Adilan waved a hand. “Yes. It is a title of all the Adjalane males hold. By Al-Sarid law, should the Sharqi family ever cease to run the country, my family would assume that leadership role.”
“Nice not to need elections,” she muttered.
His smile widened. “Would you like something to drink? Will you stay to dinner?”
“Tea would be lovely.”
“Excellent. The British left us with a fondness for tea. Will you have rose, hibiscus, or perhaps our family’s own blend? You will not find it anywhere else in the city.”
Michelle relaxed slightly. “Hibiscus would be lovely.”
Adilan stood and strode to the door. He said something to Hassan, then closed the doors and sat down again, crossing one leg over the other. “Did you come to accept my offer?”
Deciding to be direct, she shook her head. “No. I’m here to tell you that I have friends in the State Department and I’m well aware that Al-Sarid benefits from generous aid from the U.S.—it would be a shame if my government found out how poorly you were treating me, and that might well end any flow of funds.”
Adilan raised one dark eyebrow. “You will forgive me, but why tell me this? Why not just go to your friends with your complaint?” She opened her mouth to answer, but he held up a hand. “No, we should not quarrel before tea.”
Michelle stiffened. However, a small knock sounded and a young woman entered. She wore her hair covered in the traditional fashion, but her headdress and floor-length gown were a delicate peach color that offset her olive skin and gave it a healthy glow. She carried a silver tea service tray worthy of any English drawing room. Setting it down on the table, she gave a nod and left.
“Would you pour?” Adilan asked.
Resisting the urge to give him his tea in his face, she poured two cups, handed him his and was pleased she had kept her hands steady. Her fingers brushed Adilan’s as she handed him his cup, and she was surprised by not just the warmth of his skin but the rough edges she felt on his fingers. This wasn’t a man who sat idle.
He sipped his tea and said, “Do you have more threats to offer? Or shall we instead talk money?”
Setting town her cup, the china rattled. “Why are you so determined to stop me from developing Al-Hilah? Is this some sort of family vendetta thing against my mother because your father gave her this land?”
***
Adilan appreciated her directness, and he was also enjoying her. A faint scent of vanilla carried to him, touched with a scent that was hers. He gave himself a moment to take in her facial features more leisurely. She had almond-shaped eyes of the most brilliant blue, a pert nose, and a flawless complexion. Her uncovered, dark hair held strands of gold and red, and he wondered if it was truly as soft as it appeared.
He let his eyes drop to her mouth—the lips full and large. Generous he would call them. When she wet her bottom lip with a flick of her tongue, he tightened his hold on his tea cup. His physical reaction to that small movement startled him.
Ah, but that would not do. She was not just a Western woman, she was a Reynolds—her mother had once gotten the best of his father and he must not allow himself to forget that.
Needing to get their conversation headed in a different direction, he asked, “Why are you so intent on keeping a piece of property on the other side of the world from where you live?”
She put her hands in her lap. “I made a promise to turn the land into a sanctuary. A place to rejuvenate and restore one’s self.”
Adilan frowned. “Why isn’t your mother overseeing this project herself?” He could recall all too well what his father had said about Deborah Reynolds—a gold digging, tramp who used her feminine skills to obtain what she wanted. And then she’d left him. Was the daughter the same? She didn’t seem a seductress—no, she was too starched, too much all-business, and Adilan found himself wanting to get to know more about the woman under the wilting business suit.
“That isn’t important.”
Adilan sipped his tea and said, “Does it have anything to do with her accident. The car wreck three years ago?” Cheeks turning pink, Michelle stiffened. Adilan knew he had struck a nerve. He had gotten her emotions in play. Now what else could he discover? “Do you plan to reside in Al-Sarid then?”
Michelle shook her head. “Again, this is irrelevant.”
“Oh, but it is not. It is no easy thing for a foreigner to build in Al-Sarid. This is why most projects have the backing of either my family or the Sharqi family.”
She smiled. “Perhaps I should pay them a visit.”
Adilan forced his smile to remain in place. However, he did not want Michelle Reynolds getting ideas about going to the Sharqi. At present, the two families were at peace with each other, but that had not always been the case—and it was far too easy to upset the balance between them.
“Perhaps. But I will warn you they will only warm to your plans if you bring a great deal of money with you.”
“Bribes, you mean?”
Her mouth primed. Adilan’s smile relaxed a little. “You disapprove? Ah, you are too accustomed t