скачать книгу бесплатно
Her attempt at cool, calm and collected ended when she caught sight of his expression. He was observing her intently, assessing her from head to toe.
Flushing, she shuffled papers nervously. “What kind of help do you need?”
“The kind you’re good at.” He was walking toward her, very slowly.
She tried to concentrate on what he was saying instead of his proximity, but he was coming too close, moving too quickly. “I’m a teacher, Sharif.”
“Exactly.” He stood over her, tall and imposing.
Had he always been this tall? “It’s been a long time,” she said.
“Nine years.”
“Nine,” she repeated, finding it nearly impossible to tear her gaze from his fiercely handsome features, features that had only grown harder and more beautiful over the years. The handsome prince had become a man. But then, he wasn’t merely a prince anymore. He was Sarq’s king.
With one hand she smoothed her skirt, feeling miserably dowdy, all too aware that her wardrobe and hairstyle were basic, practical, no nonsense. She’d never been a fashionista to start with, and nine years in the classroom had reduced both her wardrobe and her sense of style to nil.
She forced her lips into a professional smile. “After nine years, what could I possibly do to help you?”
“Teach,” he answered simply.
She felt a funny flicker of emotion, an emotion that fell somewhere between unreasonable fury and tears. “That’s right. I’m a teacher and you’re a king.”
Sharif’s gray eyes held hers, his expression enigmatic. “You could have been my queen.”
“You were never serious, Sharif.”
A spark flared in his eyes, and explosive tension whipped the room. “Neither were you.”
And just like that they were adversaries, on opposite sides of an insurmountable wall.
“Unfair and untrue,” she said through gritted teeth, anger making her chest too hot and tight. “There was no room for me—” She broke off, unable and unwilling to continue. It was history, so long ago it shouldn’t matter. The fact that they were even discussing events of nine years ago struck her as tragic, especially as she had someone else in her life, someone who mattered a great deal to her. “So what really brings you here, King Fehr?”
His jaw hardened and his narrowed gaze ruthlessly swept her, head to toe. “I’ve told you. You do. I’ve come to offer you a job.”
He was serious, then. This was about a job. Teaching.
Heat rushed through her, heat that left her deeply shaken. Swallowing, she looked up at him, her smile so hard it felt brittle even to her. “I have a job.”
“Apparently not a very good one,” he answered, indicating the old chalkboards and battered room fixtures.
She wouldn’t stoop to his level, wouldn’t let herself be ridiculed, bullied or criticized. “It’s one I like very much, thank you.”
“Would you feel better if I told you the position is just for the summer?”
Her chin tilted even more defiantly. “No.”
“Why not?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she didn’t have to answer to him, she didn’t owe him anything. But that was a pointless exercise. It wasn’t even the past holding her back, it was the future. She had plans for the summer, a wonderful eight and a half weeks of gorgeous, lovely travel—two weeks to beaches in Australia’s Queensland, ski slopes in New Zealand, and lots of museum and theater excursions highlighted by great food in Sydney, Melbourne and Auckland. “Because … no.”
“You’d be back here before school started in September,” Sharif persisted, his tone so cool and smooth and relentless that goose bumps peppered her flesh.
“You remind me of my students when they’re not listening.”
He just smiled, grimly. “You haven’t even considered the proposal.”
“There’s nothing to consider,” she countered, amazed at his arrogance. “I’ve plans that can’t be changed. Not even for you.”
She saw his eyes narrow at her tone. She hadn’t meant to be sarcastic, but there was a definite edge in her voice, an edge due to her discomfort. She didn’t like the way he was towering over her desk, issuing dictates as though he were in his palace instead of her classroom, didn’t like the way he pushed, didn’t like his disregard for her, her feelings or her interests. “I appreciate you thinking of me, and I thank you for the invitation, King Fehr, but the answer is no.”
“I’ll pay you twice your salary—”
“Stop!” Her voice rang out as she slapped a heavy textbook down on her desk. The book thudded loudly, echoing in the classroom. “This isn’t about money. I don’t care about money. I don’t care if you were to pay me two thousand dollars a day! I’m not interested. Not interested. Understand?”
Silence descended, a silence that felt positively deafening.
But it wasn’t her fault she lost her temper, she reminded herself. He wasn’t listening. “I’m going on holiday,” she added, squaring her shoulders, refusing to be intimidated, even as her gaze clashed with his. Their relationship ended years ago, and there was no reason to start anything again— professionally or personally. “I leave tonight.”
