# To Catch a Sheikh

Teresa Southwick

And practical-minded Penelope Doyle had yet to find one who didn't turn into a toad at the first lip lock. But when the worst of the bunch stole her heart and her seed money, she vowed she would never again pursue a fairy tale.Even after she accepted a job in El Zafir and met her new boss, Rafiq Hassan, a truly splendid prince whose magnetism certainly made her want to believe in true love, in spite of the facts. Surely, a handsome sheik would never look twice at a plain American girl, no matter how smart or talented.But then…he kissed her.

## Rafiq. A rakish name. It suited him.

He was very good-looking. His face was a composition of high cheekbones, straight nose and square jaw that came dangerously close to male perfection. Broad shoulders and a wide chest fit his tall body. His sinfully expensive suit highlighted lean, masculine strength.

She’s always thought Texas cowboys were the standard of male appeal. Prince Rafiq Hassan just upped the benchmark. She had the heart palpitations, weak knees and sweaty palms to prove it.

“May I come in?” he asked.

“Of course.” She pulled the door wide and stood back, allowing him entrance.

He looked at her. “You’ve changed your clothes.”

She followed his glance to her bare feet, jeans and Don’t Mess With Texas T-shirt. When she met his gaze again, it contained a spark of…something she didn’t understand. And she could only think of one word to describe his black eyes.

Smoldering.

## To Catch a Sheikh. Teresa Southwick


www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Susan Mallery, many thanks for your invaluable assistance and patient encouragement.

## TERESA SOUTHWICK

lives in Southern California with her hero husband who is more than happy to share with her the male point of view. An avid fan of romance novels, she is delighted to be living out her dream of writing for Silhouette Books. Teresa has also written historical romances under the same name.


## Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

## Chapter One

Penelope Colleen Doyle didn’t believe in fairy tales. She put no faith in the idea that kissing a frog would create a handsome prince. In fact, the only guys she kissed stayed frogs—or worse—turned into toads. But walking through the royal palace of El Zafir certainly made her want to believe.

“Are we almost there?”

She posed the question to her dark-eyed, olive-skinned guide.

“Yes, miss,” he said in a softly accented voice. He glanced over his shoulder. “We are nearly there.”

She’d forgotten his name. Normally, she had an excellent memory, but nothing about this situation was normal. This was El Zafir—the land of magic, enchantment and romance. She was in the royal palace, with perfectly shined marble hallways, graceful arched doorways and rooms filled with priceless furnishings. But as she put one sensible, low-heeled shoe in front of the other, she had the most absurd desire to leave a trail of cracker crumbs. Just in case she needed to retrace her steps through the maze that was the royal palace.

It was the royal palace, for goodness’ sake! But even the panic-induced adrenaline rush produced by that thought couldn’t pick up the slack when a body hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. Crossing numerous time zones tended to take the starch out of a girl. At this moment, she felt as if she’d walked every step of the way from the U.S. of A.

They rounded a corner and stopped before impressive mahogany double doors. The ceiling was so high, the awesome barrier reminded her of a scene from the King Kong movie where the humongous gates were supposed to keep out the giant ape. She was no ape and at five feet one and a half inches, certainly no giant.

“This is the business wing of the palace,” her guide explained.

“Is there a map I could use to get my bearings?” she asked. “Something with an X that says you are here and a general layout of the rest of the palace?”

“No, miss.”

The man didn’t crack a smile, not even the barest flicker. If no one in this small but up-and-coming, oil-rich country had a sense of humor, it was going to be a long two years.

He pushed open the right door, revealing a carpeted hall forming a T at the end. Berber carpet if her limited knowledge of fine furnishings could be trusted.

“Follow me, miss.”

“Okay.”

Like it would occur to her to strike out on her own. She could be lost for days. They’d have to send a search party to look for her. Was there search and rescue in El Zafir?

Her guide walked past several doors, then turned to his right and went through an open door into an office. The room was bigger than her apartment back home. Granted, her apartment was small. But this was awfully Texas-sized for an office.

He held out his hand, indicating the leather love seat against the wall. “Sit. You’ll receive instruction regarding your duties presently.”

“From Princess Farrah Hassan?”

“No.”

Then from whom, she wanted to ask, looking around for a clue. She wouldn’t have to guess if the doors had nameplates. You’d think a wealthy nation could find a couple bucks for that.

Without further explanation, her guide turned and left the room. She looked around again, and her jangled nerves kicked up quite a ruckus. Apparently the butterflies in her stomach didn’t need it, but the rest of her could certainly use a blast of caffeine.

She didn’t see coffee but everything else about the place was pretty darned intimidating. In front of her stood a U-shaped cherry-wood desk, polished to such a shine she could use it for a mirror to do her hair. Although twisting her waist-length hair into a knot at the back of her head was a simple matter and didn’t require visual aids. The desk held a computer with printer, scanner and fax machine. Behind it, next to the wall, was a copier. She wondered if all the offices were as well equipped. Or did everyone in the business wing use these machines? If this was the tech center, it made sense that this was where her job orientation would take place.

Then she noticed a closed door to her right. Maybe there was coffee behind it. She could knock and poke her head in to ask. Nope. She’d been ordered to wait and wait she would. With a weary sigh, she sat on the love seat. A second later she sighed for a very different reason. Never in her life had she felt such supple softness. Who knew leather wasn’t cold and could feel so fabulously luxurious? She settled in to wait for orders and struggled to keep her eyes open.

Rafiq Hassan, Prince of El Zafir, Minister of Domestic and Foreign Affairs, opened his office door to confer with his secretary. The empty desk reminded him he had no secretary. First thing that morning the efficient young man had been appropriated by his father, King Gamil. His aunt Farrah had promised to send a replacement. Glancing to his left, he saw a young woman sitting on the couch. Sitting was too active a word. Slumped would be more to the point. Was this his substitute?

He walked over and looked down at her. She was dressed in a shapeless khaki dress that covered her from the neck to below her knees, leaving visible her very shapely ankles. Low-heeled shoes covered her feet. She could have been a child except that there was the suggestion of a bosom filling out the bodice of the unflattering garment. She was quite small, he noticed. Unfortunately, the ugly, black-rimmed glasses on her oval face were not.

At the moment she didn’t need the spectacles, because her eyes were closed. He was reminded of the American story, the one of Goldilocks that he’d read to his niece and nephew. Her hair was golden, and she was sound asleep. Did that make him one of the three bears? His two brothers, Fariq and Kamal, would no doubt be less than flattered at being compared to American bears. Besides, Rafiq had been told he was the family charmer. How bearish could he be?

