Cinderella and the Sheikh - By Teresa Morgan Page 0,3

an inch from hitting wood, the door opened. Too late to stop herself, all Libby could do was open her palm to avoid punching the sheikh in his chest.

Her hand landed on solid muscle, covered by an oh-so-thin layer of silk. The connection sent an instantaneous jolt up her arm. His body heat seeped through her fingers, deep into her blood. All thought fled from her brain and she stared at her own hand petrified against his body in an intimate gesture.

Only his breath rising in his chest broke the spell, and to her horror, his liquid black eyes stared down at her. An arrogant smile tilted the curve of his lips.

She wrenched her hand away and folded her arms across her chest, feeling the blood rise to her cheeks. "Your room service, sir."

"Please." He opened the door and motioned her inside as if she was an honored guest. That mocking smile didn't go away.

She rolled the cart into the opulent suite, flinching a bit when she heard the door clack shut behind her. Heat traveled up her spine. She had to get out of there before she gave in to the crazy urges making her wonder if it would really be all that bad to kiss the sheikh.

Libby moved the cart to the dining table and began to arrange the dishes in two orderly place settings.

"You came to me." The low thrum of his voice, coming from behind her, sent her temperature rising.

Finished with the task, Libby took the folded-over stack of bills from her pocket and placed them on the table. "I don't want to offend you," she began her prepared speech, "but you have to know this tip—this baksheesh—is far more than I can accept. I am sure an honorable man would not want a woman to think that he was trying to buy something that isn’t for sale."

Libby braced for his anger. She had no clue how things were done in his country. If she offended him, he could report her to Ms. St. Martin, the hotel owner, and she would be out on her butt. Bye, bye perfect job. Hello, poverty.

He nodded. "Of course."

"Of course?" Confusion flickered through her.

The sheikh came toward her, his cursed smile never leaving his face. Gentle fingers touched her chin. With him standing so close, she suddenly became aware that her black uniform probably still smelled of fried onions from the kitchen.

"You must believe me that I was not trying to buy your 'services.' We don't know each other very well, you and I. You don't know to call me 'Rasyn,' not 'sir.' And I didn't know if you would take this money and not visit me. Or if you would take this money and offer your 'services' in return." His voice, as deep and liquid as his eyes, entranced her. He stood close enough that she could feel his body heat. "I had hoped that you would behave as an honorable woman, doing as you did."

Libby's jaw dropped. "This was a test? For what?"

"To see if you are who I imagine you to be. Passion has led me astray in the past. But this, with you... I sense that you're different."

Different. Really? No one had ever said that in a way that was so flattering.

"You're a beautiful woman, with hair that smolders with flame, and the fire of emeralds in your eyes. I have seen your kindnesses to people over the last week. And now, you've proven your worth is as great as a princess."

A princess?

The sheikh—Rasyn—dropped his hand to the curve of her shoulder. Libby gulped and took a step back to put some distance between them. She'd been warned, like all the Hotel Scheherazade staff, that Arabic people had smaller personal spaces than Westerners, but her thoughts were scattered. She needed them back. "I think your passions are leading you astray again."

"Libby, do you believe in love at first sight?"

Libby's heart pole-vaulted into her throat. She spoke without thinking. "You can't be serious." She shook her head, feeling as if she’d fallen into a Hollywood fairytale. An unlikely love story between a hotel waitress and an Arab sheikh.

Rasyn ran his fingers through his hair, and for an instant, his smile disappeared, replaced by weary lines around his mouth. Just as quickly, a wry grin was back on his face.

Libby's confusion made the room seem to spin. What had she just seen? A hint of the true man hidden behind a gloss of expensive suits and false confidence?

"Very