To Catch a Sheik (Silhouette Romance #1674) [NOOK Book]

First Chapter

To Catch A Sheik

Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.

Chapter One

"Are we almost there?"

She posed the question to her dark-eyed, olive-skinned guide.

"Yes, miss," he said in a softly accented voice. He glanced over his shoulder. "We are nearly
there."

She'd forgotten his name. Normally, she had an excellent memory, but nothing about this
situation was normal. This was El Zafir - the land of magic, enchantment and romance. She
was in the royal palace, with perfectly shined marble hallways, graceful arched doorways and
rooms filled with priceless furnishings. But as she put one sensible, low-heeled shoe in front of
the other, she had the most absurd desire to leave a trail of cracker crumbs. Just in case she
needed to retrace her steps through the maze that was the royal palace.

It was the royal palace, for goodness' sake! But even the panic-induced adrenaline rush
produced by that thought couldn't pick up the slack when a body hadn't slept in over twenty- four hours. Crossing numerous time zonestended to take the starch out of a girl. At this
moment, she felt as if she'd walked every step of the way from the U.S. of A.

They rounded a corner and stopped before impressive mahogany double doors. The ceiling was
so high, the awesome barrier reminded her of a scene from the King Kong movie where the
humongous gates were supposed to keep out the giant ape. She was no ape and at five feet one
and a half inches, certainly no giant.

"This is the business wing of the palace," her guide explained.

"Is there a map I could use to get my bearings?" she asked. "Something with an X that says you
are here and a general layout of the rest of the palace?"

"No, miss."

The man didn't crack a smile, not even the barest flicker. If no one in this small but up-and- coming, oil-rich country had a sense of humor, it was going to be a long two years.

He pushed open the right door, revealing a carpeted hall forming a T at the end. Berber carpet if
her limited knowledge of fine furnishings could be trusted.

"Follow me, miss."

"Okay."

Like it would occur to her to strike out on her own. She could be lost for days. They'd have to
send a search party to look for her. Was there search and rescue in El Zafir?

Her guide walked past several doors, then turned to his right and went through an open door
into an office. The room was bigger than her apartment back home. Granted, her apartment was
small. But this was awfully Texas-sized for an office.

He held out his hand, indicating the leather love seat against the wall. "Sit. You'll receive
instruction regarding your duties presently."

"From Princess Farrah Hassan?"

"No."

Then from whom, she wanted to ask, looking around for a clue. She wouldn't have to guess if
the doors had nameplates. You'd think a wealthy nation could find a couple bucks for that.

Without further explanation, her guide turned and left the room. She looked around again, and
her jangled nerves kicked up quite a ruckus. Apparently the butterflies in her stomach didn't
need it, but the rest of her could certainly use a blast of caffeine.

She didn't see coffee but everything else about the place was pretty darned intimidating. In front
of her stood a U-shaped cherry-wood desk, polished to such a shine she could use it for a
mirror to do her hair. Although twisting her waist-length hair into a knot at the back of her head
was a simple matter and didn't require visual aids. The desk held a computer with printer,
scanner and fax machine. Behind it, next to the wall, was a copier. She wondered if all the
offices were as well equipped. Or did everyone in the business wing use these machines? If this
was the tech center, it made sense that this was where her job orientation would take place.

Then she noticed a closed door to her right. Maybe there was coffee behind it. She could
knock and poke her head in to ask. Nope. She'd been ordered to wait and wait she would.
With a weary sigh, she sat on the love seat. A second later she sighed for a very different
reason. Never in her life had she felt such supple softness. Who knew leather wasn't cold and
could feel so fabulously luxurious? She settled in to wait for orders and struggled to keep her
eyes open.

Rafiq Hassan, Prince of El Zafir, Minister of Domestic and Foreign Affairs, opened his office
door to confer with his secretary. The empty desk reminded him he had no secretary. First thing
that morning the efficient young man had been appropriated by his father, King Gamil. His aunt
Farrah had promised to send a replacement. Glancing to his left, he saw a young woman sitting
on the couch. Sitting was too active a word. Slumped would be more to the point. Was this his
substitute?

He walked over and looked down at her. She was dressed in a shapeless khaki dress that
covered her from the neck to below her knees, leaving visible her very shapely ankles. Low- heeled shoes covered her feet. She could have been a child except that there was the suggestion
of a bosom filling out the bodice of the unflattering garment. She was quite small, he noticed.
Unfortunately, the ugly, black-rimmed glasses on her oval face were not.

At the moment she didn't need the spectacles, because her eyes were closed. He was reminded
of the American story, the one of Goldilocks that he'd read to his niece and nephew. Her hair
was golden, and she was sound asleep. Did that make him one of the three bears? His two
brothers, Fariq and Kamal, would no doubt be less than flattered at being compared to
American bears. Besides, Rafiq had been told he was the family charmer. How bearish could he
be?

He bent at the waist and said, "Excuse me?"

Long, lush lashes fluttered. Did they look long and lush because the ugly glasses magnified
them? Did objects behind the thick lenses appear larger? When she lifted her eyelids, he
wondered that again as very big blue eyes were revealed.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from To Catch A Sheik by Teresa Southwick
Copyright © 2003 by Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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