He bent at the waist and said, “Excuse me?”

Long, lush lashes fluttered. Did they look long and lush because the ugly glasses magnified them? Did objects behind the thick lenses appear larger? When she lifted her eyelids, he wondered that again as very big blue eyes were revealed.

“Hmm?”

“Miss?”

“Hi.” She blinked several times and sat up straight, looking around as if she were disoriented. Then she met his gaze. “Guess I’m not in Kansas anymore.”

“True.”

Before she covered her yawn with a delicate hand, he noted that her teeth were straight and white.

“It’s an American expression from the movie The Wizard of Oz—when Dorothy realizes that she’s very far from home.”

“I’m aware of it.” He knew the story—the quest of the characters to find home, brain, courage and heart. The last he could relate to very well. “So you’re American?” he asked, a purely rhetorical question since her accent clearly placed her.

“Yes,” she said. “Just off the plane from Texas.”

“I have heard of it.”

She smiled. “I’d be surprised if you hadn’t. You work here, too?”

“Yes.”

“This must be one busy office if there’s enough work for two assistants.”

Assistant? She thought he was an assistant? He opened his mouth to set her straight when she slid to the edge of the love seat and stretched, arching her back so that her suggestion of a bosom became rounded breasts straining against the buttons of her dress. No thick magnifying lenses there, and the objects were most impressive.

“Could you point me in the direction of the coffeepot?” she asked.

“I can ring for some,” he said absently, his gaze preoccupied.

“That would be great. I’ll be forever in your debt.”

Rafiq went to the desk and picked up the phone. “Coffee, please. Very strong.”

“Bless you.”

When he looked at her again, she was peering intently at him through the hideous lenses of her glasses, not unlike the way he’d been looking upon her.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just—”

“Tell me.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You’ll think I’m weird. If we’re going to be working together, weird isn’t exactly the best foot to put forward.”

“I promise not to think that.” Now he was curious. “Why did you have that look on your face? Do I have a wart on my nose? A smudge on my face? You find me strange looking?”

“Oh, no. You’re very handsome.” She ducked her head, obviously flustered. “I mean if the rest of the men in this country are anything like you—” Her cheeks flushed a delightful pink. “I’m sorry. I hope you don’t mind my saying that. It’s just— I had no idea. In my research on El Zafir, I didn’t see anything about— I’m sorry. But you did ask.”

“Yes, I did.” Her flustered manner told him she hadn’t planned to say that. The compliment was honest, ingenuous and charmingly innocent. He very nearly forgave her for mistaking him for an assistant.

“Where I come from, cowboys are the masculine standard. Most women wouldn’t think of office staff as macho. But most women haven’t been to El Zafir.”

He couldn’t decide whether to be flattered or insulted and made a mental note to make discreet inquiries about Texas cowboys. He also revoked his momentary weakness regarding forgiveness. But strangely enough, he wanted her to go on. “So you’re an assistant?”

She nodded, then took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. He expected to see black makeup, mascara or raccoon eyes as women had told him it was called when it ran. But, there was none. She wore no cosmetics. Still, her skin was flawless—smooth and quite soft-looking.

“I just arrived in El Zafir this morning,” she explained. “I was supposed to be here two days ago, but flights out of North Texas were delayed because of storms. Where I come from they say if you don’t like the weather, just wait a minute. But this time I wasn’t that lucky.”

“So how did you come to my—to El Zafir, Miss—”

“Doyle. Penelope Colleen Doyle. It rhymes with oil.”

“Yes.”

“You can call me Penny.”

“Penny,” he said, testing the name given to the lowest valued coin in U.S. currency.

“I was hired by Princess Farrah Hassan. Have you met her?”

His lips twitched, but he held back the threatening smile. “Once or twice.”

“She’s pretty impressive. A real force of nature. The king’s sister. I’m to be her assistant.”

“When did this happen?”

“A month ago.”

“And you’ve just arrived today?”

She nodded. “I had to settle the lease on my apartment and arrange storage for my things.”

She looked very young to have the responsibility of living on her own. “How old are you?” he couldn’t help asking.

One blond eyebrow lifted questioningly. “In the States if you ask that question, you’re likely to get decked. It’s not considered politically correct to inquire about a woman’s age.”

“I know politics.” And women, he added silently. “You look too young to be—”

“I’m twenty-two.” She sat up straighter. “Not that it’s your concern, but I have a degree in early childhood education as well as business. I had a double major in college. I needed a job. With a good salary. So I submitted my résumé with an exclusive agency that handles child care for wealthy families. After looking at qualifications and pictures, the princess picked me, among others. According to the agency director, she was looking for a plain nanny.”

“Is that so?”

“I didn’t think it was appropriate to ask. But why do you suppose the princess was specifically looking for someone plain?”

There was no reason to reveal that he was responsible for the stipulation. “I can’t say.”

She shrugged. “Me, neither. But I was confident that I fit the qualifications and was just what they were looking for.”

“I see.” He might be the family charmer, but her straightforward declaration left him at a loss. His knowledge of women was based on the tall, sophisticated, glamorous type. Not small women with big, unattractive glasses.

“I prefer to meet life head-on. If you bury your head in the sand, you leave your—” She stopped and pushed her glasses up more securely on her nose. “Well, the rest of yourself exposed. If you know what I mean. I’m nothing if not practical. It’s best to face facts and not expect the fairy tale. Don’t you agree?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer. Best to go in a different direction. “So you got an interview with my—with the princess?”

“Yes. I received a round-trip plane ticket to New York. It was my first time on an airplane. Very exciting. But there was a problem.”

“Is that so?”

The office doors opened and a female servant wheeled in a cart bearing a silver service and china cups. “Thank you, Salima.”

“You’re welcome, Your—”

“Leave it by the desk,” he said, quickly interrupting her. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Very well.” She bowed slightly and backed out of the room.

Wide-eyed, Penny watched her. “Wow. Is everyone so deferential? We in the States could take lessons. You’re going to have to help me. I wouldn’t want to offend anyone. If you see me doing anything disrespectful, please take me aside so I don’t make a fool of myself.”

“You’re an American,” he said as if that was answer enough. Then he picked up the coffeepot and aimed the silver spout at one of the delicate china cups.

“Would you mind pouring me some, too? I can’t believe I fell asleep. Now I need to kick-start my motor.”

