Hired To Wear The Sheikh's Ring. Rachael Thomas

were so powerful and incredibly sexy he had to curtail the need to send the designer away and kiss Tiffany until she begged to be his.

      He pushed that urge to one side as he sat waiting while Tiffany was fitted with the first dress, which he’d instructed to be simple but elegant for daytime in Paris, but his mind kept returning to the memory of her last Sunday morning in the short dress with a black leather jacket. Far from expensive, he was sure, but it had made her look a million dollars.

      ‘This one is perfect.’

      Madame Rousseau’s voice ruptured his thoughts and he looked up to see Tiffany in a black dress, loosely cut yet somehow incredibly sexy. To complete the look she had a black clutch bag and dark sunglasses. The whole look showed off her glorious hair colouring and pale complexion to perfection.

      ‘I agree,’ he said, not liking the hard gravelly tone to his voice, and if the expression on Tiffany’s face was anything to go by, neither did she. There was that challenge again.

      He kept that steely control as Tiffany paraded in many different outfits, some of which he rejected, but most of which he agreed with Madame Rousseau that they would be perfect for her role as his bride-to-be.

      ‘There is one more gown,’ Madame Rousseau said. ‘The evening dress for the charity event.’

      ‘Charity event?’ Tiffany questioned and looked at him, her lovely blue eyes wide, like a captured animal who didn’t know whether it should run or stay.

      ‘We have been invited to World Water charity dinner, attended by many famous names.’ He had a twinge of guilt as she suddenly looked completely out of her depth. Surely she’d mixed with the rich and famous before as part of her job? She’d certainly sold her business to him as that, which had been one of the main reasons for going through with his plans; he’d been sure she wouldn’t be fazed by such occasions.

      ‘Come, come,’ the designer said quickly, and Tiffany turned her back on him. He watched her as she walked back into the other room and listened to the delighted sounds from Madame Rousseau.

      Even so, he wasn’t prepared for the way Tiffany looked as she came into the room again, chin held regally high, her hair quickly pulled up roughly into a chignon. Her pale skin showed the beauty of the black lace, set with black gems, but it was the slit to the top of her thigh he couldn’t stop looking at. One pale, slender leg was showcased to perfection as she stood there, taking his appraisal as if she’d been born into the role of a princess to be his Queen. In that moment she was exactly what he wanted in a wife—a real wife. She was desirable and aloof, competent and confident.