Читать книгу: «Undressed by the Boss: Sheikh Boss, Hot Desert Nights / The Boss's Bedroom Agenda / Taken by the Maverick Millionaire», страница 3

‘Juice?’ Her voice was trembling. ‘Oh, yes, please—I’m just dying for a drink.’

‘Save that sentiment for the desert.’

She was instantly alert, clearly not so tired as he had thought her. They both knew the promise of a visit to the desert meant she was still in the game. How could she not be? he thought, when he saw her eyes darken.

She shouldn’t undercut him when he spoke. She mustn’t walk too close to him, either. Or assume anything, Casey reprimanded herself as Raffa led the way towards a chi-chi café in the basement of the mall. An opportunity to visit the desert and keep in the running for this job hung by a thread, and so it was more important than ever to show the best of her professional self. She must be all about business from this moment on.

But how easy was that when nothing compared to wanting Raffa in all the wrong ways … ways that had nothing to do with business at all?

* * *

The combination of apple, mint and celery in the smoothie was delicious, and so was the sight of Casey’s full red lips pursing around the straw.

‘Some time during my stay,’ she said, biting her lip as she thought out loud, ‘I’d like to come back to this mall.’

‘To do what?’ he said suspiciously.

‘To conduct a proper survey.’

‘Go on,’ he pressed.

‘Well, it seems to me that some of these stores are hardly welcoming …’

Understatement, he reflected.

‘And if you’re serious about increasing footfall significantly as the tourist industry grows, I think your staff would benefit from more training. It would both incentivise them and increase your profits substantially.’

He was leaning forward, staring into her eyes, finding it harder and harder to remember why it was so important to keep this on a professional footing. ‘You don’t say?’ he mocked gently.

‘But I do say,’ she assured him, all confidence and reason in her role of marketing executive. ‘Some of us might not be as rich as others, but our money is just as good. And if lots of us little people spend—’

‘Little people?’ In spite of his best efforts, his lips curved. Nothing on earth would convince him to think of Casey as little or insignificant in any way—or, indeed, others like her. Since when had wealth become a measure of the man? ‘It has never been my intention to build an exclusive enclave in A’Qaban, solely for the rich to enjoy.’

‘Then why don’t you make use of my expertise in not having lots of money while you can?’ she suggested playfully.

‘I might just do that.’

Her eyes flashed, and then she remembered who he was and looked down. He liked the way she grew in confidence whenever business was under discussion, but would she ever achieve that same degree of poise in her personal life? He hoped so—though perhaps not while she was here in A’Qaban. He could do many things, but he hadn’t yet learned how to rein in his libido, and she could feel it however hard he tried to curb his interest.

She drained her drink and, with all talk of business over between them, she seemed at a loss again. She flicked him a glance and looked away. As one blush started bleeding into another he felt he must reassure her.

‘You’re doing okay.’ Reaching out, he briefly covered her hand with his.

‘I’m fine,’ she assured him, flinching back. And then, gaining in confidence, she added, ‘I’m not relying on instinct. I have a degree in—’

‘Shopping?’ he suggested dryly.

‘In retail marketing,’ she corrected him solemnly.

He liked that. No one pulled him up—ever. He liked it almost more than when she blushed and looked away. He liked it too much, he decided, standing up.

‘Shall we go?’ He held her chair for her, discreetly waving away the bodyguards who would have done that for him. ‘And now I’m taking you straight back to the hotel,’ he insisted, his gaze drawn to the dark circles beneath her eyes. ‘You look tired.’

‘It’s only temporary. I’ll be up bright and early in the morning,’ she assured him.

She’d sleep comfortably through to noon, he guessed as their gazes briefly met and held. He wanted to give her the morning off, but how would that be fair to the other candidates? And now, before the image of Casey curled up and warm in bed could take hold of him, he made a move. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ he insisted, eager to break the spell she had woven.

‘Thank you for the smoothie,’ she said, shifting awkwardly in front of him. ‘And for …’

‘For what?’ he prompted when she hesitated.

‘For giving me this chance.’

‘You earned this chance,’ he told her steadily.

‘I know you have some weeding out to do—’

‘Stop fishing,’ he warned. ‘You’ll get my verdict like everyone else—before you leave.’

Distress flared in her eyes and was just as quickly gone. He’d make no allowances for Casey forming some emotional attachment to A’Qaban. What he’d told her was how it had to be. He wanted the best candidate for the job, and she’d be treated exactly the same as all the other candidates.