“All evidence to the contrary.”

“Am I talking too much?” She went on without waiting for an answer. “I do that sometimes. But today it’s worse than usual. Probably because I’m tired and nervous. A bad combination. Does it bother you? The princess didn’t seem to mind.”

“She is a very strong woman. Cream or sugar?”

“Black is fine,” she said.

He handed her the cup. “You were saying?”

“Where was I?” She took a sip and thought for a moment. “Oh, yes. I was in New York to meet the princess. Wouldn’t you know it? My flight was delayed.”

“North Texas weather?”

She nodded. “You really listen, don’t you? Then there was traffic getting through the city. By the time I got to her suite in the hotel, which was pretty hoity-toity I can tell you, she had already hired someone else.”

“A plain nanny?”

“Yes.” She frowned. “I still can’t imagine why that would be a criteria for employment. Go figure.”

“Indeed.”

“Anyway, the princess was so nice and easy to be with. She invited me to stay for lunch. We did the girl-talk thing and bonded over chocolate.”

“Bonded?”

“You know. Where women share stories that bring them closer together?”

“Ah. Chocolate, you say?”

She nodded. “Godiva, I think. Very yummy. Anyway, she said she liked me and she was in need of an assistant. So she hired me. She made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. But then you already know how well a job in the palace of the royal family of El Zafir pays.”

“I do indeed,” he agreed.

“Room and board is included.”

“Truly a fine offer.”

“You can say that again— What did you say your name was?” she asked, then took another sip of coffee. “How rude of me to forget. I can only plead fatigue. After a good night’s sleep, I’ll be back in fighting form. I’m usually very good with names.”

“I don’t believe I mentioned it.”

He found her intriguing. For a woman pleading weariness, she had an amazing amount of energy. With proper rest she would no doubt be a, what was that American expression? Ball of fire? Yes. That was definitely Penny. He couldn’t help wondering if her dynamic verve was reserved strictly for work. Or if it spilled over to the personal—to the man in her life.

“You’re staring at me with the oddest expression. Do I have a smudge on my face? A wart on my nose? Do you find me strange looking?” she teased.

“Not at all.”

“Surely your name can’t be that bad. Since we’re going to work together, it might be a good idea to tell me so I don’t have to call ‘hey you.”’

He straightened to his full six-foot-two-inch height. “I am Rafiq Hassan, Prince of El Zafir, Minister of Domestic and Foreign Affairs.”

Her eyes grew round as the china cup fell from her hands, hit her knees, then the floor, splattering the coffee that hadn’t stained her dress on the light-colored Berber carpet.

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. A victory indeed. He’d finally rendered her speechless.

Rafiq knocked on the door to his aunt Farrah’s suite of rooms in the wing of the palace where the royal family resided. At her muffled “Come in,” he entered. His footsteps echoed on the marble tiles of the foyer as he walked into the living room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Arabian Sea. A large semicircular white sofa on the plush light-colored carpet dominated the center of the room. The only splash of color in the suite came from expensive original paintings hanging on the walls. His father’s sister owned a world-famous art collection.

He stood by the sofa and looked down at her, with papers in her lap and spread around her. “I would like to speak with you, Aunt Farrah.”

“Of course. What is it, Rafiq?”

“In a word—Penny.”

She smiled, and the years melted away. His aunt, in her fifties, was still an attractive and vibrant woman. Her dark hair was cut in a sleek style that brushed the collar of her tailored turquoise Chanel suit.

“She is wonderful, no?”

“She is—something.”

“Why? What is wrong?” she asked, frowning. She set aside her work.

“She fell asleep on the couch in my office.”

“Poor thing. In her defense I have to say it’s quite a comfortable couch.” She clucked sympathetically. “A grueling trip. I was told the dear child insisted on beginning work as agreed. Wouldn’t hear of postponing her start even for a day.”

“I want her beheaded.”

“Certainly a fitting reward for her dedication.”

“I’m joking.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Farrah laughed. “The government outlawed that form of punishment many years ago, even before I was born.”

“Cutting out her tongue would be more appropriate, I think.” He paced in front of her. “Yes. Excellent idea if I do say so myself. Make the consequences fit the crime.”

“My dear nephew, what crime has she committed?”

“She is—” He stopped, unable to find the words to describe his feelings. “A woman.”

“Ah,” his aunt said, as if that explained everything. “You are bemused by her.”

“Certainly not. I’ve never met a woman I couldn’t understand.” The lie was a very small one. He hadn’t ever met a woman he couldn’t understand. Until today.

“So you’re intrigued.”

“Nonsense.” He shook his head and turned away, staring out the French doors to her balcony that looked out over the ocean. “Completely, utterly absurd.”

“Rafiq, have you ever been in love?”

He didn’t know how to answer the question. Many women had charmed him. Certainly infatuation had been involved, but love?

“Don’t start with me, Aunt. Love is a luxury not permitted a prince of the royal blood. It’s all about duty. I will marry and produce heirs.”

“When?”

“When I am ready.” Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “But I fail to see what this has to do with Penny Doyle.”

Farrah clasped her hands together in her lap. “Because of your mother’s tragic premature death, I can’t help feeling as if your education in this regard has been sadly neglected. Servants, tutors, boarding school…”

“I had an excellent education. Now, about this small American—”

“Penny. I found her a breath of fresh air. But it’s just as well you don’t agree.”

He turned and steeled himself against the knowing expression on his aunt’s face. He reminded himself that she was a woman, his elder, a cherished family member and deserving of his respect, honor and protection. But the gleam in her eyes made him wonder if he might not be the one in need of protection.

“Why would I agree? She’s a small, insignificant young woman from Texas.” He walked to the French doors and stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “It was my understanding that things from Texas were much larger.”

“Yes. Penny is the exception, I assume.”

“Penny. Even her name is trifling.”

“Have you ever heard the expression ‘find a penny, pick it up, all day long you’ll have good luck’?”

“Perhaps. Penny Doyle—rhymes with oil,” he murmured, unable to stop his mouth from curving up at the memory of her words. He was glad his back was to his keen-eyed aunt so that she didn’t see.

Behind him she coughed. He turned and noticed the glitter of amusement in her black eyes. “Are you all right?” he asked. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was laughing at him.

“I’m absolutely marvelous.”

“And why is that?”

“Your reaction to Penny is just what I’d hoped. Now, I don’t have to warn you to keep your distance.”

