To Catch a Sheikh. Teresa Southwick

want to do that?” he asked, the intensity of his gaze focused directly on her. “The day of your arrival was obviously not the first time you drank coffee, a fact that in no way spared my office carpet.”

      “I suppose it was too much to hope you might have forgotten that.”

      “As you have so perceptively pointed out—I listen and remember.” The corners of his mouth turned up. “So I’ll take my chances as you taste your first champagne.”

      “My son has the heart of a lion,” the king said, his black eyes twinkling.

      Rafiq grinned at his father, then motioned to one of the uniformed servers bearing a tray she’d wager was silver. Not silver plate, but the real McCoy that would tarnish without a gloved staff of thousands to keep it fingerprint free. She nudged her glasses more securely on her nose and took the offered crystal flute holding bubbling golden liquid.

      She couldn’t help feeling like the governess in a Gothic romance novel. The kind of woman who should be stashed away upstairs on important social occasions.

      “Rafiq, you have been remiss in not inviting Penny to dinner sooner,” the princess was saying. “It is—what is that American expression?—standard procedure for each new member of the business staff to join us, so that we can personally get to know everyone.”

      “One big happy family,” Penny commented.

      “Exactly,” the king said, smiling. “It has become obvious over the years that contented staff are more productive. Do you think me a tyrant, Miss Doyle?”

      “On the contrary, Your Highness, it’s just plain, old-fashioned common sense.”

      The princess touched her forearm. “Excuse us, my dear. Gamil and I must help Johara with Fariq’s twins.”

      “They look fine to me,” the older man said.

      Farrah glared at him. “Hana and Nuri are sweet children, but you know as well as I that they can easily become restless.”

      The king saw her look and his eyes widened in comprehension as he nodded slightly. He bowed politely. “My sister is correct. Excuse us, please.”

      Penny glanced at Rafiq and her nerves developed nerves. So much anxiety, so little time. At work she felt in her element and had grown accustomed to dealing with him as her boss. He gave her a task, she carried it out as efficiently as possible. He didn’t seem disappointed with her performance. In fact, she’d wager he wasn’t the type to keep it to himself if he was displeased.

      The days had fallen into a pattern. In the morning she downloaded his e-mail and printed it out, placing it on his desk. Then, allowing for time zone differences, she returned phone calls with messages from the prince, typed letters and confirmed appointments. So far, afternoons were reserved for meetings. He was in and out of the office while she fielded more phone calls and took more messages.