Undressed by the Boss. Nicola Marsh

of days would be a challenge for both of them—if only because this was not a woman to take and enjoy, or a woman who would understand that a man in his position had nothing more to offer her beyond a few nights of passion; this was a woman instinct told him should be treasured and valued for her originality. With Casey’s innocence standing between them, for now he had to admit he was facing stalemate.

      Raffa made it easy for her to forget she was sitting next to a king, though forgetting the charisma of the man was rather more difficult. His warm, spicy scent embraced every part of her until she tingled. Just because she shied away from men it didn’t mean she was incapable of feeling, and with Raffa’s unbelievable levels of testosterone buzzing in the air she was feeling rather too much of everything.

      He appeared to be relaxed and unaware of her interest, so she took the opportunity to steal a glance at him. A man all at ease, he sprawled on the seat with his hair ruffled and his pirate earring glinting in the slanting rays of the dying sun. He was just so cool and sexy, with eyes full of promise and a mouth shaped for fantasy kisses. Why did he have to be her boss? She guessed it was some time since he had shaved, because his stubble was thicker, blacker, sharper than she had ever seen on any man.

      Would it hurt to have that stubble rasp against, say, the tender skin on her neck, her cheek … her breast? She shivered at the thought of it. She only had a few bungled kisses to go on, and they had practically put her off kissing for life. Usually overly moist, they had convinced her she wasn’t missing much. But she imagined Raffa’s kisses would be different. He would be an accomplished kisser, as in all else. She flinched away when his lips curved as their gazes clashed. Had he read her thoughts? Sensed her fascination? If he had read something into it …

      She had to calm herself with steady breathing. Turning away to stare out of the heavily tinted windows only increased the impression that she was entering the mysterious, closed world she had glimpsed at the airport. And, yes, she was eager to learn what lay behind the silken veil, but would she be permitted to look? Or would she be taken from one sterile, air-conditioned capsule to the next without ever once experiencing the real A’Qaban?

      She had to fight for the opportunity to see the country if she had any hope of selling A’Qaban to the world, Casey realised. But if he took her behind the silken curtain, what then?

      Her insides melted at the thought of it, and sensation pooled between her thighs. She wanted him to take her there. She wanted him to touch her there … tenderly and persuasively—and, yes, persistently, rhythmically, stroking until she’d had enough. He’d ease her thighs wide apart and cup her buttocks to keep her in the most receptive position—and of course he’d pay close attention to her responses and stop the moment she wanted him to—

      ‘Not too hot, are you?’ Raffa said, turning as she sighed.

      ‘No, I’m fine,’ she fudged, pretending to ease cramped limbs, though goodness knew there was enough room in the limousine to stretch out.

      Her imagination would get her into trouble one day, Casey acknowledged, but while her fertile mind insisted on teasing her with erotic possibilities in A’Qaban, her sensible self knew there was no law that said she had to open those doors and walk through.

      Maybe not. But she did have to shift position discreetly now and then to ease the worrying signs of arousal those thoughts had provoked.

      * * *

      By the time they turned into the flag-lined drive of what Raffa briefly explained was A’Qaban’s premier hotel, Casey realised the towering pink stone building, modelled on the lines of an ancient fort, was something else she would be expected to market. She paid close attention. If the inside of the building were only half as impressive as the outside the hotel would sell itself, and the truth was she ached to take on tougher projects. Surely it was the diversity of culture and landscape that would sell A’Qaban to the world? She had to win the right to visit the desert.

      As the chauffeur drew the limousine to a halt at the foot of a wide sweep of steps, and Casey saw doormen better dressed than she was, she knew what her first steps towards that goal must be.

      But Raffa spoke first. ‘Take some rest,’ he said abruptly.

      Maybe he couldn’t wait to get rid of her.

      ‘You’ll be working flat out tomorrow. You’ll find a list of essential telephone numbers in your room.’

      So he had changed his mind about the shopping trip. ‘And my business suit?’

      ‘I’ll call an aide and have a selection sent up to your suite.’

      Casey frowned. So some man was going to assume he knew what she should be wearing? ‘That won’t be necessary, thank you,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll make my own arrangements.’

      ‘That is the way we do things here.’

      ‘Well, it’s not my way to have someone choose my clothes.’ She had intended to couch her refusal in a way she hoped Raffa would not find offensive, but unfortunately it didn’t come out that way, and she found herself confronting his narrowed gaze. ‘I’m used to picking out and paying for my clothes myself, you see,’ she added, hoping to soften the effect of her first sally.

       Had she gone too far?

      Raffa’s stern expression exhibited surprise, and then faint amusement.

      Which left her with just one thing to sort out. ‘When will I see you again?’

      ‘I’ll be in touch.’ He turned away, effectively dismissing her.

       She had gone way too far.

      Plus, as he turned to leave her she got the distinct and very embarrassing impression that he had not thought she was talking about their next business meeting. ‘I mean when will our next business meeting be?’ she clarified.

      ‘What else?’ Leaning half in and half out of the car, Raffa spoke to her in a muted and discreet tone that allowed him to get his message across loud and clear: ‘If this doesn’t work out for you, Casey, there are plenty of other jobs in my organization.’

      Roger that. ‘But this is the job I want,’ she said stubbornly, holding his gaze for as long as she dared so there could be no mistake.

      Sweeping inky brows rose minutely. Shutting the car door, Raffa made some signal, and then both he and the limousine swept away.

      So she liked to live dangerously, he mused, turning to watch Casey walk up the steps of the hotel. It amused him to see that she had managed to wrestle her backpack from the horrified doorman already. She was quite determined to go it alone and she made him smile. She hadn’t given him so much as a chance to have the shopping mall closed for her to have a spending spree on him. Oh, no, that wasn’t Casey Michaels’s way.

      He eased back in his seat, but found it impossible to relax. He swung round in his seat to take one final look at her.

      In fact …

      ‘Turn around, please,’ he told the driver. ‘We’re going back.’

      Oh, wow! She really must stop running around the suite, picking things up and putting them down again, and try to get over the fact that she had been given accommodation that exceeded her wildest dreams by her wildest dreams.

      Racing into the bathroom, she turned on the drench shower, getting drenched in the process, before sprinting back into the biggest bedroom she’d ever seen.

      Who needed a gym when you had your own running track?

      And, no, her backpack wasn’t in here, it was still in the ballroom-sized lounge, Casey remembered, chasing back the way she’d come. She had the whole of the top floor to herself, for goodness’ sake. It was less a penthouse and more a country. Even her bulging pack looked like a doll’s accessory, lying where she had discarded it on the football-pitch-sized rug in the centre of the floor.

      Fighting with the buckles, she flung it open and delved inside. The best she could