“If you’re concerned about it, Aunt, then why did Father take my own assistant and give me a woman?”

She shifted slightly. In anyone less regal, it would have been a squirm. “He needed someone experienced. And he is the king. Penny is perfect for your…needs. Business needs,” she added. “If I were you, I would think twice before questioning your father.”

“All right then. But I’m wounded that you feel it’s necessary to question my behavior.”

“Aside from your reputation as a bit of a rogue with women, I’m concerned about Penny.”

“Why? She could talk the ears off an elephant,” he pointed out.

“She was badly used by a man.”

Rafiq frowned. Penny was vexing, but in an impish sort of way. “How?”

“She told me the whole horrid story in New York. Her mother died when Penny was twelve or thirteen. The woman was single, a teacher. Yet she managed to leave her daughter an inheritance that was put into trust. The dear child planned to open a preschool until that unprincipled scoundrel romanced her in order to abscond with her money. She’s unlikely to trust a man ever again,” she finished.

“He is not a man. A man would not treat a woman so. Especially a woman like—”

“Like what?” his aunt asked, one eyebrow lifted.

“Never mind. I would like to meet this man,” he said through clenched teeth. “Horsewhipping would be too good for him.”

“I agree.” She nodded grimly, then the look was gone, replaced by a serene smile. “But Penny is here now and we will take care of her. That is, I will look after her. In my opinion, things couldn’t be better,” she said.

“On the contrary.” When he left the young woman, he was merely bemused by her. After learning her story, he found himself mildly intrigued. It made him a bit uneasy, something he normally didn’t feel around women. Without a doubt he could also say he didn’t much like the feeling. Perhaps he could change his aunt’s mind about assigning to him this particular woman.

“What is it, Rafiq?”

“Things could be much improved if father would return my assistant. Then you could have your Penny Doyle—with my heartfelt approval and best wishes that your sanity and hearing remain undiminished.”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid that returning your assistant won’t be possible for some time.”

“Why not?”

“That’s up to your father,” she answered.

“I’ve taken your advice and thought twice. I will speak to him about the matter.”

“In the meantime, with preparations about to begin for the international charity ball hosted for the first time by El Zafir, you will need help. A woman’s touch.”

“You’re a woman—and my co-chair for the event,” he pointed out reasonably. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Penny will work with both of us.”

Rafiq didn’t like the sound of that. He would try another tack. “Is that fair to her? To work for me as well? By yourself, you are a formidable taskmaster.”

“Not unfairly so. Besides, I suspect Penny is a very hard worker.”

“If she can close her mouth long enough,” he grumbled.

“I found her charming.”

“Is that her only qualification? It’s my understanding she was seeking employment as nanny to Fariq’s children.”

“Yes. But she was so…energized and quite bright. She has a degree, a double major—early childhood education and business. Because, she informed me, a preschool is still a business. She has a glowing reference from Sam Prescott.”

Sam Prescott was from a wealthy Texas family. He’d been Rafiq’s friend since they were boys. Over the years they’d joked that if America had royalty, Sam and his brothers would be their sheiks. Their fathers knew each other well, in addition to sharing business interests.

“How does Sam know her?” he asked.

“Prescott International bestows grants to needy, gifted students. Penny was chosen as the recipient, and the family took a personal interest in her education and career. She was in the top of her business classes and earned an internship at Prescott corporate headquarters in Dallas. So I have it on good authority that she’s quick, intelligent, hardworking and more than capable of being trained.”

“Apparently, that will be my responsibility.” He glared at his aunt, but she didn’t refute his words.

“Such a look would frighten small children. Tell me you didn’t look at her that way, Rafiq?” Her expressive eyes opened wide. “You’re the diplomat of the family. If you—”

“I’m not in the habit of frightening small children or women. But there is the matter of the coffee—”

It had practically taken an act of God to render her speechless. Fortunately, the liquid had cooled and she wasn’t hurt. He felt the slightest twinge of conscience at his part in the incident.

“What about the coffee?” she asked.

“It fell from her hands.”

“Did you do something to make it fall?”

“I merely introduced myself.”

After letting her believe he was an assistant. And coaxing her into revealing that she thought he was very handsome. Actually, he’d found the disguise liberating. He doubted she would have spoken so freely if he hadn’t let her assume he was an ordinary man. He was accustomed to flattery from women, but because Penny hadn’t known his true identity, her compliment was rooted in sincerity.

“Where is she now?” his aunt inquired, frowning.

“In her room, the one you assigned her here in the guest quarters of the palace. I advised her to take the rest of the day off to recover from her journey.”

She nodded approvingly. “Good. And I’m pleased we have talked. So that I can remind you one last time, Rafiq. You are not to be charming to Penny. Just until other arrangements can be made, she is your assistant and is to be nothing more,” she added. “We cannot have the business of El Zafir disrupted because you’ve charmed yet another female member of the staff.”

“Thank you, Aunt Farrah,” he said, unable to suppress a smile.

“That was not meant to be a compliment. I’m going to say this one more time. Do nothing out of the ordinary. Do not go out of your way to be nice to Penny. Simple courtesy in the work environment. That is all.”

He pulled himself up to his full height. “I am a prince of the royal blood. Benevolence is my responsibility. You yourself instructed me in the necessity of being gracious. I find no reason to apologize for so thoroughly learning the lesson you set before me.”

“I also taught you to respect your elders.” She sniffed. “You’re acting like a strong-willed little boy.”

“On the contrary,” he said. “I don’t see that at all.”

“Of course not. You never do. Or your brothers, either.”

“What do Kamal and Fariq have to do with anything?” he asked.

“The crown prince and minister of oil respectively have nothing whatever to do with our conversation. I was merely stating a fact.”

“The men of the royal family of Hassan have sworn allegiance to country and family,” he said. “We are the protectors of the people of El Zafir. We can’t afford to be wrong.”

“It is a sacred and awesome responsibility,” she agreed. “And I have found a young woman who, I believe, will make an excellent assistant. Someone bright and entertaining who I would like to remain in my employ for a long time to come. I am merely requesting that you do nothing to facilitate her return to the United States.”

“I wouldn’t think of it.”

She frowned at him. “It makes me nervous when you are so agreeable.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she waved him away. “Go tell the king or one of your brothers. They might believe your denials.”

“I am not as agreeable as you might think.” For some reason, he felt compelled to defend himself. Yet it hadn’t come out right at all.

“For the sake of palace peace, I hope so.”

