The Royal Sheikh

Get swept away to the desert with THE ROYAL SHEIKH

Clare McKay is a dedicated architect with no time for womanising men. That is, until she accidentally meets Sheikh Rafiq Al Kahil, an Arabian Prince, known in the international press as the Playboy Prince. Clare is intent on not falling for his seductive charm, but when he asks her to design a mansion, he presents her with an offer that she can’t refuse. Once she finds herself alone with him in the Arabian desert, how long will she be able to hold out against his advances? And will he be able to cast aside his womanising past for her, as well as a secret engagement to an Arabian Princess?

Praise for THE ROYAL SHEIKH

This was a great read. I have read it four times since I have downloaded it. ~ Jessica Follis on Smashwords

I think this is an incredible read ~ Michelle Hughes, author of Defying the Sheikh

I could not stop reading this book . . . a great romantic story ~ Lisa M. on Readers Favorite

If you believe in romance then you will want to read this book. ~ Regina Pukett, author of Waiting for Mary Elizabeth

"The characters and setting of this fast-paced novel make it a romantic treasure.' ~ Alle Wells, author of Lame Excuses

THE ROYAL SHEIKH

by

Katheryn Lane

Smashwords Edition

Published by:

Katheryn Lane on Amazon and Smashwords

The Royal Sheikh

Copyright © 2011 by Katheryn Lane

All rights reserved

Cover art by Judy Bullard at www.customebookcovers.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events depicted herein are either a product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.

* * * * *

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

* * * * *

Katheryn Lane works full-time as a teacher, mother and wife, but somehow also finds time to be a part-time writer as well! She loves to write contemporary romances set in exotic locations. Her acclaimed first romance, THE ROYAL SHEIKH, was inspired by her experience of living in the Middle East, while her second romance novel, HER LATIN LOVER, takes readers to the treacherous towns and countryside of South America. In her free time (on the rare occasion that she has any!) she likes to lose herself in a good book.

http://katheryn-lane.blogspot.com

Chapter One

It had been dark for hours and Clare McKay was still there, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the River Thames. Most of the room was dark, apart from the area around her desk, where two large lamps shone over her work. She sat back and reviewed what she had done so far. It would take two, perhaps three, more hours to finish the plans for the new building that she was designing.

She glanced at the clock, high up on the wall next to her. If she kept going, she could get the drawings finished that evening and then hand them over to Mark White, the senior architect, to review. That is, if he ever appeared again from Sophie’s room.

 Mark had been in there ever since Sophie Pillsby, the head of the architect firm, Pillsby and Spooly, had called him in earlier that afternoon. Finally he emerged, looking much worse than when he had gone in. Sophie also looked very much on edge and her short brown hair was even spikier than usual.

Think about it over the weekend, but I think you’ll see that there really aren’t any other options, Sophie called out as Mark shut her office door and wandered over to the coffee machine. He poured himself a large cup of thick, dark brown liquid from the bottom of the pot.

I was just about to make a fresh pot if you wait a minute, Clare called out from her desk. She tucked in a long strand of shiny black hair which had escaped from a tight knot at the nape of her neck.

Mark turned his head in surprise. Clare? Are you still here? I thought everyone had gone home.

I’m still working on the final plans for the Amerston building. Remember, we said that we’d try and get the final draft signed off by tonight, the end of the week.

Mark put his coffee down and came over to her desk. That looks great, he said, but he hardly glanced at the designs which were laid out across the huge white boards. Clare had been working on them for hours.

Why don’t we leave it until Monday? he said.

But Mark, we agreed that we’re going to show the plans to the client early next week, ahead of schedule.

Clare was confused. Mark had seemed so keen earlier that morning when she suggested that they try and submit the sketches to Amerston a week early. Is everything ok? Is Sophie unhappy with the work that I’ve done on this? Maybe that was why Mark had been in the boss’s office for so long.

The work you’ve done is great. It always is, he said though he did not sound very enthusiastic. Look, why don’t you leave this to me to finish off. Go out. Go and do something this weekend. Go and have some . . . He looked out the window through the rain streaming down the panes as if the word he was looking for might be out there somewhere. Fun! Go and have some fun.

What kind of fun?

You know. Go to the cinema, or a disco. Get drunk!

Clare was starting to wonder if perhaps Mark might be a little bit drunk himself. He had a slightly glazed look in his eyes and his mind was definitely not on the Amerston project.

Call your friend Louise. The one who spends more on designer handbags than the total government budget of some African countries. Go and have a night out with her. Without waiting for a response, Mark walked away to his office and shut the door.

Clare had absolutely no intention of going out and getting drunk, but she had not seen Louise for several weeks and the idea of going out with her for a couple of drinks sounded tempting. She picked up her phone and called Louise’s mobile on a speed dial number.

Louise, I know it’s a bit last minute, and it’s Friday night, but are you free to meet up?

Clare! What a lovely surprise. Not working? Have you finished off that big project you were doing?

Not quite, but Mark’s ordered me to go out and ‘have some fun’.

Are you sure? Has the slave-driver set you free? Normally you two are competing to see who can stay in the office the longest. However, I know just the place. The Clifford Hotel bar has just got an award for the best cocktails in London. I’ll meet you outside in thirty minutes.

Twenty minutes later Clare was standing outside the door of the Clifford Hotel with the rain dripping off the building’s awning above her. She had not had time to go back to her flat to get changed, so she was still wearing her royal-blue skirt suit and white blouse, though she had undone a couple of buttons.

