Page 20 of The Sheikh's Temporary Girlfriend

She stretched a little, but didn’t need to reach out to know Basam wasn’t there. It was more than a little unnerving that every cell in her body instinctively knew when he was absent.

She grimaced. She’d need her caffeine fix today.

She’d taken this job offer, not only for the money, but in the knowledge she wouldn’t get romantically involved or attached.

How’s that working out for you so far?

If night two had seen her close to succumbing to sex, how close would she get tonight? She sat and swung out of bed, padding barefooted across the thick cream carpet and out into the dining and lounge room, following the coffee beans aroma to where a coffee machine sat proudly on one side of Basam’s huge mahogany bar.

Not that she was really focused on anything other than the bare-chested man who was a vision for her eyes.

“You’re awake,” he said with a smile, his loose white pants, which most men wore under their thobes, sitting low on his hips and showcasing rippling abs along with a faint line of dark hair that started just below his navel and disappeared beneath his pants waistband. “And just in time for a coffee,” he added.

She blinked at him, her mouth drying while other, far more intimate parts of her body flooded with liquid heat. She pulled her stare away from him to focus on the fully automated coffee machine. “I didn’t realize until now that you don’t have a kitchen.”

She’d clearly been distracted.

“No need for one when I have amazing chefs cooking for me. But I do enjoy having coffee at my fingertips.” He nodded at the machine. “Milk or sugar?”

“Milk, no sugar,” she said.

Not even a minute later she was sipping on possibly the best coffee she’d ever tasted. They mightn’t have fabulous beaches here—anybeaches—but they certainly knew how to make a damn good beverage.

He made another coffee, then took intermittent mouthfuls of it between speaking. “Enjoy your coffee in peace while you can.” At her arched eyebrow he explained, “We’ll be sharing breakfast this morning in the dining hall with some of last night’s guests.”

She gulped down the last of her coffee. “No two guesses who some of those guests might be,” she said.

He nodded. “Despite our differences, Amal is still a very dear friend of mine.”

She bit her bottom lip, then acknowledged, “It’s kind of endearing that you don’t walk away from a close friendship simply because you don’t desire his daughter.”

Not in marriage, anyway.

His lips quirked. “I’m not sure Amal or Maram find it particularly endearing.

She shrugged. “Maram is beautiful, I don’t doubt for a second that some gorgeous man will sweep her off her feet.”

Basam grinned ruefully. “I’m sure she will, too, just as long as she doesn’t show her true colors.”

He placed his empty coffee cup on the bar. “My staff will take our dirty dishes away.” He nodded toward the bedroom. “We’d best get dressed for our breakfast get-together.”

Get-together? Her stomach crunched. She hadn’t expected to have to face anyone first thing in the morning and hadn’t prepared herself for any further interrogation from people she didn’t know.

He smiled at her. “Don’t look so worried. The dressmaker has already dropped off a couple more abayas for you to choose from, as well as some shoes and accessories.

She might always love the less-is-more wardrobe, but she was getting to love the loose and flowing abayas that covered up the body and yet made her feel utterly beautiful. She entered the dining hall with Basam, half-expecting some huge room with scarred wooden tables and some Vikings tearing at pheasant legs and charred pork.

The only thing she’d gotten right was the huge room. Except this one had a trio of matching crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling that spread soft, glowing light onto three eighteen-seater tables covered in fine white cloths.

Only the closest table was being used, with the entire breakfast party seated except for two empty cushioned chairs at one end. They were clearly for the sheikh and his guest, AKA pretend girlfriend.

Amber felt Maram’s eyes on her and the gorgeous mulberry abaya she wore with its glistening silver thread and matching silver heels. She’d piled her blonde hair on top her head in a knot that mostly restrained it with just a few tendrils falling free either side of her face. She’d also put on a very light makeup, nothing more than peach lipstick and mascara.

Maram’s gaze moved to instead soak in Basam. Who wouldn’t? He looked every inch the powerful and commanding sheikh in his white thobes and Keffiyeh headdress, his very presence compelling and magnetic.

Basam pulled a chair out for Amber, then waited until she was seated before he took the one next to her and looked around. “Thank you all for waiting. I trust none of you are yet starving?”

A handful of his guests chuckled—they’d eaten and drank like kings last night—while a few more smiled and stayed respectfully silent. Only an elderly man muttered, “We’re more than happy to wait,” as he adjusted his keffiyeh with shaky, gnarled hands.

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