To Catch a Sheikh. Teresa Southwick

Goldilocks that he’d read to his niece and nephew. Her hair was golden, and she was sound asleep. Did that make him one of the three bears? His two brothers, Fariq and Kamal, would no doubt be less than flattered at being compared to American bears. Besides, Rafiq had been told he was the family charmer. How bearish could he be?

      He bent at the waist and said, “Excuse me?”

      Long, lush lashes fluttered. Did they look long and lush because the ugly glasses magnified them? Did objects behind the thick lenses appear larger? When she lifted her eyelids, he wondered that again as very big blue eyes were revealed.

      “Hmm?”

      “Miss?”

      “Hi.” She blinked several times and sat up straight, looking around as if she were disoriented. Then she met his gaze. “Guess I’m not in Kansas anymore.”

      “True.”

      Before she covered her yawn with a delicate hand, he noted that her teeth were straight and white.

      “It’s an American expression from the movie The Wizard of Oz—when Dorothy realizes that she’s very far from home.”

      “I’m aware of it.” He knew the story—the quest of the characters to find home, brain, courage and heart. The last he could relate to very well. “So you’re American?” he asked, a purely rhetorical question since her accent clearly placed her.

      “Yes,” she said. “Just off the plane from Texas.”

      “I have heard of it.”

      She smiled. “I’d be surprised if you hadn’t. You work here, too?”

      “Yes.”

      “This must be one busy office if there’s enough work for two assistants.”

      Assistant? She thought he was an assistant? He opened his mouth to set her straight when she slid to the edge of the love seat and stretched, arching her back so that her suggestion of a bosom became rounded breasts straining against the buttons of her dress. No thick magnifying lenses there, and the objects were most impressive.

      “Could you point me in the direction of the coffeepot?” she asked.

      “I can ring for some,” he said absently, his gaze preoccupied.

      “That would be great. I’ll be forever in your debt.”

      Rafiq went to the desk and picked up the phone. “Coffee, please. Very strong.”

      “Bless you.”

      When he looked at her again, she was peering intently at him through the hideous lenses of her glasses, not unlike the way he’d been looking upon her.

      “What is it?” he asked.

      “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just—”

      “Tell me.”

      “No.” She shook her head. “You’ll think I’m weird. If we’re going to be working together, weird isn’t exactly the best foot to put forward.”

      “I promise not to think that.” Now he was curious. “Why did you have that look on your face? Do I have a wart on my nose? A smudge on my face? You find me strange looking?”

      “Oh, no. You’re very handsome.” She ducked her head, obviously flustered. “I mean if the rest of the men in this country are anything like you—” Her cheeks flushed a delightful pink. “I’m sorry. I hope you don’t mind my saying that. It’s just— I had no idea. In my research on El Zafir, I didn’t see anything about— I’m sorry. But you did ask.”

      “Yes, I did.” Her flustered manner told him she hadn’t planned to say that. The compliment was honest, ingenuous and charmingly innocent. He very nearly forgave her for mistaking him for an assistant.

      “Where I come from, cowboys are the masculine standard. Most women wouldn’t think of office staff as macho. But most women haven’t been to El Zafir.”

      He couldn’t decide whether to be flattered or insulted and made a mental note to make discreet inquiries about Texas cowboys. He also revoked his momentary weakness regarding forgiveness. But strangely enough, he wanted her to go on. “So you’re an assistant?”

      She nodded, then took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. He expected to see black makeup, mascara or raccoon eyes as women had told him it was called when it ran. But, there was none. She wore no cosmetics. Still, her skin was flawless—smooth and quite soft-looking.

      “I just arrived in El Zafir this morning,” she explained. “I was supposed to be here two days ago, but flights out of North Texas were delayed because of storms. Where I come from they say if you don’t like the weather, just wait a minute. But this time I wasn’t that lucky.”

      “So how did you come to my—to El Zafir, Miss—”

      “Doyle. Penelope Colleen Doyle. It rhymes with oil.”

      “Yes.”

      “You can call me Penny.”

      “Penny,” he said, testing the name given to the lowest valued coin in U.S. currency.

      “I was hired by Princess Farrah Hassan. Have you met her?”

      His lips twitched, but he held back the threatening smile. “Once or twice.”

      “She’s pretty impressive. A real force of nature. The king’s sister. I’m to be her assistant.”

      “When did this happen?”

      “A month ago.”

      “And you’ve just arrived today?”

      She nodded. “I had to settle the lease on my apartment and arrange storage for my things.”

      She looked very young to have the responsibility of living on her own. “How old are you?” he couldn’t help asking.

      One blond eyebrow lifted questioningly. “In the States if you ask that question, you’re likely to get decked. It’s not considered politically correct to inquire about a woman’s age.”

      “I know politics.” And women, he added silently. “You look too young to be—”

      “I’m twenty-two.” She sat up straighter. “Not that it’s your concern, but I have a degree in early childhood education as well as business. I had a double major in college. I needed a job. With a good salary. So I submitted my résumé with an exclusive agency that handles child care for wealthy families. After looking at qualifications and pictures, the princess picked me, among others. According to the agency director, she was looking for a plain nanny.”

      “Is that so?”

      “I didn’t think it was appropriate to ask. But why do you suppose the princess was specifically looking for someone plain?”

      There was no reason to reveal that he was responsible for the stipulation. “I can’t say.”

      She shrugged. “Me, neither. But I was confident that I fit the qualifications and was just what they were looking for.”

      “I see.” He might be the family charmer, but her straightforward declaration left him at a loss. His knowledge of women was based on the tall, sophisticated, glamorous type. Not small women with big, unattractive glasses.

      “I prefer to meet life head-on. If you bury your head in the sand, you leave your—” She stopped and pushed her glasses up more securely on her nose. “Well, the rest of yourself exposed. If you know what I mean. I’m nothing if not practical. It’s best to face facts and not expect the fairy tale. Don’t you agree?”

      He wasn’t sure how to answer. Best to go in a different direction. “So you got an interview with my—with the princess?”

      “Yes. I received a round-trip plane ticket to New York. It was