Saved by the Sheikh! Read online

  On Monday a shiny new credit card would be couriered to her by her bank back home. And her temporary travel documents would be ready, too. For the first time since leaving home, Tiffany almost wished she had access to the allowance her father had cut off when she had chosen to do this trip with a friend against his wishes. What had started out as an exciting adventure was turning into a nightmare, costing much more than she’d ever dreamed.

  But buying an air ticket home was Monday’s worry. For now she only had to make it through the next two days.

  Thank goodness for Renate.

  Despite her sexual acrobatics in the booth, the other woman had saved Tiffany’s skin by offering her this chance to earn some cash tonight. She owed her. “Renate, are you sure flirting with Sir Julian is a good idea? He’s old enough to be your father.”

  “But he’s rich.”

  Renate was fiddling in her purse, and Tiffany couldn’t read her expression.

  “That’s what you want? A rich man? You think he’ll marry you?” Concern made her say, “Oh, Renate, he’s probably already married.”

  Renate drew out a lipstick tube and applied the glossy dark plum color then stood back to admire the dramatic effect against her pale skin and bleached-blond hair. “Of course he is.”

  “He is?” Shocked by Renate’s nonchalance, Tiffany stared. “So why are you wasting your time on him?”

  “He’s a multimillionaire. Maybe even a billionaire. I recognized him the instant he arrived—he’s been here before, but I’ve never gotten to—” Renate broke off and shot Tiffany a sidelong glance “—I never got to meet him. He’s already promised to take me with him to the races later in the week.”

  Tiffany thought of the aching hurt she’d detected in her mother’s voice yesterday when her mom had blurted out that Dad had taken off with Imogen.

  “But what about his wife, Renate? How do you think she’ll feel?”

  Renate shrugged a careless shoulder. “She’s probably too busy socializing with her country-club friends to notice. Tennis. Champagne breakfasts. Fancy fundraisers. Why should she care?”

  Tiffany was prepared to stake her life on it that Sir Julian’s wife did care. Speechlessly, she stared at Renate.

  “The last girl he met here got a trip to Phuket and a wardrobe of designer dresses. I’d love that.” She met Tiffany’s appalled gaze in the mirror. “Don’t knock it—maybe Rafiq is a millionaire, too. He might be worth cultivating.”

  Cultivating? An image of Rafiq’s disdainful expression flashed before Tiffany’s vision. He was so not her type. Too remote. Too arrogant. And way too full of his own importance. She didn’t need a gazillionaire, much less one who had a wife tucked back in a desert somewhere.

  All she wanted was someone normal. Ordinary. A man with whom she could be herself—no facades, no pretence. Just Tiffany. Someone who would learn to love her without drama and histrionics. Someone with a family that was real…not dysfunctional.

  “Tiff, you need money.” Renate flashed a sly look over her shoulder as she turned away to a soap dispenser set against the tiled wall. “What could be wrong with getting to know Rafiq a little better?”

  Getting to know Rafiq a little better? Could Renate possibly mean that in the sense it had come across? Surely not.

  “Here.” Renate pressed something into her palm.

  Tiffany glanced down—and despite the cloying heat, she turned cold. “What in heaven’s name do I need a condom for?”

  But she knew, even as Renate flipped back her short blond hair and laughed. “Tiffany, Tiffany. You can’t be that innocent. Look at you. Big velvety eyes, peachy skin, long legs. You’re gorgeous. And I’ll bet Rafiq is very, very aware of it.”

  “I couldn’t—”

  Renate took both her hands, and brought her face up against Tiffany’s. “Honey, listen to me. The quickest way to make some cash is to be as nice to Rafiq as he wants. You’ll be well rewarded. He’s a man—a rich one judging by that handmade thousand-dollar suit. He came here, to Le Club, tonight. He knows the score.”

  Horror surged through Tiffany. “What are you saying?”

  “The men who come to Le Club are looking for a companion for the night. The whole night.”

