Zahkim Sheikhs Series: The Complete Series

by Leslie North

  He couldn't deal with the anger radiating off her, not after just having Arif and the minister confront him. If he stayed, this was going to become a nasty argument. He had no intention of allowing that to happen.

  Standing, he started for the door. "I must go into the city." He walked out, but a spot between his shoulders burned from Ginni's stare.

  Ginni sat at the breakfast table, her coffee cold, and muttered about men who figured their women couldn't handle a few problems. She'd thought Nasim was different. Well, turned out he was a damn sight too much like her daddy. Figured she'd fall for that type of guy. But all her fantasies of them staying married had just gone up in smoke. Well, she'd show him. She'd fix this—and she'd fix him.

  Pulling out her cell phone, she texted Jasmine to let her know about the trouble brewing. Time for Jasmine to take a hand in this, too. This whole scheme was supposed to have been about helping out a friend, not getting a couple of countries fighting. But Ginni kept thinking of Helen of Troy and all the fuss that girl had caused—that sure was not how she wanted to be remembered.

  The coffee soured in her stomach, and a pounding started up in her temples. It took three texts before Jasmine finally sent one back. The girl texted back a link to an article about a sheikh in Dubai who'd had his marriage annulled after he lifted his bride's veil and found her to have cross-eyes and a better mustache than his. Didn't women have beauty parlors around here? Rolling her eyes, Ginni texted Jasmine again.

  “How does this get your daddy off everyone's backs?”

  Jasmine didn't seem to have an answer to that—least, she wasn't texting back. Ginni let out a soft growl. If Jasmine wasn't going to do anything, that meant this all fell to Ginni. If she could fix this, Nasim would owe her. He'd damn well do that deal with Leeland Enterprises, which would make her Daddy happy—and the rest…well, she'd figure it out.

  All that meant she needed to do some serious thinking to get the answers she needed, and she always thought better when window shopping. She'd have to get a ride into town for a whole lot of staring at pretty things to get the ideas stirring.

  The ride turned out to be the easy part.

  She asked one of the guys in the long, white robes about how to get herself to Al Resab. Fifteen minutes later, a car was gliding to a stop next to the palace front doors. Not just a car, but a seriously long limo with air conditioning, which had her cheering up already. She drank down a sparkling water to settle her stomach, texted Jasmine a few more times, sent a few more texts to her mama—she'd neglected keeping up with the folks. And then the skyscrapers of Al Resab rose up around her.

  The fluttery flags on the front of the car—Zahkim's flag—turned out to be there for more than show. The car parked wherever she wanted it to. She simply pointed to a shop, the limo stopped, she got out, walked a bit, looked around, tried to get her thoughts off Nasim and how he'd turned her world—and her—inside out last night. She needed to think about business.

  An hour of therapy shopping settled her too-busy mind. Ideas started percolating at last. She smiled. She was just coming out of a store that had offered up some colorful pottery Mama would adore when she saw a pair of familiar masculine shoulders in a boxy American gray suit. She stopped and almost dropped the bag with the planter she'd just bought.

  "Hank? Hank LaRue?" The man turned. Ginni's heart jumped up to her throat. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  Chapter Eleven

  Hank LaRue's grin had always been his best feature. Lopsided, it gave him an awe-shucks boy-next-door look. With his tousled dark-blond hair, that crooked grin, and bright blue eyes, he'd always turned more than a few heads. Ginni had once puffed up her chest to have his ring on her finger and him on her arm. Now, irritation crawled over her skin like spiders dancing. That grin held just a touch too much smugness.

  She marched up to him. She was wishing she'd worn heels, not sandals. In heels, she stood two inches taller than Hank, and towering over him right now sure sounded good.

  Punching a finger into his chest, she demanded, "Did my daddy send you to keep an eye on me?"

  His face paled. He glanced around at the others on the sidewalk now stopping to glance back at them. He tried to take her elbow, but she jerked out of his grasp.

  "Virginia—"

  "Don't call me that. I keep saying only my mama calls me that when she's pissed at me over somethin'."

  "Very well, Ms. Leeland." He stressed the words, voice tense. "Can we talk someplace that isn't on a street? And, yes, your father sent me. I do still work for Leeland Enterprises."

