Sheikh in the City. Jackie Braun

seemed proud of her. When it turned into a real career, pulling in serious money and creating enough buzz to land Emily a mention in The New York Times, his enthusiasm had cooled considerably. When she began to dream about opening a restaurant, he’d done his best to talk her out of it, quoting statistics on the number of establishments that failed each year. Finally he’d found someone else: Emily’s sister.

      “The guest list will be small, no more than six guests and myself,” Dan was saying, pulling Emily back to the present.

      “When were you thinking?” she asked, mentally flipping through her appointment calendar.

      “The Saturday after next. The notice is short, I know.” His expression held an apology. “As I said, I usually hire someone else to handle my dinner parties. But I’m hoping you will find room in your schedule for me. As my gracious hostess said, you are the best.”

      His lips twitched charmingly, but this time, immersed in the details of business, she was able to ignore the pyre of heat.

      Dan, also known as Sheikh Madani Abdul Tarim, wasn’t one to settle for anything but the best. Thanks to his position and wealth, he’d never had to. Still, he didn’t consider himself demanding so much as discerning. Tonight’s meal was first-rate. He had to admit, though, he hadn’t expected the chef who’d created it to be quite so young.

      Or so attractive.

      Even wearing mannish attire and with her hair scraped back in that hideous fashion there was no denying the tug of male interest he felt. Of course, he wouldn’t act on it. With the official announcement of his engagement fast approaching, he wasn’t in the market for a relationship, casual or otherwise. Still, Emily Merit almost made him wish his future hadn’t been decided when he was still a toddler.

      He blamed it on her eyes. They were a rich combination of blues and greens, and reminded him of the Mediterranean Sea near his family’s summer home. Her gaze was direct and assessing, making it clear that she considered herself his equal.

      He liked that. As it was, his title and position intimidated too many people—male and female. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t allowed the hostess to formally introduce him. And why he had decided to tell Emily Merit his name was merely Dan. He preferred anonymity every now and then, if only to keep himself grounded. As his father often told him, when he became ruler of Kashaqra, Madani would need to look out for the interests of all of the country’s people.

      That didn’t mean he didn’t prefer to get his way. So, he prodded, “Well?”

      “Unfortunately I’m booked to make the meal and cake for a child’s fifth birthday celebration that day.”

      It didn’t seem like a huge obligation to him. “Will it take all day?”

      “In most instances, it wouldn’t.” Her tone turned wry. “But this particular party is an hour outside the city in Connecticut and the parents are insisting on an epicurean feast.”

      “You don’t agree with their menu choices,” he gathered.

      She sobered and said diplomatically, “It’s not my place to agree or disagree with a client’s menu choices.”

      “But?” Raising his eyebrows he invited her confidence.

      After a moment she admitted, “I just don’t think the average kindergartner will enjoy what they have selected. After all, certain foods are considered an acquired taste for good reason.”

      Madani found himself chuckling, charmed by her honesty. “What have they ordered? Caviar blintzes?”

      “Close.” She smiled and he spied a dimple lurking low on her right cheek. It lent an air of impishness to her otherwise classical features. “At least I managed to talk the mother out of an appetizer of duck liver pâté in favor of ham rolls. Even so, I’m pretty sure there are going to be plenty of leftovers. She wouldn’t budge on the veal marsala or the side of roasted root vegetables.”

      “I guess this means you won’t be available.”

      She nibbled her lower lip. The gesture was uncomfortably and unaccountably sexy. “I may be able to accommodate you,” she said at last. “I have an assistant I could leave in charge of the birthday party. Of course, a lot depends on the time of your gathering and what you would like to serve.”

      Madani wasn’t sure if his relief came from knowing Emily would be preparing the meal for his guests or from knowing he would have the opportunity to see her again. “I can be very amenable when the situation calls for it. When shall we meet to discuss the details?”

      “I’m free tomorrow morning if you are.”

      He had three meetings lined up back-to-back before noon, but he nodded anyway. As he’d said, he could be amenable when the situation called for it. This one did, though he refused to explore why he felt that way.

      Emily went to retrieve a business card. Handing it to him, she said, “I’m an early riser. Feel free to call any time after nine o’clock.”

      The card was still in Madani’s hand and a smile on his face when he met his driver downstairs.

      “I trust you had a good evening,” Azeem Harrah said.

      Azeem was not only Madani’s driver, but a trusted confidant and sometimes bodyguard who traveled with him whenever he went abroad. The two men had been friends since boyhood. Azeem’s father was a long-serving member of Kashaqra’s parliament. His uncle sat on the country’s high court. He was educated and at times outspoken, but above all he was loyal—to Madani and to Kashaqra.

      “Very good. The Hendersons are generous hosts and the food was…exquisite.” His smile broadened.

      “I know that smile.” Azeem laughed as he shifted the Mercedes into Drive and eased the vehicle into traffic. “A woman is behind it.”

      Madani grew serious. “You are mistaken, my friend.”

      “Am I?”

      “Those days are over.”

      “Why?” Azeem challenged.

      “You know why, even if you do not agree with my decision,” he said.

      “That is because it was not your decision,” Azeem shot back. “I cannot believe you are going through with an arranged marriage. You!”

      In Kashaqra, Madani was known for holding much more progressive views than his father, even though during the past three decades Sheikh Adil Hammad Tarim had ushered in much change.

      “You know my reasons.”

      “Your father’s health is fine, sadiqi,” Azeem said, using the Arabic word for friend. “The heart attack he suffered last fall was mild.”

      It hadn’t seemed mild at the time. Madani closed his eyes, recalling anew the way his father’s face had turned ashen just before he’d crumpled to the floor. They’d been arguing over this very matter. Arranged marriages were not set in stone. They could be nullified under a limited set of circumstances, none of which applied to Madani. Still, given Adil’s position, he could have voided it, but his father wouldn’t hear of it. His own union had been contracted and all had turned out well. He believed the same would hold true for his son.

      “My engagement to Nawar is his wish, his will.”

      Azeem shook his head. He didn’t understand. Madani didn’t expect him to.

      “Well, you are not engaged yet. There would be nothing wrong with a final…fling, I believe is the word the Americans use.”

      Madani gazed out the car’s tinted window and let the conversation lapse. He wasn’t officially engaged. That much was true. His betrothal to Nawar would be announced later in the summer. But he was not free. Indeed, in this regard, he never had been.

      Emily arrived home just before midnight. She felt exhausted and invigorated at the same