The Sheikh's Forbidden Mistress Read online

  “Because my father made many enemies with his scams. I haven’t done that, and I don’t intend to. I plan to be head of my company for at least forty or fifty years to come.”

  “Yes, there are often eighty-year-old men who run empires, my sheikh,” Omar replied, grinning back at him. “You get to your fifties and then tell me how ready you are to do this for another thirty years. I can already tell you that it’s far from fun. You have no idea how many muscles and joints you have until they start aching with gout and age.”

  “I don’t see how any of this applies to Miss Yoder. She’s going to stay three months and head back to America. If she’s late today, then she wins a free trip back to the United States even faster,” he replied.

  “I didn’t necessarily say it did,” Omar added, trying to pat at his shirt, even as coffee splashed onto it. “Then again, my sheikh, I never said it didn’t either.”

  “If this was all some sort of sad attempt at matchmaking, then old friend, you need to realize that I don’t appreciate it. I would have nothing in common with an American, especially one who can’t tell time.”

  Omar grinned and stood. “You see what you want to see, Barakaa. All I know is that you’ve run out of time to merely be a playboy, and that you’ve only seen Trudy when she’s made a mistake. She’s quite bright and talented. I think you need to give her the benefit of the doubt, and then I know you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

  “And all I need is an assistant. Nothing else need apply.”

  “Then I suppose you’re doomed to make many mistakes, perhaps more than even your father.”

  Shaking his head, Barakaa pointed back to the door. The clock on the wall indicated that the girl in question only had five minutes to show up before she was no longer a factor anyway. “Omar, don’t abuse the relationship we have. You’re a dear friend and a mentor, but that doesn’t mean you get to make all my choices for me or imply you think I’m wasting my time.”

  Omar stood and set his mug down. As he rubbed at the wrinkles on his pants, he left honey stuck to the fabric from his sweet breads. “No, I assume that spending time with Miss Fairuza doesn’t feel like a waste.”

  “I only see her sometimes.”

  “Fine, the casual relations may be fun, my sheikh, but that only lasts for so long. Take it from one lonely old man who’s never had a family of his own. Fun fades, but blood ties never do.” With that, Omar scurried out the door.

  Leaving Barakaa to focus back on his work.

  * * *

  This time, Miss Yoder had worn pants.

  Despite his frustration with her performance yesterday, Barakaa had to admit he appreciated how quick she was to adjust. She arrived at work at 7:43 a.m. and was attired in such a way that she wouldn’t risk showing him anything untoward. Oddly, a tiny part of him was disappointed by that revelation. While most of him was responsible and concerned with propriety during work hours, there was also a part of him that was intrigued by the curvy blonde with indigo eyes. She was quiet and polite, but clearly spooked by his words yesterday. So far, Trudy had redeemed herself today, and he had to admit that she was both good at making coffee and a diligent note taker.

  Still, there was this other side of her he’d glimpsed—that surprising bit of spine. Most of his assistants would have folded the second he accosted them, but Trudy had been polite but firm yesterday. She hadn’t allowed him to walk all over her. He found that intriguing.

  It was more than he could say for most women he met these days.

  All that aside, he wished she’d worn a skirt again. They rode together in his limo, drawing closer to Zahra, the most elegant restaurant in the city. He’d picked the place, as he wanted the city officials to feel like they were his honored guests. In the past, he’d found if he wined and dined representatives, they often gave him better deals. The Zahra was now a bit of a good luck charm for him, the place where his last five deals had been finalized with more than favorable terms. Eyes straying to Trudy’s legs again, he licked his lips and recalled the pale expanse of white, creamy skin he’d glimpsed yesterday.

  Yes, there was something gorgeous there, something he’d almost taste and pursue, if only she weren’t his assistant.

  He wanted to keep up propriety, and he’d never dated an American before. It wasn’t that he was averse to it, but he’d always loved to, ahem, taste the wares of the women of Dubai. But, even now, he found himself inching toward her, his hands aching to touch her.