  “Oh, God, no.” She wrenched her hands free from Renate’s hold and covered her face. The clues had been there lurking under what she’d seen as Renate’s friendliness. You can borrow my minidress, Tiff, it does great things for your legs. Your mouth is so sexy, a red lipstick will bring out the pout. Be nice, Tiff—you’ll get more tips. How had she missed them?

  Stupid!

  She’d been so grateful for what she’d seen as Renate’s friendship…her help….

  Tiffany dropped her hands away from her face.

  Renate’s features softened a trifle. “Tiff, the first time is the worst. It’ll be easier next time.”

  “Next time?” She felt absolutely and utterly chilled. And infinitely wiser than she had been even an hour ago. Renate was no well-meaning friend; she’d misled Tiffany. Purposefully. A sense of betrayal spread through her.

  “There won’t be a next time.” Tiffany had no intention of ever setting a foot back in this place.

  Renate picked Tiffany’s tiny beaded purse off the vanity slab and slid the condom inside. “Don’t be so sure.”

  Tiffany snatched her purse up and looped the strap around her wrist. “I’m leaving.”

  “First shift ends at ten,” Renate pointed out. “If you leave before that, you won’t get paid for the hours you’ve worked. Work another shift and you’ll earn even more.”

  Tiffany glanced at her watch. Nine-thirty. She had to last another thirty minutes. She needed that cash to pay for her bed at the hostel. But another shift was more than she could manage. She met Renate’s gaze. “I’ll wait it out.”

  “Think about what I said. It’s no big deal after the first time—I promise.” For a moment something suspiciously akin to vulnerability glimmered in Renate’s eyes. “Everyone does it—there’s a lot of demand for young foreign female tourists.” Renate shrugged one shoulder. “Rafiq is good-looking. It won’t be too bad. Would you rather be broke and desperate?”

  “Yes!” Tiffany shivered. Rafiq’s disdain suddenly made sense. He thought—

  Her hand froze on the door handle.

  God. Surely he didn’t intend… No, he hadn’t even exhibited any interest in her. She’d only served him a drink—there’d been no hint of anything more. “At least Rafiq isn’t expecting to sleep with me.”

  “Of course he is.” The look Renate gave her was full of superiority. “Although sleeping will have little to do with it—and he will undoubtedly pay well.”

  The chill that had been spreading through Tiffany froze into a solid block of ice. It took effort to release the door handle she was clutching. “I’d rather starve!”

  “You won’t starve—not if you do what he wants.”

  “No!” Tiffany clenched her fists, a steely determination filling her. “And I won’t starve, either.” She’d foolishly trusted Renate. But she intended to make the best of the situation. “I’m only a waitress tonight—and he still owes me a tip.”

  Right now that tip meant tomorrow’s food, and when she walked out of there at ten o’clock with her shift money, it would be with a generous tip, too.

  Rafiq found himself blocking out Julian Carling’s overloud voice as he focused on the archway to the right side of the bar where Tiffany and Renate had reappeared.

  Tiffany wasn’t the kind of woman Rafiq would ever have expected to meet at a place like Le Club. Her face had a deceptive freshness…an innocence…at odds with the scarlet lipstick and the frilly, short black dress. He snorted in derision. It only went to show the ingenue act was exactly that—an act.

  Yet as she neared the booth, Rafiq could’ve have sworn he saw her gulp.

  She handed him a tall iced soda and stared at him with wary eyes.

  “Thank you.” Rafiq’s body grew tigh
t. He wasn’t accustomed to evoking that kind of look on a woman’s face. Usually there was admiration, a yearning for the worldly goods he could bestow. And a healthy dose of desire, too.

  But Tiffany wore none of the too-familiar expressions.

  Instead her pupils had dilated and transformed her eyes to dark holes in a face where her skin had lost its lotus-petal luminescence.

  Apprehension. That’s what it was. A touch of fear. As though someone had told her he trafficked in human beings—or worse.

  He switched his narrowed gaze to Renate. Had she told Tiffany something to result in that pinched expression?

