Engaged To The Sheikh

Her hair, an unusual shade of red-gold, would make her a standout in any gathering. Did Selina Carrington’s red hair reflect a passionate nature?

Her petal-perfect complexion, set off by a few stray freckles, heightened her natural, sexy allure.

And she was mouthy. Many American women were. But Selina’s rosy lips were pretty enough that he preferred to silence her with a kiss.

If only she wasn’t at the resort with her grandfather, Kamar’s associate.

Kam liked women—many women—but he never conducted liaisons with business contacts or their families. With a sigh, he mentally classified the stunning Selina as off-limits….

Engaged to the Sheikh

Sue Swift

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SUE SWIFT

Since 2000, Sue Swift has published five books and two short stories, an amazing feat for someone whose major focus in life is perfecting her slap shot.

It’s fitting that the theme of her books is personal growth and transformation, since Sue has transformed from a librarian to a trial attorney to a novelist. Her books have won awards too numerous to list; her first Silhouette novel reached the finals of the prestigious RITA® Award contest. She’s active in the Romance Writers of America, serving as president of her local chapter in 2001. She also lectures to authors’ groups on various topics about writing.

A self-proclaimed jock, Sue is probably the only Silhouette author to own both a second-degree black belt in karate and ice hockey gear. She and her real-live hero of a husband live in Fair Oaks, California, with two retrievers and several dozen orchids.

She loves to hear from readers, especially through her Web site at sueswift.com. Her mailing address is P.O. Box 241, Citrus Heights, CA 95611-0241.

The Tale of the Robe of Feathers

[Source: F. Hadland Davis, Myths and Legends of Japan

(London: G. G. Harrap and Company, 1913), pp. 127-129.]

Once, a fisherman sat down to enjoy the shore. There he saw, hanging from a pine, a beautiful robe of pure white feathers. No sooner had he taken the robe, then a beautiful maiden from the sea requested he return the robe to her.

The maiden proclaimed that she could not return to her celestial home without the robe, but the hard-hearted fisherman refused to be swayed. The robe was a marvel he intended to keep.

But after further pleading he relented. “I will return it to you, if you will dance for me.”

The maiden agreed. “I will dance the movements that make the Palace of the Moon turn round, but I cannot dance without my feathers.”

The fisherman was at first suspicious, but seeing that she was a heavenly being who would keep her promise, he trusted her.

When she had put on her garment, she danced and sang of the Palace of the Moon. Soon, she lifted into the air, white of her robe shining against the sky. She rose, playing and singing, beyond the mountains and into the ether, until she reached the glorious Palace of the Moon.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Prologue

La Torchere Resort, Florida’s Gulf Coast,

Sunset, late July

As she strode through the resort gardens toward the wharf, Merry Montrose tugged her enchanted cell phone from the side pocket of her navy linen suit.

The result of a curse cast by her godmother, Merry was condemned to remain in the body of a crone unless she brought together twenty-one couples before she turned thirty.

The screen of the magic phone, when correctly charmed, enabled her to check on the nineteen unions she’d arranged over the course of the seven-year curse. She wanted to make sure all was well with “her” couples.

She flipped the phone open and tapped a button. Nothing.

“Cockles and grouse,” she muttered. Unless those nineteen couples stayed happy and married, she’d not reach her goal. She still needed to arrange two more love matches within a few weeks or she’d forever lose everything that had made her life fun.

Merry had been a princess—Princess Meredith of Silestia, an enchanted island in the Adriatic Sea. If she didn’t lift the curse, she could never return to her homeland, which she dearly loved. Instead, she’d be stuck in ElderHell as an old lady with a bad temper and aching joints.

Initially stumped by her situation, Merry had talked her way into a management job at an exclusive Florida resort. A perfect hunting ground, La Torchere featured romantic gardens and beautiful beaches and attracted plenty of singles ready to fall in love. All she had to do was throw together men and women who were eager for romance.

Even better, she’d learned that some people who weren’t happy were often the most willing to take the plunge into matrimony, as though marriage would solve their problems. Formerly cynical, Merry had been startled to see that love often smoothed the road through life.