His features hardened, his expression so flinty his cheekbones and jaw looked as though they’d been chiseled from stone. “You can go on holiday next summer. I need you.”
Jesslyn couldn’t stifle a hysterical laugh. “You need me? Oh, that’s a good one, King Fehr. Very funny indeed.”
He wasn’t laughing. His brows flattened over glittering gray eyes. “Give me one good reason why you won’t even consider the position.”
“I can give you three,” she answered, impatiently stacking the teacher editions on her desk, one on top of the other. “I’ve just finished a year of teaching and need a break. I’ve planned a wonderful holiday traveling in Australia and New Zealand and everything’s paid for. And last, and perhaps most important, having once been your girlfriend I’ve no desire to be—”
Jesslyn wasn’t able to finish the rest, drowned out by the blare of the school fire alarm.
It was a loud, piercing sound, and for a moment Jesslyn stood transfixed. Normally she’d snag her attendance book and swiftly march the students out, but there were no young charges to lead to safety.
The door to the classroom flew open and two hulking men appeared, dressed in dark clothes, their weapons cocked and ready. One of them spoke quickly, loudly to Sharif who just nodded and looked back at Jesslyn.
“Happen often?” he shouted over the deafening blare.
“No,” she shouted back, reaching for her purse, briefcase and blazer, momentarily taken aback by the quick action of Sharif’s security detail, but not totally surprised as Sharif had security even when they lived in London.
“I imagine it’s a false alarm,” she added distractedly. “One of those end-of-year student pranks the graduating seniors like to pull. But we still have to leave until the fire inspector gives us the okay to return.”
She’d just lifted her blazer from the back of her chair when the ceiling sprinklers came on, drenching the classroom in a torrent of warm water.
Sharif grabbed her briefcase and purse from her desk. “Let’s go.”
The hallway connecting the classrooms was slick with water, and as they dashed down the hall they could hear sirens in the distance and a lot of yelling in Arabic.
By the time they reached the front steps of the main administrative building, the fire trucks were pulling into the parking lot and the rest of Sharif’s security team, another half-dozen men, were on full alert.
As his men spotted Sharif they moved toward him, but Sharif quickly checked their progress.
Dr. Maddox, who’d been pacing the school’s front steps, rushed toward them. “I’m sorry,” she said, wringing the hem of her skirt and then her hands. “I’m so terribly sorry about all this. We pride ourselves on our school and yet here you are, absolutely soaked—”
“We’re all soaked,” Sharif said, “and we’ll dry.” He glanced past her to the school where the firemen had gone to do a formal check to make sure there wasn’t a fire anywhere. “Miss Heaton’s classroom was drenched. Are all classrooms that wet?”
“I imagine they are. It’s a new sprinkler system, put in this year on recommendation by our school board. And they work—” Dr. Maddox paused, pushed back wet gray hair from her forehead “—a little too well.”
“But it’s worth it if it’ll save lives,” Jesslyn interjected as she took her things from Sharif. “We can replace books and carpeting, and fortunately the school is insured. With nearly three months before classes resume, there’s time to fix everything.”
“Are you volunteering to give up your holiday, Miss Heaton?” Dr. Maddox asked irritably. “Because to get everything done, someone will have to be here overseeing the repairs.”
“Miss Heaton has plans, I believe,” Sharif answered smoothly, and turning his back on Dr. Maddox he focused his full attention on Jesslyn. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“I don’t have a car,” she said, shouldering the strap of her purse. “I take a taxi home.”
Sharif frowned. “But you drive.”
“Cars are expensive, and I’m happy taking taxis. No one bothers me.” And no one would, she knew, not in Sharjah.
Jesslyn loved her adopted country. Sharjah might not have the same glittering nightlife of Dubai or the mad hustle bustle of the business world, but it retained a charm and elegance not found so easily in Dubai’s sleek skyscraper-studded skyline and artificial island paradise.
In her mind Sharjah was quieter, smaller, less splash and cash. She adored the stately palm-tree-lined boulevards and the handsome tall buildings in the center. It was always a pleasure to walk or take a taxi to wherever she needed to go. And she didn’t have to worry about the parking, either. She felt welcome here. Welcome and wanted.
“I’ll take you home, then,” Sharif announced, and with a nod toward his guards, he indicated he was ready to leave. “My car is waiting just there.”
Jesslyn had already spotted the limousine and two black escort vehicles, but she wasn’t about to accept a ride. “I’d prefer to hail a taxi,” she answered, with a swift glance at her wristwatch. “And if I leave now, I can just avoid the afternoon rush hour.”
She’s walking away.
