by Leslie North
She gave the buffet table at the restaurant a once-over. The main dish steamed in the big center tray—chicken piccata in a delicate white sauce. The sides surrounded it in smaller silver trays. Holly glanced up at the server in his white uniform. “Good to go?”
“Oh, yes. We’re all set.”
Food—check. She’d come down early from the hotel to go over the final details. Holly wouldn’t call herself a party planner, but she’d done well given the short time frame.
This reception hadn’t been on the original itinerary for their time in Qadir, but after the trip out to the oasis, Enzo Raphael’s firm had hosted one. Informal, the invitation read. To continue our conversations. But it was hardly a casual chat. That first reception had been held in one of the ritziest restaurants in the city, in a private banquet hall with a waterfall at one end.
The rushing water had carried Holly straight back to the oasis.
She’d barreled into that mistake headfirst. Her plan had not pleased Sheikh Malik. That much was clear from the frozen, disapproving look on his face when he’d abruptly ended the conversation.
Which was a shame. A real shame. Because he was gorgeous.
Holly put a hand to her chest. She was in Qadir to work her butt off and impress Clifton. If she played her cards right, he’d make her a partner at the firm.
It would open a lot of doors. And—not that Holly thought about it often—it would prove to her father that she could succeed even in a tough job in a male-dominated industry. It wasn’t that she doubted her abilities. Far from it. Her father had spent most of her childhood teaching her to ignore that churn of anxiousness in her gut and cultivate mental toughness.
Standing by a catering table and chatting with the waiter wasn’t the picture of confidence, though, was it?
Holly put a big smile on her face and gave the room a final once-over. She’d chosen a more traditional space to host the Berber reception. There were no achingly white walls and, most crucially, there was no waterfall. The upper floor of this restaurant was done in dark paneling with bright cushions over the furniture, a stately red that reminded her of some of the flowers she’d seen blooming in the oasis. She’d snapped a few pictures of them with her camera.
And then she’d gone and pissed off the sheikh. Why couldn’t she put the conversation out of her mind? His perfect, chiseled face and fiery dark eyes didn’t help matters. She’d even dreamed about him last night and woken up with a racing heart and a strange buzz to her lips.
It was not the time to get a crush on a member of the royal family. Or anyone, really. Holly didn’t have time for crushes and silly romantic whims. Work. It was about work.
She straightened her jacket—the black twin of the one she’d worn to the oasis. All the other women would be wearing sheath dresses, as usual, but she wasn’t that kind of woman. A property developer should be ready to head out to the location at any time.
Including now.
They were due to arrive any moment, the rest of the developers and Sheikh Malik. He and his father, the king, would be at the reception. She steeled herself for them to walk in the door. If he did approach her, she had ideas for some of the other locations. She would not, under any circumstances, pry into why the oasis wasn’t under consideration for development.
Her phone rang in the small bag she carried with her, and Holly dug it out so quickly she almost dropped it. Her heart sped up. It wouldn’t look good to be on the phone when her guests arrived, but one glance at the screen told her it was Clifton calling.
“Clifton?”
“You’re going to have to take the reins on this one, Holly.” Her boss cleared his throat. “I’m not going to make it to the reception.”
Holly’s hands slicked, and her stomach turned over. “Is everything okay?”
“Something I ate, I think.” Clifton sounded strained. “Can you handle it? It’s informal, after all.” It was a wry joke. Nothing involving the royal family was ever really informal. And with all the other developers jockeying for position…being the sole host was more than she’d been prepared for.
“Of course,” she answered firmly. “No problem. Feel better soon, Mr. Berber.”
There would be no avoiding the sheikh now.
“So what you’re saying is, you won’t be bringing a colonial influence to your designs for these properties?”
Holly blinked at Enzo Raphael, who held a glass of champagne in one hand like an accusation. Colonial style? As in early-American colonial? What did the man think of American developers?
“Colonial-style concepts for the properties? No, I—” She laughed, and Enzo narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think so.”
“Good. In my opinion, anything less than an ultra-modern style would be an affront to the royal family.” He pursed his lips. “Qadir needs to be on the cutting edge. It would be easiest, of course, if the other firms pursued options that were less fitting.” He laughed, but the half-smile on his face didn’t reach his eyes. “You understand.”
“Of course,” she said. “Enjoy the refreshments. I should circulate.”
“Yes, shouldn’t you? Such a shame your boss couldn’t make it.” Enzo smirked.
“A real shame.”
Holly felt half relieved and half nervous to turn away. Enzo was the last of the developers. Circulating, it turned out, had been a bit of a fib—only a few others were still there this late in the evening.
At least Sheikh Malik wasn’t there anymore.
She let out a breath, feeling like she’d been holding it for hours.
Malik and his father had come in just after the last of the developers arrived, and Holly had marched up to them and shaken their hands. She couldn’t actually hide by the table when members of the royal family were in the room.
The only problem was her jittery heart. So weak, to turn itself over and knock hard against her ribs just because a sharply handsome man had entered the room. A sharply handsome man she had recently insulted.
