“I hear you.” Sam nodded in sympathy. “I have the same problem.”

Layla let out a snort. Droplets of tea sprayed across the table, hitting Hassan in the eye. Unfazed, he wiped his face with his sleeve and smiled like nothing had happened.

“Anything else we should know?” Sam was intrigued both by Hassan’s misadventures as a boy toy and Layla’s unladylike response.

“My hobbies include extreme pogo.”

“Watch your language,” Sam barked. “There is a sort-of lady present.”

“Sort-of lady?” Layla narrowed her gaze. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s a sport,” Hassan interjected. “It involves riding and performing tricks on a special extreme pogo stick that can jump over ten feet in height.”

Sam felt a curious sensation bubble up in his chest. “You bounce around on a giant pogo stick that goes ten feet in the air.”

“Yes, sir.” Hassan pulled out his phone and navigated to a video. “Here I am.”

Something inside Sam threatened to burst as he watched ungainly Hassan bouncing through the air in the middle of a field. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he fought to master the unfamiliar emotion. What the hell was wrong with him?

“Don’t laugh,” Layla whispered under her breath.

Laughter. He remembered it now. How long had it been since he’d had a good laugh?

Layla dropped her hand under the table and dug her nails into Sam’s thigh. Almost instantly, the uncontrollable sensation was replaced by another—this one familiar and likely to become problematic if he didn’t get her hand off his lap.

“That’s . . .” Layla cleared her throat. “Amazing, Hassan. Is there anything else we should know about you?”

“I am veg.”

Sam waited for Hassan to elaborate, but the prospective bridegroom just smiled.

“I’m actually not a vegetarian.” Layla’s words tumbled over one another like she’d forgotten how to use her tongue. “I like meat. Love it, in fact. I have meat every day. I pretty much grew up in my parents’ restaurant and they serve meat. Which I like eating. Lamb, chicken, beef . . .”

“I think she’s trying to say she’s carnivorous,” Sam said, biting back his laughter. “Don’t make any sudden moves or she might think you’re prey.”

Hassan opened his tablet and handed it to Layla. “If the interview portion is completed, my parents have prepared a test for you. You’ll have five minutes to complete each section. Incorrect or missing answers will be penalized one mark, so it is possible to have a negative score, although that won’t help your situation.”

“What situation?”

“Your father said you were in urgent need of a man.”

“She’s desperate.” Sam shook his head in mock sorrow. “If I wasn’t here your very life would be in danger. It’s an effort to keep her on this side of the table.”

Layla squeezed his thigh again, her hand precariously close to his fly, nails digging in so deep his eyes watered. “You want danger, Sam? Keep talking.”

“We don’t want to have intellectually inferior progeny in the family,” Hassan continued. “My parents have Ph.D.’s. My two brothers are doctors and married to doctors. I’ll have two professional degrees when I’m finished my MBA. We don’t want a spouse with a lesser intelligence.”

“That rules you out,” Layla muttered to Sam under her breath.

Sam bit back a laugh. “He’s not really my type.”

“The academic section is first.” Hassan pushed the tablet toward her. “For the fitness test we can go outside and I’ll mark fifty yards in the parking lot for the sprint—”

“Fitness?” Layla’s nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Just put a box of donuts on the finish line and she’ll run the equivalent of a three-minute mile,” Sam offered.

Layla turned the full force of her fury on him. “You’re an ass.”

Sam leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “You say that like it’s a surprise.”

Hassan took back the tablet and tapped several boxes, filling them with black X’s.

“What are you doing?” Layla studied the screen.

“Even temperament. Accommodating. Sweet disposition. Submissive. Compliant. You have five failing marks in the personality section.”

“Seriously?” Layla spluttered her indignation. “No one can fail a personality test.”

“You just did,” Sam pointed out. “And to be fair, I saw that one coming.”

“You’re very different than your profile on desilovematch.com.” Hassan held up one of the crumpled papers.

“Let me see that.” Sam snatched the document and pushed to his feet, holding it out of Layla’s reach. “Hmmm. ‘Layla Patel. Age twenty-six. Height five feet, five inches. Weight—’”

“Give me that.” Layla jumped up and lunged for the paper. Sam held it higher and she collided with him, losing her balance. He circled an arm around her waist to keep her steady, securing her soft body against his chest. Electricity arced between them, warming his blood as he felt the pounding of her unaccommodating heart.

“Bastard.” She broke the spell, jumping to get the paper. Her body rubbed up and down against his. Too late, he realized the danger.

“Is this a sales technique?” he whispered in her ear. “A little demonstration for Hassan about what he can expect in bed? Or is it just for me? Because, sweetheart, if he doesn’t marry you after this, I will.”

Her nostrils flared, and she pulled away. “I wouldn’t marry you even if you got down on your knees and begged.”

“When I’m with a woman, it’s not me doing the begging.” Holding her at arm’s length, Sam studied the picture of Layla in a bright pink salwar kameez, her hair tucked away in a matching pink headscarf, hands hennaed, face painted, her neck and wrists dripping with jewelry.

“It’s hard to believe this is you,” he said. “You look very feminine in shocking pink and quite unlike the kind of woman who would curse and throw herself at an innocent stranger in a frenzy of lust.”

“I wasn’t feeling any innocence below your belt,” she said dryly.

With a chuckle, Sam continued to read the marriage résumé in his hand. He was enjoying her predicament far too much. “‘Religious, healthy, cultured, obedient, polite, dutiful, demure, deep sense of responsibility to family, respectful of elders . . .’” Sam shook his head. “Not entirely accurate, I’m afraid. I am six years older than her and she was very disrespectful to me. Strong willed? Definitely. Healthy?” He looked down at a fuming Layla. “Show me your teeth. My grandfather owned horses and he always assessed their health by examining their teeth.”