  The irritation changed to a cold sweep down her back. If Daddy had sent Hank, that meant Daddy had either heard something about the wedding or that famous sixth sense of his was working overtime. She should have kept up with the tourist chatter back to her folks, but she'd been far too focused on Nasim.

  Glancing around, she noticed the looks they were getting—and the frowns. She huffed out a breath and grabbed Hank's arm. She could pull him into the limo—but then what? She didn't want to be stuffed in a car with him. She'd noticed a swanky hotel a few doors down, so she let go of Hank and headed that way, her bag of purchases bouncing against her hip. He could just follow, but she was kind of hoping he wouldn't.

  Air-conditioned cool washed over her as soon as she stepped inside the revolving brass doors. Huge flower arrangements decorated and scented the lobby. Ginni glimpsed both traditional dress and Western suits. Good—it was the sort of place for business meetings. She kept going, looking for a bar, and found one toward the right. Dark wood paneling, overstuffed leather chairs, and thick carpets that hushed her steps made it the perfect place for a private conversation, but goosebumps popped on Ginni's arms. She felt like she was in a spy movie—or one of those French farces.

  Plopping down into a chair and putting her shopping in another chair, she saw Hank had followed. She had no idea what she was going to tell him, but she wasn't looking forward to any conversation. Her pulse kept jumping.

  Hank lifted his hand to order them drinks, but Ginni waved off the waiter and leaned forward. "We're off the street. So talk."

  Smoothing his tie, Hank stared at her, his mouth flat and eyes narrowed. "You might not need anything, but I do." He called the waiter back and ordered a bourbon. Ginni started tapping her nails on the polished wood table—that habit had always irritated him.

  After the waiter brought Hank his drink, Ginni stopped tapping her fingernails. "Well?"

  Smoothing his tie again, Hank took a long swallow of his drink and said, "Did you really think it wouldn't get back to your father? Aldrich has too many connections not to hear you've gotten mixed up with some kind of Arab wedding mess." He spat out the words like they'd been sour candy.

  Ginni lifted her chin. "And you're here to fix things? News alert for you. I don't need your rescue, or your help."

  Hank's lopsided grin showed up again. "So you've got a deal in place with Zahkim to ship their oil? And you're not married to a guy you'd never laid eyes on before the wedding?"

  "I don't know what my daddy sees in you. Hell, I don't even know what I saw in you, ’cept you were handy and my folks didn't much think you were good son-in-law material."

  His grin dropped. Putting down his drink, he pressed his palms on the table and leaned forward. "Virginia—and yes, I'm using your full name, because you can't fool me—you are in trouble. Your folks know it. I know it. Hell, most anyone on the street in this pest-hole knows it. You butted in where you weren't wanted, and you think you're going to charm your way out of the outhouse and into the rose garden."

  Heat lifted from Ginni's neck, flooding her face. "Keep talking like that, an' you're gonna end up wearin' that bourbon."

  "Oh, come off it, Virginia. You've pulled some stunts in your day, but getting yourself married to some Arab? You think some dishtowel-wearing camel jockey's gonna be welcome back home at your daddy's country club? Why don't you wise up and do what they do here? Say 'I divorce you' three
times and have done with it. That's the way around this backwater. You don't need a lawyer, just some common sense."

  Standing, Ginni grabbed Hank's bourbon and dashed it at him. She missed his face, caught his shirt and tie. Hank jumped up and back, brushing at the spreading brown stain and the ice clinging to his chest.

  Ginni thunked the glass back on the table. "Send me the cleaning bill. No, better yet, go out and buy yourself a new suit and tie—maybe you can find some brains while you're at it." Stepping closer, she punched a finger into his chest. "And you ever refer to any sheikh of Zahkim as a camel jockey, I'll make it my business to put you on the next flight out of here, and it won't be first class you'll be flyin'. More like cargo!"

  Grabbing her shopping and her purse, she stomped from the hotel. Heat hit her as soon as she left the lobby. She stood on the sidewalk, pulling in breaths, heart pounding, wishing she'd hit Hank with her purse. Letting out a growl, she headed for the limo, temper in tatters.

