Cinderella and the Sheikh - By Teresa Morgan Page 0,2

took a second to button the black shirt of her uniform right up to the collar before crossing the café to his table. The piercing impact of his gaze undid the buttons.

"Your mother is lovely. I can see where your own beauty comes from." His low voice made the hair on the nape of her neck prickle. "Charge her lunch to my suite."

Hiding her annoyance at his perception, Libby pulled out her notebook and hovered her pen over it. "What would you like today, sir?"

Sheikh al Jabar raised his left eyebrow. A sure signal for one of his double entendres.

"I want what I've wanted from you since we met." He looked at her from under languorous, half-hooded eyes framed by coal-tinged lashes. Those eyes seemed to strip her dull uniform from her body, leaving her standing exposed in the crowded café.

From the first day that he'd walked into her section, all silk ties and pressed suits, he'd made his desire clear—as if he were singling her out for a night of pleasure in his personal harem. She'd seen the jeweled socialites tip their Gucci sunglasses to check out his world-class butt as he crossed the scarlet and gold lobby and buttoned-tight businesswomen nearly drop their BlackBerries. Any of them could be hanging off his broad shoulders right now, running their fingers through his ebony hair.

Instead, he was alone at her table, staring at her like she was the last drink of water in the desert. A look that made her thighs tighten.

She hardened her resolve. Steady girl. Think of your bank balance—low from setting up the first apartment that she didn't share with three other people.

"Perfect. If you can tell me what you'd like, I'll bring it to you here, or have it sent to your room," she hinted, hoping he would decide to eat upstairs, saving her the uncomfortable response of her body to the masculinity he broadcast on every frequency.

"Sent to my room?" Black anger darkened the sheikh's face for an instant, as if the suggestion that she wanted him gone was an unbearable personal insult. It was gone before she could react, replaced by a smile she'd seen before. The one he used to charm hotel staff into prioritizing his requests. "Yes, room service. An excellent idea. You leave here at nine o'clock each night. I will phone for a late dinner for two just before that."

Now it was Libby's turn for anger. Acid rose in her chest at what kind of 'room service' he thought he was getting. "I don't deliver."

"You will come to me." He threw a wad of cash on the table.

***

Ten thousand dollars. Libby cursed the sheikh silently. Screw him anyway, thinking he could buy anything—or anybody.

Even as she rolled the linen-covered cart in front of her into the hotel elevator, she knew that the ten, crisp, one-thousand-dollar bills were doing their job exactly. She couldn't trust anyone else to give back the money. Who wouldn’t be tempted to skim just a little off the top?

He'd meant for the money to bring her to his room. It worked. Sheikh al Jabar had a talent for getting his own way.

Libby blew out a sigh and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. At least she wasn't going for the reason he imagined. From the dinner he's ordered, he obviously had a good imagination. Under the stainless steel covers were Moroccan chicken bastilla and mushroom ravioli with truffle oil. For dessert, an Irish cream-chocolate fondue. Besides all that, two bottles of champagne with ice-cold droplets of water dripping down their elegant necks.

A menu for seduction. Well, someone else would have to be on the sheikh's platter tonight; she was only there to return his ridiculous tip. You could buy a lot of champagne for ten thousand dollars, but none of Libby Fay was for sale.

The elevator pinged and the doors slid open on the twelfth floor—the honeymoon suite, naturally. Nothing but the best for this particular sheikh.

As she wheeled the cart closer to his suite, her heart started doing a drum solo against her ribcage. He clearly had seduction on his mind, and every time he came close to her, her body responded in wicked little ways.

Stopping in front of the penthouse, Libby squared her shoulders and rapped on the door, then waited.

A few breaths passed. Libby bit her lip. Maybe she hadn't knocked loudly enough. She raised her hand to knock again.

At the last possible moment, when her hand was less than