Suppressing a long-suffering sigh, he bowed slightly in deference to her age and family position.

As he left Farrah’s rooms, his thoughts turned to the young American. Bright and entertaining? He wasn’t certain he’d seen that side of Penny Doyle. Perhaps he should talk with her again. Merely to ascertain whether or not he’d underestimated his new assistant. If for no other reason than to get to know her better.

So the business of El Zafir would run smoothly.

## Chapter Two

Penny paced back and forth in front of the French doors in her room. Wired by nerves and the small amount of caffeine consumed before the disaster, she couldn’t relax. It was a good thing the suite was so large—lots of space to pace in. If only she could sleep. Oblivion would be preferable to the mental kicking her backside was taking. She alternated between how could she have been so stupid and how could he have let her go on?

Rafiq. A rakish name. It suited him. He was very good-looking. But that didn’t excuse his behavior. He was a prince, a ruler of his country. That excused his behavior. Mortified, she remembered the conversation—her inane prattle. He knew how well a staff member in the royal palace was paid. He’d seen Princess Farrah once or twice. She’d told him he was handsome, for goodness’ sake. But that information he’d pried out of her.

She covered her face with her hands, wishing fatigue could block out the humiliating scene. What a fool she’d made of herself. And he’d let her even after she’d asked him to help her not to do that!

It wasn’t the first time a man had made a fool of her. Last time, the man had taken her money and disappeared. This time, she’d been told to disappear. His exact words—she should take the rest of the day off. To acclimate. Was that El Zafirian for get ready to be drawn and quartered at dawn for the crime of impertinence?

“I almost wish I was dead,” she said to the white walls surrounding her. “But I’d prefer something non-violent and less messy.”

She had to admit that if she breathed her last at dawn, these digs were a fabulous place to spend her final hours. The walls were white, the starkness broken by colorful tapestries hanging in the living room, dining area and bedroom. A low, soft sofa took up one corner of the room that faced a lush, colorful garden. Flowers and greenery abounded below her window. She couldn’t see the ocean, but on the balcony she’d breathed in the fragrance of sea air mixed with the perfume of the flowers. The two blended, creating an intoxicating scent she’d never before experienced.

The bedroom contained a large four-poster bed, matching dresser and armoire—as if she had enough clothes to fill the two pieces of furniture. In the corner was a chair and ottoman covered in white cashmere, or so she’d been told by the maid who’d helped her unpack her meager belongings. What was she doing here? It was a rhetorical question, which fortunately didn’t require an answer. She wouldn’t be around long enough to bother with one. Not after what she’d done—correction—not after she’d been baited and reeled in.

Then the baiter in question—one Rafiq Hassan, Prince of El Zafir—had calmly given her the day off. Wouldn’t it have been simpler to just send her to the airport? Surely he wouldn’t allow her to stay after she’d insulted him.

It didn’t matter that there were no nameplates in his office. That should have been a dead giveaway. Although, she wasn’t especially comfortable with the dead part. Everyone knew the royal family. Why would they need their names on the doors? Lack of sleep could no longer be an excuse for what she’d done. Hands down, she would win ninny of the year or the El Zafirian equivalent. Being new to the country should be considered mitigating circumstances. And he—Rafiq—had set her up. But he was a prince; she was a pauper.

An unexpected knock on the door made her jump. Her heart contracted painfully. Here it comes, she thought. We who are about to die, or be ignominiously deported back to the U.S., salute you.

She opened the door. It was him! For the second time that day she found herself in the unnatural condition of being unable to form words.

“May I come in?” he asked.

“Of course.” She pulled the door wide and stood back, allowing him entrance. After all, this was his place. Place? Oops. Palace. Far different from the average, ordinary, run-of-the-mill man’s place.

He looked at her. “You’ve changed.”

“Not really. I’m the same person I was a while ago. I just don’t have the words—”

He pointed to her pants. “I meant your clothes.”

“Oh.” She followed his glance to her bare feet, jeans and Don’t Mess With Texas T-shirt. When she met his gaze again, she thought it contained a spark of—something she didn’t understand. But she could only think of one word to describe his black eyes. Smoldering.

Her research on the country in general and the royal family in particular had revealed that his last name, Hassan, meant handsome and he certainly lived up to it. His thick black hair was cut short. Subtle waving told her that if it was longer, some serious curling would happen. His face was a composition of high cheekbones, straight nose and square jaw that came dangerously close to male perfection. Broad shoulders and a wide chest fit his tall body. His sinfully expensive navy-blue business suit highlighted lean, masculine strength. Then she remembered her tasteless remark about cowboys being the standard of male appeal in Texas. Prince Rafiq Hassan had just upped the benchmark. She had the heart palpitations, weak knees and sweaty palms to prove it.

“I don’t—”

“Yes?” he prompted.

“What do I call you?” she blurted out. “Your Majesty? Your Highness? Your Worship? The member of the royal family formerly and still known as Prince?”

She was being impertinent, but she couldn’t help it. That’s who she was. Besides, what did she have to lose? She’d already put her foot in her mouth. Even though he should share part of the blame for leading her on, he was probably there to tell her she was fired. From here she had nowhere to go but the airport.

“You may call me Your Highness, Prince Rafiq Hassan, Minister of Foreign and Domestic Affairs, the bountiful and benevolent.”

She felt like reaching for her scratch pad to write down the lengthy form of address when she noticed that his wonderful firm lips were curving up at the corners. “You’re joking,” she accused.

“Yes.”

“Oh, thank goodness.”

“What?”

“You do have a sense of humor.”

“Of course. Why would you doubt it?” He shrugged and extended one hand in a self-effacing gesture.

There was a Band-Aid on his index finger, sporting a cartoon character. It was a sign. He was more than a pompous, arrogant baiter of unsuspecting women.

“At our first meeting you never cracked a smile,” she reminded him.

“That is why I’m here.”

“To show me you can smile?”

“No. To…start again.”

For half a second, she’d thought he was going to apologize for leading her on, making her appear foolish.

She looked up at him, way up, then adjusted her glasses more securely on her nose. “I figured you were here to can me.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, terminate me.” She shook her head. “Bad choice of words.”

“Why?”

“I was wondering if I’d be drawn and quartered in the city square at dawn.”

“Actually, the idea of beheading came up.”

She gasped. “No!”

“Yes. Then the merits of cutting out your tongue.”

She backed up a step before noticing his smile. A full-on, showing-his-great-teeth, go-for-broke, steal-her-heart grin. “You’re teasing me.”

