Seduced by the Sheik (The Raminar Family #1)- Elizabeth Lennox Page 0,10

nanny for company. They were in bed by eight o’clock.

Harper’s heart ached for the little girls that she suspected were lonely and desperate for attention from their relatives. But there was no interaction between these small princesses and their uncle or those mysterious siblings he’d mentioned.

Chapter 3

“You’re late,” a harsh male voice announced.

Harper stiffened, then turned around slowly. She watched with astonishment as the man she’d grown to hate over the past several hours approached her, looking suave and sophisticated in a dark suit. It wasn’t a tuxedo, but was close enough, even though he’d left the neck open on his pristine white dress shirt.

“Remember, he’s the boss,” she muttered softly to herself, clenching her fingers together in front of herself in an effort to restrain herself from punching him. It was hard because her heart ached for the two little girls that were currently sleeping all alone in a pale, bland room that had been beautifully decorated in pastel pink with white comforters over their identical, small beds.

Sheik Amit al Raminar moved closer, those sharp, hazel eyes of his narrowing slightly at her muttered words. “What was that?”

Harper’s fingernails dug into the skin on her hands. She knew that she should be respectful, but…!

Blast respect, she thought, bristling with anger for her two small, desperately lonely charges. With a lift of her chin, she glared up at the man. “I was reminding myself that you are the boss here,” she told him, not bothering to hide her fury.

He lifted a dark eyebrow as he poured himself something dark and tempting into a crystal glass. “Is that hard to remember?”

She shrugged and took a deep, slow breath. “Your nieces are lovely.”

“I know,” he replied, unbuttoning his jacket before sitting down in a large, leather chair. “I need to know why they aren’t talking. Why they are so silent and sad all the time.”

Harper noticed he hadn’t invited her to sit down, which was a petty power play on his part. He also hadn’t offered her anything to drink. She wasn’t a big drinker, but there was just something irritating about the man and she wanted to push his buttons just as much as he was pushing hers. So she strolled over to the liquor table and poured herself a finger of the scotch, then sat down in the chair opposite him.

Ignoring his raised eyebrow, she swirled the rich liquor in the glass. “I don’t have all of the information quite yet, but I suspect that your nieces are emulating you, Your Highness,” she explained.

He chuckled as he looked at her over the rim of his glass as he took a long swallow of his drink. “Is that so?” He sipped, then lowered the glass. “I’m assuming by the glare that their efforts are a bad thing?”

Harper sighed, rubbing her forehead. She realized suddenly that he wasn’t mocking her. He genuinely had no idea that his lack of affection was a bad thing. Many parents thought that offering affection and tenderness would make their children soft.

Actually, the opposite was true. Studies consistently proved that children who are shown love and approval had an inner strength that was solid and powerful. They could go out into the world with confidence that, if something bad happened, they had a soft place to land.

“It’s very bad, Your Highness. The girls are five years old. They just lost their parents a few months ago and they don’t understand the feelings that they are experiencing. They don’t have anyone with whom they can talk about their sadness. Their only present role models are their nanny or their tutor, both of whom are extremely efficient, but haven’t addressed their grief and confusion. You are their other role model, but you appear,” she stressed that word, “to be going on as if your sister’s death hadn’t happened.” She lifted a hand to stop his retort when his eyes turned hard and angry. “I say that you appear to be doing that, Your Highness. But I know that you’re grieving very deeply for your sister, just as they are. And I suspect that you don’t know how to deal with your grief either, so you pretend that it isn’t there even though it’s eating at you.”

She watched with fascination as his lips thinned at her assertion. Sure enough, he completely denied that he was still grieving.

“I’m fine, Doctor Harper.” He swirled his scotch, but didn’t take another sip. “You’re not here to assess my mental issues. You’re here to