  While the statuesque blonde had instantly identified Sir Julian, who was something of a celebrity in Hong Kong, much to Rafiq’s relief she had not recognized him. Rafiq had wryly concluded that royal sheikhs didn’t have the same cachet as hoteliers. In fact, he’d been ready to call it a night as soon as he’d realized what kind of a place Le Club was. One celebratory drink with Julian out of politeness to seal the first stages of the proposal they’d put together for a hotel in his home country of Dhahara, and he’d intended to leave.

  Then Tiffany had chosen water over fake champagne cocktails and he’d been intrigued enough to want to find out what kind of game she was playing.

  Flicking his gaze back to her, he took in the stiff way she held herself. Only the tilt of her chin showed something of the woman he’d glimpsed before, the woman who had demanded more light in this tacky made-for-seduction booth.

  Rafiq intended to find out what had disturbed her. Shifting a little farther into the booth to give her space to sit, he patted the seat beside him. She ignored the velvet upholstered expanse, and fixed him with the same dazed stare of a rabbit confronted by a hunting hawk.

  His frown deepened.

  She swallowed, visibly uneasy.

  “Sit down,” he growled. “Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t bite.”

  Her gaze skated away from his—and she blanched. He turned his head to see what had caused such an extreme reaction.

  Renate was stroking a finger over Julian’s fleshy lips and the hotelier was nibbling lasciviously at the pad of her thumb. Even as they watched, Sir Julian took it into his mouth and sucked it suggestively.

  Rafiq compressed his lips into a tight line. Only yesterday he’d been invited to Sir Julian’s home for dinner. The hotel magnate had proudly introduced his wife of almost three decades as the love of his life…and produced a daughter with whom he’d tried to match Rafiq.

  “Nor do I devour thumbs,” he murmured to Tiffany. To his surprise, relief lightened her eyes. Surely a sucked thumb was tame for a place like Le Club?

  For the first time he saw that her eyes were brown with gold streaks. Until now it had been her hair and peachy skin that had snagged his attention. Not that he’d been looking—he wasn’t interested in a woman who earned her living the way Tiffany did.

  Abruptly, he asked, “Why do you choose to work here?”

  “Tonight is my first time. Renate brought me—she said it was a good place to make cash.”

  He withdrew imperceptibly at her confession. She’d come prepared to barter her body for cash? “You want money so desperately?” When she failed to respond, disappointment filtered through him like hot desert sand winnowing through his fingers, until nothing remained save emptiness. “You should leave,” he said.

  A flush crept along her cheekbones. She looked down at the table and started to draw patterns on the white linen tablecloth with her index finger.

  Rafiq looked away.

  Across from them Julian’s hand had weaseled its way under the neckline of Renate’s dress, and Rafiq could see the ridges under the stretchy electric blue fabric where the other man’s fingers groped at her rounded breasts. Renate giggled.

  This was what Tiffany was contemplating?

  “Will it be worth it?” he asked her.

  She didn’t answer.

  He glanced down at her. Her attention was riveted on the couple on the other side of the table. She looked distinctly queasy.

  “You’d let a man paw you for money?” He sounded harsher than he’d intended. “In front of a roomful of strangers?”

  “I think I need the bathroom again.”

  She looked as if she were about to throw up as she bolted from the booth. Good. His deliberate crudity had shaken her. She’d said tonight was her first night. Maybe he could still talk sense into her. Perhaps there was still a chance to lure her away from such a recklessly destructive course of action.

  His mouth tight with distaste, Rafiq threw a hundred-dollar note down on the table and rose to his feet to follow her.

  Two

  Rafiq was leaning against the wall when Tiffany emerged from the bathroom, his body lean and supple in the dark, well-fitting suit. He straightened and came toward her like a panther, sleek and sinuous.

  Tiffany fervently hoped she wasn’t the prey he intended hunting. There were dark qualities to this man that she had no wish to explore further.

  “I’m going to call you a cab.”

  “Now?” Panic jostled her. “I can’t leave. My shift isn’t over yet.”

