Page 4 of The Sheikh's Temporary Girlfriend

Chapter Two

Amber paced back and forth in her tiny motel room that was reserved exclusively for paid staff, and although the sun had cracked the horizon outside, giving the sky a soft, rosy-tinged glow, it did little to soothe her state of mind.

She’d been conjuring up hundreds of worst case scenarios. What if the sheikh kidnapped her and never allowed her to return home? What if this was some kind of elaborate scheme designed to get her out of her own country and into his before she was sex trafficked or worse?

What if you and your brother never see Katie again?

Her fear subsided, strength coursing through her veins. Nothing was too big a risk when it came to the possibility of losing her niece.

She’d had a hard time on the phone last night trying to explain to her brother that his debts would be settled. He’d been disbelieving, then overjoyed, then deeply suspicious. At her cajoling he’d become cautiously optimistic, even while he’d asked over and over again where she’d possibly found the money.

In the end she’d told him she’d hit the jackpot. It hadn’t been a lie, not really. Shehadhit the jackpot, just not in the way he’d imagined. That he’d believed her gambling had solved his debts left a sour taste in her mouth, but there was little to be done about it now.

He would have used every trick in his arsenal to not let her leave Australia and go to some foreign country with a virtual stranger. She might no longer be a child, but he was still a protective older brother.

She went into the bathroom and wet her hands before pressing them to her warm brow. Her dark blue eyes—the color of the ocean, according to her niece—flashed with another bout of misgiving. What if—

Knock. Knock.

Her throat dried, her heart pitter-pattering as she forced her legs to carry her out of the bathroom and to the front door. She touched her tightly bound hair—it would be a wild mass of blonde curls if she left it unrestrained—before she smoothed a hand over her long yellow sundress with its embossed triangular print. Though it was fitted at the bodice and waist, it flared out to flow loosely to her ankles.

It was her most modest dress. She didn’t own any Middle-Eastern type clothes. She was a beach girl, less was more. Comfort was top priority. Her entire wardrobe was probably considered indecent by the sheikh and his people’s standards.

She unlatched the tiny, inadequate chain-lock that was meant to keep her safe, then pulled open the motel door. Her pulse surged. Sheikh Basam was delectable. His white dress shirt enhanced his sun-kissed skin, his broad shoulders and spare torso, while his fawn pants hugged his lean waist and powerful thighs. His outfit probably cost more than her sedan she’d left parked inside her garage.

Behind him a shiny dark SUV waited, while a middle-aged man in a formal suit and black cap with visor stood beside its open passenger door.

“Amber,” the sheikh murmured. “I’m happy to see you this morning.” At her unblinking gaze he explained, “I thought you might have changed your mind.”

And lose Katie? Never!

She lifted her chin. “I don’t make a habit of going back on my word.”

He smiled as he handed her some paperwork. “Then you will want to read and sign this contract before we leave.”

“Contract?” she repeated weakly.

“Yes. I had my lawyer put it together late last night.”

“Of course you did,” she said, stepping aside to let him in before she shut the door and followed with the paperwork. “Would you like coffee or tea?”

“No, thank you.” He nodded at the paperwork. “If you could read and sign the paperwork, then we can leave.”

He was clearly in a hurry. She guessed seven days was a bit of a stretch to try and convince someone he was in love with another woman. That Amber was a commoner Australian would surely be pushing the believability factor to the limit?

She inwardly shrugged. It wasn’t her concern. She’d do her best to play her part. The rest was up to Basam and his acting ability.

She sat at the little round table, reading everything twice over. Though there were plenty of technical words, there was nothing out of order. Nothing more than what Sheikh Basam had asked of her.

He sat at the other side of the table, his presence big and commanding, and seemingly sucking away all the oxygen. Her hands shook slightly as she signed the contract and slid it his way. “Done.”

He nodded, then pulled a velvet box from the pocket of his pants. “We’re not quite done here yet.” He opened the lid with his long, blunt-ended fingers and she gasped at the exquisite diamond choker and matching drop earrings inside. His eyes glinted. “I want you to put these on before we leave.”

“They’re beautiful.”

He smiled. “They’re yours.”

“Mine?” she croaked.

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