“Yes.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks, upsetting the sleek line at the bottom of the matching jacket. “By ‘can’ and ‘terminate’ you meant revoke your employment.”

“Right. Fire me.” Although the way he looked could give a whole new meaning to the word. He was what the girls back home called a “hottie.”

“I’m not here to do that.”

“Well, that’s a relief. Although you must admit that if you’d told me right away who you are, there wouldn’t be a large coffee stain on the carpet in your office.”

“I don’t have to admit anything,” he said. “I am the prince.”

“Of course.” And exactly the reason she decided against taking him to task for leading her on. Besides, it looked as if she was getting a reprieve. Bearding the lion in his den, so to speak, probably wasn’t the wisest course. “And a prince is the master of all he surveys.”

“Something like that,” he said, a sparkle in his eyes betraying that he was amused.

“If you’re not here to admit anything, then why are you here?”

“To welcome you—properly—to El Zafir.”

“Thank you—” She tipped her head to the side and said, “You still haven’t told me what to call you.”

“Prince Rafiq in public. In private, when we are working, my given name is appropriate.”

Rafiq. The name raised shivers on her arms that scurried over her chest and abdomen. He wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met. Just his name conjured up visions of mystery and magic, enchantment and romance. For the first time, she believed what the travel posters had claimed about his country.

“Prince Rafiq,” she said, testing the name.

“Since it has fallen to me to train you—”

“But I’m supposed to work for Princess Farrah.”

“There’s been a change of plan. My father has appropriated my secretary and my aunt—”

“Princess Farrah?”

He nodded. “My father’s sister. She has given you to me.”

The shivers, which had barely disappeared, kicked up again at the suggestion that she’d been given to him. Lordy, why did her mind have to go there? It wasn’t really such a stretch. This was an exotic country with a different history and culture. Myths of women being swept off their feet and literally carried away by mesmerizing men had been widely romanticized in movies and books. Feminists might object, but Penny had the feeling if any of them took one look at Rafiq, bras would go up in flames and not because anyone was protesting.

“So I’m to work with you?”

He nodded. “If you wish I can arrange for chocolate to be brought. We can do the bonding thing.”

“You really are different from other men,” she blurted out.

Good Lord! She couldn’t believe she’d said that. It was completely inappropriate. Granted she’d said something similar when she’d thought he was an assistant like herself. But now she knew who he was. Besides that, it was flirtatious. She’d never been a flirt. Partly because she’d never had the time. Partly because her nature didn’t lean toward flirting. But her remark had come dangerously close. Was it something in the air of exotic El Zafir? Something in the water? Or was it a mysterious something in the man that unleashed her inner flirt?

“Different?” he asked. He didn’t look shocked or offended, merely curious.

“Where I come from, there are talk shows dedicated to the fact that most men don’t listen, let alone remember,” she explained.

“Perhaps cowboys leave something to be desired as the masculine standard in your country?”

He really had listened, she thought, as heat surged into her cheeks. “Maybe listening and remembering are highly overrated skills.”

He smiled. Were his teeth really white enough to be featured in an ad for dental bleaching? Or did they just look that way because his skin was so very tanned?

“With all due respect,” he said, “I have yet to meet a woman who prefers a man to ignore her.”

She couldn’t help wondering how much research he’d done on women. Quite a bit according to what she’d read about the royal family. She’d seen articles in the tabloids detailing the romantic exploits of Prince Rafiq. She’d even seen his picture, which made her feel all the more ridiculous for not recognizing him. But in person, the flesh-and-blood hunk bore no resemblance to the one-dimensional Don Juan she’d seen in the papers.

How many women had he been involved with? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? And how many cowboys had she been with? Zero. Zilch. Nada. So who was better qualified to judge?

“Okay. You get points for listening and remembering,” she agreed.

“Thank you.” He looked around her suite. “I trust the accommodations are satisfactory?”

“Oh, yes.” She followed his gaze. “This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”

“As compared to Texas?”

“As compared to anywhere. Even the hotel where I met your aunt.”

“It is more spartan than the New York hotel she prefers.”

Penny nodded. “But there’s something to be said for simplicity. Sometimes less is more.”

“I know precisely what you mean.” He met her gaze and his own darkened. His irises were blacker than midnight—smoldering.

There was that word again. It took the air from her lungs. But didn’t fire do that, steal oxygen? Where was an extinguisher when you really needed one?

“Tell me about yourself, Penny.”

The question surprised her. She wasn’t sure why, except that it seemed odd for a member of the ruling family to care about someone like her. The hired help. Then she remembered the cartoon Band-Aid. He must have interacted with his brother’s children and forgotten it was on his finger. She took courage from that. He was a flesh-and-blood man who put his pants on one leg at a time.

Speaking of legs, he’d been standing for a really long time. “Would you like to sit down?”

He only hesitated a moment before saying, “Yes. Thank you.” With athletic, catlike grace he sat on the sofa then indicated the space beside him. “Please.”

She did as he requested, but left an appropriate distance between them. “So what would you like to know about me?”

“Why did you leave your country and take a job halfway around the world in El Zafir?”

There were so many reasons. “Your country is very progressive.”

He nodded. “We’re working hard to make it so. What else?”

It was as if he could read her mind. “I believe we’ve already established that a position in the palace pays well,” she said, smiling.

He grinned in return. “Yes, I believe we did. Is money important to you?”

“Only someone who’s never needed it would ask that question.”

“Is that a yes?” He lifted one dark eyebrow.

“It is.”

“Tell me why.”

“You don’t really want to know.”

“On the contrary.”

“Money is important to me because my mother worked very hard for it.”

“Your father?”

“I never knew him. It was always only my mother and me. She died when I was young.”

He looked very grave. “Mine did as well. Aunt Farrah filled the void when my mother was gone.”

“You’re lucky. I didn’t have anyone to fill the emptiness. The small nest egg she managed to leave me didn’t take away the pain when she was gone. I was raised in an orphanage.”

“I see.”

She found his matter-of-fact response strangely appropriate. “I’m sorry” was a meaningless, conditioned response and brought little comfort. “At eighteen, the state says you’re an adult and on your own.”

“The state is wrong,” he answered. “Such an age is still a child.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. But I was determined to get a degree.”

“And you did—in early childhood education and business. My aunt tells me you interned for Sam Prescott in Dallas.”

“Yes. The Prescotts have been very good to me. In fact Sam is the one who suggested I might think about working in El Zafir.”