Despite the occasional interference of her godmother, Lissa, who’d gotten herself a job as a concierge at La Torchere, matters were humming along perfectly.

Or so Merry hoped. With her enchanted cell phone on the fritz, she couldn’t be sure. She shook the wretched thing again.

Having magical gifts wasn’t all the fairy tales said it was. This cell phone, for instance, sometimes worked and sometimes it didn’t. She glared in the general direction of the resort, wondering if her interfering, know-it-all godmother had hexed the phone.

“Cell phone, cell phone, let me see, all the marriages due to me.” Still nothing.

Merry smacked the cell phone against her thigh, and the thing crackled to life. She shuttled through her weekly check of the magic nineteen, dreaming of when she could increase their number. Her fingers danced, tippety tapping on the buttons.

Ah. The phone’s tiny screen showed her latest success, Brad and Parris Smith. They’d been a tough match, he a scruffy scientist and she a socialite too spoiled for her own good. But now Brad was feeding Parris breakfast in bed: a marmalade-laden muffin, followed by a kiss.

Hastily Merry closed the cell phone with a snap, ruminating.

She cast her eye toward the ferry dock. Sunset flamed across the sky, casting brilliant ribbons of coral and peach across a few puffy clouds.

On this, a Monday evening, she didn’t expect many newcomers to La Torchere. A shame, given the glorious sunset, but most folks arrived for the weekend.

But what was this? A red Porsche roared off the ferry, driven by the impatient hand of a darkly handsome man. Following more sedately on foot came a willowy beauty whose hair reflected the reddish lights of the sunset. She was with a distinguished older fellow. Perhaps father and daughter?

Merry hurried to the front desk and pushed aside a surprised clerk. “I’ll see the register now, Gordon.”

“Right away, ma’am.”

“And get ready to check in three guests. They are…” Merry let her voice trail off as she looked through the computerized register. “Kam Asad.” An odd name, that. She frowned, but continued. “And, um, Selina and Jerome Carrington.” She moved the computer’s mouse and double-clicked. “All three are staying in penthouse suites, Asad in one and the Carringtons in another.”

Merry retreated from the front desk to her office, again pulling out her cell phone. Pressing buttons with frantic fingers, she focused on the trio’s hands. No wedding rings. Good.

Kam Asad…there was a mystery there, she guessed, but did she really care? What mattered to Merry was that the dark man in the fast car could match nicely with pretty Selina Carrington. And for Jerome, a silver fox all the way, Merry would find someone.

“You’re getting good at this, my girl,” she told herself. “Soon…” Sitting back in her chair with closed eyes, she lost herself in memories of her beloved Silestia.

Chapter One

Selina Carrington’s hobby was breaking hearts, and she’d just spotted fresh prey.

Two stools away at a seaside bar, he was blocked from her direct view by a touchy-feely couple in the heated throes of romance. Just as well; Selina preferred to observe him covertly, watching his reflection in the mirror behind the bar’s glittering shelves of bottles and glasses.

Ignoring the gentle sea breezes and the moonlit night, Selina’s target held a cell phone clamped to his head. Speaking in a foreign tongue she couldn’t identify, he was conducting business loudly enough to mask the soft sigh of nearby ocean waves.

A jazz combo started to set up at the other end of the bamboo-paneled room. As the guitarist tuned his instrument, Selina’s prey swung around on his bar stool, a glare crossing his otherwise handsome face.

Handsome was good; in fact, handsome was essential. She never bothered with nerds. Taking them down was neither fun nor kind, but handsome, arrogant asses were legitimate victims. This one was a dead ringer for George Clooney and, without a doubt, knew it.

Selina finished her mojito and smiled. The bartender stopped polishing glasses to ask, “Another?”

“Thanks, Janis.” Selina read the bartender’s name from the tag pinned to the young woman’s white blouse.

While Janis mashed fresh mint leaves, she asked, “Just arrived, ma’am?”

“It’s Selina, and yes,” she said. “What’s there to do around here?” She sucked on an ice cube.

