The Sheikh's Fantasy Girl - Completed.

Chapter Two

"Ruthless as a bulldozer," she sighed. "What time do you want me to be ready?"

"Let's say six, wear something nice. I gather that is a yes?" He prompted.

"Yes, Shihab for better or for worse, you're stuck with me."

"Now, you would not be proposing to me?" He dared to tease.

"What? Sorry?" Heat burned her cheeks. "Oh, I see, better and worse, afraid not Shihab. I'm committed to my sheikhs."

"And what a wide choice to choose from."

After hanging up, Andie headed towards her bedroom, went through her wardrobe, chose something to wear and lay upon her bed, followed by shoes and jewellery that she loved, yet had nowhere to wear. 

She did once but had stopped going to the writer's conferences. 

Her defences were down, so had hidden away from the world.

She couldn't remember the last time when she hadn't written a single word, putting all her time into getting ready, after a long soaking bath, filled with oils and scents from the Middle East. Then spend ages on makeup. It had been so long since she had worn any.

Dressed in black, a long sheath dress with thick straps that was covered in a tribal bronzed chained necklace that drape around her neck and over her shoulders, with a decorative centrepiece and chains, that rested across her chest, under her arms and behind over the lattice back of the dress. A decorative dress piece. 

Ready to meet her date.

Wearing high heel sandals, she held a black and white clutch bag tightly, carrying her phone, keys, notepad and pen, as she went to answer the door. She always carried one, she would be lost without it. One never knew when one got inspired.

Taking a nervous shaky breath, she opened the door.

Nothing had prepared her for the man, who stood at her front door entrance in a tailored tuxedo, white dress shirt, tie-less. He wore a white scarf that draped around his neck and down his chest, hands in pockets, long overcoat looped through his arm, making the most magnificent figure.

 Her heart pounded wildly. Hands clammy. She should've never agreed to this. 

He was out of her league, yet so in the league of her heroes.

Her stories didn't do him justice, his stance, his perfectly fitted suit that enhanced every line of his pure male body. His thick wavy hair crowned his distinguished features in all its glory, shining under the outside light of her doorstep. 

He breathed debonair to the fullest, wearing it like a second skin that she felt uncomfortable in her own.

To be honest, in her own rights, she was well off, by the sales of her books and with the movie in the works if it went ahead, she would be put into the next bracket. She could retire, however, writing was her passion and would write until her last breath, sold or not. 

Her parents hadn't understood her passion. Didn't get the whole writing thing. They had wanted her to go to university to become a professional. The thing was, she was in her own right.

"Okay, in your own world again, I see," he leaned against the open door frame, crossing one foot over the other black leather Italian shoe.

"You should have told me to dress to the nines," she corrected, blinking out of it. "I would say we were going to the Ritz if we were in London."

His liquid sliver gaze slowly washed over her like a gentle wave on a beach, caressing white surf with a mixture of pleasure and desire. Heat rolled through her body, from her sudden heavy aching breasts, down through her belly, coiling tightly to a throb between her legs.