Because she’d planned to start her own preschool. And she’d foolishly given away her seed money. But as comfortable as Rafiq made her feel, she still didn’t think he would want to hear about all that. Or maybe it was more that she didn’t want to confess how stupid she’d been. Taken in by a handsome man. She’d vowed never again to be suckered by a good-looking game player.

He was staring at her and the intensity of his gaze made her wonder if he could see all the way to her soul. She hoped not. He wouldn’t want someone so gullible working for him.

“I have known Sam Prescott since we were boys. Is there a particular reason that earning a lot of money is important to you?” he asked.

Because a promise was a promise. The vow she’d made a long time ago meant everything to her. But he wouldn’t want to hear about that. He was a businessman. “It’s my dream to open a preschool, possibly in a corporate environment. That way it could be subsidized by the company.”

“Why?”

“As a businessman yourself, I should think that would be obvious. Corporate sponsorship would increase the success ratio—”

“No. I meant why a preschool?”

“Oh. Well. I like children.” She met his gaze and was surprised he didn’t look bored. In fact, he gave a good imitation of being interested, which gave her the courage to continue. “I think that’s hereditary. My mother loved teaching elementary school. Before I was old enough to go to school, she struggled with the cost of child care. She always said a mother shouldn’t have to choose between a safe place for her child at the expense of a stimulating environment.”

“A preschool would do both?”

“Yes. As long as women are part of the workforce, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon, quality care for children will be an issue.”

“In my country as well.”

“Really?”

Rafiq watched as she made herself comfortable on the sofa. She scooted back and, though it was low, her short legs didn’t allow her feet to touch. Small feet, he noted and bare so he could see her red-painted toe-nails. Strangely unexpected—and appealing. She tucked her legs to the side and rested her elbow on the back of the furniture. Her golden hair was no longer pulled severely back from her oval face and secured in a bun at her nape. The waist-length strands cascaded around her like a silky sunshine curtain, begging a man to run his fingers through it.

He’d struggled with his reaction to her ever since she’d opened the door to him. Oddly enough, the shapeless khaki dress she’d worn earlier had been distraction enough. But jeans outlined her small waist and slender legs. As body types went, she was the complete opposite of the women who caught his eye. Speaking of eyes, hers regarded him through huge glasses. Obviously, she expected him to continue the conversation. And he would. As soon as he remembered what they’d been discussing.

“I didn’t think many women worked outside the home in El Zafir,” she said.

Ah, he thought. Preschools. “More and more educated women are choosing careers in this country. We’ve overlooked this great natural resource and vital addition to our workforce far too long.”

“Then child care becomes a problem.”

“Exactly.”

“I would still like to know why your brother specifically requested a homely nanny for his children.”

How could he get her to forget that particular question? His gaze settled on her mouth. Earlier, when she’d talked so much, he hadn’t noticed how very lush and full her lips were. He had a sudden inclination to taste her. That might make her forget about homely nannies. But he forced the thought away. She was his temporary assistant. Nothing more. And he would do well to remember that and forget how curvy she looked in her jeans.

He was her employer. And she was hardly more than a child. He was twenty-nine years old, but she made him feel ancient.

“I need to go.” He stood up. “About work.”

“Yes?”

She stood also. So small. Her head barely came to his shoulder. He felt a sudden strange burst of protectiveness for her. The same as he would feel for a child, he amended. This surprising reaction was merely the result of being with much taller women. None of them had ever evoked this reaction of wanting to stand between her and whatever storms life would blow into her path.

Penny had been hurt. Because his aunt had revealed that to him, he’d recognized the disillusionment in the depths of her eyes when she’d talked about her dream. Rage flared inside him. Again he wanted to make the jackal who had taken advantage of this innocent pay for his unforgivable sin.

“What about work?” she asked.

“Yes, work.”

“What time do you want me to report to the office?”

“Nine.”

She smiled. “At least there won’t be commuter traffic.”

“No.” He cleared his throat. “About your attire—”

“Your aunt already filled me in on that. No pants in public. She said in this country a woman covers her arms, and skirts must be worn well below the knee.”

“Yes.”

He should be relieved that she was aware. But he found himself strangely heavyhearted that jeans were inappropriate and Penny was aware of it.

“Tomorrow then,” she said.

“Yes. Tomorrow.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

As was he. Far more than he should.

## Chapter Three

Penny closed the door to her suite and set off to dine with the Hassans. Other than feeling like Dorothy making her way to the Emerald City or a wide-eyed whacked-out character from a fractured fairy tale, she was looking forward to it. Really and truly. Eating with the royal family. Every last one. All in one place. All at the same time.

Yeah. And any minute now she would flap her wings and fly like a fairy godmother.

On the upside, after a week in El Zafir she was a bit more comfortable making her way through the palace without a compass or a clear view of the North Star. No, she knew her way to the royal dining room, and it was all she could do not to take off in the opposite direction. But how far could she get on legs that shook like tree limbs in a hurricane? If the invitation had come from anyone but Princess Farrah…

She would have refused? Yeah, like that was going to happen. Her common sense told her it wasn’t smart to bite the hand that feeds you. Retreat was not an option. Besides, she liked and respected the princess.

If only she wasn’t so nervous.

Descending the stairway, Penny held the polished mahogany railing. Each marble step had Berber carpet in the center. At the bottom, she walked to her left and pushed open one of the double doors into the dining room. Over and over she repeated to herself, “I will not talk too much.”

She poked her head inside to get her bearings before everyone showed up. Her heart nearly stopped as she saw the royal family already there. She quickly counted heads. Yup—all of them. Was she late? She hated being late. She despised walking into a room where everyone could look at her when she arrived. At least no one was sitting at the table yet. Table, ha. It was long—really long. An airport runway—without landing lights and covered by a lovely tablecloth.

Penny shook her wrist, then looked at her watch. She’d given herself enough time to be ten minutes early and catch her breath waiting for everyone else to walk in. But no. Just her luck to dine with the only royal family on the planet more punctual than herself. She loathed lateness. And nerves. It was the reason she’d had such a disastrous first meeting with Rafiq. Nerves and lateness, she had learned the hard way, were a recipe for disaster.

The butterflies in her stomach began a rousing rendition of the cancan as she noted the sheer number of people present. She’d met them all, one at a time. But all this royalty gathered together in one room was enough to give her a case of hives. How did someone like her deal with royals in droves? Very carefully, she thought, stifling a giggle that could turn hysterical at the drop of a hat, crown or, God forbid, coffee cup.