‘Is a suit all right for tomorrow morning?’ she asked in a much more businesslike fashion when he dropped her at the hotel.

Nude would have been his choice, if the circumstances had been different. ‘A suit is good,’ he agreed, passing her bags to the doorman. ‘Or smart casual would be fine too.’

They shook hands formally. He resisted the temptation to convey anything at all in his eyes, but when he stared back at her through the rearview mirror of the Lamborghini his foot stamped down on the throttle as if he couldn’t quite believe the effect she’d had on him.

CHAPTER FIVE

CASEY didn’t go straight to bed, as Raffa had suggested, but stayed up analysing the small amount of data she had managed to collect at the shopping mall. She even went down to the hotel business centre and typed it up. She wanted to impress him. It was important to her. Suddenly this wasn’t about the job any more, but about Raffa seeing her potential as an effective co-worker. She wasn’t the blunderer who had arrived all hot and bothered in A’Qaban, but to prove that to him she had to make sure everything she suggested in the way of change placed A’Qaban above criticism. Integrity was everything if she was going to build a world-class brand.

And she was going to build a world-class brand.

She put her computer to bed in the early hours, took a bath to ease feet screaming from pounding acres of marble mall floor, and tried to sleep. She couldn’t. Her brain was racing. Getting out of bed, she slipped on a robe and, picking up the previous day’s newspaper, unfurled the business pages of the A ’Qaban Times.

What an eye-opener that was. The first headline to catch her attention read:

Car numberplate fetches $3 million in charity auction! ‘Father gave me blank cheque to buy new licence plates for my 4-wheel drive,’ reports young socialite.

Holy moley! Dropping the newspaper on the bed, she paced the room, trying to picture that amount of money piled up in stacks around its perimeter. If it were piled up next to the off-roader it would probably hide it from view. But if the thought of so much excess went against her grain, at least it was a consolation to think a charity would benefit. And she mustn’t lose sight of her primary objective, which was to secure the job of marketing a country. So forget about blank cheques, car numberplates and over-indulged minor celebrities …

And Raffa.

Or she’d never get to sleep.

But as she wearily pulled back the bedcovers she couldn’t forget any of it; especially Raffa …

She must have drifted off to sleep some time in the early hours, Casey realized, as she woke slowly to find dawn peeping through the shutters. Making happy sounds of contentment, she decided to treat herself to another hour in bed. Firm and big, the bed was dressed with crisp white sheets that carried the faint scent of jasmine, and, like the hotel Raffa had put her up in, it was divine. Thankfully, the butler had remained invisible—ergo, also divine. And sleep was divine, Casey concluded, stretching lazily before turning her face into the soft bank of pillows. There was even a divine telephone within reach of the bed …

A ringing telephone.

She groped for it, grimacing at the unwelcome intrusion. ‘ … llo …?’

‘Ten minutes. Downstairs in the lobby.’

Raffa!

She sat bolt-upright.

The line was dead before she had chance to reply.

Rolling out of bed, she landed on the floor. Picking herself up, she staggered, half asleep, in the general direction of the bathroom, blundering into things as she went. She managed to run up a total of stubbed toe, banged head and almost dislocated shoulder. Raffa had made it sound cheerfully like the middle of the day. And why not, when he had probably worked out and swum a thousand metres before showering down and placing his call?

After which thought, she entered the bathroom and turned the shower to its lowest temperature. Readying herself, she leaped in. And leaped out again, shrieking. There was only so much she could cope with at five o’ clock in the morning.

Teeth chattering, she set the shower to warm and returned. Washing her hair, she soaped down quickly, rinsed off again, and stepped out.

Better.

Much better.

Wrapping a towel around her head, she cleaned her teeth, sprayed deodorant everywhere—it stung in some places—and gargled with mouthwash.

Okay, she was most definitely awake now.

Scampering into the bedroom, she pounced on her knapsack and plucked out her sensible knickers. Teaming those with her sensible bra—the one that didn’t show beneath the shirt she’d bought, she chose dark trousers and a red cardigan rather than a jacket.

High heels, of course …

With trousers?

Discarding the trousers, she tugged on the skirt.

No good. Pale legs.

Throwing it off, she grabbed the trousers again.

Shirt, trousers, high heels …

Shirt, trousers, desert boots …

Definitely high heels.

