The Sheikh Doc's Marriage Bargain. Susan CarlisleЧитать онлайн книгу.
reading would help settle her nerves. It had turned dark since she had fallen asleep earlier.
She found her small bag sitting beside the bathroom door. Apparently the steward had placed it there while they’d been having dinner. After a hot shower in the roomy bathroom she dressed and crossed the hallway to the bedroom.
After locking the door, she tested the bed like Goldilocks, sitting on it and giving a little bounce. It was as plush as the rest of the plane. Somehow it was unnerving to think of sleeping in Prince Tariq Al Marktum’s bed. How many others had? That wasn’t her business. She needed rest if she planned to have her wits about her when they landed.
Curious about where she was in the world, she turned on the TV. Finding out that she was over the center of the ocean didn’t reassure her and she quickly turned the TV to another channel. Finding little interest in any show, she turned it off and slipped under the covers. Where the Prince planned to sleep she had no idea.
Laurel ran her hand across the ultra-soft material. What would it be like to sleep in such luxury all the time? With Tariq? She shuddered. Where had that impossible thought come from?
* * *
She was jolted awake by a knock on the door and the steward announcing it was time for her to rise. Choosing a blue suit over a pale pink knit top, she quickly dressed, hoping she appeared confident and professional. Blue flats finished her outfit. She would need that self-confidence to face what was coming her way today. Laurel rubbed her hands along the front of her jacket. This wasn’t what she’d dreamed of wearing to her wedding. But hers wouldn’t be a real one so it really didn’t matter.
She found Tariq already sitting at the dining table with a plate of eggs in front of him. The smell of strong coffee circulated in the air.
She stopped short.
He was no longer dressed in a Western business suit. Instead he wore a white robe. Over it was a long mint-green vest with a wide decorative braid running the length of the front opening. His beard had been meticulously trimmed under his neck and at the hollows of his cheeks, creating a thin chic fashionable look that only emphasized the ruggedness of his appearance. He was every bit the picture of a desert prince. A lightning bolt of awareness shot through her core.
Trying to ignore the sudden warmth in her nether regions, she managed, “Uh...good morning.”
“Join me.” The sound of his deep voice ran across her nerve endings like a bow over a violin string. As usual his request was more of a statement than an invitation. Her awareness of his virility was so acute, his simple demand had her hands trembling. She swiftly sat across from him, grabbed the napkin and twisted it in her lap. This surreal physical reaction to Tariq had to stop.
The steward came to stand beside them.
“What would you like for breakfast?” Tariq asked.
Laurel looked at the steward. “Toast and a cup of tea will be fine.”
“I fear that you’ll need more than that for today,” Tariq commented as he continued to look at the papers spread out on the table. “Some eggs with that, please.”
The steward nodded and stepped away.
“I don’t know how you expect me to be intelligent enough to run your lab if you don’t think I know my mind well enough to order what I want to eat.”
He looked at her, a brow cocked, and nodded. “I apologize. It will not happen again.”
“What? I actually get my way for once?” For the brief time she’d known Tariq every disagreement had gone his way. This tiny victory she planned to savor.
There was a twinkle of something in his eyes that looked suspiciously like mirth. “It would appear you have. I trust you slept well last night.”
“I did.” She smiled.
“Excellent.” He moved a paper and picked up another beneath it. “I wanted to share today’s schedule.”
Laurel hadn’t stepped off the plane and he’d already planned her day. Would he always be controlling her time? When was she supposed to do her research? Between his calendar and managing the lab, how was she supposed to get anything done?
“We will be arriving midmorning Zentar time. From the airport we will go straight to the palace. We will have a small ceremony there. A few of my family will attend. Afterwards we will visit the lab then we will return to the palace. I have a late afternoon meeting I must not miss.”
Nothing like marrying and running. Didn’t sound much different from what Larry had done to her. After all, he’d gotten what he’d wanted and gone on his way. The Prince was manipulating her as well. But in return she was getting something she sought too, the chance to continue her research. For that she would do anything.
“Laurel, are you listening to me?” Tariq sounded put out. From the look on his face he didn’t make a practice of repeating himself.
She looked at him.
“After that your time is your own. Take it from an experienced traveler that you should rest. Jet lag is a real thing.” He let the paper he’d been reading flutter to the table.
“I’ll be fine, I’m sure.” She’d had enough of him dictating to her. “I’ll want to get to work at the lab as soon as possible.”
As usual his eyes revealed nothing of his emotions. “That is your choice, but I fear you will pay dearly for that decision. You need not concern yourself with being there before the day after tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there first thing in the morning. I was close to a breakthrough in my research and I want to get started again as soon as possible.”
“As you wish.” He went back to his papers.
Her breakfast arrived. While she ate, Tariq continued reading. Occasionally he would make a note on one of the papers or look at his phone. When she put her fork down for the final time, his gaze met hers. She cheeks went warm. Despite not wanting much food, she’d cleaned her plate. The fact Tariq had been right about her appetite irritated her.
He stood. “Come and have your first look at Zentar.” He indicated the window she had looked out the night before.
Curious about the place she would be calling home for the next few weeks, for that was all she planned to stay, she went to the seat she’d occupied the evening before. Gripping the armrest, she slowly leaned toward the window.
“I see you have not overcome your fear.” To her astonishment there was a note of sympathy in his observation.
“No, I haven’t. I doubt I ever will.” About many things. However, making this trip was a huge step toward doing so. She couldn’t deny the pride forming in her chest for having found the courage to come to Zentar.
“I promise you will be glad you looked if you only will.” His beautiful voice seductively coaxed her.
Fortifying herself, Laurel rested her head against the side of the plane. Below she could see the sapphire Arabian Sea.
“See that small white dot in the distance? That is Zentar.”
Laurel jumped and glanced around to find Tariq’s head close. Too close. Her lips were an inch from his face. His citrus aftershave filled her nose. He had a hand braced against the bulkhead, leaning over her, as they looked out the same window.
Laurel wasn’t sure which made her dizzier—Tariq’s nearness or the sensation of the plane skimming over the water toward the small crystal jewel ahead. Tariq remained where he was, his breath ruffling her hair. Yes, he was much too close.
“You must learn not to flinch every time I am near or when I touch you. My people will think you do not like me. That will not do.”
What his people didn’t know was that she reacted too much to their Prince for her comfort. “Maybe you should leave some distance between us so they’ll not notice.”