by Leslie North
The hunk had a stare fixed on her that looked one part mad as a cat with his tail in a knot and one part hot—very hot—smolder. She liked that second part.
He looked good in a suit with his tie askew, all swarthy with his hair curling and rumpled from that dishcloth a lot of guys here wore, probably to keep the sun off their heads. She'd been broiling in her veils, covered up to her eyeballs and hardly able to breathe.
"That faint hadn't been good acting so much as a need to get into some shade—this place could beat New Orleans in July for its heat and humidity, and here I always figured on the desert being dry." She bit off the words. She'd slipped from thinking into talking, a habit her daddy kept saying she needed to break if she was ever going to be any good at business.
She tugged at the robe she was wearing, wishing it had more business in it, and lifted her chin. She was here to prove she was ready to take over Leeland Enterprises, and she'd taken the first step by finally getting face time with Sheikh Nasim Said. Now she just needed an agreement from him to show to her daddy.
"You're a hard man to get a meeting with."
His mouth flattened. He had a face made for sin, all interesting angles with dark eyebrows flat over tawny eyes that would do him well at a poker table. The corner of his mouth twitched.
"That would be due to my having spent the last six weeks trying to negotiate a deal with Dijobuli—the deal you just destroyed." He took two steps closer and loomed over her.
At five-ten—six-two in designer heels—she wasn't used to looking up at anyone. She cursed the flat sandals and put on a smile. Her daddy had always said she could charm birds out of the sky, if she put her mind to it. But he'd also said she'd never shown she was responsible enough to take over the business.
"I've got a better proposition for you," she said. One of those flat, dark eyebrows lifted. He slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her to him. She flattened her hands on his chest—and—oh my, did that man have muscles on him. Her heart skittered up to pound in her throat, and she had to swallow before she could get the words out. "Not that kind of proposition."
"You've cost me not just a deal, but a bride I was promised. That would include a wedding night and a honeymoon."
"Well, I—" She didn't get any more words out than that. His mouth took the rest of them. He stole her breath, and then she lost track of what else he was doing, other than flicking that tongue of his across hers. She put a hand around his neck to keep him busy doing what he was doing, which seemed to be setting her lower parts into a tingle. She couldn't get enough of him. He smelled of leather and male arousal and tasted of mint. His beard and mustache—short and trim—rasped over her skin. He pulled back at last, and she let him. But she hung onto his neck, her breath coming in short gasps. She didn't trust her dizzy head right now.
Looking up at him, she managed to untangle herself from his arms. She got a hand under her robes, pulled her cellphone out from her bra where she'd tucked it, and dragged her mind back to business. That was hard, because what she really wanted to do was slip that tie off him and get her hands on some skin.
But…first things first.
Pulling up the spreadsheets on her Android, she showed him the numbers she'd worked out. "Leeland Enterprises could be a good deal for Zahkim oil transport. Over ten years, you'd spend half of what a pipeline would cost, and we're able to expand to handle imports. Plus you're not locked into oil. You can diversify. Get into solar and wind to make sure you're not dependent on oil prices that like to drop all of a sudden."
He glanced at the spreadsheets, looked away, and glanced back again, the thick, dark eyebrows flattening. His eyes warmed with what she hoped might be a touch of interest, but he looked back at her with his mouth pulling down, and that wasn't good.
"This might have been of interest two months ago. But you overlook the current political ramifications. This is not just a deal. This was to be an alliance between Zahkim and Dijobuli. This mess you’ve bloody well landed me in might well upset regional stability. There was a marriage contract involved."
Ginni propped a fist on her hip—trimmed into shape with Aikido classes. "You're thinking I haven't been thinking, but I have. This deal's gotta work for everyone, and so I'm including Leeland picking up the cost for expanded infrastructure with improved roads for Dijobuli instead of a pipeline that could lead to spills. Just give me a chance to walk through a presentation with you and Sheikh Ahmad. As to the marriage, well, guess you'll have to talk to Jasmine—she's the one who tossed that in the trash."
