His Hired Bride (The Sheikh's American Love 1) - Page 10

“Oh,” I said, swallowing against my tight throat. “I’m sorry. Traffic was a little cluttered.”

Rafiq let out a low, quiet laugh that made me shiver. And then he came right out with it. “If you’re bothered by my outfit, I can fix it.” The glint in his eye as he took another sip of coffee told me the offer was more of a challenge.

My nervousness gave way to an awkward smile and flushed cheeks. “It’s your house; you can wear whatever you want.”

He laughed again and moved away from the window to sit on one of the plush couches, stopping first to push off a pile of unclaimed clothes and empty beer cans. Drinking his coffee, he lifted his eyebrows and pointed at a door that was ajar on the other side of the living room. “That’s your part of the house,” he said.

Following his lead, I peeked inside a huge, beautiful bedroom, fully furnished in a clean, modern style. The top of the dresser was practically brimming with lush white roses in an array of decorative vases. Everything looked brand new, and the room smelled incredible.

“Wow,” I said under my breath. “This is where I’ll be staying?”

“Is it suitable?” asked Rafiq from the couch. “I had to guess what type of mattress you would prefer. If you can’t sleep, we can exchange it without a problem. There’s no need for you to be anything but comfortable.”

“It’s gorgeous,” I said honestly. “I’m sure the bed will be fine. It certainly looks better than the one I sleep on now.”

I didn’t say it, but I was distinctly relieved that Rafiq had no expectation that I would be sleeping in his bed.

As I retrieved my suitcase from the hallway, the sound of a buzzer interrupted the quiet of the apartment, and Rafiq cursed under his breath. He pointed to another door. “That room next door is yours, too. Excuse me a moment,” he said, before disappearing down the hallway to answer the doorman’s call.

Curious, I dropped my suitcase in the bedroom and moved to investigate the second room. It was just as big as the first, but this room had been fitted out for something completely different: painting. Three easels of varying sizes waited patiently against one wall. A collection of canvases was propped in one corner, and next to it, a long supply table filled with any and every tool I could ever have use for. Too excited to help myself, I opened the doors on the cabinets underneath the table top and discovered rows and rows of paints.

This was a very surprising development. Suddenly, this whole arrangement was starting to feel less like a weird-but-necessary hassle, and more like a very well-deserved vacation. Generally speaking, taking time off from the gallery was a prospect so laughable, I never even considered it in my plans. Life ran month by month in my world, revolving completely around keeping my gallery and myself afloat for just a little bit longer.

What Rafiq offered me, I realized, was the chance to finally take a breather. Whether he knew it or not, it was something I really needed. I could stay in this gorgeous apartment and paint all day while Rafiq did whatever it was that he did. It was almost too perfect an arrangement.

As I waited for Rafiq to return, I wandered around and gave myself a quick tour. The penthouse took up the entire top floor of the building, and most of its space was open-plan, very much like my studio apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the living room and dining room, draped with delicate, sheer white curtains that did little to block the excess of natural light. Hardwood floors were covered by ornate rugs with beautiful patterns and bright colors, surely from Rafiq’s homeland.

All of the furniture was modern, with clean lines and minimal patterns, including the chairs and tables scattered around the wrap-around porch outside. Gray leather couches surrounded a flat marble coffee table, stacked with magazines, as well as forgotten, empty bottles from the night before. A chaise longue stretched in one corner near the windows, adjacent to the dining room table that looked barely used. The kitchen was silver polished and completely modern.

The penthouse had four rooms, and two of them were mine. It seemed like a freaking fairy tale, and I was the princess. I peeked in one of the other rooms, darkened as it was, and saw a four-poster bed made of wood and draped with a deep blue comforter. The room had the feel of cocooning isolation, like a cozy log cabin tucked in the middle of the woods, but the lack of décor sapped some of the warmth from the room.

Peering in further, something large caught my eye, and I realized the room wasn’t barren of décor at all; hanging on the wall opposite, facing the bed, was Oceanic, the painting Rafiq had taken home from my gallery.

I flushed a bit. This had to be Rafiq’s bedroom, no doubt. Had he really loved my painting so much that he wanted to see it right from his bed? Something about that seemed so unusual. I’d figured, after his proposition, that he had purchased Oceanic just to sweeten me up for the eventual offer. But that didn’t explain why it was here, now, in such an intimate place.

The sound of Rafiq’s voice startled me out of my thoughts. “I would be happy to give you a full tour of my bedroom, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

I whirled around, embarrassed, my cheeks flushing. “Oh, sorry, I… I was just looking around…”

Rafiq had a wicked grin on his face. He didn’t seem upset. Instead, he leaned past me and flipped on the lights to his room, getting close enough to me with his muscled, shirtless chest that I could feel the heat emanating from his skin.

“Have a look around, then. After all, this is your home for the time being.”

Since he didn’t seem to mind, I stepped inside the room to get a better look at the painting.

“I’m surprised to see this up here,” I said, pointing.

“Why’s that?” said Rafiq. He moved around a huge dresser that matched his bed, and disappeared into a walk-in closet. The rustling sound of fabric and wire hangers chimed within.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Art hung in one’s bedroom usually tends to be pretty significant to a person…I suppose I didn’t expect to see this here.”

“Are you saying you don’t think your work is special?” said Rafiq. He was buttoning up a soft pink long-sleeved shirt over his muscles, grinning at me.

The sight was incredibly attractive, and judging by the look on his face, he knew it well.

“It’s not that,” I said. The look on his face gave me feeling he was teasing me. “Are you deliberately misunderstanding me?”

“A little bit, yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m just trying to help you relax. I can see you’re nervous. There’s no reason to be.”

I flushed red. “Well, I don’t exactly have a lot of experience in this particular world. I’ve never been someone’s pretend girlfriend before, and certainly not for a client who has my art hanging in their bedroom.”

“Don’t worry, Evangeline,” he said. “I’m going to make this easy for you. We will both benefit and walk away better for it.” He smiled at me. “Now, unless you’re wanting to stay for the show, I have to finish getting dressed.”

I scoffed at his assumption and rolled my eyes. There was the Rafiq I was waiting to appear.

“No, thanks. I’ll wait out here.”

Rafiq laughed gently to himself as he followed me to the bedroom door and shut it behind me.

Tags: Holly Rayner The Sheikh's American Love Billionaire Romance
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