Undressed by the Boss. Nicola Marsh

the lid of the clothes chest, she selected the plainest robe in the smallest size. It was still far too big for her, but at least it was simple and serviceable and wouldn’t draw attention. She didn’t want to look as if she was trying too hard.

      Having arranged it to cover as much of herself as she could, she scraped her still damp hair back into a ponytail before walking outside.

      Raffa was stoking the fire, having removed his howlis. ‘You look good in that,’ he commented, casting a lazy glance over her.

      And you look even better, Casey thought as his earring glinted when the flames rose. In fact, he looked amazing. What did she think she doing in the velvet night with the ruler of this country, when it was more a case of when rather than if she would beg him to seduce her.

      ‘Didn’t you find any sandals to fit?’

      Jolted reluctantly from her daydream, Casey was immediately self-conscious in the face of Raffa’s blistering glamour. ‘No, I … I didn’t think—’

      Springing up, he handed her the long stick he was using to adjust the tinder. ‘Watch the fire for me for a minute—and for goodness’ sake stand well back from the flames.’

      ‘I’m not a—’ Too late. Raffa was gone. She could hear him moving about in the tent.

      He was back moments later, with a pair of simple thonged sandals. ‘Put these on. You’ll feel better with something protecting your feet from the sand. The way it moves can make your feet ache after a while …’

      And was there a cure for a heart that ached all the time? Casey wondered as she slipped her feet into the sandals.

      They ate together seated on cushions outside the tent. From there, as Raffa had promised, they could see the stars. The simple meal Casey had suggested hadn’t taken much preparation, but it had been long enough for their mood to return to the easy companionship they had established before the erotically charged episode at the oasis.

      ‘This is good,’ Raffa commented with approval as he wolfed down the last of the griddled halloumi cheese Casey had arranged in slices, alternated with fresh mango. She’d put a sprinkling of toasted pine nuts on top of the salad she had prepared. ‘Where did you learn to cook like this?’

      This definitely wasn’t the moment to admit she had downloaded the recipe from a supermarket site. She had to keep her fantasy alive beneath the stars. ‘I must have a natural talent.’

      Raffa stopped chewing for a moment to stare at her. ‘Either that or you used a recipe.’

      They both laughed, and then he said, ‘And as the next course is down to me I’ll have to look to my laurels, I can see …’

      So the unreconstructed alpha male could prepare food as well as look hotter than hell in a desert robe? Life just wasn’t fair sometimes, Casey thought ruefully as Raffa sprang up.

      ‘Figs,’ he said, dangling them in front of her. ‘Ripe, succulent, fresh from the tree.’

      He made figs sound like the most erotic fruit on earth. She gulped as he selected a fat purple fruit just for her, and was so flustered by the time he touched it to her lips she managed to knock the coffee over.

      ‘Kab al gahwa khay!’ Raffa exclaimed.

      ‘What did you say?’

      ‘It’s a good omen,’ he explained. ‘Knocking coffee over is considered to be lucky in A’Qaban. So what I said to you was, bad luck often brings good luck in its wake.’

      ‘Oh …’

      Fat chance.

      But the fig was delicious, and as she sucked the ripe pulp from the skin she tried not to notice how very thoroughly Raffa was doing the same.

      ‘That was a good meal,’ he said, having rinsed his hands in a bowl of water. Drying them on a soft towel, he held her gaze. ‘I might keep you on as a chef if you’re a good girl.’

      ‘And if I’m bad you’ll keep me twice as long?’ She only meant it as a joke, but Raffa’s eyes warned her not to play with fire.

      He was just too much of a distraction in his black robes sitting next to her, but their night-time picnic beneath the stars had taken her back to being a child at camp, which she had enjoyed, and that safety blanket allowed her to relax. Leaning back on her hands, she gazed at the sky and it took her a moment to realise that Raffa had got up and was walking away.

      ‘Where are you going?’ She regretted the note of concern in her voice, because it made Raffa smile in a way that just wasn’t safe.

      ‘Would you rather I stayed?’ he murmured

      ‘No. No, of course not—I realise you must have lots to do.’

      ‘Good. Then I’ll leave you in the capable hands of these ladies.’

      Casey turned to see a group of women hovering on the fringes of the trees. They were carrying earthenware jars, fluffy towels, and steaming jugs of fragranced water. ‘What do they want?’ Her voice was full of anxiety, to which Raffa responded with a careless gesture. ‘Oh, to prepare you for the Sheikh, I expect.’

      ‘What?’ Casey whirled around to stare at the women, and by the time she turned back again Raffa had disappeared.