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“I’d phone every newspaper, tell them what actually happened…”
“In that case, so would I. I don’t think it would add much to your professional image if I described what went on in this room in intimate detail, do you?”
He smiled again. God, she hated that smile! It was so smug. How easily she could slap it from his face…but that wouldn’t change the fact that he was right.
“I really, really despise you, Sheikh Qasim.”
“A pity, Miss O’Connell. I was hoping you’d want to head up my fan club.” The tight smile vanished from his lips. “Your boss has me backed into a corner, Megan. Like it or not, this job is yours by default.”
She glared at him. He glared back. He had her trapped, and he knew it.
“How long is this assignment going to last?”
Caz considered telling her the truth, then decided against it. She wouldn’t want to hear that she might be expelled from Suliyam in a day, if things went badly, or that she might still be there months from now, if things went well.
“I don’t know.” That was the truth, more or less.
“A week.”
He shrugged his shoulders, as if he were considering the possibility.
“Two weeks is the longest I’ll stay. Agreed?”
“Absolutely. Two weeks is the longest you wish to stay.” That was the truth, too. Whose fault was it if she misinterpreted his answer? At least she wasn’t fighting him anymore.
“Must I fly out tomorrow? That doesn’t give me much time.”
“For what?” Caz felt a knot form in his belly. “If you think I’m going to delay my plans so you can say goodbye to a lover—”
“I have a family,” Megan said coolly. “I want to let them know where I’m going.”
“You can phone them from my plane,” he said, and tried not to acknowledge the sense of relief he felt. Not that he cared about her personal life. She could have a dozen lovers, if she liked, so long as such commitments didn’t impinge on her work for him.
“I suppose it would be foolish for me to think your Hakim can’t buy computers and move files in the middle of the night.”
“You’re right. It would be.” Caz’s smile was saccharine sweet. “There are some benefits to being a king.” He shot back his cuff and checked his watch. “Any other questions?”
Megan almost laughed. She had more questions than she could count, beginning with why she’d ever wanted this assignment, but it was too late to ask them now.
“No, thank you,” she said politely. “Not at the moment.”
“One last thing. About the kinds of clothing you’ll need to pack…”
“I’m a big girl, Sheikh Qasim. I don’t need you to tell me what to do.”
Caz had to admire her. She was beautiful, stubborn, defiant…and most definitely unimpressed by his titles or his wealth.
No wonder he found her desirable.
She was completely different from any of the women he’d been involved with. His lovers were invariably beautiful, invariably bright—despite what this American clearly thought of him, he’d always found unintelligent women dull.
But no woman ever disagreed with him, much less spoke to him with such boldness. No matter their nationality, they were always eager to please.
Not Megan O’Connell.
And, of course, that was the reason for the attraction. Knowing it didn’t change things, but it would definitely make it easier to resist. Caz felt a weight lift from his shoulders.
“I was only going to point out that the desert can be as cool at night as it is hot during the day,” he said pleasantly, “but let’s not quarrel over it.” He held out his hand. She looked at it for a long moment, then put her palm against his. Heat, almost enough to burn his palm, seemed to flash from that innocent contact point straight to his groin. He was sure she felt something, too, if only because of her quick intake of breath, but he forced a smile to his lips. “To a successful collaboration, Miss O’Connell.”