Nasim cursed under his breath in something other than English. She liked his accent—something not quite proper Englishman mixed with a touch of exotic. She also liked how he scrubbed a hand through his hair, leaving the shaggy curls tumbled. Her fingers twitched with the urge to touch that dark hair, see how soft it felt.
He looked at her, his stare unsettling and direct. "Sheikh Ahmad…how do I explain you to him?"
Ginni stepped up and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. "Lead the way, cher. I've been daddy's girl since I was ten and Mama let me put up my hair and taught me how to swing my hips. It'll take some doin', but that ol' buzzard's got to see Jasmine's happiness matters more than any ol' deal. Just give me a chance to prove myself here."
Giving her a sideways look, he asked, "You honestly want to tackle a reception to go with your deception, and the Sheikh of Dijobuli?"
When he put it like that, a quiver tumbled Ginni's stomach. Her skin chilled. But the sheikh was looking at her through dark lashes, giving her an assessing stare as if measuring her. She gave him a firm nod. "I got you into this, I'll figure us a way out."
And I'm gonna need to figure, too, if this marriage deal is for real.
Chapter Three
Nasim led Virginia—"Ginni to friends”—Leeland back into the gardens, which now stood empty, other than the babbling fountain and the lush flower beds. Arif, and perhaps his new wife Christine, must have moved the wedding guests into the peacock throne room, where the reception was due to take place. Tarek had no use for any of the three throne rooms, but the one with the peacock throne, named for the dazzling colors of the gems embedded into a very uncomfortable carved chair, served to host informal gatherings and banquets. Nasim could hear traditional music floating across the gardens—the beat of drums and the high pitch of a ney flute. He'd always preferred classic rock.
Next to him, Ginni seemed to have put steel into her spine. She walked stiff and tall. He shook his head. This was not going to go well, not when the Sheikh of Dijobuli expected to see his daughter on Nasim's arm.
Striding across the gardens with his bride, Nasim braced to face the wedding guests and Sheikh Ahmad. They stepped into the cool shadows of the peacock throne room.
For a moment, guests continued to talk, plates and silverware clattered, and the music carried on in a merry beat, echoing from the hard marble floors and colorful tiled walls. Across the room, Nasim saw Arif turn toward the French windows that opened onto the garden. Arif looked away and turned back again, eyes going wide, no doubt due to the woman who stood at Nasim's side who was not Jasmine Hadad. Christine, Arif's wife, glanced their way as well, and her mouth fell open. Then silence spread almost like an illness over the room, until it was as if everyone was holding their breath.
Nasim almost turned and left, but Sheikh Ahmad broke the stillness with a shouted curse. "Ya ka-lib!" He strode across the room, robes flapping. "'Ayn abnataya?"
Chest tight, Nasim dropped Ginni's arm and stepped slightly in front of her. "English, please. For our guests. I will remind you, as well, that you are a guest of Zahkim, and I have no idea where your daughter might be found."
"Paris, I think." Ginni wrinkled her nose. "She was catching the first flight to Europe. Or it might have been Munich."
Sheikh Ahmad's mouth opened and closed, but no words came from him. Stepping back, Nasim gestured to the garden. "Shall we discuss this in private?"
Slicing the air wi
th his hand, Ahmad said, "There is nothing to say. You will hear from my lawyers for this insult…this trickery!"
Palms up as if to pacify everyone, Ginni stepped forward. "Now, now. Only trick here is one Jasmine pulled ’cause she's over the moon for another fella. There's still good that can come out of this, if we all just calm down and sit down. Maybe have some tea?"
"Tea will not return a daughter to me. Tea will not mend my honor, which has been dragged into the dirt." With another shout calling Nasim a dog, Sheikh Ahmad turned and strode out of the room. The other guests from Dijobuli slowly put down their plates and followed, trailing out with hushed whispers and a few nervous laughs.
Arif sent Nasim a harsh glance—and Nasim could believe it was his cousin saying he'd told Nasim this day would be a disaster. Damn the fellow for being proved right. With a word to his wife, Arif followed Sheikh Ahmad out of the room. Christine glanced around, eyes wide, and Nasim could well imagine she had no idea what to do—she was an academic, not a politician.