Well, she’d triumphed anyway. Her father always said that in business it was best to keep friends close and competitors closer, and she had survived the conversation with the snobby Enzo Raphael. Holly had even thrived in other conversations. She’d hit it off with one woman in particular—Anna Schneider, from Germany. Anna’s flower-printed dress had been the opposite of Holly’s no-nonsense ensemble, but the two women had very similar attitudes about work. Anna had mentioned going to the bar in the restaurant below. Maybe she could catch her there, and—
“Ms. Remington.”
The smooth, low voice made goose bumps rise on the back of her neck and trickle down her spine. The sound reminded her of whisky and sunshine and sand, and even before she turned, she knew exactly who it was.
“Sheikh Malik.” Holly turned smartly on her heel, expecting to see a frown.
Instead, he wore the hint of a smile, his perfect lips curved in amusement. “You’ve thrown a wonderful reception,” he said.
“Thank you.” Why didn’t she have a glass of champagne now? Holly wanted something to hold, even if it was a sign of weakness to need a glass in her grip. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it.”
“I’d have enjoyed it more if you hadn’t found every reason to avoid me.” Malik did have a glass of champagne, and he raised it to his lips. She followed the movement, unable to look away. His words sank in a moment later.
“I wasn’t sure you’d want to talk with me, honestly.” The air thinned around Malik, making it difficult to fill her lungs. He could wear Armani. She’d half expected the royal family to attend every event in the traditional tunics and loose pants of Qadiri culture, but she’d never seen Malik in anything other than a crisp suit. The black one he wore tonight looked like an extension of his body—flawless. “We seemed to have…opposing ideas about the oasis.”
“We did indeed.” He considered her. “And at first I thought it might be a mistake to continue a conversation with you.”
“I never like to butt heads with
potential clients. Or princes in general, I guess.”
A smile curved the corner of Malik’s mouth, and every inch of her skin blushed with desire. Who was she anymore? Holly didn’t fall head over heels for a every man who smiled at her. “Do you meet many princes in the States?”
She was not going to fall for Malik, either. Holly stuffed the floating, fiery feeling to the back of her mind. “Not a single one. We have a serious shortage of princes.”
“Too bad,” said Malik. “Here in Qadir, we have a serious shortage of developers from Kansas City. And yet you’ve made yourself scarce all evening.”
“I’m so sorry to have deprived you. Regarding our business, I thought—”
“I have a confession to make,” Malik cut in.
Confession worked its way beneath her skin and sent a spike of adrenaline sparkling though her veins. “A confession?”
Malik let out a heavy sigh, as if the burden of keeping the secret had been too much. “I came here tonight with motives that weren’t entirely related to business.”
She thought of the way he’d turned resolutely away from her at the oasis, heading back toward the tent without so much as a backward glance. It hadn’t been the behavior of a man who was interested in her for non-business reasons, but the heat in his eyes now told a different story.
“What were those motives?” Holly felt her voice dropping into a more sultry register in spite of herself. Flirting with a sheikh? What was she thinking? Rationally, it was a terrible idea. But her body didn’t seem to know that.
“I want to know more about you. Personally,” added Malik. “I wanted a second try at our conversation at the oasis. I wanted to take it in a different direction.”
She swallowed hard. “What direction is that?”
“To dinner.”
“I don’t think dinner is a direction,” she said.
“How about a time, then? Tomorrow evening at eight.”
Holly looked him straight in the eye. She saw nothing guarded there, only pure interest. But what would Clifton say if he found out she had accepted a date with a sheikh? Her father had never given her any guidelines. Friends close, competitors closer was one thing. Dating a potential client? Holly stifled a laugh at the thought. Her father had never once mentioned dating in the context of any business relationship, and why would he? It was a recipe for disaster.
But the sheikh standing in front of her didn’t seem like a disaster. The more she breathed the rich, clean scent of him, the more she wanted to go on that date.
“I find you to be very intriguing,” Malik said into the charged silence between them. “We may never agree on special properties like the oasis, but there are other topics of conversation. Many other topics of conversation.”
Holly’s every muscle fought to lean closer. Malik was tall, and the way he moved beneath the suit told her that if she peeled off his jacket and undid the buttons of his shirt, she’d find nothing but hard muscle beneath. Her mouth watered imagining his abs.
Still…
“I’m not sure that would be the best idea.” Every word out of her mouth made her throat ache. “I’m in Qadir on development business, after all. You’re the client.”
“Surely you can’t be expected to work twenty-four hours a day. There must be some time left over for you to be a free woman.”
She felt her heart give in first, then her mind, and finally the last defenses at her core. “I can’t argue with that,” she said. “I’ll be ready at eight.”
3
Holly hadn’t brought a single sexy outfit to wear.
She didn’t go on a lot of dates even at home. There wasn’t much time, once she got home from work, hit the gym, and planned the next day out. Plus, the idea of standing around at a bar waiting for some businessman to be interested enough in her cleavage to approach her was…probably the least appealing thing ever.
