Desert Sheikh vs American Princess Read online

  Contents

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Epilogue

  Epilogue 2.0

  More Sheikhs!

  For Ken.

  You are awesome, and I'll keep saying it until you believe it.

  T

  *****

  Wait!

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  Handcuffed to the Sheikh Too

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  One

  "SO, LET ME understand completely, Your Majesty." Noelle Oldrich concentrated on bobbing one open-toed Ferragamo bootie over the other, as if she wasn't on the edge of freaking out. "What is happening here is, in fact, a kidnapping."

  If His Majesty Sheikh Walid Al Kalam, absolute ruler of the Kingdom of Askar, had any doubts about his course of action, his body language didn't betray them. He sat perfectly still behind the shiny black and silver desk that had nothing on it but a sleek PC with three huge screens.

  He answered with tons of grace and no hesitation. "Miss Oldrich, it is best if you simply categorize this situation as an unexpected, but pleasant, extension to your vacation."

  The sheikh's amber-ringed eyes slipped slightly downward from her face. Huh. Checking out the boobs, huh?

  Of course she'd checked him out many, many times over the last week. His Majesty practically had a neon sign over his head inviting any hetero woman to check him out.

  He looked a lot like an Arabic version of her celeb crush, David Beckham, but with silver streaking through his hair at either temple, which was absolutely a good look for him. But he had the same masculine features. Strong jaw. Manly cheekbones. His nose was a bit more... distinctive than Beckham's. All the better for looking down on the plebes, she imagined.

  He had to be at least twelve years older than her twenty-five, she guessed. Despite the notable nose, that handsome face was dominated by those otherworldly gold-tinged eyes--supposedly a legacy of a mixed heritage. Mixed human and genie, that was. Legend had it that the rulers of Askar, Zallaq, and Sadad had the blood of a djinni running through their veins.

  But more important than all those together... He had the best butt she'd ever seen. Of course she couldn't see it now, but she remembered. Oh yes, no straight woman would forget a butt like that.

  It practically begged to be squeezed. Too bad squeezing it would have caused an international incident. Crap.

  His three-piece suits were always buttoned right up to the collar. Expensive suits, too, but a couple of seasons old. Normally her guy friends who were rich wore the very latest. Walid could definitely afford a stylist to keep him up to date.

  She'd never even seen him loosen his tie. And she really wanted to. Over the last week, he hadn't seemed attracted to her, but then again, with his distant "I'm above you" attitude toward everything, who could tell?

  Would have been nice to know that he was attracted to her last week, when she, her dad, and her stepmom, had arrived in Askar on this business trip. You know, before the kidnapping.

  Over the last few days, the sheikh had entertained the three of them in style. Apparently the sheikh's father had given her dad a big loan to build some a luxury hotel in Deira, Askar's capital city. The climate was great for it. Maybe a little warm, but it was a dry heat. Taxes were low, too. Done right, Deira could become the next Disney World for the very, very rich to spend all their money.

  Except... giving Winston Oldrich a huge loan was a huge mistake. Her dad hadn't become a successful entrepreneur by doing mundane things like actually paying back loans. That was just crazy talk.

  Her dad had always said he got a certain tingle hen he knew a business venture was going to succeed. No tingle for Deira's hotel, but he'd taken the money anyway, under a shell corporation, then closed down the business.

  "An extension to my vacation," she repeated, cocking her head to the side as if considering the words. Making her blonde hair fall to the side, baring her neck and one dangling, glinting Cartier diamond earring. But the sheikh's gaze snapped back to her face.

  She rolled her green eyes to the ceiling, which was painted a rich midnight blue, with gold stars. "A vacation where I get to stay in a palace."

  He leapt to her bait. "All your needs will be provided for. Merely ask and what you wish will be given to you."

  "And I won't have to do anything or talk to my family."

  The sheikh frowned slightly at the comment, but agreed. "Nothing shall be required of you. Every luxury will be available."

  "A vacation where I can just rest and zone out."

  "Exactly," confirmed the sheikh.

  "But more precisely," she insisted, "a kidnapping."

  She watched him swallow a sigh. He found her exasperating? Good. "I assure you that I have taken every precaution to make your stay as pleasant as possible. You will not be held in the dungeon or chained to my side."

  What she'd seen of the palace was beautiful, she had to admit. Postcard stuff. Taj Mahal stuff. The Red Palace, they called it. It sprawled like the word "sprawled" had been invented to describe it. Most of the buildings were actually white, but the five onion domes were tiled in scarlet that contrasted with the azure Askar sky. Four additional turrets climbed to the sky, but one of them practically reached heaven. More importantly for her right now, the wall around the place was no less than twenty feet tall. And thick. And a straight vertical climb. Probably built to keep medieval crusaders out.

  Or one American heiress in.

  "Well, if this isn't a kidnapping, I'm free to leave," she said, rising from the chair and smoothing her short, one-shouldered fish-scale sequin dress over her thighs. "I'll just go, then."