  “Sheikh Tahan?” she asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you still upset with me?” she asked, her tone calm but he could see the way her lip was trembling just a bit.

  “If I were still angry with you, Miss Yoder, then you’d know,” he said, leaning over her. Setting his hand on her knee, Barakaa gauged her reaction. While she stared down at his hand with wide eyes, so like a doll’s, she wasn’t moving away from him either. “Everyone always knows when I’m furious with them. Let me put it this way—I believe in utter transparency. I promise you that you’ll always know where I stand, and I expect the same from you.”

  She swallowed. “And what is it you want from me?”

  “To help with the documents as I instruct. This is a very simple task. Omar is following up with the best bids in person today, so you will be responsible for the documents. Can I trust you to get that much right?” he demanded, squeezing her knee and then moving a bit up her thigh, feeling the flesh so soft and tender beneath his grip.

  Careful, don’t fall for her. Never prove Omar right. Besides, she’s not for you, she’s too naïve.

  Trudy looked back at him, and her eyes were indigo like the stripe of a rainbow and equally as haunting. It made his length grow rigid instantly, and he had rarely had a woman affect him like this before.

  Have some restraint, man.

  “Well, Miss Yoder?”

  She licked her lips, that perfect Cupid’s bow mouth so close to his own. Had the temperature in the limo gone up since the journey had started? “I hope to be of service, sir. I know I can do better than I did yesterday,” she said, quickly hopping out once they pulled up to Zahra. She moved so fast he almost toppled over when she was gone.

  * * *

  Trudy had no idea what was going on. It had to be about her misreading signals. That was the only explanation. Sonia had put ideas in her head, teasing her about her “insufferable” boss, but he’d touched her knee and then massaged at her thigh. Surely she hadn’t misinterpreted that. Sheikh Tahan wanted more from her than just an efficient assistant.

  But that was too much for her.

  I need to have a good reputation, and I can’t do that with him…with us.

  She pushed those thoughts away as she entered the restaurant. Her Arabic was coming along well. After all, she’d had three semesters of it, and she had been practicing it abundantly since moving to Dubai officially a week ago. She wasn’t fluent, but had told Omar she was conversational, and it was true. In fact, she felt like she’d learned more within the last few days of having to use it twelve hours a day with vendors and moving men than she had with long months of classes back at Oklahoma University.

  Sheikh Tahan was soon coming up next to her at the hostess’s desk. He placed a strong hand on her shoulder and gripped her firmly. Heat flared in her belly and her cheeks flushed as she felt something hard against her hips. Although Trudy was a virgin and painfully inexperienced, she had no doubt what that was.

  Is he staking a claim here with me? Why aren’t I angrier about this?

  The hostess, her eyes rimmed with thick kohl, nodded and took them back to a private room. Trudy’s eyes went wide at the scene before her, the gorgeous china and the sumptuous silk drapes. The food—a massive rack of lamb and spiced couscous—was laid out before them. They were the last to arrive, and the rest of the businessmen were already seated around the table. Reaching up, she adjusted the hijab she’d put on just outside the restaurant’s doors. Dub
ai was a mecca for commerce and pleasure, but it still had citizens in it who respected the old rules. She wanted to do her best to appear professional before the city’s officials. After all, one of them might have appreciated her hair covered up and her attempts to be more traditional.

  Bowing low, she waited until everyone else had taken their seats and then took her own. Sheikh Tahan was responsible for doing the main work. Her Arabic was solid, but she hadn’t taken any classes in Arabic specifically geared towards business meetings. She’d sometimes get lost a bit in the flow of discussion, but to be fair she was an engineer, not an expert on city ordinances. Hopefully she’d know far more about these laws when she left, and that would be another arrow in her quiver for a full job hunt. Anything she’d be familiar with in the Middle East when dealing with oil would be an advantage to a potential boss. However, she was able to follow along well, to understand the pace of the conversation. With a polite smile or nod toward the officials, Trudy was able to placate them.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have worried so much about her second day.

