To Catch a Sheikh. Teresa Southwick

for her scratch pad to write down the lengthy form of address when she noticed that his wonderful firm lips were curving up at the corners. “You’re joking,” she accused.

      “Yes.”

      “Oh, thank goodness.”

      “What?”

      “You do have a sense of humor.”

      “Of course. Why would you doubt it?” He shrugged and extended one hand in a self-effacing gesture.

      There was a Band-Aid on his index finger, sporting a cartoon character. It was a sign. He was more than a pompous, arrogant baiter of unsuspecting women.

      “At our first meeting you never cracked a smile,” she reminded him.

      “That is why I’m here.”

      “To show me you can smile?”

      “No. To…start again.”

      For half a second, she’d thought he was going to apologize for leading her on, making her appear foolish.

      She looked up at him, way up, then adjusted her glasses more securely on her nose. “I figured you were here to can me.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “You know, terminate me.” She shook her head. “Bad choice of words.”

      “Why?”

      “I was wondering if I’d be drawn and quartered in the city square at dawn.”

      “Actually, the idea of beheading came up.”

      She gasped. “No!”

      “Yes. Then the merits of cutting out your tongue.”

      She backed up a step before noticing his smile. A full-on, showing-his-great-teeth, go-for-broke, steal-her-heart grin. “You’re teasing me.”

      “Yes.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks, upsetting the sleek line at the bottom of the matching jacket. “By ‘can’ and ‘terminate’ you meant revoke your employment.”

      “Right. Fire me.” Although the way he looked could give a whole new meaning to the word. He was what the girls back home called a “hottie.”

      “I’m not here to do that.”

      “Well, that’s a relief. Although you must admit that if you’d told me right away who you are, there wouldn’t be a large coffee stain on the carpet in your office.”

      “I don’t have to admit anything,” he said. “I am the prince.”

      “Of course.” And exactly the reason she decided against taking him to task for leading her on. Besides, it looked as if she was getting a reprieve. Bearding the lion in his den, so to speak, probably wasn’t the wisest course. “And a prince is the master of all he surveys.”

      “Something like that,” he said, a sparkle in his eyes betraying that he was amused.

      “If you’re not here to admit anything, then why are you here?”

      “To welcome you—properly—to El Zafir.”

      “Thank you—” She tipped her head to the side and said, “You still haven’t told me what to call you.”

      “Prince Rafiq in public. In private, when we are working, my given name is appropriate.”

      Rafiq. The name raised shivers on her arms that scurried over her chest and abdomen. He wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met. Just his name conjured up visions of mystery and magic, enchantment and romance. For the first time, she believed what the travel posters had claimed about his country.

      “Prince Rafiq,” she said, testing the name.

      “Since it has fallen to me to train you—”

      “But I’m supposed to work for Princess Farrah.”

      “There’s been a change of plan. My father has appropriated my secretary and my aunt—”

      “Princess Farrah?”

      He nodded. “My father’s sister. She has given you to me.”

      The shivers, which had barely disappeared, kicked up again at the suggestion that she’d been given to him. Lordy, why did her mind have to go there? It wasn’t really such a stretch. This was an exotic country with a different history and culture. Myths of women being swept off their feet and literally carried away by mesmerizing men had been widely romanticized in movies and books. Feminists might object, but Penny had the feeling if any of them took one look at Rafiq, bras would go up in flames and not because anyone was protesting.

      “So I’m to work with you?”

      He nodded. “If you wish I can arrange for chocolate to be brought. We can do the bonding thing.”

      “You really are different from other men,” she blurted out.

      Good Lord! She couldn’t believe she’d said that. It was completely inappropriate. Granted she’d said something similar when she’d thought he was an assistant like herself. But now she knew who he was. Besides that, it was flirtatious. She’d never been a flirt. Partly because she’d never had the time. Partly because her nature didn’t lean toward flirting. But her remark had come dangerously close. Was it something in the air of exotic El Zafir? Something in the water? Or was it a mysterious something in the man that unleashed her inner flirt?

      “Different?” he asked. He didn’t look shocked or offended, merely curious.

      “Where I come from, there are talk shows dedicated to the fact that most men don’t listen, let alone remember,” she explained.

      “Perhaps cowboys leave something to be desired as the masculine standard in your country?”

      He really had listened, she thought, as heat surged into her cheeks. “Maybe listening and remembering are highly overrated skills.”

      He smiled. Were his teeth really white enough to be featured in an ad for dental bleaching? Or did they just look that way because his skin was so very tanned?

      “With all due respect,” he said, “I have yet to meet a woman who prefers a man to ignore her.”

      She couldn’t help wondering how much research he’d done on women. Quite a bit according to what she’d read about the royal family. She’d seen articles in the tabloids detailing the romantic exploits of Prince Rafiq. She’d even seen his picture, which made her feel all the more ridiculous for not recognizing him. But in person, the flesh-and-blood hunk bore no resemblance to the one-dimensional Don Juan she’d seen in the papers.

      How many women had he been involved with? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? And how many cowboys had she been with? Zero. Zilch. Nada. So who was better qualified to judge?

      “Okay. You get points for listening and remembering,” she agreed.

      “Thank you.” He looked around her suite. “I trust the accommodations are satisfactory?”

      “Oh, yes.” She followed his gaze. “This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”

      “As compared to Texas?”

      “As compared to anywhere. Even the hotel where I met your aunt.”

      “It is more spartan than the New York hotel she prefers.”

      Penny nodded. “But there’s something to be said for simplicity. Sometimes less is more.”

      “I know precisely what you mean.” He met her gaze and his own darkened. His irises were blacker than midnight—smoldering.

      There was that word again. It took the air from her lungs. But didn’t fire do that, steal oxygen? Where was an extinguisher when you really needed one?

      “Tell me about yourself, Penny.”