She ran her hands over the black pants she’d paired with a silky shirt. She’d brought mostly black and white ensembles. The plan had been to divide their time between desert locations and meeting rooms, so this was it. The capital city had plenty of shops, of course, but the thought of rifling through the racks looking for something Malik might find sexy wasn’t high on her agenda. He either liked her or he didn’t.
Holly pulled out her favorite necklace—silver with a ruby piece at the center—and put on some earrings. Strappy sandals. A silver bracelet.
Was this good enough to wear on a date with the crown prince?
She straightened her back, squared her shoulders, and tried to see herself with an objective eye. Her outfit was all clean lines with a hint of softness. The jewelry set off her face. Holly dug into her makeup bag, pulled out a tube of seldom-used lipstick, and added another hint of red.
There. Perfect.
Now she just had to make it through the dinner without making a fool of herself.
Holly had gone back over the welcome materials for the event at the oasis to see if she could glean anything else about the sheikh who made her heart race. There it was, in plain lettering—"The oasis property is not planned for development at this time.” She’d skipped over it the first time she read it, but even with the directive in black and white, Holly wanted more. Why wasn’t it available? There were so many possibilities.
She’d find a way to steer this dinner back to business, even if she couldn’t mention the oasis. Holly groaned. It was only a dinner. Why did it seem so complicated?
Probably because the thought of sitting across a table from Malik made her stomach flutter with anticipation. He was attractive. There was no doubt about that. And it had been a long time since she’d even seen a man who made her feel this way—hot and bothered and slightly senseless. In fact, she had never seen a man whose eyes alone raised the temperature of the room by a factor of ten.
She picked up her purse and folded it into her hands. Maybe she’d give her father a call, ask for his advice…
Holly laughed out loud. All her overthinking was getting out of control. Malik hadn’t called it a date, for one thing. He’d asked her to dinner. He wanted to talk. And there was no way she’d be able to describe it to her father as a business engagement. Not when her boss wasn’t invited.
Well, she’d make it a business engagement. That was, really, the only thing she was in Qadir for. Sheikh Malik would have to come around. There were several other properties to discuss aside from the oasis, and what else did her father always say? Never give up, not even as a last resort.
What she wouldn’t do was let it become any kind of a fling. The idea of racing back to her hotel with Malik—or to some hidden room in his palace—made her pulse flutter in her throat. She could picture it so clearly: the car cutting through traffic, the run into the building, slamming the door behind them. But she was here for business. There were so many ways it could go wrong. She could lose out on the contracts because her body had its own ideas about what it wanted to do with Malik. Or, worse, she could get the contracts via a fling with him, and then the victory wouldn’t be on merit.
She couldn’t have that.
Holly would go. She’d have a good time. And she would talk about property development whenever possible. It was the only sensible choice.
The phone on the desk of her hotel suite rang, the tone splitting the air. Holly’s heart raced at the noise. Despite the jangling thud thud thud she forced herself to walk calmly to the handset and pick it up on one smooth motion.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Remington, this is the front desk. A car is here for you.”
In the fading evening sunlight, Malik stood easily in front of a massive black SUV, his hands in his pockets. A knot in her chest unclenched when she saw he wasn’t wearing his full Armani look. Tailored slacks, a white shirt—it didn’t matter that he’d left the suit jacket behind. Heat spread across her shoulder blades and down her back.
“Ms. Remington.” He extended a hand. Holly fought off the urge to shake it and put her hand
in his like a lady, allowing him to lead her toward the SUV. “You look lovely.”
In this moment she was glad for his hand, because the sight of his white shirt against his skin had her knees wobbling beneath her own slacks. They had stood close together at her reception, but the combination of being this close to his flawless, cut cheekbones, looking into his dark, searching eyes, and putting her hand in his larger one had her breath catching.
“You look lovely, too,” she said finally. “I mean—handsome. Very handsome.” It was only getting worse.
Malik laughed, the sound reverberating through her chest. “You’re blushing, Ms. Remington.”
“Not possible. It must be the…heat.” The heat in her cheeks, more like it. The evening air wasn’t oppressively hot, but Holly’s face was on fire.
Malik released her hand, which felt strangely like a loss, and closed the door of the SUV behind her. A moment later he climbed in the opposite side. Holly busied herself with her seatbelt and took a deep breath.
No more blushing. Only business.
Malik took her to a restaurant a few blocks from the palace grounds and ushered her in, his hand on the small of her back. Even that slight pressure had Holly’s skin buzzing, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. When she’d first moved to New York City, she’d gone on plenty of dates as a way to see the city and get out of her apartment, but very few of the men she’d met through her dating apps had touched her like Malik did. He was confident, giving the maître d' a familiar nod as they approached the host’s stand.
“Sheikh Malik,” the man said, bowing his head. “We’ve prepared your usual table.”
The usual table was in a private alcove toward the back of the restaurant, tucked next to a round window overlooking a manicured garden illuminated with globe lights. Holly ran her fingers over the cocktail menu and looked out over those lights.
“I’m surprised you have a usual table,” she began. There. It was much better than you look lovely, too.