Sheikh With Benefits by Teresa Morgan Page A

would be most suitable.
    He was in motion instantly. He had to get to her, escort her out of here before she created some kind of incident. This was an informal party to welcome the visiting crown prince of the minor European nation of Orméa before the formal elegance of tomorrow's official reception in the palace ballroom, but he would have no scandals attached to the royal house of Ulai. The alcohol flowed so freely that he didn't trust several of the too-bright male eyes aimed her way.
    He knew what those men were thinking. The same thoughts marched through his mind.
    Getting to her first had another advantage. He could perhaps get her phone number before another man had the same idea.
    As he moved toward her, a feeling of horror grew in his chest, the pain and shock intensifying as he stepped nearer. Her profile was achingly familiar. He knew that shy tilt of her chin, the scarlet blush that spread over her cheekbones as she became aware of the interest she'd earned from the men in the room.
    He was five steps away when his mind interpreted what his senses told him. It was her .
    Dear God, what was Arya thinking? No. Thinking had clearly not come into it. How had her father permitted this? The man should be charged with some kind of crime for allowing this sweet girl with a fondness for the color beige to show up in public in a dress a whore would blush to wear.
    He took off his jacket and as soon as he was within arm's length, threw it over her shoulders.
    She mouthed something at him, but the music was far too loud for her soft voice.
    He leaned down to her, offering his ear. She was so much shorter than him that the effect of this was to give him a close-up view of the front of her dress. And her in it.
    She was fuller in the bosom than he had imagined. He had thought she was completely flat. Apparently not. She wouldn't be modeling for Victoria's Secret anytime soon, or even competing with her own sisters, but still, she did have greater curves than he'd imagined. Not that he had been imagining anything, of course. Lovely freckles decorated her skin, he noticed, for the first time.
    "Thank you—" As she began to speak the American diva finished her set and the music ended. She yelled the final word in his ear.
    She apologized, turning pink with embarrassment. Her flush didn't end at her neck, but continued down as far as he could see, darkening those freckles. He felt only gratitude that the music had lowered. The too-loud beats had begun an odd throbbing against his ribcage. Particularly when he had leaned in close to her.
    "Thank you for your jacket," she continued, pausing when another woman jostled her arm. "But it's very warm in here."
    She imagined that he'd done it because he thought her cold? She was usually more aware of him than that. For some reason, her being out of touch with his feelings irritated him. "Perhaps not," he said, through gritted teeth. "But you have lost your mind. That dress."
    She'd been staring at him with amber eyes, the legacy of her British mother, a good-natured, but plain, woman her father had married after his first wife had divorced him. Unfortunately, Arya's mother had passed away, and her father had married for a third time, the spoiled daughter of a Persian oil magnate. Each of these three unions had produced a daughter. Two were beautiful.
    The third was standing before him, practically naked.
    "I know. Isn't it scandalous?" Her eyes lit at the corners, showing a spark of mischief he'd never seen before.
    "And likely illegal," he pointed out.
    "Oh, I doubt it." She pulled the lapels of his tuxedo jacket apart to display her body.
    He couldn't help himself. He willed himself not to look, but even his self-control had its limits. He was a man, after all. And she was definitely a woman, as he was just discovering.
    A woman in a beige dress. His close inspection—very close—revealed that the gown covered every inch of her, but in a fabric that matched her light olive skin tone