by Leslie North
The Sheikh’s Stubborn Lover
By Leslie North
The Adjalane Sheikhs Series
Book 2
Blurb
Sheikh Adilan Adjalane has always felt he has a lot to prove…and that’s why he always wins. As the youngest in his hugely successful family, it’s not easy to live in his older brother’s shadow. So when he sees a chance get back his father’s land, the former Olympian will fight to earn his place at the top of the family real estate business. But with an older brother who’ll stop at nothing and a beautiful, feisty American landowner who refuses to sell, Adilan is struggling to remember that he always fights fair.
Teacher Michelle Reynolds has always wanted to see the world, and it doesn’t take long for her to fall in love with the Middle East. She’s always been open to compromise, but when Adilan Adjalane offers her cash for her land, Michelle refuses. She’s determined to build a sanctuary on her mother’s land, just as she promised. Besides, she’s been warned about the Adjalanes. Adilan may be devastatingly handsome, but she knows he comes from a family of heartbreakers.
With the stakes getting higher and their attraction growing, will Adilan have to sacrifice his ethics to earn his place in the family business, or is Michelle more important than winning?
Dedications
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Table of Contents
The Sheikh’s Stubborn Lover
Dedications
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 1
Michelle Reynolds stared out the town car’s window. From the elaborate architecture that brought to mind the Arabian Nights to modern skyscrapers that soared into the clear blue sky the capital city of Al-Sarid looked to be an amazing place.
She glanced at her watch—on time but she was still trying to adjust to jet lag, the triple digit temperature, and the humidity that slipped past the car’s air conditioning, sticking her white cotton shirt to her back.
She’d done her research—her suit was cotton, tan and conservative. Al-Sarid had a European outlook and influence, and women had mostly given up the abaya, but that didn’t mean she had to look anything but all business.
Leaning forward, she asked the driver, “How long to Al-Hilah?
He glanced back in the rearview mirror, dark eyes bright and eager. He looked to be in his early twenties with a grin that lit up the car. Michelle noticed he wasn’t sweating, even though he had on a chauffer’s uniform. Since she spoke absolutely no Arabic, she was glad his English was prep-school perfect with just a faint accent. “Not long.”
She nodded. That could mean anything from five minutes to an hour—she was used to other countries having different time tables from her own. Pulling out her smart phone, she went over her notes one more time.
The meeting was with Mr. N. R. Bishara, one of the best architects in the country. She’d chosen him just for his ability to take a natural oasis and combine modern technology and classic architecture to create a stunning paradise. That was what she needed—what she wanted. It would be the perfect tribute to her mother. A place where her mother, or others who needed it, could visit and rejuvenate their minds and spirits.
Frowning, Michelle tapped a finger on the arm of the door. This trip had damn well better work out—and she was really hoping it wasn’t yet another excuse mom had used to get Michelle out of the country. Her mother had been physically unable to travel for three years now, and for three years Michelle was the one getting her passport stamped and looking after business. Michelle also suspected the trips were a move as well to keep her away from Alan.
She let out a breath, texted an update to mom, and then another to Alan—he was getting impatient about these trips, and Michelle was starting to wonder if Mom was right and Alan really wasn’t the one for her. She needed understanding in her life, not pressure about starting and raising a family.
Sending off the texts, Michelle glanced up again. The town car had left the high rises that clustered around the harbor and the shops of the main city. To one side, she could see water the same deep blue as the sky, dotted with the white of a low surf. Al-Sarid hugged the coast line of Arabia, a thin strip of a country. On the other side, white sand rose up to meet dark purple, rolling hills. She leaned forward, seeing nothing but desert to her left, a lone hawk circling in the sky the only sign of life.
Her mother had given her a detailed map with GPS coordinates of Al-Hilah, an oasis. The name meant crescent moon, and it was supposed to be the build site for an amazing place. At least that was the plan. Michelle pulled the coordinates up on her phone, checking with the driver about their location—not that there seemed much choice of a road. The main highway so far was the only one that headed north from the city.
Her phone beeped with a terse text from Alan. Michelle frowned and clicked off the message.
They’d dated for almost four years, and Michelle was beginning to think that had been four years too long. When she got back, she was going to have to find some way to end it. So far every time she’d tried, Alan had given her those huge, puppy dog eyes and then managed to talk her into giving him yet another chance. But a chance for what? More nagging? More arguments? Was she just giving into him because she was afraid there would never be anyone else?
The driver’s voice lifted, clear and all too young. “Those mountains to the left are where we are heading.” He pointed and turned the car away from the sea, taking a small road that barely deserved the title.
Michelle leaned forward, squinting to see anything but sand. The mountains seemed all too distant—and bare. “There really is an oasis out there?”
