by Leslie North
But she knew what she’d been thinking—she’d been thinking that it was about time that she had something more than Alan’s dull company. Picking up her phone, she called Alan. He didn’t answer, and she hated breaking up with him like this, but she couldn’t see any other way. She left a short message for him, telling him she thought it was time they started seeing other people and stopped seeing each other. She tried to soften the blow—not with the standard ‘it’s not you, it’s me line’—by telling him she really hoped he’d find someone who was perfect for him.
Hanging up, she headed back to the balcony. A breeze came in off the ocean, warm and scented with kelp and salt. Closing her eyes, she lifted her face into the soft caresses. It reminded her of how Adilan had touched her face, how he’d kissed her—as if she really was beautiful. For the first time ever this afternoon, she’d felt like her mother’s daughter. But was she making the same mistakes her mother had made?
She shook her head. She wasn’t sure if her mother really had been in love Nimr Adjalane. She wasn’t sure if she was in love with Adilan, either. Sure he was one amazing hunk. He was also smart, sexy and an incredible lover. But over the years, Mother had dropped hints that pointed to the difficulties of a relationship with someone from a different culture—mother had fought with Nimr over how backwards Al-Sarid had been for women. Had times changed enough that Michelle wouldn’t have those same issues?
Maybe Nimr wanted the land he’d given to her mother not just to get it back, but because it had been their secret getaway. She tried to think about the Zia oasis, where she had Adilan had spent time. Would she come to love it if she kept seeing Adilan?
She straightened and stared at the moon rising over the ocean, casting a silver ray across the dark water.
The entire country of Al-Sarid really was magical—beautiful. It had to have a dozen or more fantastic spot for a sanctuary, not just for her mother but for others who needed healing. She’d be damned if she’d let a bunch of pushy guys take that away from her and her mother. One way or another, she was going to get her mother’s sanctuary built. Now she just had to figure out the strategy that would get that done.
***
Outside Michelle Reynolds hotel, Malid stood in the shadows, arms crossed and thinking hard. He’d been made aware earlier that Adilan had helped the woman pay the back taxes and fines he’d invented. That had been a good plan—but it had cost him a great deal in bribes to put it in place. He leaned against a wall, still warm from the day’s sun. He had underestimated Adilan. He also wished his father had never thought of making this stupid competition.
He was not that anxious to see the land returned to the family. Of course, the water could be useful, but he was afraid his father would want to enshrine the spot, keep it bare and useless all because of Deborah Reynolds, the woman his father had never truly forgiven or forgotten. Malid gave a snort. What nonsense. Property should be made useful, and if Al-Sarid was to become a strong country it needed an even stronger economy. That meant luxury resort that catered to the wealthy—a tourist economy that would bring money to Al-Sarid.
But Adilan was like his father—they were both sentimental. Malid had no time for romantic nonsense. Well, he was smarter than anyone else in his family. He would prove that to his father. He would once again beat Adilan. And he would see this American woman and her family out of the country and away from his kin—they’d had enough trouble from the Reynolds women.
Chapter 13
Nassir ducked another lunge punch and tried to sweep Adilan’s front leg out from under him. Adilan was ready for him. He kicked out, hitting Nassir in the hip. Nassir spun and kicked back, hitting Adilan in the center of his chest, sending him sprawling backwards across the mats.
He grinned. “You aren’t thinking of the fight, are you?”
Adilan pushed back to his feet. “If I get you on the ground, I’ll have you.”
“Yes, but first you must get me there.”
Adilan circled his brother. As the youngest in the family—and the shortest—it seemed to him he was always having to prove himself. But he had more muscle that Nassir—or Malid. And he had wrestling skills he had learned in college.
He and Nassir swapped more blows and kicks, and then Nassir held up his gloved hands. “Enough for today.” He headed to the edge of the ring, pulled off his gloves and grabbed a water. He tossed another bottle to Adilan. “You want to tell me why you’re off your game?”
Fumbling with gloves and water, Adilan swung out of the ring. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm and eyed his brother. “You know that Malid and I are both trying to get Al-Hilah back.”
Nassir pulled a face. Like his brothers, he had dark hair and olive skin, a strong nose and lean features. But his eyes were a tawny brown, and the lines around his mouth came from an easy smile. He gave that smile to Adilan now. “Yes, yes—the competition. Why do you pay Father’s games? You could have stayed out of this.”
“And let Malid destroy it with his fancy luxury resort for the rich? He doesn’t care about anything but how much profit he can make.”
Nassir slipped out of the ring. “And you do not want to let him win.” He shook his head. “No wonder Malid has been in foul mood today—and no wonder you are thinking of other things.”
Adilan smiled. “In truth, what I’ve been thinking of is Michelle Reynolds.”
Nassir groaned and slapped Adilan’s shoulder. “Do not let Father hear you say such a thing, or you will have more problems than this silly contest over the land. Now, for once, take my advice—go home, forget Malid, forget this land, and forget this woman.”
“And if I cannot—or do not want to.”