Walking away from me.
Incredulous, King Sharif Fehr bit down so hard he felt as if he was choking on his own tongue, but it was that or say something he might regret.
Not that he thought he’d regret it.
In fact, right now he was certain he’d derive a great deal of pleasure from putting Jesslyn Heaton in her place.
“I shall take you,” he repeated, teeth flashing in a barely civil smile. “I insist.”
Her brown eyes lifted, met his. He saw her full lips compress, her mouth a dark rose.
Hot sparks lit her eyes. Leaning forward she whispered so only he could hear. “I do not work for you, King Fehr, nor am I one of your subjects. You can’t insist. I’m afraid you forget, Your Highness, that you have no jurisdiction over me.”
Once again she’d told him no. Once again she’d flat-out rejected him.
He frowned, trying to digest her rejection.
It’d been years since anyone had refused him so absolutely. People didn’t say no to him. People needed him. People came to him wanting favors, assistance, support.
Studying her pale, oval-shaped face, he let his gaze drift from her dark, winged eyebrows to the heat in her warm eyes to the set of her firmly molded chin. He’d never noticed just how firm that chin was until now. He’d never noticed her backbone until now, either.
When he’d first known her she’d been a broken girl, literally broken from the accident that had taken his sisters. Jesslyn had been in the hospital, all white plaster and gauze and pins.
She wasn’t broken anymore.
“You don’t like me,” he said, almost amused. On one hand he was angered by her cool dismissal, and on the other hand he was surprised and intrigued, which was a novelty in and of itself. As king of a Middle Eastern country enjoying its tenth year of peace and economic stability, these days he found himself surprised by little and intrigued by even less.
Jesslyn eyed him steadily, her feelings for him definitely mixed. “Perhaps it would be more accurate to say I don’t trust you.”
“Why on earth wouldn’t you trust me?”
She again shouldered her purse, her damp coat dripping over her arm. “You’re not the Sharif I knew. You’re King Fehr.”
“Jesslyn.” His voice suddenly dropped, turned coaxing. He didn’t like his integrity being questioned. “Obviously, I’ve offended you. That wasn’t my intention. I’ve come to you to ask for help. At least let me explain.”
She glanced toward his limousine and then his half-dozen men who stood at attention, their eyes shielded by dark glasses. “I’m catching a redeye flight tonight, and I’m going to be on that plane.”
“So you’ll let me drive you home?”
She turned her head, looked up at him, her damp dark hair forming soft ringlets around her face. “I’m going to be on that plane,” she repeated.
He liked the way the dark-chestnut curls framed her pale face, liked the stubborn press of her lips and the defiant lift of her chin. “Then let me take you home.”
CHAPTER TWO
AFTER giving Sharif’s driver her address, Jesslyn placed her purse and briefcase on the floor and laid her damp coat on her damp lap as she tried to ignore the fact that Sharif was sitting so close.
Unfortunately, he was impossible to ignore. He was the kind of man who dominated a room, drawing light, attention, energy. And worse, sitting so close to him she could feel his warmth, smell a hint of his fragrance, and it threw her back to the past, filling her with memories of his skin. She loved his skin. He’d always known how to hold her.
Her heart turned over, and her fingers curled into her coat as the strangest pain shot through her.
Sorrow. Grief. Regret.
He was awakening memories and feelings she didn’t want or need, memories and feelings of a past—a life—she’d accepted was gone.
“You don’t look at me,” he said, as the car started.
She couldn’t exactly tell him that looking at him made her hurt worse. Made her realize all over again how foolish she’d been when she’d left him. She hadn’t really meant to walk away, not forever. Instead she’d thought he would have come running after her, had hoped he would have pursued her, beg her to reconsider, pledge undying love.
“Endings are awkward. It was awkward then, and it’s awkward now.”
“But you’re happier. Look at you. You’re living your dream.”
Her dream. She inhaled softly, a quick gasp of protest. She’d never dreamed of being single at her age. Her dream had always been to have a family, a family of her own. Having been raised by an elderly aunt after her parents’ deaths—three years apart—made her realize how much she needed people to love and people to love her. Instead here she was still single, and still teaching other peoples’ children.
“Yes,” she agreed, hiding the pain his words caused her. “It’s wonderful.”
“I’ve never seen you this confident,” he added.
Jesslyn glanced out the window and watched the fire trucks and school buildings fall away as the limousine exited the parking lot and pulled onto the street. “It’s not hard being stronger or more confident,” she said after a moment, turning to look at him. “All those years ago I was a different person.”