His grin flashed in the mirror. “Just wait. I came to Al-Hilah years ago with my grandfather. I know the spot well. It is hidden and so is not abused by tourists or the travelling nomads who still travel the country.”
Nomads. Michelle grinned. She had a sudden image of camels, robbed Bedouins, and beautiful Arabian horses. She shook her head. More than likely the nomads were a scruffy group who would never live up to the fantasy.
Twenty minutes later, the mountains rose up like giants around her. The road had been steadily climbing. Now it curved, and the driver turned off onto an even narrower, dirt two track that wasn’t even paved. After another ten minutes of bumping over the uneven ground, the driver pulled into a turn around. The ground rose up around the spot, creating a wall of rock that seemed sheer and final. Michelle frowned. This had better not be a place where the guy was going to ask for more money. She gripped her message bag with her laptop tighter. At least there was a sign of life here.
The driver had stopped next to a bright, red sports car, the type that would cost a quarter of the development’s budge
t. She’d seen one like it featured in a popular spy movie. Was that the architect’s car? If so, she might have to rethink if she could afford him.
Getting out, the driver adjusted his cap and opened the door for her. “You must walk from here. Over the ridge just there, then make a sharp turn and you’ll find a path that leads to Al-Hilah.” He gave a wave of his hand, as if that would summon the spot to her.
Michelle nodded and thanked him. The heat wasn’t as bad at the higher elevation as it had been in the city. But the sun beat down and she longed for a hat—or any kind of shade. Instead, she hefted her bag onto her shoulder and set off for the short climb. Please, don’t be far.
She should have worn boots, not heels that crunched on the pebbly ground. The air smelled dry now with a touch of sage or some kind of plant, and the perfume of spring flowers. She headed up the path, saw the turn the driver had mentioned. A narrow canyon opened in front of her as if by magic. It had to be only about thirty feet wide. Would construction equipment would even be able to get past this?
The canyon twisted and turned, the sides of the rock smooth and a soft ochre worn by centuries of flood waters. At least the tall walls offered some shade, and a hint of a breeze pushed the sweat from her skin.
The canyon ended as abruptly as it had started. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she stepped out and into a small valley. She gave a small gasp. A lush landscape stretched out before her.
The valley had to be only a few miles long and half that in width. She was high enough up to see clear, blue water pooling in the center of a green swath of land. Date palms hugged the edges of the river that wandered from the spring that must be feeding the small lake.
She could hear birds and a small deer of some kind looked up from the river’s edge, poised for flight. This wasn’t just an oasis—it was a hidden jewel. Set against the sandstone mountains that rose up around it, the blues and lush greens of the oasis were stunning. The river curved like a crescent moon and she could see how the oasis had gotten its name.
For a second, a mad urge to pull off her shoes and wade into the river swept into her. But she was here for business, not pleasure. She stepped forward, eyes still shaded—and then she saw she wasn’t alone. She was glad now she’d kept her shoes.
Near the date palms, the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in her life stood with his back to her. She had the impression of white clothing, dark hair worn shaggy and curling around his neck, lean height and broad shoulders. He seemed to sense her presence, for he turned, and Michelle’s heartbeat skidded into overdrive.
His face riveted her attention. It was a strong face, with regular features, high cheekbones, two slashes of dark eyebrows and a barely-there, black beard that gave him a hint of danger. The dark eyebrows rode flat over green eyes that almost matched the lush grass at his feet.
For an instant, the breath caught in her chest. Here was a man who could live up to any woman’s fantasy of a sheikh at a desert oasis—he just needed the flowing burnoose.
Then she blinked, and it was simply a man headed her way in white linen trousers and a white button-up shirt that he wore open enough to show tan skin at his throat and loose enough to leave him looking cool even in this heat.
Thankfully, he had a voice to match the good looks—low and deep. “You must be Michelle Reynolds?”
She gave a nod and stuck out her hand, babbling to cover her nerves. “Yes, I am. This place is more amazing in person than my mother said. Have you had a chance to look over the plans I emailed you? I’m a little concerned about the getting equipment here, but if it can be done, this place is going to be better than an absolute paradise. Not that it isn’t now.” She pulled back her hand and put a fist on her hip. “Well, Mr. Bashira? I assume you must be Mr. Bashira. What do you think?”
Chapter 2
Adilan’s mouth twitched, but he held back the smile. His fingers still tingled from the handshake she’d given him—a hard one, as if to prove she could out-shake any man’s hand. He took a moment to study her. Michelle Reynolds was not what he had expected.
It was only recently that his father had admitted that, in a moment of passion, the land had been given to a woman. An American at that. The topic might not have come up, except now the daughter wanted to build on this spot—a place that had been in the family for centuries. Adilan suspected that his father was now regretted his romantic gesture of years ago—and there was also the pressure from Malid, his eldest brother.