The remaining guests—members of the extended royal family, the wealthy and influential of Zahkim—seemed more than able to smell a scandal brewing. Murmured excuses began along with an exodus. Christine fled after the last guest with a muttered, "I'll get Arif."
But what could Arif or anyone else do? Nasim looked around the empty room, empty of everyone except the servers, who lined the walls trying hard not to look at Nasim or his bride, and the musicians whose song had trailed off.
Ginni let out a sigh. "Think he needs time to cool off?"
Nasim barked out a laugh. "A thousand lifetimes will not be enough cooling-off time for Ahmad—the man carries grudges the way a camel carries water."
Heading over to one of the buffet tables, Ginni grabbed a drink, threw it back and pulled a face. "Lemonade? Times like these call for something stronger." She turned to Nasim. "I'm sorry if I've ruined your party. It was looking like fun."
He glanced around the room, with its round tables draped in white and gold, the lavish buffet that had barely been touched, and the musicians still waiting for orders. He waved at them to carry on and held out a hand to Ginni.
"May I have this dance?"
She grinned. "Not sure I know how to move to that beat they had going."
"It's not your four-four time, but let's see how you manage." He pulled her into his arms and swung her onto the dance floor. The musicians smoothed their way into a cover of one of Tess Angel's pop songs. Ginni's curves fit well into his arms, she moved her hips in a way that roused his interest, and she still smelled like candy. Nasim decided if this did not make up for the disappointment of this disastrous day, at least it was some consolation.
Meeting his gaze, she asked, "Think the sheikh will take a call from me so I can try another apology?"
"Doubtful. Perhaps you should get Jasmine to try."
She rolled her eyes. "To quote Dorothy Parker, 'you can lead a horticulture, but you can't make her think.' Not that Jasmine's really a whore, but she was known at college as the easiest girl who'd put out on campus. Eric's the only guy I've ever seen curb that tendency in her. And when she's got her mind on herself, not much else can get into that head of hers."
Nasim drew back, a shock jolting through him. "Perhaps you saved me from an unfaithful wife."
"Don't know ’bout that, but I did kill the party." Her gaze slipped around the room. "Too bad. You've got a spread Daddy would approve of, and no bon temps to go with."
Despite the disaster the day had become, Nasim smiled. "My cousin Tarek hosts a dozen galas every year. Truthfully, they’re tedious affairs, but one must do one’s duty. Just as I have."
"Family business. Yeah, don't I just know about that. But I ain't done trying to patch things over."
He studied the girl—woman really. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, and he wondered how much influence she had with her father. Aldrich Leeland's name, and his company, carried a great deal of influence in any part of the world. Nasim had always resisted any deals with the man, since Leeland had a reputation of starting off with a handshake, moving to investments, and ending up with takeovers. But maybe his daughter would prove more…amiable and biddable.
"We should not waste all this wonderful food." Grabbing her hand, he led her from the dance floor to the buffet. Silver trays on the white linen offered up traditional dishes. He handed her a china plate trimmed in gold.
Holding the plate like a shield, she asked, "Smells good, but anything here gonna be staring up at me, like maybe sheep eyes?"
"No, but we have roast camel and goat, and my favorite: lgeimat." As soon as she parted her lips to ask what that might be, he popped a ball of the saffron-soaked dessert into her mouth.
She bit down, chewed and smiled. "Almost like a beignet from back home. That cinnamon I'm tastin'?"
"And cardamom."
"Why are we starting with dessert?"
He shrugged. "Has anything else gone right today?"
Tipping her head to one side, she said, "Well, I got to meet you."
He glanced at her, uncertain if she was serious with her flattery or simply trying to placate him. Deciding it didn't matter, he filled her plate with the other desserts—bastani or rose water ice cream, which she pulled a face over, and faloodeh.
"I like the noodly thing," she said, and went back for more.
They moved on to the roast lamb, the goat cooked in garlic, shrimp piled high on saffron rice, and flatbread, and finished with appetizers of hummus, baba ghanoush, falafel, and the salads. He had to admit it was a pleasure to see a woman eat with such gusto. Did she approach all of life with such passion?