  “I’ll tell whoever is in charge around here that you’re leaving with me. No one will argue.”

  She assessed him. The hard eyes, the hawk-like features, the lean, whipcord strength. The way he had of appearing to own all the space around him. Yes, he was right. No one would argue with him.

  Except her. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  Something flared in those unfathomable eyes. “I wasn’t intending to take you anywhere…only to call for a cab.”

  “I can’t afford one,” she said bluntly.

  “I’ll pay for your damned cab.”

  Tiffany started to protest, and then hesitated. Why shouldn’t he pay for her fare? He’d never coughed up the service tip she needed. Though the disquieting discussion with Renate had made it clear that tips in this place required more service than just a little company over drinks. Renate was clearly going to end up in Sir Julian’s bed tonight. For what? A visit to the races tomorrow…and a wad of cash?

  Tiffany had no intention of following suit. She’d rather have her self-respect.

  Yet she couldn’t afford to be too proud. She needed every cent she could lay her hands on. For food and accommodation until Monday. If Rafiq gave her the fare for a cab, she could sneak out the back while he was organizing it and hurry to her lodgings on foot. It wouldn’t be dishonest, she assured herself. She’d earned the tip he’d never paid.

  “Thanks.” The word almost choked her.

  He was suddenly—unexpectedly—close. Too close. Tiffany edged away and suppressed the impulse to tell him to stick his money. Reality set in. The cab fare, together with the miserly rate for tonight’s work, which she’d be able to collect in less than ten minutes, meant she’d be able to pay for her accommodation and buy food for the weekend.

  Relief swept through her.

  All her problems would be solved. Until Monday…

  Over the weekend, she’d keep trying her father. Surely he’d check his e-mail, his phone messages, sooner or later? Of course, it would mean listening to him tell her he’d been right from the outset, that she wasn’t taking care of herself in the big, bad world. But at least he’d advance her the money to rebook her flights and she’d be able to get back to help her mom.

  “I’d appreciate it,” she said, suddenly subdued. Tiffany halted, waiting for him produce his wallet.

  “Let’s go.”

  His hand came down on the small of her back and the contact electrified her. It was the humidity in the club, not his touch that had caused the flash of heat, she told herself as she tried to marshal her suddenly chaotic thoughts.

  Her money.

  “Wait—”

  Before she could finish objecting he’d propelled her past the bar, through the spectacular mirrored lobby and out into the oppressive heat of the night. Of course there was a
cab waiting. For a men like Rafiq there always were.

  “Hang on—”

  Ignoring her, Rafiq opened the door and ushered her in and all of the sudden he was overwhelming in the confined space.

  “Where to?” he asked.

  He’d never intended to hand her cash. And she hadn’t had the opportunity to collect her earnings, either.

  “I didn’t get my money,” she wailed. Then it struck her that he shouldn’t be sitting next to her with his thigh pressed against hers. “You said you weren’t coming with me.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  His smile didn’t reach his midnight-dark eyes. Then he closed the door, dousing the interior light. Tiffany didn’t know whether to be relieved or disturbed by the sudden cloak of darkness. So she scooted across the seat, out of his reach, trying to ignore his sheer, overwhelming physical presence by focusing on everything she’d been cheated of. Food. Lodgings. Survival. She could survive without food until Monday. It wouldn’t kill her. When she went back to the embassy she wouldn’t let pride stop her begging for a handout for a meal. But she needed a roof over her head.

  “I’m not going to be able to get that money back.” She hadn’t worked out her shift. “I doubt they’ll take me back tomorrow now.” There were strict rules about telling the management when you were leaving—and with whom. Tiffany had thought it was for the hostess’s protection.

  “You don’t want to work there—find somewhere else.” Rafiq murmured something to the cabdriver and the vehicle started to move.

  Tiffany didn’t bother to explain that she didn’t have a visa to work in Hong Kong, that she’d only turned up at Le Club for the night as a casual waitress. Worry tugged at her stomach. “I need the money for those hours I spent there tonight.”

  “A pittance,” he said dismissively.