Page 11 of The Sheikh's Temporary Girlfriend

He smiled and uncovered the other dishes while giving a running commentary, “Kibbeh, which is essentially a fried beef cake. Fattoush. Mixed greens with crunchy, fried bread pieces. Tabouleh. You might have had something similar in your doner-kebabs.”

“I did, though whether it was authentic like what your chef makes, I have no idea.” She swallowed some more of the thareed, and moaned. “All I know is I want to try a little bit of everything.”

“Then a little bit of everything you shall have,” he declared.

Half-an-hour later, Amber’s stomach was so full she could burst, while her brain was so overloaded with his country’s customs it threatened to burst right along with it. Taking one last sip of wine, she sat back and belched politely behind her hand. “Pardon me.”

Basam’s laugh was warm enough to send tingles up her spine even before he sat back and murmured, “You really are precious, sunshine.”

She grinned. “You’re that easily impressed?”

“I guess I find your simplicity…refreshing.”

“Simplicity?” Her grin faded. “Just because I don’t put on airs and graces, it doesn’t mean I can’t impress your friends.”

His eyes sparkled. “Oh, I have no doubt about that, sunshine, or you wouldn’t be here right now with me.”

She nodded. “Good.” She rubbed her stomach again, too full to do anything but sleep. “When was this dress fitting thing again?” she asked. “Because I doubt anything will fit me right now.”

He laughed again, and she decided she really liked the sound. She bit her bottom lip. It’d be all too easy to like this man, too. She’d need to keep her guard up and not lose herself in the fairytale of being with him.

She pushed back her chair. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a shower and freshen up before I have any fittings.”

He nodded. “You do that. I’ll clean up here.”

She paused. “Oh. You don’t have staff to come and clean after dinner?”

He grinned wryly. “I have cleaners come in twice a week and lunch or dinners cooked for me when I request them, but mostly I keep this area of my palace to myself.” He shrugged even as he stood and collected the dishes. “I don’t have much privacy. I enjoy what solitude I can get.”

“It’s going to take a strong woman to learn to live in that spotlight with you.”

He nodded, his gaze raking over her. “Indeed, it is.”

Chapter Five

Amber stood on a dressmaker’s platform in the large dressing room that branched off from one side of Basam’s walk-in-robe. She was relieved to find the dressmaker, Marietta, had light, dexterous fingers, and the materials that were pinned around her were loose fitting and—of course—modest.

Not that it mattered. She was used to wearing a bikini so it was nothing for her to stand in her matching white panties and bra while the dressmaker clucked and fussed around her.

Amber learned Marietta had been born and lived in Paris, where she’d learned her craft before she’d been offered a position in Basam’s palace. She’d apparently snapped up his offer, the salary too good to decline.

Taking out the pins from the fabric swathed around Amber, Marietta smiled as she held up yet another lovely fabric against Amber. This one was a dark mulberry color with gorgeous silver embroidery. “We call these garments, abayas. Though many women wear them as an outer garment like a cloak in traditional black, I’ve created these to be a little more flattering and in brighter colors.”

“They’re lovely,” Amber conceded with a smile. “And so comfortable.”

The dressmaker smiled proudly. “Feeling comfortableandbeautiful is my goal.” She nodded at the mulberry-colored one. “This will take no time to sew. I should have it ready for you in a few hours. It will be perfect for casual daywear. In the meantime, you can wear the fire-red abaya this evening.”

As Marietta bagged the mulberry abaya, Amber glanced at the red creation that was on a hanger behind her. Red meant power and she had a feeling she’d need every bit of that tonight. “They’re both beautiful, thank you.”

Red also meant passion. Not that she’d be testing out that theory tonight or anytime soon, no matter that little thrills of delight went through her whenever Basam was in her vicinity.

Marietta smiled back. “You will be the envy of many. I’ll advise the hairdresser to sweep your hair up at the sides with the back loose. A diamond tiara with matching earrings will perfectly set off your dress and hair.”

Amber touched her upswept hair self-consciously. It was in its usual bun, though corkscrew strands had come loose around her face after she’d had a steaming hot shower. “That sounds lovely, but my hair is a mess of curls.”

“Then you will make all the women with their straight, dark hair even more envious.” She giggled like a schoolgirl. “Spiral perms will make a big comeback in this country, just you wait and see.”

Amber wasn’t convinced, but she was no fashionista either. She trusted in the dressmaker whose own abaya was a gorgeous, flowing creation in a rainbow of colors that swooshed and swooped around her as she worked.

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