The Return of the Sheikh (3 page)

Zain couldn’t mask his disappointment. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing him and catching up on his accomplishments. But it’s probably best we have no distractions when you bring me up to speed on the council’s most recent endeavors.”

Rafiq cleared his throat and looked away. “We will not exactly be dining alone.”

“Another member of the council?”

“No. A woman.”

Zain suspected he might know what this was all about. “Is this someone special in your life?”

“She has no bearing on my life.”

He internally cringed. “If this is the beginning of the queen candidate procession, then I—”

“She is not in the market to be your wife.”

He did not appreciate his brother’s vagueness. “Then who is she, Rafiq?”

“Madison Foster.”

Two

“D
o you always insist on having your way?”

Startled, Madison shot a glance to her right to discover Zain Mehdi standing in the doorway, one shoulder leaned against the frame, his expression unforgiving on that patently gorgeous face. “Do you always barge in without knocking?” she asked around the surprise attack.

“The door was ajar.”

She turned from the bureau, bumped the drawer closed with her butt and tightened the sash on the blue satin robe. “Really? I could have sworn I closed it before I took my shower. But I suppose it could have magically opened on its own, since Arabia is well-known for its magic.”

He ignored her sarcasm and walked into the room without an invitation, hands firmly planted in the pockets of his black slacks. With those deadly dark eyes and remarkable physique, the Arabian king could pass for an exotic male model—a model who sorely lacked good comportment.

He strolled to the open armoire to inspect the row of suits, skirts and slacks that Madison had hung only moments before. “As I predicted. Conventional clothing.”

His audacity was second only to his arrogance. “It’s known as business attire.”

“Attire that conceals your true nature,” he said as he slid his fingertips down the side of one beige silk skirt.

She couldn’t quite explain why she shivered over the gesture, or the sudden, unexpected image of experiencing his touch firsthand. “What do you know about my true nature?”

“I know your kind.” He turned and presented a seriously sexy half smile. “Beneath the conservative clothes you wear colorful lingerie.”

Lucky guess. “That’s a rather huge assumption.”

“Am I wrong?”

She refused to confirm or deny his conjecture. “Don’t you have some royal duty to perform? Maybe you should have all the locks checked on all the palace doors.”

He took a few slow steps toward her. “I’ll leave as soon as you tell me why you’re here when I made it quite I clear I do not need your help.”

She was starting to ask herself the same question. “Your brother’s convinced that you need my help.”

“Rafiq isn’t in charge of my life, nor is he in charge of the country. I am, and I can handle the transition on my own without any assistance.”

Oh, but he did need her help, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Yet. “From what I witnessed during your arrival, it appears the people aren’t welcoming you with open arms.”

His expression turned to stone. “As I told you before, Ms. Foster, they have no choice. I am this country’s rightful leader and they will have to learn to accept it.”

“But wouldn’t it be more favorable if you had the blessing of your country’s people?”

“And how do you propose to assist me in winning their approval? Do you plan to throw me a parade along with the international cocktail party?”

She mentally added
cynical
to the
sexy
thing. “I suppose we could try that, but a parade isn’t successful unless someone shows up. I have several ideas and I hope that you’ll at least give me the opportunity to explore those options with you.”

“Ah, yes. The social gatherings where you’ll be parading me in front of dignitaries.”

“We nixed the parade, remember?”

Amusement called out from his dark eyes. “I am still not convinced that you will make an impact on my acceptance.”

Time to bring out the legal implications. “As I’m sure your brother told you, the contract states I’ll be here until the coronation, whether you choose to work with me or not. Of course, I can’t force you to cooperate, but it would be worth your while to at least make the effort.”

He seemed to mull that over for a minute while Madison held her breath. “All right. Since you are protected by a legal document, and I’ve been stripped of my power to dismiss you, I will cooperate on a trial basis. But that cooperation hinges on your ability to meet my terms.”

She should have known he’d have an ulterior motive behind his sudden change of heart. “And what would those be?”

His smile returned, slow as a desert sunrise. “I’ll let you know in the upcoming days.”

Something told Madison his terms could be somewhat suspect. Still, she was more than curious, as well as determined to win him over. “Fine. We can begin tomorrow morning.”