Janis sported a short rasta hairstyle, a Jamaican accent and a wide, white smile. “Anything and everything, mon. We pride ourselves on providing de complete resort experience. You can walk by de ocean or swim in it, sail on it, or even parasail above it.”

“Parasailing sounds fun.”

Janis’s hands remained busy as she clinked ice, poured, stirred. “It is. Scary-excitin’, ya know what I mean?” She winked. She put the fresh drink in front of Selina while clearing the drained glass.

The couple next to Selina left, arms around each other’s waists, and Janis scooped up the two twenties that lay on the bar.

Selina sipped. The drink slid, cool and sweet, down her throat. “Mmm, this is good. The fresh mint leaves make all the dif—”

“Pardon me.” A male voice broke into their conversation, distinguished by a British accent and undisguised annoyance. “But just for kicks and giggles, how about a little service over here?”

Janis’s dark brows shot to the top of her forehead, disappearing beneath her jet-beaded rasta braids. Selina set down her glass and swiveled her bar stool toward the interruption.

Having finished his conversation, the Clooney clone now glowered at them down the length of the bar.

“Excuse me,” Janis said to Selina. As the bartender headed toward the man, she stopped, pulled a small towel from the belt on her black pants and wiped a puddle.

He tapped impatient fingers on the bar. Selina noticed that his nails weren’t merely manicured, but buffed. Her smile broadened. Not only arrogant, but her target was too wealthy, judging by the gleaming nails, expensive watch and bad attitude.

On top of all that—as if he weren’t enough of a jerk—he wore a diamond stud in his left ear. How last millennium.

This was getting better and better. The Clooney clone would be a perfect diversion while she was stuck on the Gulf Coast away from her job and her life.

“What can I do for you, sir?” Janis asked the clone.

“Oh, don’t give me that jibber-jabber, now that you’ve decided to do your job,” the clone snapped.

Janis leaned on the bar and smiled at the clone. “What can I bring you, suh?” Belying her deferential tone, she turned her head and winked at Selina, who stuck her fist over her mouth to keep from laughing.

“A…martini,” the clone said, as though the fate of the earth rested on his decision. “What kinds of vodka do you pour?”

Janis began to recite, “Grey Goose, Absolut, Stoli, Skyy—”

“Anything not made with potatoes, please. Wheat only. Thank you.” Clone waved a condescending hand as if ordering Janis away.

Pivoting toward Selina, Janis’s face contorted in a visible struggle to trap her laughter. Losing the fight, she dashed to a back room behind the bar. Selina heard a loud, snorting guffaw just as the door slapped shut.

Unfortunately for Selina’s decorum, Clooney clone now zeroed in on her. “Hallo, there,” he said in a low, soft voice. “You don’t come here often, do you?”

He actually pronounced the t in often. Gawd. Selina bit down hard on her lower lip while thinking, Control yourself. “Uh, no,” she said, affecting bland innocence. “How could you tell?”

“Oh, you’re easy,” he said.

Did he intend the insulting double entendre? Probably. Wondering how and when she’d cut him off at the knees, she raised her brows and openly surveyed him.

Wearing an open-necked white linen shirt with matching trousers, he looked cool and elegant even in the humid Florida night. His dark-amber skin contrasted with the linen, giving his elegance a savage undertone, as though a lion had wandered into the bar looking for a martini—wheat vodka only, nothing made with potatoes.

His blatant masculinity challenged her.

He’d be fun to take down.

“I also know that your visit here was unexpected,” he continued.

“Also true.” Selina gave him a come-hither look from under her lashes. “Even though you have the right accent, I didn’t know your last name was Holmes.”

He flashed the pearly whites at her. “You’re wearing a new dress I saw in the resort boutique, so your trip must have been impromptu.”

“Very good. You are very good…aren’t you?” She adjusted the scoop neckline of her red gauze dress, remembering she’d gone braless in the sultry Florida night. Trimmed with feathers, the floaty, sexy creation was unlike anything else in her closet, and now she took full advantage of its flirty design, exposing a little more of her décolletage and dipping forward so her target could get a better look at the goods.