Like a magnet picking up metal, her gaze homed in on her boss. He was talking with his brothers and suddenly smiled. In an instant, the serious, aloof, authoritative man she’d become familiar with disappeared. The expression changed him from handsome to hubba-hubba gorgeous in zero point two seconds. Her legs started shaking again, but for a very different reason. She found she was much more comfortable with her boss, the prince, than this man who smiled or, oddly enough, the one who teased about cutting out her tongue.

Rafiq.

He’d told her to address him by his given name in private. Was there a rule about how many people constituted public? Did it matter that this was his family? Should she call him Prince Rafiq or lose the title? She would seriously consider selling her soul for just a drop of social confidence.

Glancing down, she sighed at her long-sleeved, high-necked black knit dress skimming the tops of her ankles. She recalled the teenaged salesclerk at the store where she’d purchased it telling her you could never go wrong with black. Her first mistake had been believing a teenager with pink hair. Penny had gone so very wrong. But then, she didn’t have the budget to go right.

“Ah, Penny.” Princess Farrah, in a dark green silk dress with matching heels and diamonds at her ears and neck, came forward to greet her.

“Good evening, Your Highness.” Penny looked around. “I hope I’m not late. You said seven—”

“You are perfect, my dear. Isn’t she, Gamil?” she said to the king.

Two steps away, the distinguished ruler turned at her words. He joined them and bowed slightly from the waist. “Miss Doyle. I’m very pleased you could join us for dinner this evening.”

“You are most kind to include me.” She looked around at everyone. The princess had told her it would be an intimate dinner with the family. Meeting the woman’s friendly gaze, Penny asked before she could stop herself, “Do you dress like this for dinner every night?”

The princess laughed. “Three or four times a week. The other nights one or more of us has an official government function requiring black tie and formal wear.”

“This isn’t formal?” she asked, hating that her voice sounded more like a squeak.

“Good heavens, no,” the princess answered.

Penny had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. They were probably laughing at her—or would be soon. Her less than stylish attire made her stand out like the ugly duckling at a gathering of swans.

“So for the royal family this is casual?”

“I suppose you could say that,” the king answered.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be impertinent,” Penny apologized, although he didn’t look mad. “It’s just that I have no frame of reference for this. What I meant to say is, it was most gracious of Your Highness to extend the invitation,” she finished. “And I can see where your sons get their good looks,” she added. One could never go wrong with a compliment.

He laughed, then gave her a courtly bow. “Farrah is right. You are indeed a breath of fresh air. And a shameless flatterer.”

“On the contrary, Your Highness. Flattery implies a lack of sincerity, and I assure you I speak the absolute truth,” she said, unable to stop her gaze from straying to Rafiq.

He looked a lot like his father, she noted. King Gamil was in his mid-fifties, but hardly looked a day over forty. It wouldn’t be hollow flattery to say he could be mistaken for an older brother to his sons—the dark, dangerous and devastating threesome. The king reminded her of a distinguished movie actor. And she couldn’t help wondering why he wasn’t married. Or Princess Farrah, either, for that matter.

“We would like to welcome you properly to our country,” he said.

The princess sipped from her crystal flute then added, “I expected Rafiq to extend the dinner invitation upon your arrival. When it became clear it had slipped his mind, I took steps to rectify the situation.”

Penny figured it had slipped his mind accidentally on purpose because he was afraid she’d dump something on his expensive Armani suit. Although their working relationship was progressing smoothly, she didn’t think she would live, in El Zafir or anywhere else on earth for that matter, long enough to live down the infamous coffee-spilling incident. A thousand years from now they would still talk about the klutzy American—she came, she saw, she spilled.

Just then Rafiq joined them. “Good evening, Penny,” he said, bowing slightly as his father had.

“Hi.” Her voice was slightly breathless, and she wished with all her heart she could blame it on descending the single flight of stairs.

“May I get you a glass of champagne?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you. I’ve never tasted champagne before.” It was starting. She could feel it building—the urge to talk a mile a minute. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at him and said, “Fair warning—you might want to keep your distance.”

“And why would I want to do that?” he asked, the intensity of his gaze focused directly on her. “The day of your arrival was obviously not the first time you drank coffee, a fact that in no way spared my office carpet.”

“I suppose it was too much to hope you might have forgotten that.”

“As you have so perceptively pointed out—I listen and remember.” The corners of his mouth turned up. “So I’ll take my chances as you taste your first champagne.”

“My son has the heart of a lion,” the king said, his black eyes twinkling.

Rafiq grinned at his father, then motioned to one of the uniformed servers bearing a tray she’d wager was silver. Not silver plate, but the real McCoy that would tarnish without a gloved staff of thousands to keep it fingerprint free. She nudged her glasses more securely on her nose and took the offered crystal flute holding bubbling golden liquid.

She couldn’t help feeling like the governess in a Gothic romance novel. The kind of woman who should be stashed away upstairs on important social occasions.

“Rafiq, you have been remiss in not inviting Penny to dinner sooner,” the princess was saying. “It is—what is that American expression?—standard procedure for each new member of the business staff to join us, so that we can personally get to know everyone.”

“One big happy family,” Penny commented.

“Exactly,” the king said, smiling. “It has become obvious over the years that contented staff are more productive. Do you think me a tyrant, Miss Doyle?”

“On the contrary, Your Highness, it’s just plain, old-fashioned common sense.”

The princess touched her forearm. “Excuse us, my dear. Gamil and I must help Johara with Fariq’s twins.”

“They look fine to me,” the older man said.

Farrah glared at him. “Hana and Nuri are sweet children, but you know as well as I that they can easily become restless.”

The king saw her look and his eyes widened in comprehension as he nodded slightly. He bowed politely. “My sister is correct. Excuse us, please.”

Penny glanced at Rafiq and her nerves developed nerves. So much anxiety, so little time. At work she felt in her element and had grown accustomed to dealing with him as her boss. He gave her a task, she carried it out as efficiently as possible. He didn’t seem disappointed with her performance. In fact, she’d wager he wasn’t the type to keep it to himself if he was displeased.

The days had fallen into a pattern. In the morning she downloaded his e-mail and printed it out, placing it on his desk. Then, allowing for time zone differences, she returned phone calls with messages from the prince, typed letters and confirmed appointments. So far, afternoons were reserved for meetings. He was in and out of the office while she fielded more phone calls and took more messages.