Undressed by the Boss. Nicola Marsh

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ indicated with a wave of his hand that she should continue.

      A box of water-purifying tablets, six tubes of salt tablets, and an industrial-sized tub of insect repellent, along with a first-aid kit.

      ‘And a map?’ he pressed.

      ‘Of course …’ She produced the map, safely contained in a plastic cover to prevent it getting wet or ripped. ‘And a compass.’

      She was rewarded by the smallest tug of Raffa’s lips.

      ‘And the bulge?’

      She dearly wanted to look at his bulge, but managed not to. ‘My spare clothes.’

      ‘A business suit?’

      Not unless it was a grow-your-own-business suit, stowed in a water canister … ‘Unfortunately, no.’

      ‘Well, fortunately …’ The word was laced with ironic emphasis ‘ … we have shops here.’

      A flood of heat rushed to Casey’s face. ‘If I’d known I was coming to the city I would have packed differently.’ She froze. Judging by the expression on Raffa’s face, no one ever interrupted him. Which raised another problem. Reining herself in she could do. Changing her personality completely in the short time available was going to prove a little more difficult.

      Raffa’s powerful shoulders eased in a shrug. ‘I wanted you here,’ he said, as if that were the only explanation necessary. But it was not the end of her frustration. Raffa was just so aggravatingly nonchalant, while she was …

      So out of her depth in his presence?

      It wasn’t her business sense letting her down now, but the tension crackling between them.

      ‘You can pack everything away,’ Raffa said, providing her with a welcome distraction. ‘I’m satisfied you are as prepared as you could be for the desert …’

      Inwardly, she cheered. Thank goodness he hadn’t asked her to dig any deeper and reveal the six sets of sensible underwear, the rape alarm, and the condoms her ever-practical if misguided mother had insisted she must pack.

      He brooded as he watched Casey pack away her belongings. Her qualifications were good on paper, her work ethic unquestioned, but he needed more than that. The person who would eventually lead his marketing team must show total commitment to A’Qaban, and be a questing, innovative, initiative-seizing individual, capable of working solo and producing results without requiring constant monitoring or supervision.

      His gaze swept over Casey again. Her outfit was outlandish, almost comical, but somehow she managed to pull it off. The combination of naivety and absolute determination gave her an unaffected charm—though he suspected she could be stubborn, given half a chance.

      He’d take that as a plus, he decided, though she would have to be prepared to travel as and when required, and adapt to changing itineraries if necessary. She would also have to cope with the interior. He’d had the last candidate airlifted out when they couldn’t hack it, and until he was sure of Casey she was staying in the city.

      The question was, could she cope with anything more rigorous than a sanitised desert kingdom? He was quite keen to find out, and found himself silently urging her on.

       Come on, Casey Michaels, show me what you’ve got…

      She was tired from the travelling and shaken up by the speed of events. And by Rafik al Rafar.

      By him mostly.

      She held him entirely responsible.

      She could even identify, with a nose well trained at the perfume counter of countless department stores, each ingredient in his exotic cologne: vanilla—an aphrodisiac, sandalwood—a sultry spice, and—

      ‘Shall we go?’ he prompted. ‘Casey?’ Dipping his head, he gave her a disturbingly direct stare. ‘I’m going to take you to your hotel to drop your bag,’ he said, ‘and then—’

      Her face flamed red with embarrassment. She was twenty-five years old and didn’t possess a single atom of know-how when it came to men.

      ‘Then I’ll buy you a suit,’ he said, rather disappointingly.

      ‘You don’t need to. I—’

      ‘Never accept gifts from men?’ He raised one sweeping brow.

      ‘I’ve got money with me.’

      He shrugged. ‘If you prefer to pay, that’s okay with me.’

      She was still staring into his eyes like an obedient puppy, Casey realized—something it was all too easy to do.

      Holding the door, Raffa was waiting for her. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

      Raffa paused just in front of the main exit doors leading from the concourse. His guards, anticipating this, stopped instantly and stood to attention.

      ‘Welcome to A’Qaban,’ he said to Casey. ‘My country is your country for the next few days.’

      Heat was sweeping over her in waves. It had nothing to do with the brilliant sunshine. She felt so grubby and travel-stained compared to Raffa, who was coolness personified. His gaze was measured as he looked at her, and faintly amused. She felt under a scrutiny from which she suspected there would be no let-up while she was in A’Qaban. It was impossible not to feel honoured by the pledge he’d just made her, and also impossible not to feel very much threatened on the personal front. It was as if her very womanhood was on the line. It shouldn’t matter to her if that was found wanting just so long as she landed this job—but it did matter; it mattered far more than it should have done.

      He gestured towards the limousine that had pulled up at the curb. ‘Let me take your backpack for you.’

      ‘That’s very kind of you.’

      ‘I don’t do kind.’

      Blunt words that for some reason made her quiver all over.

      Raffa’s fierce fighting men had formed a private corridor in order for them to make the short transit from the airport doors to the royal vehicle. It had blacked out windows—a hermetically sealed chamber lined in softest kidskin, where she would be shut off from the world.

      Panicking, she held back. Overheating, she dragged off her unbecoming hat.

      ‘You should wait until you are under cover,’ Raffa warned as she shook out her hair. ‘The sun is deceptively strong. While you are in A’Qaban you must take every opportunity to avoid the heat.’ But the heat was all in his eyes.

      CHAPTER THREE

      HE FELT Casey next to him on the seat of the limousine like a lick of flame on a heart turned cold. So many women; so few memories—or at least none he cared to keep. Perhaps that was why he was so cynical. He had planned to turn around his country in the same way he’d turn around a business—with balance sheets, boardroom battles and cold, hard fact. The possibility that there might be something missing from that scheme had never occurred СКАЧАТЬ