“We can begin tonight after dinner,” he said, followed by a long visual journey from her neck to her bare feet. “I personally have no objection to your current attire, but something a little less distracting might be more appropriate.”

She’d basically forgotten what she was wearing—or wasn’t wearing for that matter. “Since I’ve spent a good deal of time attending state dinners, I know how to dress properly.”

He rested one hand on the ornately carved footboard. “This isn’t a diplomatic affair, Ms. Foster, only a casual meal.”

She felt somewhat uncomfortable having him so close to the bed. “Will both your brothers be dining with us?”

“Only Rafiq. Adan’s currently away on a mission.”

She was disappointed she wouldn’t meet the youngest Mehdi son. “Diplomatic assignment?”

“Military. He’s testing a new aircraft.”

“That’s right. I’d read somewhere he’s a pilot.”

“Adan’s affinity for danger is second only to his appreciation of beautiful women,” he said. “He will be greatly disappointed if he does not have the opportunity to meet you.”

Maybe it was best if baby brother stayed away for as long as possible. Two womanizers under one roof could be too much to handle. “Will he be back for the coronation?”

Zain pushed away from the bed, allowing Madison to breathe a little easier. “As far as I know.”

She hugged her arms closer to her middle. “I’ll meet him then.”

“If you are still here,” he said.

He wasn’t going to get rid of her that easily. But she did plan to dismiss him for the time being. “Since it’s getting late, I should probably get dressed now.”

“Yes, I suppose you should,” he said, a hint of fake disappointment in his tone. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you in the black dress you have hanging behind your business suits.”

He’d been more observant than she realized. “I’ll decide what I’m wearing after you’re gone.”

“You should definitely consider the red lingerie.”

Madison didn’t understand his fascination with her underwear, or how he’d correctly guessed her fondness for red silk, until she followed his gaze to some focal point at her hip. When she looked down, she saw her bra strap hanging from the closed drawer like a crimson snake in the grass. She quickly stuffed it back inside before pointing toward the door. “Out. Now.”

“Dinner is at five-thirty sharp. Do not be late,” he said as he walked out the door and closed it behind him.

The man’s overbearing behavior equaled his fortune, but he had a thing or two to learn about Madison’s determination. She didn’t appreciate his observations, even if he had been on target when it came to her clothing. Still, no sexy, bossy sheikh—even if he happened to be a king and her current employer—would dictate her choice in panties. In fact, Zain Mehdi would have nothing whatsoever to do with her panties. And the next time she had him alone, she planned to set him straight about what she expected from him. Namely respect.

The sudden knock indicated she could have an immediate opportunity to do that very thing. On the heels of her frustration, she strode across the room, flung open the door and greeted the offending party with, “More commentary on my underwear?”

When she saw the demure lady with silver hair and topaz eyes standing in the hallway, Madison realized she’d made a colossal mistake. Yet she couldn’t seem to speak around her mortification.

“I’m Elena Battelli,” the woman said as she extended her hand. “And I am not concerned with your undergarments.”

She accepted the gesture and attempted a self-conscious smile. “I’m Madison Foster, and I’m so sorry. I thought you were—”

“Prince Zain, of course.”

Realizing her state of undress had only compounded the erroneous assumptions, Madison hugged her arms tightly around her middle. “I know how this must look to you, but His Highness accidentally walked in on me.”

The woman sent her a knowing look. “Prince Zain never does anything accidentally.”

She wouldn’t dispute that point. “Regardless, nothing inappropriate occurred.”

“Of course,” Elena said, her tone hinting at disbelief. “Do you find your accommodations satisfactory?”

Who wouldn’t? The massive marble jetted tub alone was worth any grief Zain Mehdi could hand her. “Very much so, thank you.”

She took a slight step back. “Good. Dinner’s at six.”

“Prince Zain told me five-thirty.”

“I am afraid you’ve been misled,” Elena said. “Dinner is always served at 6:00 p.m. That has been the designated time since I’ve been an employee.”

Madison saw the woman as the perfect resource for information on the future king. “How long ago has that been?”

She lifted her chin with pride. “Thirty-four years. I arrived before Prince Zain’s birth to assume my role as his
bambinaia,
or in English, his—”

“Nanny,” Madison interjected, then added, “I speak Italian. I studied abroad in Florence my sophomore year in college.”