He responded by leaning toward her, practically diving into the front of her dress. “You arrived here on the last ferry. You bought this pretty dress, took a shower, and then came down here.”

“You hit everything right.” She ran her fingers through her loose, damp hair, which would normally be blown dry and bound into a French twist.

“I’m here on business, but I’ll have plenty of time…” He winked at her.

She winked back. “Won’t your business associates take most of your attention?”

“I can lose them with no effort.” He again gestured dismissively.

“Them?” she asked.

“A real estate agent and his granddaughter. No one of importance.”

As Selina’s smile stretched wider, her grandfather entered the room and took the bar stool next to hers. He’d also freshened up and wore a loose polo-style shirt with khaki shorts.

“Oh, I’m glad to see you both here, already getting acquainted,” Grandpa Jerry said.

“I wouldn’t say we’re acquainted…yet,” Selina said sweetly.

Jerry patted her arm. “Sellie, I’d like you to meet Kam Asad.”

A flush rose beneath the Clooney clone’s swarthy skin. “You’re—”

She held out a hand. “Selina Carrington.” She smirked at him, enjoying his discomfiture. “So you’re Kam Asad. My grandfather tells me that you’re in the market for—”

“Shh!” He put a finger to his full lips. “This is high security.” He scowled at Jerry. “You told her?”

Selina liked him even less, if that was possible. No one dissed her grandfather in her presence without a slash from the knife-edge of her tongue.

“So what if he did, Mr. Superspy?” she asked. “What’s so high security about buying a house? I noticed you jibber-jabbering away on your cell phone a few minutes ago as if you had no secrets at all.”

Kam Asad’s flush deepened. “I was speaking in an Arabic dialect of my people. It is doubtful that anyone in this hemisphere understands it.”

An Arabic dialect of my people. Yeah, right. Who was this dude, Rudolph Valentino? “Cell phones aren’t exactly high security,” Selina said. “Anyone could be listening in—”

“Let’s start over.” Jerry, ever the suave salesman, interceded. “Selina, this is Kamar Asad. As you know, he’s in the market for some property in the D.C. area. Kam, this is my granddaughter, Selina.”

Selina corralled her naturally sarcastic mouth, saying only, “Pleased to meet you.” She extended her right hand.

“A pleasure for me, also.” Asad shook her hand once, then dropped it as though she were Typhoid Mary.

She glanced at her grandfather, well aware that inside Jerry’s mind, he was humming, “Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match,” to the accompaniment of wedding bells.

She hoped that he wasn’t too stuck on the idea of seeing her with Kam Asad. There was something of the untamed, the wild, lurking behind Kam’s facade, she thought, before immediately chiding herself for her silly fantasies. Kam Asad was an ordinary man, even though he obviously thought he was a cut above the herd. But she knew better. All men were alike under the skin, whether or not that skin was handsome or ugly, old or young.

Selina didn’t like handsome men. She didn’t like any men, really, and few women, but she disliked handsome men most of all.

A memory of another too-handsome man flashed through her mind, but she banished it immediately to the furthest recesses of her brain.

The only man she did like, her grandfather, now nudged her with a gentle elbow. But before Jerry could speak, Janis reappeared with Kam’s martini. Sliding the glass onto a coaster on the bar, she said to Jerry, “Good evening, sir. Can I get something for you?”

“Whiskey or even a scotch,” Jerome said. “What brands do you pour?”

While Jerome Carrington and the bartender chatted about fine whiskies, Kamar took a moment to reexamine the granddaughter, Selina. He’d noticed her as soon as she’d walked into the bar and had planned to meet her after finishing his conversation with his father’s foreign minister.

Selina’s hair, an unusual shade of red-gold, would make her a standout in any gathering, he mused, and all the more so in the dimly lit bar. Though recently washed and still damp, her gleaming hair lit the night like a torch, swinging loose along her slender neck like a silken scarf.

He was a sucker for the long, bare throats of sexy American women. His lust for them approached an obsession. Perhaps it was because the females of his country were always shrouded, but American girls, with their anytime, anyplace, anywhere approach to lovemaking attracted him like no other women. Did Selina Carrington’s red hair reflect her sexuality? He promised himself that he’d find out, and soon.

