The wheeze struck Caz as overdone. He suspected the suggestion had less to do with illness and more to do with a power play, but going to Ahmet instead of demanding the man come to him was a gesture of respect that could help his cause.
The change in venue meant he’d had to tell Ahmet he was bringing a woman with him.
Ahmet had responded with outrage and disbelief. “How could such a thing be?” he’d said.
Caz had lied through his teeth. The woman was a clerk, he told him, sent by the company she worked for to keep their records organized. It was, he added, customary for western firms to employ females in positions too unimportant to be filled by men.
“Ah.” Ahmet had chuckled. “Now I see. She is a meaningless creature.”
“Absolutely,” Qasim had answered, though he’d wanted to laugh. Megan O’Connell, meaningless? Wouldn’t she love to hear that? She wouldn’t; he wasn’t stupid.
As for the traditions she’d encounter on this journey…Caz looked at her now, sitting beside him in the Hummer, dressed in that ridiculous wool suit and sensible pumps, and almost groaned.
If she thought the arrangements at his palace were restrictive, he could only guess at how she’d react to life in the territory ruled by Ahmet.
He felt a vague sense of unease, taking her on this trip
, but if she behaved herself, things would go well. And he’d see to it she behaved herself, like it or not.
He wasn’t looking forward to dealing with what came next. He’d always thought of himself as fearless. After all, death came to every man eventually. Why quake when a lion decides you look like dinner, which had happened to him on a photographic safari in South Africa? Why run when an assassin came at you out of the dark, as one had in the uncertain days after his father’s death?
The trouble was, dealing with lions and assassins was easier than dealing with the temper of the woman beside him. So far, the only way he’d found to deal with her anger was to take her in his arms, and that was proving more dangerous than anything he’d ever done before.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going, or is it another of your deep, dark secrets?”
She had a half smile on her lips. Apparently she’d decided to forgive him. Too bad the smile wasn’t going to last.
“We’re driving to my helicopter.”
“Your what?”
She was still smiling, but she was also looking at him as if he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had.
“It would take days to make the trip by land. It’s only a couple of hours by air.” He hesitated. “Megan. This place we’re going to…You’ll have to make some accommodations.”
She gave a little sigh, but she wasn’t angry. Not yet. “What now? Won’t walking behind you be enough?”
“We’re flying into an ancient city. Tradition—”
“Don’t tell me.” She flashed that smile again. “If you expect me to fold myself in half and bow—”
“That might not be a bad idea,” he said. She shot him a look that made him laugh. “I’m joking. But…” His gaze drifted over her, then returned to her face. “You can’t enter Ahmet’s lands dressed like that.”
The smile flickered. “Ahmet’s a fashion maven?”
“You must wear what he thinks is appropriate for a woman as a sign of respect.”
The smile died. Caz sighed; trouble lay directly ahead.
“And what would you like me to wear, Sheikh Qasim? Sackcloth and ashes?”
“The women of his village dress traditionally.”
“There’s that word again.”
“Caftans, slit at the ankles,” Caz said, refusing to be drawn into a battle. “Sandals.”
“Shackles, too?”