Spinning in front of the full-length mirror, she viewed herself as critically as a two-and-a-half-second spin would allow.

Whatever the day ahead held, she was ready for it.

There was no time for make-up, and her hair was a candyfloss explosion she just bound in a band as she raced to the door. Her hand stalled halfway to the handle. Back up. What about the survey she’d prepared?

And some of the duty free scent she’d bought on the plane.

Squirt everywhere; sneeze. Finished.

Ready.

Two seconds to tuck the survey under her arm in a professional manner, and tip her chin at a businesslike angle. And still two minutes left on the ten-minute deadline.

She opened the door. ‘Oh, hell!’

‘Hello, yourself …’

Did Raffa have to turn on the wolfish smile as he leaned one hand against the doorjamb? What toothpaste did he use? He smelled so good he made her hungry, and his teeth were really, really white …

‘Did I interrupt something? Only you look …’

Attractively flushed? Horrendously heated? ‘No … you didn’t interrupt anything.’ She drew a confident laugh from her depleted laugh quiver. ‘Not at all … I was just hurrying to get everything together.’ Fingers crossed behind her back. ‘Because I didn’t want to hold you up.’

‘You didn’t … So, did you have time for breakfast?’ He brought his arm down and straightened up, so she had that Lilliputian feeling again, compensated by a thrilling glimpse of tanned, stubble-shaded skin above the crisp white business shirt … and the deep blue silk tie … and the dark, sharply tailored suit that was either Armani or Savile Row.

Armani, Casey guessed, instinctively smoothing her chain-store trousers. No. She was wrong. It was Ozwald Boateng. The kingfisher silk lining gave it away. God, he was so sexy. And she was so red-faced—and just everything she had vowed not to be.

‘What’s that you’ve got under your arm?’ he demanded.

She grimaced. Hair? Dear God! Damp patch? Almost worse. She had to replay the application of deodorant in her mind before she could relax. ‘Oh, you mean my folder?’

‘What else?’ He frowned attractively. ‘May I?’

She handed it over.

‘What is this?’ He turned it in his hands.

‘My preliminary survey of my findings at the shopping mall …’

‘You typed it up?’ He leafed through the pages.

‘I used the business centre at the hotel. My handwriting’s dreadful …’

Without even sunglasses to hide his extraordinary eyes, Casey felt as if she were under a particularly penetrating microscope, with her deepest, darkest secrets laid out on a slide while Raffa put his eye to the scope. ‘Will I do?’ she said, wishing she could cut the nervous laugh; it was making her nervous. She assumed a look of quiet confidence as Raffa’s gaze ran swiftly over her.

‘You look lovely,’ he said.

She did?

No one had ever told her she looked lovely before. She was frequently told she was too intense, too career-orientated, too serious, too driven. And in fairness all of the above was true. Lovely, however, was not a word anyone associated with her.

‘Shall we?’ he invited, gesturing towards the bank of elevators down the hall.

She had to rip her stare from his face first, which wasn’t easy.

So what now? Casey wondered, trying not to make it too obvious that she had to run every now and then to keep up with Raffa. The avenue they were speeding down, which could never be called a corridor in a million years, had a gilded roof that arced above them, decorated with cherubs and rosettes of flowers, while the marble floor was strewn with priceless rugs and guarded by towering pillars garnished with gold leaf, lapis lazuli, and enough light to illuminate small town. So, if this was merely Raffa’s flagship hotel, what would his palace be like? Not that she ever expected to see it, of course.

Casey swayed dizzily as they reached the apex of the glass atrium. Was it her fear of heights, her reaction to the sight of Raffa in a business suit looking even sexier than he had in jeans, or the wildest daydream of all—which, if she had been another, bolder person entirely, was to loosen that tie and peel back that jacket?

In front of his bodyguards?

Casey shuddered as the black-clad men emerged from the shadows. She viewed them nervously. Should she greet them or not? She decided not when they stared past her.

‘You’re a woman, and so invisible,’ Raffa informed her discreetly.

Oh, good … She had to get used to the idea that Raffa was never alone.

Was Raffa ever alone?

She refused to progress that thought. And as she preceded him into the glass elevator and felt him behind her, like a power source that made all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention, she wondered if he somehow sensed her attraction to him and her total ignorance of such things too.

‘How do you like the hotel, Casey?’