She wasn’t afraid of male attention, either, judging by her attire, a feather-trimmed dress constructed of scraps and shreds of red fabric that floated and fluttered while concealing few of her body’s slender curves. Her unplanned trip had also prevented her from bringing makeup, and her petal-perfect complexion, set off by a few stray freckles, heightened her natural, sexy allure.

She’d be a worthy bedmate if she hadn’t come with her grandfather. Kamar liked women—many women—but he didn’t believe in fouling the nest. He never conducted liaisons with business contacts or their families. The world was his playground, and he’d found many willing partners. He didn’t fool around close to home.

A beautiful girl like her, there was probably a man in her life already.

And she was mouthy. Many American women were. Often a smart mouth on a woman repelled him, but Selina’s rosy lips were pretty enough that he’d prefer to silence her with a kiss.

Then again, here was Jerome Carrington. So, with a sigh, Kamar mentally classified the stunning Selina and her beautiful neck as off-limits.

But he could still talk to her, couldn’t he? “American women are usually such busy girls,” he told her. “It was kind of you to accompany your grandfather on this trip.”

She shrugged, and her low neckline dipped even further. “Grandpa Jerry thought I should get away.”

“Get away? From who or what?”

“I work for an ad agency, and we just presented one of our major clients with a new campaign.” Her smile was thin. “This was the first time I was responsible for the entire project.”

He didn’t care about her job, but girls liked it when one showed interest in their pastimes. “And what was this project about?”

“It’s an advertising campaign for a cereal called Corny Crunch.”

“Did you say horny crunch?” He gave her his most flirtatious smile.

“Like I haven’t heard that, oh, at least twenty times before.” Selina stirred her drink.

He’d try again. “What kind of, um, advertising campaign did you plan?”

“Breakdancing corn chips in cargo pants down to their ankles.” She grinned at him. A real smile this time, not a fake one.

Progress, he thought. “Very charming. But why would anyone over the age of twelve buy these horny crunchies?”

Her smile broadened. “They have lots of fiber and even some oats. That’ll lower your cholesterol. You ought to be thinking about that at your age.”

There was such a thing as too mouthy, Kamar discovered. “At my age? For your information, I have but twenty-eight years.”

“Oh, shouldn’t everyone think about maintaining good health?” Selina turned to her grandfather, who ambled closer, sipping whiskey from a cut crystal tumbler. “Grandpop, what do you think of Corny Crunch?”

“A great product,” he said. “Selina’s ad campaign will sell millions. Another coup for the marketing goddess.”

“Oh, so now you are a goddess,” Kamar said. “I should have known.”

She arched a perfectly plucked brow at him. “Why?”

“You have the demeanor of someone…exalted,” he said. “Goddess attitude, you might say.”

“Ouch.” Selina clapped a hand to her face with a mock frown. “I guess I deserved that.”

“You certainly did.” Her grandfather glowered at her.

Kamar smiled. “Speaking of business, when shall we begin?”

“How about tomorrow morning?” Jerome Carrington asked. “We’ll meet in the dining room at nine.”

“Aren’t there several restaurants in a resort like this one?” Selina asked.

“The barkeep will know.” Jerome caught the bartender’s eye. “Where’s the best place for breakfast?”

“There are a number of choices, sir. There are four restaurants and two cafés at La Torchere. The poolside café can become noisy with children at play, so I would recommend The Greenhouse for breakfast.”

“The Greenhouse?” Selina tilted her head to one side. “That sounds fun.”

Kamar frowned. “I do not know if I want to eat my breakfast in a greenhouse.”

“Why not?” Selina asked. “I’m sure they don’t grow potatoes in there.”

She caught the bartender’s eye, and both girls laughed. Azhib, he thought. Wonderful. Within a few hours of his arrival, he’d convinced two women he was a fool. And he was stuck here until a deal for the property could be struck.

“Do you know what’s going on here? Because I’m at sea.” Jerome looked from his granddaughter’s face to the bartender, and then to Kamar. “What’s this about potatoes?”