Chapter 4
The Sheikh’s voice is deep, powerful, and even if I didn’t know who it belonged to, I would have no doubt that the owner was used to being obeyed.
I don’t even know what made me stop. I’m so angry.
At him, mainly, but also at myself. If it weren’t for my clumsiness, I wouldn’t have made a spectacle of myself at the interview.
Indignation, however, overcame shame, as the man realized that for a moment I had forgotten where and how I was—half-naked—and lost myself completely, admiring him.
I stare at him, this time with intention. The expression “desert’s delight” doesn’t come close to describing how magnificent he is.
Strong, muscular body, but without looking buff, not an ounce of fat on display in his more than two hundred pounds.
He’s tall enough that I have to lift my chin—and I’m not short.
An elegance that’s both sensual and wild.
I can picture him with all the classic attire from his country in a desert camp.
His eyes are a shade of gray I’ve never seen. Not that bluish gray but dark, like steel.
The man is undeniably handsome, with a square jaw that even his stubble can’t hide.
I’ve read that, contrary to popular belief, growing a beard is not mandatory in Kamal’s culture and religion.
I thought I didn’t like men with stubble, but it looks perfect on him.
There’s something about the man, though, that I can’t explain, and it makes me take a step back even after what I’ve said. His claim that he is my only hope of keeping me in London is, in all honesty, true.
Kamal’s beauty cannot disguise that he is a ruthless man. His face is hard, as are his shoulders—I suspect mirroring his nature. He has such a masculine beauty that it is impossible not to admire him.
His black hair is slicked back. There isn’t a strand out of place, which makes me want to mess it up, wanting to know what it’s like to see him lose control, even over something as silly as disheveled hair.
The dark gray suit matches perfectly with his eyes, and it looks like it was painted onto his body.
He’s sexy in an almost brutal way. His beauty is overwhelming.
I take a deep breath and force myself back into my outraged mood because I’m afraid he’ll be able to read me.
“You are right when you say that my family is bankrupt, Your Excellency.” I almost congratulate myself for keeping my voice steady. “But after what I heard, there’s no way I’m going to work for you.”
“Let’s talk in my office, Miss Turner.”
I’m tempted to say ‘no’, but maybe he didn’t mean it about seducing me, and it was just an expression?
The Sheikh is right to say that, without the generous paycheck I’d get from him, I would have to leave.
London is expensive, and now that I have to leave my family’s apartment—which the bank will take along with the rest of the Turner-Miller estate—the only option would be returning to the United States.
Still, I don’t move. The corner of his lips lifts in a ghostly, wry smile, as if confirming that I really have no choice but to follow him.
There’s something dark about the man, and my instincts tell me to back out, but I don’t want to give up so easily. With a defeated sigh, I walk over to him.
He motions for me to walk past him and talks to the other man, whom I couldn’t even describe to save my life.
“Go ahead,” he says behind me, and I shudder, but I do as he says.
His footsteps are muffled by the plush carpet, but his presence is so powerful that I can feel his body heat, as crazy as it sounds.
He opens a door for me. I walk past him again without meeting his eyes, trying to ignore the musky, masculine scent coming from him.
“I don’t know why I’m still here, Your Excellency.”
“Of course you know. Because you need the salary I’m offering, Miss Turner. Now sit down so we can talk.”
I do as he asks, taking the chair across from him at the wooden table.
The decor in the room doesn’t match him or his culture; it’s like any other modern, luxurious office, like my father’s in Boston.
When I turn my attention back to Kamal, I feel his gaze on me.
My heart races, even though I don’t want to feel this way. Not just because the man would be my boss if I accepted the job but because I’m still mad as hell that he assumed he’d take me to bed if he wanted to.
I have no experience with men. I was raised to become an exemplary wife, and because of my almost non-existent self-esteem, I had few boyfriends.
Even those were handpicked by the family and watched by my father.
Coming to London is the first time I’ve taken a risk on a solo flight, and even then, the world fell on my head when I told the family that I was leaving the United States to work in England.
There is no level of desire for freedom, however, that will make me go to bed with a man like him just because of his beauty. I’m a virgin and pretty much a nonentity when it comes to relationships, but I’m not an idiot. The Sheikh must be the type of man that collects broken hearts.
However, if I’m so determined, why can’t I stop looking at the Sheikh?
I know the answer, even if I don’t like it: every time I look at him, a chill spreads through my stomach, as it does when we approach something dangerous but irresistible.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm down, and lie to myself that it’s because of the smoldering anger I feel inside, not because of Kamal’s dark gaze. He doesn’t even pretend he’s not analyzing me, and it’s making me shiver.
He stands up, and only then do I realize that his shirt is all stained with coffee, too.
Shame comes back with strong force, but before I can apologize, which I haven’t done yet, he says, “Don’t move. I’ll go change my shirt.”
I follow him with my eyes and see him going into an attached room. A couple of minutes later he comes back, still buttoning the cuffs of a white shirt that looks like it was tailor-made.
I look away because the sliver of golden skin on display near the collar completely distracts me.
Although I know I don’t have the best cards, when he sits down again, I ask, “What do you want from me, Your Excellency? I think that after what you said when I got here, there is no longer any possibility of us working together.”
“Regarding your arrival, I would advise you to be more careful when walking. I could have splashed coffee on your face, and it would have been quite painful.”
“I’m sorry about that, but I can’t promise it won’t happen again.
It’s not an uncommon thing in my life to drop things and run into people,” I say, embarrassed, but I quickly recover.
“However, it doesn’t change the fact that you were very pretentious, not to say rude, in saying you wouldn’t hire me because you would seduce me. ”
“I was rude about which claim?”
“Huh?”
“Was I rude to be honest and say that I’m attracted to you and I would want to get you into bed, or that I wouldn’t hire you for that reason?”