—with the same level of distaste most people reserved for something icky stuck to the bottom of their shoe.

  “Explain. Now.”

  She blinked at his commanding tone. Laura couldn’t remember the last time someone had tried to intimidate her like this. Grade school perhaps? What she did know was that it hadn’t worked out well for the bully. She’d never taken well to being ordered about and she wasn’t going to start now.

  Diplomacy vanished in the face of her rising temper. Laura squared her shoulders and stepped forward, her index finger pointed directly at the center of the man’s chest as her gaze narrowed.

  “Look, buddy. I don’t know who you think you are or where you get off ordering people around like cattle, but I’m not having it, understand?” Gasps issued from the others in the tent and a guard attempted to grab her again, but she shook him off, keeping her attention focused on Sultan Bossypants in front of her. “And for your information, I was not out here trying to spy on you. I was out here for my job, trying to find this sand dune location for my boss so I don’t get fired. The camera was to take pictures for our locations team to use in pre-production. That’s it. Hate to break it to you,” she said, snatching back her camera. “but I don’t know who you are, nor do I care. All I want is to get back to my vehicle and get the hell out of this miserable desert.”

  Silence reigned as she finished her impassioned speech and for a stomach-churning second, Laura feared she’d gone too far. She never talked back. She was always the smiling, helpful, affable one. Everyone said so. Her job performance evaluations were always stellar. People loved working with her. Helping people and seeking beauty were her main goals in life.

  From the astonished, stony stare the Arabian hottie was giving her now, he found her tirade neither pretty nor helpful. Panic rose inside her, quickening her pulse and causing a cold sweat to break out on her heated skin. Did they still do beheadings in Djeva? If so, she’d most likely be losing hers momentarily. She took a step back and bumped into one of her guards, the sickening realization growing that she was trapped. No escape. Not now. She’d been warned by all those travel logs and YouTube videos she’d watched on the plane ride over here that men in Djavian society had a serious case of Alpha Male syndrome. Here, men were considered the leaders, the doers, the achievers, while women generally took a more submissive, supporting role. They weren’t as strict as some Middle Eastern countries, but there were still consequences for going against a powerful man’s direct orders. Or speaking up to him like she had.

  Oh, God. I’m so dead.

  Then the most alarming thing of all happened.

  He laughed.

  Mr. Gorgeous and Glowering cracked up and damn if that smile didn’t transform him from being merely handsome to the most beautiful man Laura had ever seen. She couldn’t look away as the deep, rich sound of his chuckles filled the air inside the tent. With his good humor, the fog of tension evaporated and the guards around her visibly relaxed. The others soon went back to their duties, leaving only Laura, the robed man, and the guard behind her standing in the middle of the room.

  Finally, he stopped laughing and bowed slightly to Laura, his golden gaze catching hers and inciting a strange tingle throughout her nervous system. “Please excuse my rudeness. I am Sheikh Raheem bin Haik al Nazrani. You have wandered into a private family gathering of mine, Miss…?”

  She was so stunned by the sudden change in him that it took her a moment to realize he’d asked her a question. “Uh, oh. Sorry. Laura Bliss. I’m here with Fierce Flea Productions, scouting locations for the upcoming film shoot.”

  “Right.” The sheikh took her hand in his and tiny sparks of awareness sizzled up her arm from the point of contact. “I remember my brother Feraz mentioning a movie being shot here this summer. I did not realize that production would begin so soon, or that their crew would be so lovely.”

  Her heart stumbled at that. Given that most of the time she ran around in jeans, T-shirts, no makeup, and hair twisted up in a messy knot, Laura wasn’t used to handsome men noticing her, let alone calling her lovely. Still, he seemed to be flirting with her and perhaps she could use his sudden goodwill to her advantage. After all, she’d still not found the exact place that her boss had tasked her with—some restricted area of untouched land near the northern border of the small country. Maybe this man could help her find the right channels to go through to secure the rights they needed to film there. And wouldn’t that just show her boss she was capable of great things? Hell, maybe she’d even get a promotion out of this whole mess in the end.

  “An honor to meet you, Miss Bliss,” the sheikh said, releasing her hand at last. “I’m sorry to have reacted so badly at first seeing you, but my family has been under scrutiny by the paparazzi since my father’s death last year, and so we avoid the tabloids and their reporters as much as possible. I’m sure you can understand.”

  “Yeah, sure. And please, call me Laura” The celebrities back home in California all seemed to have the same dim view of the media. Nothing new there. She didn’t know much about the power structure in Djeva, but a sheikh must have been like a minor celebrity here. “Are you famous then?”

  He smiled that devastating smile again—all white teeth and charm—and Laura’s knees wobbled. “My family rules this country, so I suppose you could say that. And you must call me Raheem.”

  Ruled the country? Yep. Definitely a celebrity then.

  Laura felt like an idiot now for not recognizing who this man was immediately and for not treating him with honor, but it was too late now.