  The sheikh didn't skip a beat. "That will not be permitted."

  "You mean you won't permit it."

  Avast, maties! said a voice in her mind, but very far away.

  Uh, where had that come from? What the hell? She gave her head a tiny shake, as if to rock that weird voice loose.

  Hey, returned the voice. That hurt. Oddly, it sounded like an eleven-year-old girl, and a little closer this time.

  The sheikh narrowed his golden eyes in what seemed like genuine concern for her. "Are you well?"

  "Fine." She did her best haughty heiress voice. "Now, about this kidnapping."

  She saw the moment he gave in. Nothing changed on his face.

  "If you insist, for the moment," he conceded. "But a kidnapping that will be comfortable and pleasant for you. I urge you to, as you Americans say, 'go with it.' No one will harm you here. You have nothing to fear. You will be treated as the honored guest that you are."

  Yay for her. She'd won the argument about semantics. Except now that he'd admitted he was kidnapping her... well, he'd kidnapped her. His point of no return.

  Big mistake. She could have kept to the pleasantries. Kept him off guard. Pretended not to notice the kidnapping. Earned his trust, then skipped out on him.

  Oops.

  "If I understand, my father owes you money."

  The sheikh launched from his chair, startling her. With elegant strides, he rounded the modern desk that didn't quite jibe with the two-hundred-year-old furniture in most of the Red Palace. He came to a stop right in front of her, an arm's length away, looking down at her over his impressive nose.

  H
e smelled like the breeze that blew over Deira, salty ocean and fresh desert mixed.

  "A great deal of money, Miss Oldrich, which I cannot permit to go unpaid. It is a matter of honor."

  "My name is Noelle." She didn't have any attachment to her father's name. Much like he had no attachment to her. The loan was fifty million, if she was remembering right. And the sheikh was trying to get it back? Best of luck to him. "So he owes you money from some loan your father gave him and hasn't paid you back. So you invited him, my stepmother, and me here so that you could hold me hostage until you get your money. I take it we're not going back to the excellent supper we were having before I excused myself."

  When her dad had invited her to come along to Askar, she'd said no. She would have had an entire week away from her father and Angelique. No snide comments. No backhanded compliments. She could have stayed in San Fran with the few normal people who still hung out with her.

  When she told Elise, her friend had freaked out. Before Noelle could say she'd turned down the invitation, Elise asked for a favor. Go to Deira for me, she'd asked. Get some incredible jewelry. All I need is a reliable contact so I can import stock for my shop. Please? It'll be amazing. You have fantastic taste. I trust you.

  The oddest thing had happened. She'd felt--or thought she felt--a specific tingle. Somehow, she'd known she could do it, could make that contact for Elise and the whole venture would be a huge success. She'd just felt the frisson of energy pass through her for a millisecond. At the time she'd been sure. Now? Maybe she'd imagined the whole thing.

  She'd agreed. And had left out the part where she'd told her dad no so she could have a solo week of fun with her real friends. Elise's enthusiasm for her jewelry business was inspiring. That she wanted Noelle's help was incredible. She'd even made Noelle a copy of the legendary lost Palm of Askar as a present. The crown, which she'd reconstructed from old black-and-white photos, sat in her luggage now.

  I really should have told Elise that everything I touch dies. She swallowed back guilt at the thought of her business disasters.

  "Your stepmother?" asked the sheikh. "She was introduced to me as your mother."

  My dad likes to pretend my mom didn't exist, she didn't say. "Why didn't you take Angelique, too?" Or instead. Preferably instead.

  Taking Angelique, her French stepmother, definitely would have worked out better for His Majesty.

  "A mistress can be replaced," he informed her. "A daughter, never."

  Why her dad hadn't married Angelique was a good question. After all, they'd been together for twenty-five years. Since a month after Noelle had been born. A month after her mom had died.

  A month. Not a long time to grieve a wife. And no one could miss the fact that Noelle had somehow ended up with a French name.

  The sheikh reached toward her--and she froze in place, a vision of him pulling her to his hard body filling her head. But he didn't grab her. He grabbed her silver-beaded clutch right off her lap.

  It was in his hand before she could react.

  "Hey," she cried, jumping from her chair and lunging for the purse. He raised it above his head--far out of her reach. She grabbed for it even though some part of her recognized he would win this game of Keep Away. Even with three-inch heels on, she was nowhere near his height.

  "Give that back," she demanded, clawing at the sleeve of his suit, trying anything to pull his arm down.

  His body went still. Even more still than usual.

  Which she could tell because she wasn't just looking at that body. She had full-on pressed herself against him. One of her hands grasped the small of his back, steadying herself as she stood on her tiptoes. She felt solid thighs against her own, was squishing her C-cups against a chest hard as his palace's marble walls.

  That spectacular butt was totally in squeezing distance. She just had to move one hand a few inches down to give him the royal grope of a lifetime.

  For a second, that idea seemed like the best one she'd ever had.

