The Return of the Sheikh. KRISTI GOLD

ajar.”

      She turned from the bureau, bumped the drawer closed with her butt and tightened the sash on the blue satin robe. “Really? I could have sworn I closed it before I took my shower. But I suppose it could have magically opened on its own, since Arabia is well-known for its magic.”

      He ignored her sarcasm and walked into the room without an invitation, hands firmly planted in the pockets of his black slacks. With those deadly dark eyes and remarkable physique, the Arabian king could pass for an exotic male model—a model who sorely lacked good comportment.

      He strolled to the open armoire to inspect the row of suits, skirts and slacks that Madison had hung only moments before. “As I predicted. Conventional clothing.”

      His audacity was second only to his arrogance. “It’s known as business attire.”

      “Attire that conceals your true nature,” he said as he slid his fingertips down the side of one beige silk skirt.

      She couldn’t quite explain why she shivered over the gesture, or the sudden, unexpected image of experiencing his touch firsthand. “What do you know about my true nature?”

      “I know your kind.” He turned and presented a seriously sexy half smile. “Beneath the conservative clothes you wear colorful lingerie.”

      Lucky guess. “That’s a rather huge assumption.”

      “Am I wrong?”

      She refused to confirm or deny his conjecture. “Don’t you have some royal duty to perform? Maybe you should have all the locks checked on all the palace doors.”

      He took a few slow steps toward her. “I’ll leave as soon as you tell me why you’re here when I made it quite I clear I do not need your help.”

      She was starting to ask herself the same question. “Your brother’s convinced that you need my help.”

      “Rafiq isn’t in charge of my life, nor is he in charge of the country. I am, and I can handle the transition on my own without any assistance.”

      Oh, but he did need her help, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Yet. “From what I witnessed during your arrival, it appears the people aren’t welcoming you with open arms.”

      His expression turned to stone. “As I told you before, Ms. Foster, they have no choice. I am this country’s rightful leader and they will have to learn to accept it.”

      “But wouldn’t it be more favorable if you had the blessing of your country’s people?”

      “And how do you propose to assist me in winning their approval? Do you plan to throw me a parade along with the international cocktail party?”

      She mentally added cynical to the sexy thing. “I suppose we could try that, but a parade isn’t successful unless someone shows up. I have several ideas and I hope that you’ll at least give me the opportunity to explore those options with you.”

      “Ah, yes. The social gatherings where you’ll be parading me in front of dignitaries.”

      “We nixed the parade, remember?”

      Amusement called out from his dark eyes. “I am still not convinced that you will make an impact on my acceptance.”

      Time to bring out the legal implications. “As I’m sure your brother told you, the contract states I’ll be here until the coronation, whether you choose to work with me or not. Of course, I can’t force you to cooperate, but it would be worth your while to at least make the effort.”

      He seemed to mull that over for a minute while Madison held her breath. “All right. Since you are protected by a legal document, and I’ve been stripped of my power to dismiss you, I will cooperate on a trial basis. But that cooperation hinges on your ability to meet my terms.”

      She should have known he’d have an ulterior motive behind his sudden change of heart. “And what would those be?”

      His smile returned, slow as a desert sunrise. “I’ll let you know in the upcoming days.”

      Something told Madison his terms could be somewhat suspect. Still, she was more than curious, as well as determined to win him over. “Fine. We can begin tomorrow morning.”

      “We can begin tonight after dinner,” he said, followed by a long visual journey from her neck to her bare feet. “I personally have no objection to your current attire, but something a little less distracting might be more appropriate.”

      She’d basically forgotten what she was wearing—or wasn’t wearing for that matter. “Since I’ve spent a good deal of time attending state dinners, I know how to dress properly.”

      He rested one hand on the ornately carved footboard. “This isn’t a diplomatic affair, Ms. Foster, only a casual meal.”

      She felt somewhat uncomfortable having him so close to the bed. “Will both your brothers be dining with us?”

      “Only Rafiq. Adan’s currently away on a mission.”

      She was disappointed she wouldn’t meet the youngest Mehdi son. “Diplomatic assignment?”

      “Military. He’s testing a new aircraft.”

      “That’s right. I’d read somewhere he’s a pilot.”

      “Adan’s affinity for danger is second only to his appreciation of beautiful women,” he said. “He will be greatly disappointed if he does not have the opportunity to meet you.”

      Maybe it was best if baby brother stayed away for as long as possible. Two womanizers under one roof could be too much to handle. “Will he be back for the coronation?”

      Zain pushed away from the bed, allowing Madison to breathe a little easier. “As far as I know.”

      She hugged her arms closer to her middle. “I’ll meet him then.”

      “If you are still here,” he said.

      He wasn’t going to get rid of her that easily. But she did plan to dismiss him for the time being. “Since it’s getting late, I should probably get dressed now.”

      “Yes, I suppose you should,” he said, a hint of fake disappointment in his tone. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you in the black dress you have hanging behind your business suits.”

      He’d been more observant than she realized. “I’ll decide what I’m wearing after you’re gone.”

      “You should definitely consider the red lingerie.”

      Madison didn’t understand his fascination with her underwear, or how he’d correctly guessed her fondness for red silk, until she followed his gaze to some focal point at her hip. When she looked down, she saw her bra strap hanging from the closed drawer like a crimson snake in the grass. She quickly stuffed it back inside before pointing toward the door. “Out. Now.”

      “Dinner is at five-thirty sharp. Do not be late,” he said as he walked out the door and closed it behind him.

      The man’s overbearing behavior equaled his fortune, but he had a thing or two to learn about Madison’s determination. She didn’t appreciate his observations, even if he had been on target when it came to her clothing. Still, no sexy, bossy sheikh—even if he happened to be a king and her current employer—would dictate her choice in panties. In fact, Zain Mehdi would have nothing whatsoever to do with her panties. And the next time she had him alone, she planned to set him straight about what she expected from him. Namely respect.

      The sudden knock indicated she could have an immediate opportunity to do that very thing. On the heels of her frustration, she strode across the room, flung open the door and greeted the offending party with, “More commentary on my underwear?”

      When she saw the demure lady with silver hair and topaz eyes standing in the hallway, Madison realized she’d made a colossal mistake. Yet she couldn’t seem