The Sheikh's Stubborn Lover (The Adjalane Sheikhs 2)

On the stones steps of Bashira’s office, she stopped and glanced up at the mountains. The air was hot as ever in the city, but the mountains shimmered like a purple mirage. She could see the white towers of Adjalane palace. Jaw set, she headed for her town car.

If Adilan Adjalane thought he could push her around and win, he was messing with the wrong woman. It was time to show him two could play hardball.

Chapter 4

Adjalane Palace sat on a slight hill overlooking the city and the sea, the purple mountains above it framing the spot. On the flight to Al-Sarid, Michelle had done her research. The Adjalane family owned oil fields, had massive real estate holdings, and controlled most of the southeastern part of the country. The family wasn’t royal, but they certainly were rich. The palace had been built a hundred years ago, and was considered one of the main tourist sights of Al-Sarid. The gardens were open to the public, but the residence wasn’t.

A stone wall protected the massive structure that loomed up behind, but Michelle could see the main dome rising from the center of the structure, with several small domes to the sides. The white stone walls gleamed in the sunlight, a striking feature and an elaborate display of geometric shapes against the blue skyline.

Two large wrought-iron gates provided access to the main courtyard and public gardens. Guards held the gates open, and Michelle’s driver pulled into a cobblestone courtyard that wound itself in a serpentine arc. He pulled to a stop in front of massive, oak front doors. Getting out, Michelle glanced around, her pulse quick and her throat dry. The structure reminded her of some of the mosques and even some of the Byzantine-era buildings in Istanbul, one of her favorite cities.

Inside the courtyard, fountains and statues mixed with lush green plants, a paradise compared to the barren desert outside the city. So many colors and fragrances greeted her that she stood still for a moment, taking it all in. But she wasn’t here for pleasure—or to admire the gardens.

She headed for the front door, thinking about how she was going to handle Adilan Adjalane. Her mother would have put on a smile and a slinky dress and simply would have seduced the man out of his socks and anything else she wanted. She wasn’t her mother, however. She hated mixing business and pleasure—look where that had gotten her with the dreadful Alan.

It seemed she needed Adilan’s support in order to fulfill the promise she’d made to her mother about developing Al-Hilah into a viable property. But she wasn’t sure the best approach to take with him. Strong arm…or make a deal? Maybe she’d just have to play it by ear.

She was still in deep thought about what she was going to say when she felt someone staring at her. Stopping, she glanced around, saw no one other than her drive. She looked up and was shocked to see Adilan standing on a balcony just above the entrance.

He gave a small wave. “Salam, Ms Reynolds. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

He had changed into taupe trousers and a black, button-down shirt. The sleeves had been rolled up to reveal muscular forearms covered in a light dusting of dark hair. The neck of his shirt had also been left undone, and she could see more skin and dark hair there as well. He smiled, teeth white, even and the all too charming.

He was gloating, dammit. She tightened her free hand. Don’t let emotions get in the way of getting what you need.

She was getting a crick in her neck from looking up. She took a step back to relieve the tension and told him, “Oh, I think you know. Can we talk on a little more level ground?”

“Of course. I shall be down directly. Go to the door and tell Hassan to show you into the morning room.”

He disappeared from view, and Michelle took a steadying breath. She was not going to let his charm get under her skin. She walked up the steps and wasn’t surprised when the door opened for her. A man in the loose, white robes or taub and headscarf or keffiyeh that she had seen o

n the city streets bowed to her.

Hassan, I presume.

“Uh…I’m here to see Adilan Adjalane? In…the morning room?”

Hassan held open the door. “This way please.”

Stepping inside, the cool of the room swept over her. She could hear the soothing, rhythmic tumble of a fountain. She followed Hassan through an elaborate entrance with a domed ceiling and so many things to see it would take her a week to catalog everything—rugs, vases, paintings, carvings. Golden hand rails protected dual winding staircases that rose from either side of the large foyer, and a stunning crystal chandelier caught the light. Richly colored rugs offset the stark whiteness of the walls.

She followed Hassan into a smaller room lined with books. French doors opened out into another courtyard with a pool and the fountain she had heard. The doors let in the mountain breeze, scented by flowers.

Hassan waved a hand. “Please wait. Sheikh Adilan will be with you momentarily.”

She pressed her lips tight. Sheikh, she knew, was a title given to just about anyone in the Middle East who held land and power. In this part of Arabia, you couldn’t throw a stone without hitting someone who put the word sheikh in front of his name. But it was no wonder Mr. Bashira didn’t want to get on the bad side of the Adjalane family—they could make business impossible for poor Mr. Bashira. How on earth was she going to deal with these people?

Strolling over to the French doors, she glanced out at the courtyard. At least the family had taste—the private garden was even more beautiful than the public ones. The scene of jasmine floated to her along with what had to be roses and a touch of citrus. The fountain was a tiled centerpiece in the lush gardens, and stone paths wove a tempting, curving path into secluded spots. If only she wasn’t here on unpleasant business.

Sensing she was no longer alone, she turned and saw Adilan standing in the doorway. The air seemed electrified suddenly, as if he’d swept in along with a thunderstorm. She fidgeted with the strap of her messenger bag. Adilan was smiling as if at some private joke—was he amused that he’d stolen her architect away from her? She stiffened.

He moved into the room and gestured to the low couch. “A pleasure to see you again so soon. Please be seated.”

She sank onto the cushions of the nearest chair, watching Adilan. He moved with purpose and grace—it was a pleasure to watch him. He obviously knew his body well, and knew how to use it. Michelle remembered how he’d looked at the oasis—a fantasy come to life. She frowned and reminded herself this man posed a threat.

But the sexual energy coming off him was staggering. He was a walking invitation to sin—all muscle and temptation. It was all Michelle could do to hang onto her senses. She searched for some kind of ice breaker—something to distract the man—and all she could think of was to ask, “Hassan called you sheikh?”

She winced inwardly—what a stupid thing to say.