  The comfort of the car didn't do anything to settle the heat bubbling inside her. Oh, that stupid man! And then her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number, almost hit Ignore, but she might as well have it out with Daddy, too.

  "What?"

  Aldrich Leeland's voice came over the phone, his drawl slow. "Nice way to greet your father, Ginni. Just heard from Hank. He's saying we've got a disaster on our hands."

  Ginni swallowed hard. She took a deep breath. "Daddy, when are you gonna decide I can handle myself?"

  "Maybe when you prove it."

  "An' how am I ever gonna do that with you sendin' your dogs after me?"

  A long silence followed. Ginni bit down on her lower lip. The urge to dump everything into her father's lap nibbled at her. He'd know how to keep Sheikh Ahmad happy and how to get a deal done with Zahkim and Leeland Enterprises. In the process, he'd unhitch her from Nasim as well, and that's what stopped her.

  She didn't want her marriage undone.

  That thought left her frozen, phone to her ear, and her heart hammering.

  She was in love with Nasim. She knew it down to her bones. She'd fallen for him sometime in the past couple of days, and the trouble with that was she wasn't sure Nasim saw her as anything more than a problem—just like Hank and her Daddy did.

  Oh, what was she going to tell him? Oh, hey, Daddy, I think I've started a war?

  Sucking in another breath, she tried to pick her words carefully. "Three days. I'll call you back, and if it's not all sweetness and light, I'll let you know. But I'm never gonna learn much of anything if you don't give me the chance."

  His voice softened. "Baby girl, I just hate seeing you unhappy. That's all."

  "I know. But it's been a long time since I was a baby or a girl, and sometimes it takes a stretch of unhappy to get to the other side. Mama's always talking about needing rain to make rainbows."

  "Trouble is, lotta times, rain comes along with hurricane winds, and good luck finding much of anything to put back together after that. You got your three days."

  "And Hank?" She started chewing on her thumbnail.

  "I'll call him home. Don't think the desert suits him anyways."

  She pumped a hand into the air and ended the call. Then she pushed a hand into her hair. Three days. What in tarnation was she going to do in three days?

  The limo pulled up to the palace entrance before she'd managed to calm herself. Ginni stared up at the white marble, the turrets, the ornate carving. For an instant, she was tempted to ask the driver to take her anywhere else, maybe out to some place she could walk off her anger. But she had ideas about what she needed to do. Next thing that came with them was to figure out how to meet up with Sheikh Ahmad to put those ideas into action.

  Heading inside, she made her way to her room, left her purse and the few things she'd bought in the city. She walked out onto the terrace. The gurgling of the fountains in the garden pulled some of the tension from her shoulders. She needed something to eat, she decided. Heading downstairs, she made her way into the garden, looking for someone to point her to food.

  Instead, she found an older woman sitting in a shady spot at a round table, a teapot and pastries in front of her. The woman looked up. She wore black robes but without any veils. Gray streaked her black hair, which she wore pulled back into a bun. Kohl lined dark eyes, and the woman had an assessing stare.

  She smiled, however, and gestured to one of the other chairs. "You must be Virginia. Please, will you join me?" She spoke careful, lightly accented English.

  Ginni hesitated, but the tea smelled like licorice, and those pastries just needed to be eaten. She sat down. "Call me Ginni."

  "I am Sheikha Amal. That would be the wife of a sheikh. Or former wife. My husband once ruled Zahkim. I'm Tarek's grandmother."

  "His mamere?" Frowning, Ginni asked, "Does that make us—?"

  "Family. Yes." She poured tea and gave Ginni another of those direct, assessing stares. Ginni found the dark eyes unnerving. This woman was like Mama times ten. She sipped her tea. Amal offered the plate with the pastries, and Ginni decided hunger beat out trying to act like some kind of princess. She devoured three of the pastries—and, lordy, but they were good. Amal chatted about the weather—the heat, the lack of rain, the flowers in the garden. Ginni mumbled answers around her pastries.

  The second cup of tea had her sitting straighter and deciding she might as well dive in. "You don't think much of me."

  She got another direct stare, but it came with the fragment of a smile. "I am withholding judgment. You are at least not as bad as Jasmine Hadad. That was going to be a disaster of a marriage. When were you born?" Ginni rattled off her birth date. Amal nodded. "Gemini. A good match for Nasim, but we should have your chart done."