Despite her asking about sheep eyes, she tasted everything and admitted, "Back home, Daddy loves nothing better than a boucherie, which means a huge get together, with a pig roast and hogshead cheese, which are all the bits I do not want to eat, like the lips."
He stared at her. "That sounds…disgusting."
"It surely is. Now, come on and dance with me again before those poor guys need to take a break from making music."
She dragged him onto the dance floor and called over her shoulder to ask the musicians if they knew any Rolling Stones. Nasim gave them a wave, and they did their best with “Jumpin' Jack Flash.” Ginni threw back her head and laughed, and Nasim knew he wanted that passion, that vibrancy in his bed. And why not? She was, after all, his wife.
When the music ended, he caught her in his arms. "You must be exhausted. Let me take you up to your room." She parted her lips with what looked like a protest about to come out, but he put one finger on them. "You slipped into the palace with Jasmine—you had to have, for that is the only way you could have slipped past the guards. That means she left you here, and you do not have a ride home—or even a home in Zahkim."
"I could always book a hotel room."
"With all the guests who traveled here for the wedding? Bloody unlikely. Stay in the palace…or don't you care to talk business tomorrow?"
She gave a shrug and waved a hand. "If you put it that way—lead the way."
Taking her hand, he did, out of the peacock throne room, down marble halls with their white carved pillars and thick runners, up the stairs, and to the wing that held his palace rooms as well as the guest suites. He had a penthouse in the city, but he quickly decided to take up residence in the palace—at least until this mess got straightened out.
Tarek kept several suites ready for visitors, and Nasim choose the blue suite, which overlooked the gardens. He opened the door with a flourish. She started to step past him, but he caught her arm. Turning her, he put one hand on the back of her neck, kept the other on her arm, and pulled her into an embrace.
She came willingly. Her lips met his and parted. He licked inside her mouth, heard the soft sigh she let out, and he started to walk her backwards. She would be a pleasure to seduce. He wanted to see the curves hinted at underneath the red robes. He wanted to take his time stripping her bare, kissing each inch, exploring, strokin
g, seeing her eyes darken with need, hearing her gasp his name and cry out.
And once he had her fully under his spell, he could figure out if he could make a deal with Leeland Enterprises, one with advantages for low-cost transportation that he could dangle in front of the Sheikh of Dijobuli as an appeasement.
But one moment he had Ginni in his arms, pliant and soft, her mouth hot against his, her skin smooth, and the next she had slipped away from him somehow.
She stood in the doorway to her room, moonlight behind her, her skin gleaming, a smile curving her lips. "It sure ’nough has been a day. And since I'm not really certain we are married, I'm just gonna say g'night, Nasim." She shoved on his chest and caught him off balance. He stumbled back two steps, and she shut the door on him.
Chapter Four
Ginni leaned her back against the door, waiting to see if he'd pound on it or not. She was tempted to open the door again, just to see his face—but if she did, she wasn't all that sure she'd close it on him again. She didn't hear so much as a knock, but she did hear a soft chuckle and his steps hush across the carpet. Relief left her sagging—so did the exhaustion of the day, and a touch of disappointment that Nasim was willing to leave her so easily. It was nice he took her “no” without much of a fuss. Of course, that could be because he was still a touch pissed off at her.
She smiled. Even if he'd been ticked, he'd been great, dancing with her, helping her to dinner like it had been a real wedding for them. That part had been just a little bit magical—lordy, but the man made it hard to say no to him. Straightening, she pushed off the door and started to explore her room.
Turned out it was a couple of rooms—a sitting room with a carved teak desk and side tables, couch, chairs, and a TV hidden away in a wardrobe that glittered with mother of pearl inlay. Carpets in blue with gold medallions woven into them covered the floors. Blue drapes—silk by the gleam of the fabric—hung either side of the windows. A breeze from the open French windows cooled the rooms. No air conditioning, just like the rest of this huge, old, shambling palace, but she'd sleep okay.
