The Desert Princes. Jackie Braun

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СКАЧАТЬ interesting to see which half of him won through in the end.

      He drew into the extensive car park, where a valet was waiting to park the car. ‘Money?’ he prompted, before Casey got out. He was still prepared to help her, but she had plumbed the pockets of her jeans, coming up with a handful of screwed-up notes and some spare change, which she now showed him. He stared at it dubiously. ‘Are you sure that’s enough?’

      ‘It’s plenty for what I need,’ she told him, jutting out her chin. ‘It’s more than I usually spend…’

      He raised a brow and said nothing.

      He followed her inside as his silent guards peeled out of the following cars. This was a first for them, he mused as he left the order of the car park behind for the bustle and glamour of an up-market mall. He motioned his guards to remain in the background as Casey consulted the mall guide. Having looked around to get her bearings, she headed off.

      He followed her with interest. Shopping malls in A’Qaban were for exclusive labels only. Most of the shops didn’t reveal anything so vulgar as the cost of an article, and though personally he hated floating prices, with increasing wealth they had become a fact of life in the country. The general consensus was, if you had to ask the price, chances were you couldn’t afford it. To him that was not only insulting, but open to misuse, allowing prices to be thought up on a whim. It was on his list of things to change—but not today, because this was Casey Michaels’s day and his concerns were all for her.

      He had brought Casey to A’Qaban to test her business acumen, not to humiliate her, he reminded himself, staying right behind her. If it got anywhere close to that, he’d step in.

      He waited in the shadows of the first boutique to see how she got on. The shop specialised in clothes he thought far too old for her. As he had feared, the misnamed ‘assistants’ were dismissive of Casey, and barely looked her way as she searched the rails. He felt insulted and angry on her behalf. He wasn’t surprised to see a photograph of the late Sheikh, a distant relative of his, still hanging on the wall. Attitudes here were still in the Dark Ages. He intended A’Qaban to be a country of equal opportunity, where everyone would be treated with respect. The employees here had some shocks in store when that happened, but for now Casey was stuck with the ancient regime, and it pained him to see her embarrassment when she came out of the shop.

      ‘I’m sorry to keep you, Raffa, but there’s nothing I like in here.’

      ‘Don’t apologise.’ Seeing her face fall, and knowing she couldn’t afford anything in the shop, he nudged Casey into the shadows, where no one could see what they were doing.

      She turned her face up to him, staring at him warily.

      ‘Call it an advance on your wages,’ he murmured, wanting to save her pride.

      ‘No…Please…’

      Her tiny hand pushed his away as he tried in vain to pass a wad of banknotes to her.

      ‘I mean it, Raffa. Please don’t…’

      He eased back, respecting her position, and had to satisfy himself with a raised brow at the snooty manageress as they left the shop.

      Seeing his face clearly in the light, the woman blenched.

      Without a word of complaint Casey headed for the next shop, but when she was shown the same lack of attention he decided he must put her out of her misery.

      ‘No, really—I’ve learned a lot,’ she explained when he again drew her to one side.

      Such as she couldn’t afford anything in A’Qaban? Such as people without enough money got snubbed here? That wasn’t what he wanted for his country. He felt ashamed, and was already reaching for his wallet again when Casey’s face suddenly lit up.

      ‘Ah, that’s what I need,’ she exclaimed, heading off in the direction of a well-stocked stationery shop.

      ‘Don’t get distracted,’ he warned. He was sympathetic, but he’d brought her here for a purpose, not for a protracted shopping trip.

      ‘Will you wait outside for me?’

      He ground his jaw. He could understand she wouldn’t want him witnessing any more embarrassing situations, but now was not the time to be searching for a postcard home. ‘Will you please take some money from me and get whatever it is you need?’

      ‘I won’t need a lot of money for this,’ she informed him.

      Intrigued, he followed her into the shop, where she bought a clipboard and a pen. ‘That’s it?’ he said as she paid for them.

      ‘What more do I need?’

      ‘Do you intend wearing them?’ he asked dryly.

      Casey’s response was to press back against the counter, clutching her purchases to her breast like a shield.

      ‘That was a joke?’ he prompted lightly.

      ‘Of course I don’t intend wearing them.’

      She acted bold, but not for the first time he sensed her fear of him as a man. It was raw and very real to her, and it made him curious, but for now he stepped away. The last thing on his mind was to intimidate her.

      ‘Will you come with me?’ she said, as if concerned she’d tried his patience too far.

      ‘Lead the way…’ He made a gesture for her to go first, noticing her lips were parted and her gaze was fixed on him. And she was breathing too fast. She was a lot more innocent than he could ever have imagined, but she was aroused.

      She was vulnerable, he told himself sternly as she walked past, and as such Casey Michaels was untouchable.

      He matched his stride to her shorter one, keen to see where this was going. He waved his guards away when they threatened to get in her way. She was retracing her steps, he noticed with interest, heading back to the first shop. He waited while she went inside. He waited with rather less forbearance when the same snooty assistants were rude to her again. They ignored her. Or at least they ignored her for the first five minutes—after which they paid her a lot more attention. Perhaps that had something to do with the fact that Casey had taken up a position in the centre of their store and was using her clipboard to write down what appeared to be a detailed inventory of their stock.

      ‘Can I help you?’ the assistant detailed to apprehend Casey demanded.

      ‘No, thank you,’ Casey replied politely. ‘But I’m pretty sure I can help you.’

      Botoxed brows rose as far as they were able.

      His ears pricked up. He took a step forward and had to curb his impatience to step in. If the woman saw him, whatever project Casey had embarked on would be sunk.

      ‘Actually,’ Casey continued in the same pleasant and confiding tone, ‘I’m conducting a survey for Sheikh Rafik al Rafar bin Haktari on the level of service customers receive in his stores.’ As the woman tensed, she added, ‘The Sheikh does own this boutique, I believe?’

      ‘Together with every other shop in the mall,’ the assistant confirmed, in a voice that not only lacked its former sneer but had gained a wobble.

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