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This had been a momentary slip in the fabric of time. Nothing more. It surely would never be repeated. Not only didn’t she appeal to him; he would never see her again.
“A courier will deliver the item we discussed to your home this evening, Miss O’Connell.”
The sheikh’s voice was brisk and businesslike. Megan knotted her hands. Flying across the room and beating her fists against that arrogant face would serve no purpose. Besides, he’d never let it happen. He was too strong, far stronger than she. Hadn’t he just proved it by overpowering her? Because that was what he’d done. Overpowered her. He’d forced that kiss on her, forced her to kiss him back…
“Are you going to give me your address? Or shall my aide get it from Simpson?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Let him send a check to her apartment. Let him send a dozen checks. She’d make the courier wait while she tore them into thousands of pieces and tell him precisely what he was to tell the sheikh to do with all those bits of paper.
At least she’d have the satisfaction of knowing his Mightiness would spend sleepless nights worrying that she’d sue. With luck, he’d have an ulcer by the time he finally realized she wouldn’t.
“Miss O’Connell?”
Megan turned around. “Get out of my sight.”
Caz stiffened. He heard Hakim make a sound that might have been a growl as he took a step forward.
“No,” Caz said sharply, putting his hand on his aide’s shoulder.
“But my lord…”
“She’s American,” Caz said, because that explained everything.
“Damned right I am,” Megan said. “And you’re a pig.”
He forced a smile to his lips, as if she’d handed him a compliment.
“Goodbye, Miss O’Connell. You’ll see my courier this evening.” He moved toward her and was gratified to see the swift rush of panic in her eyes. “But for your sake,” he said softly, so softly that he knew Hakim couldn’t hear him, “you’d better pray that you never see me again.”
The sheikh turned on his heel and strode from the room. His aide gave Megan one last, menacing look, then fell in after him.
Megan drew a shuddering breath and sank into a chair. The Prince of the Desert was gone. He was out of her life, forever.
And not a moment too soon.
CHAPTER THREE
MEGAN left work at six-thirty, almost an hour later than usual.
Since she’d expected to be quick-marched out of the building after her confrontation with the sheikh, leaving late wasn’t too bad.
To her surprise, Simpson hadn’t fired her. Either he’d believed her lawsuit threat or…
Or what?
She was glad she still had her job, but she couldn’t figure out the reason.
Megan sighed as she stepped from the elevator.
Actually she couldn’t figure out much of anything anymore, including why she’d never even imagined she could win a legal battle. Not that she regretted anything she’d said to either Simpson or Sheikh Qasim. It was just that nothing seemed quite as black and white as it had hours before.
Rain was beating against the glass lobby doors. Great. The weatherman had predicted overcast skies. How come those guys never got it right?
How come she hadn’t? Megan asked herself as she turned up her collar and stepped into the street.
Threatening to sue had sounded good. Telling the sheikh what she thought of him had felt good. Great…except, all she’d really done was commit professional suicide. Odds were she’d be digging through the employment ads by next week.
A gust of wind blew the chill rain into her face. Too bad something like that hadn’t happened hours earlier. She could have used an icy dousing around then.