  Instead, she jumped back, refraining from making sexual advances on the man who held her hostage.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. Don't blush, don't blush, don't blush, she ordered herself. From the heat she felt rising in her cheeks, it wasn't working.

  Without a word, he flicked open the snap of her bag and slipped her iPhone into his inside jacket pocket.

  She set her jaw. With any luck, he'd mistake her blush for a creeping red rage.

  He pulled out another item, which made him narrow one golden-rimmed eye. "I will keep this as well."

  "It's a Kindle. Just for reading books. I can't call anyone on it." She was finally smartening up because that was a total lie. The Paperwhite 3G had an experimental browser and could connect anywhere. She could have used it to email for help.

  Who could actually help her at this point, she hadn't worked out.

  "Nonetheless," he said, seemingly unaffected by their touch, "I believe I shall take it. To be safe."

  She put on a pout. If he saw her as dumber than she was, maybe that was a good thing. "But I was in the middle of The Earl with the Dragon Tattoo. It's an ebook."

  "Whatever reading material you require shall be provided for you," he informed her. "Please let my staff know what you desire."

  Ask for something about pirates, insisted that weird voice in her head.

  "Cosmo," she said. "Vogue. Nothing too depressing."

  "I will see to it." He nodded. "You will have every convenience while you are here, I assure you. I trust your father will fulfill his obligations and your stay will be of short duration. Your cooperation will make this situation easier for both of us, Miss Oldrich."

  "Noelle," she reminded him, forcing a smile. "Emphasis on the No."

  "Noelle," he responded, before calling for a guard to take her to her new chambers.

  He left her alone to wait for her escort. She refrained from throwing his computer through one of his massive windows. But she had no intention of making this situation easier for him.

  Keelhaul the scurvy swab! shouted the voice in her head, for some reason.

  *****

  As gilded cages went, this one was more gilded than most, Noelle noted. It looked exactly like guest apartments in a Middle Eastern palace built in the Middle Ages should look. A small sitting area centered on a fireplace over there--though she doubted she'd need a fire anytime soon. Over the fireplace was a huge, slightly curved big-screen TV. The coffee table held a domed silver platter on it--a high-class doggie bag from the interrupted dinner, she guessed. Soft carpets with fascinating, intricate multicolored designs protected her feet from the cool marble floor. A stainless steel bar fridge with cold water and snacks sat behind the door that led to the hallway.

  She didn't have an issue with anything inside the room. It was more than she would have asked for. But the door to the hallway came accessorized with two guards outside it.

  Two burly guards with firearms and nightsticks. Female guards. Had the sheikh expected her to try to sex her way out of this one? Hmmph. He'd prepped for the possibility, anyway.

  But the sheikh made one critical mistake. His whole plan orbited the idea that her father would pay her ransom.

  Apparently Walid had never considered the possibility that her dad just did not have a shit to give about her. Maybe half a shit. Enough to want her under his thumb for the rest of his life. Compare that to having to pay money to get her back? Winston Oldrich would take the money. Every time.

  She had to face it. No one was coming for her.

  She unzipped her booties and stepped out of them. Ah. That was better. Another door led off to the right. Since she didn't see a bed, it must be through there. Might as well check it out. After all, she'd just taken up residence. At least until the sheikh figured out her dad wasn't going to give even one cent to get his daughter back.

  No ransom would be paid. No one was coming for her. She'd never get out of her with no one to help her.

  There's me. Don't for
get about me!

  Noelle put her hand over her eyes. What the hell? That voice in her head again. This was a terrible time to go crazy. Not that there was ever a good time to lose your sanity. But suddenly developing head voices when you were deep in hostile enemy territory? Not helping.

  You know what? She wasn't hearing voices, she decided. Definitely not. Nope. No voices. She took a deep pull of air into her lungs and let it out again.

  Then she listened. This time, she only heard the soft sway of the air conditioning coming through the vents. Not a voice in hearing range. Certainly not one between her ears that sounded like a little girl playing at being a sailor.

  Good. She might not have her phone or Kindle, but at least she had her sanity.

  On the other side of the door she found where she was supposed to sleep. A comfy-looking bed with a modern leather headboard on a raised platform. Sliding glass doors led to a marble balcony on one side. On the other, she noted a full en suite bathroom with jets in the tub. Nothing too impressive for a girl who spent most of her life in daddy's hotels.

  Out of curiosity, she opened the walk-in closet to find that a wardrobe had been provided for her. Her wardrobe, in fact, right down to the running shoes her stepmother hated.

  She couldn't help nodding in appreciation of the sheikh's attention to detail. Though with a country full of people to carry out his orders, it couldn't have been that hard to get someone to steal her clothes from her hotel room and bring them here.

  He probably thought it would make her more comfortable. She couldn't have felt more violated.

  The copy of the crown with the Palm of Askar that Elise had made her sat on a low table in front of the couch, she noted. It had been moved out of her luggage.

  She got out of her dress and into some Lululemon loungewear, trying not to think of some unknown person's hands all over her stuff. Ugh.