weapons cocked and ready. One of them spoke quickly, loudly to Sharif who just nodded and looked back at Jesslyn.
“Happen often?” he shouted over the deafening blare.
“No,” she shouted back, reaching for her purse, briefcase and blazer, momentarily taken aback by the quick action of Sharif’s security detail, but not totally surprised as Sharif had security even when they lived in London.
“I imagine it’s a false alarm,” she added distractedly. “One of those end-of-year student pranks the graduating seniors like to pull. But we still have to leave until the fire inspector gives us the okay to return.”
She’d just lifted her blazer from the back of her chair when the ceiling sprinklers came on, drenching the classroom in a torrent of warm water.
Sharif grabbed her briefcase and purse from her desk. “Let’s go.”
The hallway connecting the classrooms was slick with water, and as they dashed down the hall they could hear sirens in the distance and a lot of yelling in Arabic.
By the time they reached the front steps of the main administrative building, the fire trucks were pulling into the parking lot and the rest of Sharif’s security team, another half-dozen men, were on full alert.
As his men spotted Sharif they moved toward him, but Sharif quickly checked their progress.
Dr. Maddox, who’d been pacing the school’s front steps, rushed toward them. “I’m sorry,” she said, wringing the hem of her skirt and then her hands. “I’m so terribly sorry about all this. We pride ourselves on our school and yet here you are, absolutely soaked—”
“We’re all soaked,” Sharif said, “and we’ll dry.” He glanced past her to the school where the firemen had gone to do a formal check to make sure there wasn’t a fire anywhere. “Miss Heaton’s classroom was drenched. Are all classrooms that wet?”
“I imagine they are. It’s a new sprinkler system, put in this year on recommendation by our school board. And they work—” Dr. Maddox paused, pushed back wet gray hair from her forehead “—a little too well.”
“But it’s worth it if it’ll save lives,” Jesslyn interjected as she took her things from Sharif. “We can replace books and carpeting, and fortunately the school is insured. With nearly three months before classes resume, there’s time to fix everything.”
“Are you volunteering to give up your holiday, Miss Heaton?” Dr. Maddox asked irritably. “Because to get everything done, someone will have to be here overseeing the repairs.”
“Miss Heaton has plans, I believe,” Sharif answered smoothly, and turning his back on Dr. Maddox he focused his full attention on Jesslyn. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“I don’t have a car,” she said, shouldering the strap of her purse. “I take a taxi home.”
Sharif frowned. “But you drive.”
“Cars are expensive, and I’m happy taking taxis. No one bothers me.” And no one would, she knew, not in Sharjah.
Jesslyn loved her adopted country. Sharjah might not have the same glittering nightlife of Dubai or the mad hustle bustle of the business world, but it retained a charm and elegance not found so easily in Dubai’s sleek skyscraper-studded skyline and artificial island paradise.
In her mind Sharjah was quieter, smaller, less splash and cash. She adored the stately palm-tree-lined boulevards and the handsome tall buildings in the center. It was always a pleasure to walk or take a taxi to wherever she needed to go. And she didn’t have to worry about the parking, either. She felt welcome here. Welcome and wanted.
“I’ll take you home, then,” Sharif announced, and with a nod toward his guards, he indicated he was ready to leave. “My car is waiting just there.”
Jesslyn had already spotted the limousine and two black escort vehicles, but she wasn’t about to accept a ride. “I’d prefer to hail a taxi,” she answered, with a swift glance at her wristwatch. “And if I leave now, I can just avoid the afternoon rush hour.”
She’s walking away.
Walking away from me.
Incredulous, King Sharif Fehr bit down so hard he felt as if he was choking on his own tongue, but it was that or say something he might regret.
Not that he thought he’d regret it.
In fact, right now he was certain he’d derive a great deal of pleasure from putting Jesslyn Heaton in her place.
“I shall take you,” he repeated, teeth flashing in a barely civil smile. “I insist.”
Her brown eyes lifted, met his. He saw her full lips compress, her mouth a dark rose.
Hot sparks lit her eyes. Leaning forward she whispered so only he could hear. “I do not work for you, King Fehr, nor am I one of your subjects. You can’t insist. I’m afraid you forget, Your Highness, that you have no jurisdiction over me.”
Once again she’d told him no. Once again she’d flat-out rejected him.
He frowned, trying to digest her rejection.
It’d been years since anyone had refused him so absolutely. People didn’t say no to him. People needed him. People came to him wanting favors, assistance, support.
Studying her pale, oval-shaped face, he let his gaze drift from her dark, winged eyebrows to the heat in her warm eyes to the set of her firmly molded chin. He’d never noticed just how firm that chin was until now. He’d never noticed her backbone until now, either.
When he’d first known her she’d been a broken girl, literally broken from the accident that had taken his sisters. Jesslyn had been in the hospital, all white plaster and gauze and pins.
She wasn’t broken anymore.
“You don’t like me,” he said, almost amused. On one hand he was angered by her cool dismissal, and on the other hand he was surprised and intrigued, which was a novelty in and of itself. As king of a Middle Eastern country enjoying its tenth year of peace and economic stability, these days he found himself surprised by little and intrigued by even less.
Jesslyn eyed him steadily, her feelings for him definitely mixed. “Perhaps it would be more accurate to say I don’t trust you.”
“Why on earth wouldn’t you trust me?”
She again shouldered her purse, her damp coat dripping over her arm. “You’re not the Sharif I knew. You’re King Fehr.”
“Jesslyn.” His voice suddenly dropped, turned coaxing. He didn’t like his integrity being questioned. “Obviously, I’ve offended you. That wasn’t my intention. I’ve come to you to ask for help. At least let me explain.”
She glanced toward his limousine and then his half-dozen men who stood at attention, their eyes shielded by dark glasses. “I’m catching a redeye flight tonight, and I’m going to be on that plane.”
“So you’ll let me drive you home?”