Elena’s expression brightened. “Excellent. I am from Scandicci.”

“I visited there a few times. It’s a beautiful place. Do you go back often?”

All the joy seemed to drain from Elena’s face. “Not as often as I would like. My life is here with the royal family.”

A royal family with adult sons who no longer needed a nanny. A keeper, maybe, but not a nursemaid. “How do you spend your days now that the princes are grown?”

“I am basically in charge of running the household while waiting for my opportunity to raise another generation of Mehdi children.”

Madison didn’t quite see Zain as father material, an opinion she’d keep to herself. “I’m sure you gained invaluable experience with Prince Zain.”

“Yes, yet clearly I failed to impress upon him the merits of self-control when it comes to the opposite sex. Otherwise, he would not be interested in your undergarments.”

They shared in a brief laugh before Madison revealed her opinion on the subject. “I assure you, Prince Zain will not be commenting on my personal effects if I have any say in the matter.”

Elena presented a sly smile. “A word of advice. Prince Zain is a good man, yet he is still a man. What he lacks in restraint, he makes up in charm. Stand firm with him.”

With that, she walked away, leaving Madison to ponder exactly what the future king might have up his sleeve when he’d told her the incorrect time for dinner. She highly doubted he’d forgotten standard palace protocol in spite of his lengthy absence. Perhaps he was simply trying to throw her off balance in order to be rid of her.

Too bad. She would definitely stand her ground with him from this point forward. And as far as dinner went, she’d ignore his edict and show up when she darn well pleased.

*

She was fifteen minutes late, yet Zain wasn’t at all surprised. Madison Foster possessed an extreme need to be in control. Granted, he had the means to break down her defenses, and he was tempted to try. Nothing overt. Nothing more than a subtle and slight seduction designed to make her uncomfortable enough to bow out and return to the States where she belonged.

However, she could very well turn the tables by responding to his advances. Possible, but not likely, he decided when she entered the dining room wearing a slim black skirt that came right above her knees, conservative heels and a simple white blouse. A blouse sheer enough to reveal the outline of an equally white bra, most likely in an effort to prove her point. But he knew better. That professional, prim and proper persona only served to conceal the daring beneath her cool exterior. He’d wager the kingdom she had on a pair of brightly colored panties. Red panties.

A richly detailed fantasy assaulted him, one that involved sitting beside her and running his hand up the inside of her thigh and—

“Where would you like me?”

He thought of several answers, none of them appropriate. He chose the least suggestive one. “Are you referring to the seating arrangements, or do you have something else in mind?”

She approached the table and sent him a false smile. “Let me rephrase for the sake of clarity. Where do you want me to be seated?”

Zain gestured to the right of where he was positioned at the head of the lengthy table. “Here.” He waited for her to slide into the chair before he launched into his reprimand. “You’re late.”

She made an exaggerated show of checking her watch. “Actually, I’m fifteen minutes early, since it seems, according to Elena, dinner is and always has been at six.”

He’d been betrayed by his former governess and longtime confidante. “Now that I will soon assume my rightful role as king, dinner will be at five-thirty.”

She folded her hands atop the table, her gaze unwavering. “I suppose having your first royal edict involving dinnertime is preferable to, oh, say, changing the entire governmental structure.”

“That will be my second royal edict.”

She looked sincerely confused. “Are you serious?”

He smiled. “Not entirely, but I do plan to implement some much-needed change.”

“Change cannot occur until you are officially crowned, brother.”

Zain pulled his gaze from Madison to see Rafiq claiming his place at the opposite end of the table. “As disappointing as it might be to you,
brother,
that will happen in a matter of weeks. In the meantime, I plan to outline those changes to the council later this week.”

Rafiq lifted his napkin and placed it in his lap. “I have no designs on your position, Zain. But I do have a vested interest in the direction in which you plan to take my country.”

He fisted his hands on the heels of his anger. “
Our
country, Rafiq. A country that I plan to lead into the twenty-first century.”

Madison cleared her throat, garnering their attention. “What’s for dinner?”

“Cheeseburgers in your honor.”

When he winked, she surprisingly smiled. “I was truly looking forward to sampling some Middle Eastern fare,” she said.