Page 3 of The Sheik's Pretend Fiancee
His lips quirked and Angela wasn’t sure what he was thinking. This new expression wasn’t amusement. It wasn’t anger. Unfortunately, she was too distracted to interpret the way his lips curled slightly at the corners.
“Isn’t it your job to change a man’s mind?”
Whose mind was he suggesting she change? For some unfathomable reason, Angela suspected thathe didn’t give a damn about her uncle. And equally unfathomable, her eyes dropped, again, to his mouth, wondering what his lips would feel like.Would his kisses be hard and demanding? Or soft and persuasive?
Clearing her throat, Angela blinked and looked deliberately at him, then took a step away. She wanted to rebuke him, to come up with something to say that would destroy his confidence. However, she wasn’t able to think of an appropriately pithy, pointed remark. The best she could manage was, “I doubt your mind is flexible enough to be changed.”
The look he gave her was...it wasn’t threatening, exactly. But it was a warning. An alarm bell sounded in her head. Loud and clear, but Angela ignored it, preferring the soft, fuzzy warmth of curiosity. Her tendency to run headlong into mysteries had gotten her into trouble more than once over the years.
But, it had also brought her a great deal of satisfaction.
She heard a soft, tempting-yet-terrifying growl and watched as his eyes burned in response to her challenge. “You’d be surprised at how flexible my mind can be,” he replied.
Were they still talking about…what had they been discussing? It certainly wasn’t her Uncle Khal anymore!
A bell sounded, jerking Angela from the trance she’d been in for…however long this interaction had been.
“I believe dinner is about to be served,” Tiro said. “Would it be outrageous if I were to escort you to dinner?”
Angela turned, looking up at him. Everything inside of her wanted to take his offered arm and walk beside him into the dining room. Her fingertips literally tingled with the hope of getting to feel the bulging muscles underneath his tuxedo.
But that would be wrong, she reminded herself firmly.
“Dare to be dangerous,” he purred, shooting her a pointed look.
Angela’s startled gaze lifted, her heart pounding against her ribs.
“I can’t and, more importantly, Ishouldn’t,” she told him. Finally, somecommon sense! Angela carefully and deliberatelystepped around him, heading for the stairs.
And yet, Angela nearly changed her mind when she glanced back over her shoulder and caught the disappointment in his eyes. For a long moment, she simply stood there, looking back at him, fighting the urge to rush back up the steps, to tuck her hand into his arm, and smile up at him.
By sheer willpower, Angela resisted the urge. Silently, she reminded herself that she was the ambassador for her country. She didn’t have the luxury of ignoring the social and political implications of walking into dinner on Tiro’s arm. He was the enemy. And the international ramifications of being seen on his arm were dire. He knew it, as did she. So,why was he trying to shake things up? What was his plan? What advantage would the gesture provide for Ginisia?
With a huff, she looked away and shook her head with frustration.Who knew what Sheik Tiro was up to? He was a master at manipulations and gaining the upper hand. Of course, he’d lost as many battles as he’d won against her uncle, Sheik Khal of Lativa. Still, this was an extraordinary offer. Even being seen speaking with him could be considered threatening if the wrong interpretation were put on their conversation from Lativa’s allies.
She walked away, gripping the brass railing as she made her way down the ancient stone steps where the pre-dinner reception had been held. Carefully, she inserted herself into the slow moving, glittering crowd and headed into the dining room for what promised to be a delicious feast.
But Angela couldn’t keep from doing one last glance over her shoulder. He truly was magnificent, she thought. He was so tall and powerfully built. The tuxedo seemed to be mocking the world, teasing everyone into thinking that the man underneath the tailored material could be tamed.
Angela knew better. There was nothing docile about Sheik Tiro el Maistri. He was more beast than man. The almost feral look in his eyes as he followed her proved that point. She couldn’t stop the shiver.
Chapter 2
Tiro watched Angela walk down the stairs, fascinated and, if he were honest with himself, charmed by the combination of sensuality, intelligence, and…something he couldn’t define. Princess Angela Al-Sintra was definitely a mystery. He’d anticipated her animosity, which was justified. What he hadn’t anticipated was the intense awareness of her as a woman.
This awareness was…dangerous. She was the ambassador to his most hated rival, Lativa.
Tiro had been acutely curious to learn if the rumors were true. Through diplomatic channels, he’d heard about Princess Angela’s ability to charm just about anyone, but Tiro hadn’t anticipated how affected he would be by her soft lips and sharpness of her tone. Because of her connections to the royal family, Tiro had assumed he’d be immune to her brand of charm.
He'd been wrong!
Tiro had fought against his initial instinct to pick her up and carry her away from this stupid gala. He couldn’t even remember what the event was for.Was this a charity event or a political thing? He hated both. Hell, Tiro hated anything that pulled him away from his country. He hated anything that slowed his country’s progress toward a better future for his people. And he hated everything about Lativa.
Except for Angela, a small thought silently interjected.
“Your Highness,” Osman, his personal assistant, stood at Tiro’s elbow, clutching his tablet to his thin, bony chest.
Tiro sighed, reluctantly pulling his gaze away from the doorway through which Angela had vanished. “What is it?” he grumbled. Now that she was out of sight, Tiro was bored, wishing that he could just get on his plane and go home. He hated tedious social functions. Why the hell would anyone care if he showed upfor some pretentious dinner party?
