“THIS CANNOT BE happening,” Emily muttered to herself as she turned around in the palatial room she’d been shown to. The floors and ceiling were tiled in the most beautiful gold-and-blue mosaic.
The walls were plain white, but the color wasn’t stark in this setting. It was soothing and somewhat necessary after the ornateness of the tile. There was a living room with a sunken area that contained low-slung couches with lots of colorful cushions, and a television glided up from where it was hidden in a cabinet.
The bathroom was larger than her father’s house in Chicago. There was a tub recessed into the floor and ringed with marble columns, and a shower tucked into one end of the room. There were also acres of mirrors and a dressing room that contained the clothing Kadir had bought for her in Milan.
But it was not her room. It was hers and Kadir’s. They were sharing a room. Because that’s what a husband and wife did.
How had she not seen this coming? Surely Kadir had known it—and he’d not warned her. Maybe he hadn’t wanted her to freak out.
She thought back to that moment on the jet when he’d kissed her in front of everyone, and her body flooded with a fresh wave of heat. She’d been utterly lost in his embrace. She’d forgotten her name. Where she was. What was happening.
She’d forgotten it was an act. And that horrified her. Emily put her hands on her hot cheeks and breathed deeply.
He is Prince Kadir al-Hassan. He is a playboy. You’ve worked for him for four years, and you’ve lost count of the number of women he’s woken up with.
She sucked in another breath.
No, you have not lost count. You never kept track! Because you damn well don’t care!
That’s right. She didn’t care. He was Kadir, her boss, and all she cared about was her paycheck. Which was why she was doing this now. After the kiss on the plane, they’d descended the stairs and stood on the red carpet on the tarmac while Kadir spoke endlessly with the men waiting there.
They’d come up to him individually, bowed and then spoke in low tones while he listened and nodded. She’d felt so out of place, but she’d been unable to do anything except stand at his side. Under normal circumstances, she would have her notebook and be awaiting his orders.
But these were not normal circumstances—and her feet had been beginning to hurt. It was night, thankfully, so at least the desert was not sweltering. After what seemed to be an hour, they’d finally moved toward the limousine that awaited them. Kadir had set her inside and then climbed in beside her. A palace official took up residence in the seat across from them, notebook in hand, and spoke with Kadir all the way to the royal palace in the center of the city.
At one point during the ride, when Emily was staring out the window at the city and the palm trees, Kadir took her hand in his. She’d jumped and he’d squeezed lightly, as if warning her. She’d relaxed only a fraction, finally daring a look at his profile as he continued to speak to the man riding with them.
The beauty of Kadir stunned her in ways it had not only a day ago. She thought she’d been accustomed to how utterly stunning he was, inoculated even, but now that he touched her so sensually, she discovered she was not quite as immune as she’d always believed. He was getting under her skin and she did not like it.
For once, she was glad she didn’t understand Arabic, because she would have been unable to concentrate on it anyway. Kadir’s thumb rolled inside her palm, stroking softly. She felt as if he were stroking other, more sensitive places on her body. Every glide of his thumb set up an answering throb deep in the heart of her, until she was on edge and ready to jerk her hand from his grip regardless of their audience. Because, if she did not, she would melt against him and beg for more.