‘A lot—thank you …’ She stared fixedly ahead. This wasn’t the time to explain that she was terrified of heights, or to acknowledge that they were really high up and travelling down the side of one of the tallest buildings in the city at lightning speed. It was a relief when Raffa moved in front of her, blocking the view—or it might have been if he hadn’t been standing quite so close.

‘Are you scared of heights?’ he said, frowning. ‘You should have said. We could have travelled another way.’

Base-jumping, clinging to his back?

She’d put nothing past him.

And now she had nowhere to stare, but at Raffa, and the wide expanse of his chest. The suit he was wearing complemented the depth of his tan, and hinted at enough of the hard form underneath to tease her senses, while the dark blue silk tie picked up the raven’s wing highlights in his hair. She could only conclude that his face would always be stubble-shaded, since she had never seen it any other way, and those sensual lips—

‘Surely you’re not cold?’ Raffa observed as she shivered delicately.

‘No. I was just thinking.’

‘Share your thoughts?’

Her wild, erotic thoughts? Not a chance. She might be gauche and inexperienced, but there was nothing wrong with her imagination. She collected herself with difficulty as the ground rushed up to meet them. ‘I was thinking about an article I read in the newspaper.’ Out of time sequence, but she was almost telling the truth. ‘It mentioned the price paid for a car’s licence plate …’

‘Tell me more,’ he prompted.

‘It fetched three million dollars. That’s a lot of money. I just wondered if that was the usual result for an auction in A’ Qaban?’

Something sparked in his eyes. ‘It can be … with the right auctioneer. Why do you ask?’

There was definitely something more; something Raffa wasn’t telling her. ‘I’m just curious,’ Casey admitted. Curious, and wondering how to turn all the cash sloshing around A’Qaban to the good of the country at large. ‘Are we heading straight to a meeting?’ she asked as the lift slowed, thinking it the perfect opportunity to do some digging.

‘We’re going to start with a little more getting to know you time first.’

‘We are?’ Her throat constricted at the thought of Raffa getting to know her better.

‘After I introduce you to my team.’

Ah.

‘So you can relax now,’ he murmured as the glass and steel doors slid open.

How could she do that when he appeared to have perfected the technique of reading her mind?

She slotted in to his team as if she’d been working alongside them for years. They wore Armani, while Casey carried off her pick of chain-store items with effortless grace. She talked the same language, and added some words of her own. This wasn’t the ruffled woman who had landed in A’Qaban, but a competent, capable executive, whom anyone could see was more than ready to make the next move up the ladder. She was handling this first meeting with much more aplomb than he had anticipated. Had he been guilty so far of judging Casey on her fragile self-image rather than on her business acumen?

He listened intently as she talked his team through her findings at the mall, and watched with interest as she turned in profile to progress her Power Point presentation. The close-fitting trousers she had chosen in the mall hinted at her figure, while the short, red tailored cardigan clung to her slender shoulders, emphasising the femininity she took such pains to disguise. That puzzled him. What was she frightened of?

By the time he brought the meeting to an end an idea had occurred to him. The successful candidate would be someone who could work as easily outside the office as inside; they must get on confidently with people from all walks of life. And, following on from their earlier conversation, Casey’s next test was obvious.

CHAPTER SIX

‘WHY are we here?’ she said, leaning forward to peer out of the limousine window as they drew up outside one of his warehouses on the dock.

‘To show you some things you have to sell.’

‘I have to sell them? What? Where?’

‘Why don’t you wait and see?’

How pretty she was when she did that smile/frown thing. Waving the driver away, he helped her out of the limousine himself. In fact, he was done with drivers.

‘Could you have my car delivered?’ he asked discreetly, while Casey stood staring up at the outside of the aircraft-hangar-sized warehouse in awe.

‘Certainly, sir. Which car would you like?’

Casey’s words about excess flew into his mind. She could be his conscience for the day, he decided wryly, asking for the Tesla to be delivered dockside.

‘The Tesla? Yes, sir.’

‘Come on,’ he said, turning to Casey. ‘Let’s go inside …’

He took her through a small side door into a yawning space, packed with everything from a stretch Hummer to a side room holding enough cutting-edge carbon technology tack for five teams of polo ponies. There was enough excess inside here to give her a blue fit.

‘What on earth is all this?’ she said softly, and he could already hear her mind cogs whirring.