  He bowed once more and gestured toward the entrance to the tent. “Please, won’t you accompany me to the family’s area of the camp. We have food and clean clothing and I’m sure we can find a phone for you to use to contact someone to retrieve you from this…what did you call it?”

  Renewed heat charged up her cheeks at his raised brow. He was teasing her and damn if she didn’t like it. Way more than was wise, probably. Laura swallowed hard and glanced around once more at the guards in the tent. “I thought this was your camp.”

  Raheem grinned. “This is only the security hub.”

  He held open the flap of the tent for her. Outside, darkness had fallen and a warm breeze carried the scent of sand and the faint aroma of some exotic spice. After a deep breath, Laura followed him out, praying her evening would go a heck of a lot better than her afternoon.

  3

  Raheem walked the new arrival back to the main encampment, taking the opportunity to study her as they walked side by side through the cool sand. Frazzled though she was, he had to admit she was lovely. With all that red hair tightly bound and straining to escape and those wide green eyes, Raheem found himself wondering what it would be like to bed such a woman.

  His culture had a much more realistic view of sex than many
of the Western countries, though he’d long ago left the harems behind. They were fine for a randy young man, just starting out and wanting to learn all the secrets of pleasure, but Raheem was twenty-eight now. These days, when he took a lover to his bed it was because he saw a possible future with her, because he liked and respected her and wanted the chance to find out if there might be something more between them, something real and lasting and true.

  Given the touch-me-not attitude of Miss Bliss, he doubted he’d ever find out anything more about this woman than what he already knew. But what he knew had him intrigued. As a man whose mind was always working, the moment Raheem had heard her mention working for the film production company his brother Feraz had allowed into Djeva, the wheels of his imagination had begun to turn.

  He’d told Jess that he needed a ringer—an outsider with no ulterior motives for wanting access to his family’s wealth and power—to bring onboard his project to form the wildlife preserve. Miss Bliss, with her American sensibilities and ideas, a newcomer to his country with connection to much-needed media coverage, might be just what he’d been looking for—from a strictly professional standpoint, of course.

  They walked into the main courtyard area and she stopped abruptly.

  “What’s wrong?” Raheem asked, frowning.

  “Uh, nothing.” She gazed around, her expression shocked. “I just didn’t imagine all this… luxury in the middle of nowhere.”

  “You thought perhaps we lived like the Bedouins of old?” Raheem chuckled. Most people really had no clue how they lived in this part of the world. All the media ever reported were the bad things. They never showed the other side—the food, the culture, the art, the beauty and riches. The centuries-old traditions that still lived on in the people of Djeva’s lives every day. It was one of the things Raheem loved most about his homeland. “Sorry, no camel dung huts or smelly, rough wool blankets here.”

  He led her across the thick Persian rugs and past the still-blazing fire at the center of the courtyard, past Jess—who openly gawked at the newcomer—and Feraz who was still on his phone and paid them no mind at all, until they reached his own personal accommodations. He held the flap for the huge, four-person tent open for her then followed her inside. Dividers were set up to cordon off the sleeping areas from the main open space at the center of the tent. More Persian rugs lined the floors and yet another buffet table had been set up for him filled with all his favorite snacks and desserts and fresh bottled water. One of the servants had even laid out a hookah pipe and two tins of both tobacco and hashish, though he rarely partook anymore. Again, he was a grown man with responsibilities and goals. Those were follies of the much younger and wilder set. Twenty-eight was hardly ancient, but some days Raheem felt as old as the hills.

  “Wow. So this is how the other half lives.” Miss Bliss wandered over to the buffet table.

  “Please, help yourself to whatever you like.” He watched carefully as she bypassed everything but the dark chocolate truffles. Good choice. Those were his favorite too. He walked over to the largest sleeping area in the back corner of the tent and pulled the flap aside. “You may sleep here tonight.”

  At his words, she nearly choked on her truffle. After opening a bottle of water and taking a hearty swig, she shook her head. “Um, no. I need to get back to my hotel tonight. I’m sure the production company is already wondering where I am.”

  Raheem studied her for a moment. He’d considered this, and honestly, she was right. Her team probably would be looking for her soon and there really was no reason one of the camp guards couldn’t drive her back to their capital city, Al-Qusta, tonight. Except he needed more time with her, time to get a better read on who she was and if she’d indeed be a good fit for his project. So, he came up with a convenient lie. “Unfortunately, that’s quite impossible I’m afraid. The desert trails are too dangerous to travel at night. You’ll have to wait until morning, Miss Bliss.”

  “Dangerous how?” she asked, her tone skeptical. “I saw those big SUVs parked along the perimeter of the camp near the guards’ station. My guess is they could face down a tank and be okay.”

  Damn. She had a point.

  “They’re not working,” he said, cringing inwardly. It sounded ridiculous to his own ears, but it was too late. He’d already put it out there so he needed to go with it now. “Sand in the fuel lines. The mechanics are working on them tonight, but they won’t be running again until morning.”

