The Return of the Sheikh. KRISTI GOLD

adjusted her white linen jacket and held her breath in hopes that she wouldn’t be dismissed. “Well?” she asked when Deeb didn’t immediately speak.

      “The emir will see you now,” he said, his tone somewhat wary. “But he is not happy about it.”

      As long as she had the opportunity to win him over, Madison didn’t give a horse’s patoot about the prince’s current mood. “Fair enough.”

      Deeb opened the door and followed her inside the well-appointed office. But she didn’t have the time—or the inclination—to study the room further. The six-foot-plus man leaning back against the massive desk, arms folded across his chest, his intense gaze contrasting with his casual stance, now captured her complete attention. Publicity photos—or her distant memories—definitely didn’t do Zain Mehdi justice.

      With his perfectly symmetrical features, golden skin and deep brown eyes framed by ridiculously long black lashes, he could easily be pegged as a Hollywood star preparing to play the role of a Middle Eastern monarch. Yet he’d forgone the royal robes for a white tailored shirt rolled up at the sleeves and a pair of dark slacks. He also wore an expression that said he viewed her as an intruder.

      Madison tamped down her nerves, shored up her frame and faked a calm facade. “Good evening, Your Highness. I’m Madison Foster.”

      He studied her offered hand but ignored the gesture. “I know who you are. You are the daughter of Anson Foster, a member of the diplomatic corps and a longtime acquaintance of my father’s.”

      At least he remembered her father, even if he probably didn’t remember her. “My sincerest condolences on your loss, Your Highness. I’m sure the king’s sudden passing came as quite a shock.”

      He shifted his weight slightly, a sure sign of discomfort. “Not as shocking as learning of his death two weeks after the fact.”

      “The emir was traveling when his father passed,” Deeb added from behind Madison.

      The sheikh sent his assistant a quelling look. “That will be all, Deeb. Ms. Foster and I will continue this conversation in private.”

      Madison glanced over her shoulder to see Deeb nodding before he said, “As you wish, Emir.”

      As soon as the right-hand man left the room, the sheikh strolled around the desk, dropped down into the leather chair and gestured toward the opposing chair. “Be seated.”

      Say please, Madison wanted to toss out. Instead, she slid into the chair, set her bag at her feet and made a mental note to work on his manners. “Now that we’ve established you know who I am, do you understand why I’m here?”

      He leaned back and streaked a palm over his shadowed jaw. “You are here at my brother’s request, not mine. According to Rafiq, you are one of the best political consultants in this country. If your reputation holds true.”

      If his reputation held true, she had her work cut out for her. “I’ve worked alongside political strategists in successfully assisting high-profile figures with public perception.”

      “And why do you believe I would need your assistance with that?”

      Okay, she’d draw him a picture, but it wouldn’t be pretty. “For starters, you haven’t been back to Bajul in years. Second, I know there’s concern that you won’t be welcomed with open arms when you do return to assume your position as king. And last, there is the issue with the women.”

      He had the gall to give her a devil-may-care grin. “You cannot believe everything you hear, Ms. Foster.”

      “True, but many people believe what they read. Therefore, it’s imperative we convey that you’re focused on being an effective leader like your father.”

      His smile disappeared out of sight. “Then I am to assume you wish to mold me into the image of my father.”

      She found the comment to be extremely telling. “No. I want to help you build a more favorable image of yourself.”

      “And how do you propose to do that?”

      Very carefully. “By reintroducing you to your people through a series of public appearances and social events.”

      He inclined his head and studied her straight-on. “You intend to invite the entire country to a cocktail party?”

      She could now add sarcastic along with sexy to his list of attributes. “The social events would be private. I’ll include only those in your close circle of friends and your family, as well as members of the governing council. Possibly a few foreign dignitaries and politicians and perhaps some investors.”

      He grabbed a pen from the desktop and began to turn it over and over. “Go on.”

      At least he seemed mildly interested. “As far as the public appearances are concerned, I have a lot of experience with speech writing,” she said. “I’d be happy to assist you with that.”

      He frowned. “I have a graduate degree in economics from Oxford and I am fluent in five languages, Ms. Foster. What makes you think I cannot compose my own speeches in an articulate manner?”

      Nothing like stepping on his royal pride. “I’m sure you’re quite capable, Your Highness, which is why I said I’d assist you. What you say and how you say it will be extremely important in winning over the masses.”

      He tossed the pen aside and released a gruff sigh. “I have no reason to engage in political maneuvering. In the event you haven’t heard, my position is already secure. I was chosen to be king, and my word is the law. I am the law.”

      “True, but when people are happy with their leader, that makes for a more peaceful country. And we have less than a month before your official coronation to change your country’s opinion of you. During that time, we’ll cover all the details, from the way you speak and act to the way you dress.”

      He sent her a sly, overtly sensual smile. “Will you be dressing me?”

      The sudden images flitting around Madison’s mind would be deemed less than appropriate. They even leaned a little toward being downright dirty. “I’m sure your staff can assist you with that.”

      “It’s unfortunate that’s not among your duties,” he said. “I would be more inclined to agree to your plan.”

      As far as she was concerned, he could put that charisma card right back into the deck. “Look, I realize you’re used to charming women into doing your bidding, but that tact doesn’t work with me.”

      He gave her a skeptical look. “If I decide to accept your offer, would you be willing to stay on after the coronation?”

      She hadn’t expected that question. “Possibly, if you could afford to keep me on staff. My services aren’t cheap.”

      He released a sharp, cynical laugh. “Look around, Ms. Foster. Does it appear I’m destitute?”

      Not even close. “We can discuss the possibility later. Right now, we need to concentrate on the current issue at hand, if you’re willing to work with me.”

      He studied the ceiling for a moment before bringing his gaze back to hers. “The answer is no, I am not willing to work with you. I am quite capable of handling my own affairs.”

      She wasn’t ready to give up without pointing out the most major concern. “Speaking of affairs, I’m also skilled when it comes to dealing with scandals, in case you have any of those little sex skeletons hiding in a closet.”

      His expression turned steely as he stood. “My apologies for wasting your time, but I believe we are finished now.”

      Apparently she’d hit a serious nerve, and yes, they were definitely finished.

      Madison came to her feet, withdrew a business card from her bag and placed it on the desk. “Should you change your mind, here’s my number. I’ll let you break the news to