She was probably imagining a store where she would have to put all these things on sale under the same roof, and wondering how on earth she was going to organise it.

‘We’re not finished yet,’ he warned as he led the way down an aisle lined with packing cases stretching high into the silence of the dust-flecked air.

‘What is all this?’ she repeated.

Her voice was tense and excited, though she kept her distance as they walked along.

‘You like a challenge, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said cautiously.

‘Then let’s move on to the inner sanctum.’

There were guards on the door, and a number of pass codes had to be inputted before finally iris recognition allowed him entry. Once they were inside he could see she was surprised by the fact that, compared to the rest of the facility, this was a relatively comfortable and ordinary-looking office. Having shut them inside the hermetically sealed space, he touched a hidden lever, and a safe in the floor began to rise.

‘Any more surprises?’ she asked him when he glanced at her.

They shared a moment, and this time he let his gaze linger. ‘We’ll have to see, won’t we?’ he teased her gently as she looked away. ‘I’m not wholly sure what surprises you yet.’

Now she blushed.

Taking a key fob from his pocket, he approached the safe and keyed in the numbers, changed remotely on the fob every few minutes by satellite signal. He heard her gasp when the door sprang open as if by magic. Withdrawing a small leather suitcase, he suggested she sat down.

‘I’ll bring it over to the table,’ he said, ‘so you can take a proper look. There are things in here it would be better not to drop …’

* * *

Raffa drew up a chair and sat close by without touching her. It was hard to relax, but she must relax if she were to concentrate. She inhaled deeply, drawing on his delicious scent and warmth, allowing her eyes one last greedy glimpse of his strong, pirate’s face before putting herself on a strict Raffa-free diet.

She gasped as he showed her the fabulous Fabergé egg. ‘Oh, my …’ Her voice tailed away.

She had sold many things in her time, but nothing to compare with this. The workmanship was breathtaking in its complexity, and so much more beautiful than any photograph would allow. But she didn’t have the know-how required to sell objets d’art of this quality, Casey realised, wondering if she was destined to fail this test.

Raffa went on to reveal what amounted to not a king’s ransom in jewels, but a Sheikh’s. Remembering her bemusement at the price paid for one car registration plate, Casey realised she would have to make some serious adjustments to her thinking. And she would have to stop being distracted by Raffa, who right now was handling the various artefacts with reverence and sensitivity. She had never encountered a man with such power and strength and yet such sensibility. No wonder she was distracted—those hands, that concentration …

She must have quivered involuntarily, for he looked up.

‘Are you all right, Casey?’ he asked her softly.

She passed a hand across her brow, pretending concentration on a breathtaking collar of emeralds and diamonds which Raffa had just removed from a velvet case. ‘So, what kind of retail facility did you have in mind for all this?’ she asked him in a voice turned suddenly dry. ‘I should own up right away and tell you I have never sold anything of this value before.’

‘Very few people have,’ he pointed out. ‘But you can sell anything, according to your CV.’

‘That refers to concepts and schemes rather than fabulous objects like this.’

‘Then it’s time to stretch yourself,’ Raffa countered.

How had their heads become so close their faces were almost touching? They were both leaning over the glittering mound of jewels on the table like two children examining a pirate’s hoard; both of them with eyes bright with the light of possibility. Though Casey guessed hers was the only heart trying to beat its way out of a chest.

‘So, what do you think?’ Raffa said as he toyed with the magnificent emerald and diamond necklace.

Everything she shouldn’t, Casey thought, wishing she could concentrate on the only thing that mattered—which was the job she was here to try out for.

‘Casey?’ Raffa prompted.

She snapped her brain onto full alert. ‘I think I should hire experts to advise and assist me,’ she said. ‘But I will sell these for you.’

‘Good,’ he said, settling back. ‘Though I think sapphires would suit you better,’ he added, as Casey distractedly toyed with the emerald necklace.

‘You do?’ She made the very serious mistake of looking at him questioningly.

‘Yes, I do,’ he murmured.

She swallowed deep as, having selected a fabulous sapphire necklace from the hoard in front of them, Raffa used one hand to brush her long hair to one side before looping the glinting band of royal blue stones around her neck. She was suddenly acutely conscious of the silence between them, and of her own unsteady breathing. She couldn’t move or break the spell, and though she was wearing her hair neatly tied in a ribbon, and was in every way modestly dressed, her prim exterior bore no relation to the hot thoughts racing through her head.