  Rattling her tea cup into its saucer, Ginni leaned forward. "Yeah, that'd be fine. But it's more the future that's got me worried. Nasim's in trouble, it's my fault, and I have to make it right." The words tumbled out in a flow.

  Ginni found Amal to be great at listening. She sat next to Ginni, hands folded in her lap, eyes bright, nodding every now and then. Ginni's own mamere had died when Ginni was only eight, and she'd missed having someone like this who'd just sit and listen.

  She ran out of words and breath and slumped back in her chair. "If I could just get to Sheikh Ahmad."

  Eyes narrowing, Amal asked, "Is that all you need? Tell me, just what are you willing to do to—as you say—make things right?"

  Ginni sat up. "Anything. Well, just about. I won't do anythin' that'll end up slappin' back on Nasim. You got something in mind?"

  Chapter Twelve

  Nasim sat at the conference table in Tarek's office. Arif sat opposite. Three of Tarek's top ministers shared the table, along with their ambassador to Dijobuli, Yusef Laan. Tarek had listened to everything, a frown in place and a line between his eyebrows. Nasim's shoulders had knotted, and he wanted to get up and leave. This was useless.

  Sheikh Ahmad turned down their offer of money, but the ambassador insisted the ruler of Dijobuli seemed open to perhaps a trade of oil fields or even an offer of some of the royal jewels.

  Jaw tight, Nasim shook his head. "The man had his pride hurt. He's trying to do anything that will see me squirming."

  The ambassador—an older man with gray in his beard—fixed Nasim with a hard stare. "You could divorce this American."

  "And what would that do, Yusef?" Nasim asked, voice clipped and tense. "Jasmine Hadad married another man—she is never going to be my wife."

  "And Virginia Leeland is such a prize?" Yusef nodded to the minister sitting next to him. Uneasy, the man pulled out his mobile, swiped up a photo and offered the image for everyone to see. "Your wife was seen having drinks with another man—the man she was supposed to marry in America, a man who also works for Leeland Enterprises. It seems your bride is really just a loose woman who is using you to get Leeland access to our oil."

  Pushing back his chair, Nasim stood and leaned his hands on the table. "If you ever dare
accuse my wife of infidelity again, I will—"

  "Nasim!" Tarek's voice cut across Nasim's words. He bit off the rest of the threat. He wanted the man's head. But Tarek was right—Yusef had been a friend of Nasim's father. He could do nothing to harm the older man. He turned to leave, but Tarek's voice stopped him again.

  "This meeting is over. Nasim and Arif, please stay."

  Nasim walked over to the French windows that looked out into the garden, which shaded Tarek's office. He crossed his arms and kept his back to the room as the others left. When the door closed behind the ambassador and the ministers, Nasim turned. "Where'd he get that bloody photo?"

  Tarek shrugged. He pulled off his keffiyeh. Like Arif, he'd worn traditional dress to the meeting. Nasim had opted for a suit and tie. He yanked the tie loose now and glanced around. "Got anything stronger than lemonade?"

  "That would be setting a bad example for my people," Tarek said. But he opened a small fridge behind his desk and pulled out three bottles of Guinness. "Every now and then, I miss England, too, cousin."

  They popped the tops, and clinked glasses. "To Zahkim," Arif said. The toast had been their tradition when they'd been at Oxford.

  Nasim took a long pull off the bottle and then let out a breath. "Honestly, Tarek. Old Yusef is right. I don't know Virginia all that well. What if all of this is just about her wanting that deal for Leeland Enterprises?"

  Arif gave a snort. "You haven't been watching your wife very closely if that's what you think."

  Nasim shot him a look, but Tarek held up a hand. "Leave Sheikh Ahmad to me. Zahkim is my country to rule, and I will not see him strip us of either our oil fields or the royal jewels. If his pride must be placated, we will do so. In the meantime, a deal with Leeland Enterprises might not be such a bad thing. Right now, Sheikh Ahmad believes our only option is a pipeline across Dijobuli. Leaking word to him that we are in serious discussions to pull in American investment, expand and improve our roads to the north, may not be such a bad thing."