  Dubai was more progressive than most places, that was true, but she was still a woman in the Middle East. It seemed that the businessmen and officials still preferred that she be seen and not heard. Honestly, that was not much different than her life back on the farm—she was told to always be present, but unseen, to keep your dress modest, and to never tempt a man. Yet, she seemed to be doing exactly that somehow, and had managed to capture the attention of this Dubai sheikh.

  It was possibly the most insane thing she’d ever seen.

  Things like this never happened to her.

  She was Gertrude Yoder, the shunned, the girl who had disappointed her whole family for her freedom. She was Gertrude Yoder, engineering student, who had spent four years in the darkest subbasement of the school library. How could she ever be anything more, especially when she was so scared?

  Besides, Sonia just stoked your imagination. You’re looking for signs that aren’t there. You shouldn’t do that; it’ll only be embarrassing.

  “Ahem, Miss Yoder, can you give the esteemed council the final set of documents in your case?” her boss asked.

  She nodded and pulled out the contract files. Then she spoke.

  She immediately wished she hadn’t. She wanted to dig her way out of the room with a spoon, except this restaurant didn’t even have that.

  * * *

  The entire council was gaping at Trudy, and Barakaa had to work hard and maneuver with all his skill to apologize for his assistant. She’d obviously been trying, but she’d said something about signing that hadn’t come across correctly, misused a term that could be considered something very filthy in Dubai slang. Now every man at the table looked green and clammy, and he had to assure them she hadn’t meant it.

  Turning to her, Barakaa was very deliberate with what he said, enunciating the English as specifically as he could. “That was not the correct way to say that in Dubai. I need you to go and get some fresh air, right now. I can handle this.”

  I never should have brought her. I should have forced Omar’s meetings to tomorrow.

  His assistant’s indigo eyes were watering, already filling up with tears. Barakaa had no time for that if he was going to ensure the future of his drilling. “Go,” then he turned to the city council and tap danced with all the skill he could muster. Slipping back into Arabic, he apologized for his American, after all, the others knew how women were. It made his tongue taste bitter to say such things, since overall he’d seen the work Trudy had done for Omar and so far for him. To be fair, Arabic was nuanced and it, like any language, had differing slang in different places. She couldn’t have known that what she had added as a thank you had been warped by the local customs and conversations of Dubai.

  If only she’d just passed the papers like he’d asked.

  Well, he’d have to teach her later, should he keep her around, that there were things to understand when working for a sheikh and the first thing was to follow his every order to the exact letter. Once everything was signed, he signaled the waitress over for extra tea and sweets, knowing full well that Old Asam was adherent. If he couldn’t calm the angered city council reps with libations, then the least he could do was plie them with sugar.

  It gave him a few minutes before he had to shake hands fully, enough time to sneak out to the main part of the restaurant and find Miss Yoder. She’d made a grave mistake, and even he wasn’t sure exactly what to do with her. Maybe he could demote her to working solely under Omar, but then those eyes were so piercing and those white, creamy thighs of hers so tantalizing that Barakaa wasn’t sure that he could bring himself to do that either.

  Rushing into the main hall, he spoke to the hostess. It surprised him when she didn’t point to a table but to a door leading to the outside. Shaking his head, he headed through, still unsure of what he was going to do, but understanding that whatever it was, she had to understand there were costs for embarrassing a sheikh.

  He found Trudy leaning up against a wall and crying, tears rolling down her cheeks. “You speak Arabic, don’t you?”

  “What they taught me in school. I had no idea that it was so inappropriate. Believe me,” she said, her voice wavering, those indigo eyes so wide and frightened. “If I could take it back I would. Shoot, if I could get back to America, I’d do that too. I know you’re only coming out here to tell me to clean up my things and get unpacked from my apartment. I’m sure you’ll find another intern to fill the spot.”