It was another forceful reminder that having no experience of sex was no guarantee that she would never think about it. Vividly. And, yes, at the most inopportune of moments. Like now … when the warm touch of Raffa’s fingers on her collarbone was making it so hard to remain still, and when the heavy platinum collar he was placing round her neck felt like a restraining device of a wickedly erotic kind—one that should horrify her, but instead tempted her to sigh and roll her head as the cool metal met her skin.

As if this wasn’t dangerous enough, when Raffa snapped the catch into place her body yearned for him. ‘I’d better not get used to this,’ she said out loud. Coming determinedly to her senses, she reached up, removed the necklace and handed it back to him.

‘It doesn’t hurt to indulge in a little fantasy shopping once in a while.’

‘As long as you don’t confuse fantasy with reality,’ Casey agreed. As she watched Raffa replace the priceless jewels in their nest, Casey murmured, ‘I wonder who they are destined for?’

Raffa’s sharp glance caught her out. For all her brave words about fantasy and reality, she had never been short of imagination.

‘You never know, I might want to keep them,’ she said, laughing to make light of it.

‘Then I’d better lock them away …’

His gaze held hers for a moment. Was it possible to want a man so badly? Or to be so frightened of the consequences of those feelings?

Raffa appeared not to notice these darker thoughts as he replaced the jewels in their velvet case. ‘Sapphires suit you,’ he said. ‘You should remember that. They’re the same colour as your eyes …’

‘Oh, I will,’ Casey assured him with a wry smile. ‘Next time I go jewellery-shopping I’ll put sapphires at the top of my list.’ She was deadpan. They really did inhabit different worlds.

Raffa smiled too. His was more of an eyes glinting, tongue in cheek kind of smile. So he did have a sense of humour. ‘Do you have jewels in every colour?’ she asked in a posh voice, acting the customer and trying not to giggle.

It backfired on her. Raffa took hold of her hands in a firm grasp. She gulped as she stared at his strong hands resting over hers and felt a terrible yearning inside her.

‘Hold your hands like this …’ He formed her hands into a supplicant’s bowl. ‘Ready?’

She nodded stiffly as he steadied his amused gaze on her. ‘Ready,’ she whispered hoarsely.

Picking up a drawstring bag, he loosened the cord and tipped a heap of polished gemstones into her hands. There was every colour imaginable.

‘And these are what I’ve got to sell? I really am going to need some help.’ She was already frowning as she thought about where to find the appropriate experts.

‘If you can’t do it—’

‘I can do it.’ She met Raffa’s gaze and saw that it had changed. There was no warmth now; just rigorous expectation. ‘I’ll find who I need to help me with current market valuations. I’ll be fine,’ she said firmly. ‘My only concern is that wherever I have to sell these there must be a secure environment in which to display them and for my staff to work.’

‘You can leave that to me,’ Raffa told her. ‘Anything else?’

‘Other than that, I see my only problem being moving stock quickly enough to satisfy your demands and—’

‘Wrong,’ Raffa interrupted. ‘I don’t expect you to sell them.’

Casey frowned, waiting for an explanation, hoping it wouldn’t be too long coming, so she didn’t have to keep on staring at Raffa’s fiercely handsome face. ‘Can you explain?’

‘You’re going to auction them,’ he said.

Casey sat back, stunned, her head swimming with insecurity. She was a businesswoman, yes, but she was a backroom girl, not an extrovert. She stood no chance of whipping up a sophisticated crowd into a buying frenzy.

‘Your task is to do this at a charity event that means a lot to me,’ Raffa explained.

‘And the event is …?’

‘A grand ball in three days’ time to honour my …’ His lips tugged.

‘Your recent coronation?’ Casey suggested.

Raffa’s lips pressed down wryly. ‘You can call it what you want. The main thing is that the charity benefits on the night.’

But for all his dismissive talk she saw his gaze grow serious; there was a vision for his country in his eyes.

‘The money will go to help my Bedouin communities.’

‘Please tell me about them,’ she said, as he hit on the one topic that enthused her most of all.

‘They are a travelling people, and we provide them with flying ambulances, travelling teachers, medical facilities …’

Not surprisingly, she was instantly sold on the idea of raising money for this worthy cause at the auction, and as Raffa continued to explain she knew he wasn’t a king in name only, but a leader—a man who was modest in the midst of excess, a man whose first thought would always be for his people.