The Sheikh's Unexpected Wife (Zahkim Sheikhs 3)

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.