  Barakaa nodded. Then he stalked over to her and loomed over her. “I don’t want you to go. I just don’t think that I can take you anywhere, Miss Yoder,” he said, leaning lower and whispering in her ear. That pretty, pink skin was so close that it was easy to get within millimeters, to whisper all the promises he wanted to utter to her. “You need to learn more about how to be disciplined, about control and other things.”

  She stilled and glared back at him, her indigo eyes blazing like purple fire. “Don’t play with me. If I’ve messed up, then I’ve messed up. Fire me, but don’t make this about…about you know,” she hissed.

  He leaned close enough to nibble at her earlobe and then kiss his way down her throat, his tongue laving over her pulse point. Trudy was still underneath his ministrations, neither encouraging him nor trying to run away. Not that he was worried. Women had never resisted him before. He was Sheikh Barakaa Tahan, and everyone fell at his feet, as was his wont.

  Coming to her lips, he first traced the delicate skin with his fingers before leaning forward to kiss her. His tongue tasted hers for the first time, and he relished the hints of honey still on her breath from the date rolls and other treats that had been served at the luncheon. She resisted at first, her body rigid against his, but then he brought his hands lower, until he could grip and squeeze the soft, ample mounds of her ass.

  Their tongues danced for dominance, hers as hungry as his, and he grew hard with the mewling sounds erupting from her throat. Even under the scorching heat of the Dubai sun, he felt cool and collected, as if the taste of her was a cure for his frustrations, for the chaos and annoyance of the day. He loved how she tasted, how she felt, even the scent of strawberries that clung to her skin.

  Damn it. That means Omar was right about me all along.

  That sobered him. He’d never been inappropriate with an employee before, let alone with an intern barely out of college. Pulling back, Barakaa straightened his tie and frowned down at her. “I don’t want you to quit, Miss Yoder. I just want you to do better.”

  She touched her lips with her right hand, and Trudy was gasping before him as if she’d run a marathon. He could see the beats of sweat on her brows and was confident they had everything to do with him and nothing to do with the heat of the desert afternoon. “I…what was that?”

  “That was me taking what I want,” he concluded. “Welcome to Tahan Oil Subsidiaries.”

  Chapter Three

  “You look more rattled than I’ve
ever seen you,” Sonia said, even as she kept applying the mud facial to herself. “I have this horrible feeling that ‘insufferable’ went from meaning close enough to that to being completely trapped on a runaway train. Tell me what happened.”

  Trudy leaned back in her desk chair and rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hands. Maybe she didn’t look like a complete wreck with her red, swollen eyes and puffy cheeks, but she wasn’t sure that was possible. She’d fled the alley after the kiss. No, it wasn’t a kiss. It was a full make out session, and her body had responded just as readily. Her heart had beaten a rapid tattoo in her chest, her breath coming in quick hitches, and heat flaring through her in ways she’d never really experienced before.

  It was certainly nothing she’d learned about back on the farm in Pennsylvania. It was something for the English, for girls who had never stayed so pure and chaste.

  Trudy shook those thoughts from her head, and tried to focus on her cousin who was frowning back at her.

  Get a grip, Trudy. He’s your boss, and you blew it today with the reps. What was I even thinking? Of course three semesters of Arabic weren’t enough!

  “Gertrude Anna Yoder!” Sonia snapped, waving a mud crusted hand in front of camera. “You snap out of this. Seriously, I was joking, mostly, but you’re really starting to scare me.”

  Blinking back at her cousin—her entire lifeline to the world—Trudy sighed. Nibbling on her lower lip, she pulled her knees up to her chest. Maybe that would protect her.

  “Today was worse than yesterday.”

  Sonia cooed back at her. “Ah, cuz, does that mean you were late and lost the internship? If they hold not being able to navigate Dubai like a pro after the first two days against you, then they’re not the place for you anyway. Just come home.”