They were both competing to replace Father as the head of the Adjalane Real Estate and Land Development Group. Nassir, the middle brother, wanted nothing to do with this, but Malid had already announced that he would get Al-Hilah back into the family, which would prove he was best suited to lead the company.
Adilan hated to lose, particularly to Malid. And Father had already said one of his sons must get back the land by any means necessary. Since Nassir had bowed out of this trial, Adilan had decided he must be the one who took action.
But Michelle Reynolds…she did not look the spoilt American rich girl he had expected.
She had classic features—a very straight nose, wide-spaced eyes, and the olive complexion of a woman from his own country. However, her electric blue eyes, rimmed with thick dark lashes that matched her almost black, straight hair, left her exotic looking to him.
Her linen suit hugged firm breasts, and the short hem of her skirt revealed smooth, bare legs that begged to be touched and caressed. He could imagine himself stripping her bare, leading her to the cool water, and…
Shaking his head, he pulled his mind out of the fantasy and focused on the reason he was even standing in the middle of the desert with a strange woman watching him. His carefully laid plans to buy the property for a fraction of its costs evaporated. This woman looked far too intelligent to believe a story about this being an impossible building site, worth nothing. And the stubborn chin left him certain that if he tried to dissuade her, he might instead only make her more determined to hang onto the land.
“Ms. Reynolds, I am Adilan Adjalane.” That determined chin lifted. He smiled, “Ah, I see you recognize the name.”
“Adjalane? In this country who wouldn’t?” She turned and walked a few steps away. Turning back, she tipped her head to one side. “My mother warned me to stay away from your family.”
“Because she knows this land belongs in our family’s hands? I should tell you I, too, was warned that if you are your mother’s daughter, you are a woman who revels in the breaking of man’s heart.”
She gave a snort. Her blue eyes flashed both fire and ice in his direction. He was instantly intrigued. “Can we not have dinner and talk business? I am prepared to purchase the property for a reasonable sum—say, five hundred thousand US dollars?”
She stared at him for a moment and then shook her head. “My mom said your family would try something like this. And we’re not interested.”
“And what if I tell you that building on the property will be denied to you by our government? You are an American—and unfamiliar with what is required in Al-Sarid. Take the cash as a conciliation to your mother, and I shall be happy to escort you back to the airport. You return home a wealthier young woman and your mother’s memories of her time in Al-Sarid will fade as does the spring season under the summer sun.”
Michelle Reynolds crossed her arms. “Try two million and I’ll still turn you down.”
Adilan frowned. This was going to be a harder battle than he had anticipated. He heard a scrabble of rock and turned to see a short, bald man walk through the opening in the mountain, his tie pulled lose, his suit wrinkled, and carrying a briefcase.
Ms. Reynolds turned with a smile. “Ah, Mr. Bashira, I presume. Better late than never.
Wiping his brow and bald head with a handkerchief, Mr. Bashira put down his briefcase. He glanced from Mrs. Reynolds to Adilan. “Mr. Adjalane! I wasn’t aware you were going to be part of this project.”
Adilan smiled. “That remains to be see
n.”
Ignoring Michelle Reynolds, Bashira turned to speak directly with Adilan—the deference due not just a man but a member of the Adjalane family. “Have you seen the latest revision of the blueprints? They are marvelous, if I say so myself. Quite stunning.”
Michelle Reynolds dropped her arms to her sides and stepped forward. “Mr. Bashira, perhaps we should retire to your office and out from the sun to discuss plans. I’m sure Mr. Adjalane has other things to do.”
Adilan watched as the architect’s eyes widened. He swept out a hand and inclined his head in her direction. “Miss Reynolds, I shall leave you to the cool of the date palms.” He withdrew a business card from his shirt pocket and tucked it into her breast pocket, letting his fingertips linger for a brief moment. He didn’t miss how her eyes sparked. “I shall call you about dinner later.” He waited to see if she would rise to that bait—perhaps start an argument in front of Mr. Bashira, which would only make that man wish to reconsider working for her.
Instead, she forced a smile that was too bright and which left her eyes still icy. He swept her a bow and left.
She had won this skirmish, but if she thought she had won the war, she would be sadly mistaken. She might refuse his offer today, but he intended to make certain she eventually accepted. This land would belong to his family again, no matter what he had to do to get it.
Chapter 3
Michelle watched Adilan Adjalane stroll out of the valley as if he still owned it. She pressed her lips tight and resisted the urge to pick up a rock and throw it at his back—that would be childish. Instead, she turned to Mr. Bashira and smiled. “Let’s take a look at those plans.”
Mr. Bashira turned—he, too had been watching Mr. Adilan Adjalane leave. Now he offered a smile that didn’t hold and mopped his brow. “Perhaps at my office?” He turned and hurried away before Michelle could agree or disagree.