She had also literally let her hair down. Instead of the tight knot at the base of her neck that she kept it in during the day, her hair now hung straight down her back, black and glossy, her only legacy from a Japanese grandmother.

She had only met her once, as a small child on a short trip to Tokyo with her mother, but she still clearly remembered her: a tiny old woman dressed in a cream silk kimono with pink blossoms on it. The old lady was sitting on traditional, woven tatami matting the first time Clare met her. The walls around her were made of transparent white paper and on one of them hung a long scroll on which an artist had painted a single branch of a tree. Clare had never seen anything so beautiful and after she left Japan she had dreamt of recreating the beauty and simplicity that she had found in her grandmother’s house.

However, the Amerston project that she was currently working on was neither beautiful nor simple. The CEO of Amerston wanted a head office that he could show off to his clients and his competitors. The design was not to Clare’s taste – it was too ornate. However, until she finished her practical training and became a fully qualified architect, she had little choice but to work on the projects that Mark offered her, under his supervision.

She wondered what had made Mark so distracted earlier. He was normally so focused on their work. What had happened in his meeting with Sophie? Perhaps he was just tired. It had been a long week.

Clare, I’m so sorry I’m late. I couldn’t find a taxi anywhere and the bus took forever to get here. Louise was walking towards the hotel waving a bright red umbrella in one hand and carrying a beautiful Prada bag in the other, her masses of brown wavy hair flying behind her.

Clare stepped out into the rain to greet Louise just as a shiny black Mercedes pulled up sharply alongside her, throwing up a large puddle. Clare darted back, but it was too late. She looked down at her white coat. It was covered in dirty rain water.

Your beautiful spring coat! Louise stood, frozen to the spot, with a look of complete horror on her face.

The hotel porter ignored both of them as he moved swiftly to the passenger side of the car and, with a huge umbrella held high above him, opened the door. Out stepped a tall man dressed in a dark suit and blood-red tie. The tie offset his tanned face and dark features and for a brief moment Clare forgot the wet spring weather and thought of white beaches drenched in hot sun.

He dashed straight over to Clare. I am so sorry. Are you ok? He had a slight accent, which made his voice deep and gravelly, as if it was coming from somewhere deep inside his chest.

Yes, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t wear white in the rain. Clare shrugged her shoulders. She knew it had been a mistake to get her spring coat out so early in the year, but the weather forecast that morning had said nothing about rain. She started dabbing at the marks on her coat and shoes with a tissue that she had pulled out of her bag.

Please, come inside and I will see if I can get it cleaned. The man motioned for her to come into the hotel lobby and began speaking to some of the staff that came rushing up to him.

Get him to pay for it. He looks loaded, Louise hissed into Clare’s ear as they walked into the marble lobby of the Clifford Hotel.

Don’t be ridiculous, Clare answered back. It’s only rain water. She unbuttoned her coat and slipped it off. Looking around, she tried to find somewhere to put the dripping garment and noticed that the man from the Mercedes car was gazing at her from across the lobby. He strode over.

I have been informed that it will take the hotel at least an hour to clean your coat. I do apologise. Perhaps, if you are not in a hurry, you and your friend could have something to drink or eat while you wait? I would be more than delighted to offer you dinner here at the hotel.

We’d love to, wouldn’t we Clare? Louise grabbed Clare’s coat and flung it at one of the hotel employees, who looked slightly taken aback. The man from the car nodded to the offended female member of staff, who whisked up the coat and walked off to a door labelled Staff Only with her nose in the air.

And will you be joining us? Louise beamed a big smile at the man, who in her opinion, looked like an ideal dinner date.

I’m afraid not, as I have a prior engagement, but I have asked the staff here to do everything they can to make your evening comfortable. And again, apologies for dirtying your coat Miss . . .?

I’m Louise and this is Clare. By now Louise had steered them all across the lobby to the entrance of the Grand Court restaurant and was standing with one foot in the doorway.

And I am Rafiq. Good evening ladies. He shook their hands, turned around, and walked away.

 Here we are at the Grand Court restaurant, said Louise, as she cut into her lobster. "This is one of the most exclusive restaurants in town. It has a six-month waiting list and we just walked in."

"More like pushed our way in."  Clare pointed a silver fork at Louise.

That man offered us dinner and I’m not one to turn down a chance like this.

All he did was splash my coat.

It could be ruined. It was expensive.

Yes, but I got it in a sale, at a huge discount.

Clare had been very pleased with herself at finding such a fabulous designer coat so cheap, even though it had meant waiting outside the store for over an hour in the freezing cold, so that she could be one of the first to get in on the day the sale started. Until she finished her practical training as an architect, she would not be earning the kind of money that would enable her to buy beautiful things at full price, or pay for expensive meals like the one she was having now.

We didn’t order any champagne, Clare said to the waiter, as he placed a bottle in a large silver bucket of ice next to their table. Louise, you didn’t order this, did you?

It’s compliments of the house. The waiter silently removed the cork and poured out the champagne into two cut-crystal glasses.

Here’s to dirty coats. Louise took a large swig.

This all seems a bit too much just for an accident.

The man’s probably the manager of the hotel or something. Louise said before taking another large gulp of champagne.

"I doubt it. He didn’t look old enough for one thing. I’d say he was in his early thirties, just a few years older than us. And