  Miss Bliss seemed to contemplate this for a moment, her autumn-colored brows drawn together in a frown. For a crazy second, Raheem had the insane urge to smooth those lines away and ease her tensions, before he shoved such thoughts away. She was here because he needed her here for his project, no other reason.

  Then she pulled out her phone, only to groan dejectedly. “My battery’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry.” He bowed again and pointed to a charging station in the corner. “The generators here will do the job, but again, it will be much slower than in the city. Could take hours and it’s already late.”

  “You said you had burner phones here, phones I could use. Let me call out on one of those. The production company can have a car here in an hour, tops.”

  Frustration welled inside Raheem. Normally, women fell all over themselves to be in his presence. This one seemed determined to get away from him as fast as humanly possible. His lies had failed, and Raheem wasn’t ready to reveal all of his cards yet, but perhaps a vague half-truth might succeed. “I am interested in your views on my country.”

  That seemed to take her back a second. “My views?”

  “Yes. You are a Westerner. Djeva has just recently become democratized and opened our doors to the outside world. We are always looking for ways to improve our guests’ experiences here in our land. I would like you to stay here in my quarters to discuss these things.”

  More choking ensued and Raheem became alarmed. What the hell had he said wrong now?

  “Wait a minute,” Miss Bliss sputtered when she caught her breath at last. “These are your private quarters?”

  “Yes. Is that a problem?” Raheem straightened with affront.

  “Hell yes, it’s a problem.” That delightful pink color had flooded her cheeks again and her green eyes sparkled like bright emeralds and Raheem knew those were the last things he should be paying attention to right now. She advanced on him like a charge of infidels, her expression furious. “How dare you try to keep me in here like your own personal harem girl and expect me to “discuss things” with you. I’m not some whore off the street. I’m an American citizen for fuck’s sake. I have rights. And if you so much as lay a finger on me, Sultan Sexy Boy, I will bring the US State Department down on you so fast, it’ll make your head spin!”

  Taken aback, Raheem merely blinked at her a moment. He supposed he could see how telling her up front about where he was taking her might have forestalled this situation, but how dare she jump to such conclusions about him. He was a sheikh, the third son of the ruling family of Djeva. He could have any woman in this country—hell, this region—that he wanted. For this ill-tempered, foul-mouthed, beautifully bewitching female to assume his decisions were made with his cock instead of his brain were beyond insulting.

  Anger pulsed hot through his veins, along with a sizzling, unwanted awareness of the woman now standing so close to him that he could see the tiny pulse point thudding at the base of her neck, hear the hitch in her breath, smell the cinnamon-rose scent of her perfume. Despite his rage, Raheem’s traitorous cock twitched in response. Not good. Not good at all.

  “For your information, Miss Bliss, I brought you here because my sleeping chamber has the only Western-style bed in the encampment. I thought it might be more comfortable for you than our more traditional arrangements, since you appear to be exhausted from hiking around the dunes all day. My intention was to let you have the bed, the entire bed, for yourself. I would sleep in the adjacent chamber, which has a comfortable divan and pillows. At no time
had I planned to touch you in any way, no matter how tempting. I only wanted you here for your brains and ideas, not your delectable body. Do I make myself clear?”

  It was her turn to blink up at him this time, surprise written all over her expression. Whatever response he’d been expecting her to give, it wasn’t, “You find me tempting and delectable?”

  This took a bit of wind out of Raheem’s sails. While his libido continued to boil around her, he stepped back and straightened the white linen robe he’d chosen to wear tonight in place of his usual khaki shorts and T-shirt. At least the voluminous folds would help to hide his obvious arousal, he hoped. He glanced up and met her gaze. “You called me Sultan Sexy Boy.”

  She bit her lip and his gaze was drawn to the tiny movement before he forced himself to look away. This was ridiculous. They were both grown adults. She was obviously not thinking right due to her tiredness and he ought to know better than to engage with such an exasperating female under duress. Besides, it had been far too long since he’d taken a lover to bed. That must explain his strange, nearly overwhelming reactions to her.

  With a sigh, Miss Bliss stepped forward and extended her hand to him. “How about we start over. I’m Laura Bliss, assistant location scout. Please call me Laura.”

  Raheem hesitated, remembering the sparks of connection he’d felt the first time they’d touched and fearing it would be all the more potent after their emotional outburst. He was right. Still, he tamped down the need growing inside him and instead bowed slightly at the waist. “And I am Sheik Raheem bin Haik al Nazdrani. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Laura. Please call me Raheem.”

  Instead of merely shaking her hand, he bent farther and brushed his lips over the back of her hand. She gasped, a quiet sound he would’ve missed if he wasn’t so attuned to her. Luckily, she pulled her hand free and cradled it against her stomach as if she’d been burnt. She glanced around at the tent, then over at the entrance, where two servants entered to stand guard inside the tent. Before she could say anything more, a yawn escaped her and her shoulders slumped.