Nassir shook his head. “Then, brother, be very certain that if you take on a fight, you are willing to do anything you must to win it.”
***
The next morning, Adilan was running late, something he hated. He’d been dreaming about Michelle and had not wanted the dreams to end. He rose and showered quickly, wishing it was Michelle rubbing her hands over his body.
Dressing quickly in linen trousers and a tan shirt, he headed down the wide staircase, grimacing. He stopped off at his office in the palace to gather the papers he might need if Michelle agreed to the exchange of land.
Grabbing his cell phone, he called Michelle’s hotel and was connected to her room. “Sabah el kheer! Good morning, Michelle. How was your night—and have you made a decision about the land?”
“Fine—and no. But I am glad you called. There are some details I want to work out with you—if I go for either the buyout or the land swap. And there’s a problem you might be able to help me with,” she told him.
Adilan smiled. “What if we have lunch today? I will send a car to bring you to the palace—and I promise you a full tour. And perhaps we can visit the Zia oasis again this afternoon?”
He heard her hesitate, and wondered why she was doing so. Did she not want to be in his arms again? His pulse quickened and his stomach tightened. But then her voice came over the line, soft and sounding happy. “That sounds lovely.”
He made arrangements for her to be ready by noon, then hung up and called down to the garage to ensure all would be ready for her. He turned to leave his office and saw Malid in the doorway.
Malid looked too like their father, Adilan had always thought. Always so serious, his eye so dark as to be black, his black hair slicked back. He kept his face clean shaven, but he always looked as if his beard was about to grow back—it shadowed his jaw and cheeks. He wore a suit and tie—Armani and silk. Adilan looked him over. His perfect older brother—always so stiff in his Italian loafers, always so proper and always caring only for money. He had nothing of their mother’s laughter—she had brought joy to the house when she’d been alive. But Malid was like their father—stern and not at all fun.
Eying his brother, Adilan asked, “What brings you here so early? And to my small corner of the palace?” He spread his arms wide.
&
nbsp; Malid walked into the room and threw a stack of photographs on Adilan’s desk. The images showed Michelle at the Zia oasis yesterday, stripping down and slipping into the water.
Fists clenched, Adilan stared at Malid. “I will not ask where you got these. You had someone spying on Michelle—and it was not Jenkins.”
Malid smiled. “No. I thought you might have Jenkins doing other tasks for you. But the question you should ask is what will happen to Michelle Reynolds if these photos are sent to the authorities? Twenty years ago, a woman could have been stoned to death for baring herself in public such as this—even a foreign woman. The law is still harsh. Should these reach the right hands, this woman will never be allowed to build so much as a bird house in Al-Sarid. She will most likely be imprisoned and deported for lacking…I think the term is moral fiber?”
Adilan stared at the photos. Even under these circumstances, Michelle looked beautiful—her body all soft curves, the sunlight gleaming from her pale skin and her lovely long legs. He swallowed and stared hard at his brother. “You’ve gone too far, Malid. I challenge you.”
“What? To a fight? You’ve never come close to beating me.”
“If I win, you will hand over all of the photos, including the digital files.”
Malid’s smile faded. “And when I win, will you help me get her deported?”
Adilan swallowed hard. If he helped Malid, Michelle would never forgive him. But he could not allow these images to go public—he would not see her shamed. And he would not lose. He nodded.
Malid gave a nod back. “After this, I hope you will learn to curb your angry responses. You’re thirty and need to acknowledge you have limitations.”
“And you need to learn to know the boundaries, too. I will see you at the gym.”
On the drive there, Adilan gripped the steering wheel with one hand and called Nassir to let him know what was going on. Malid was being so arrogant that Adilan had no trouble with wanting to punch his face. Nassir would be the sane one there.
At the gym, Adilan stripped down and changed into close-fitting fighting trunks. He put on his gloves, even as Nassir shook his head and told him he was a fool. He also leaned close and said, “You have one hope—strike first and strike hard. Malid has more reach than you, but you have more muscle. Use it.”
Adilan nodded.
Nassir would act as referee, but he would have little to do. There would be no timer. No points awarded. Malid—now also stripped down from his suit to fight—said they would keep things simple. “Last man standing wins,” Malid said.
Nassir opened his mouth to protest, but Adilan waved a hand. “Let us end this now.”
In the ring, Adilan closed fast and struck out with roundhouse kick to the side of the back and kidney area. Malid blocked the attack, and threw a punch at Adilan’s head that Adilan ducked. He closed again, striking hard.
Malid caught him in the chest with a vicious combination of hands, and Adilan moved to the side. They traded blows, and Adilan tried to kick out his brother’s legs. Malid was a horrible wrestler and if he could only get him to the mat, Adilan knew he could make short work of the match. Adilan swept out with his legs, but Malid kicked back and high, catching Adilan in the ribs.
Adilan backed up and bent over, as if hurt. Malid closed in. Adilan waited until the last minute and then he popped up and delivered a hard punch to Malid’s jaw. He rushed Malid, pulling Malid to the mats. Wrapping his legs around Malid’s neck, Adilan squeezed, hearing his brother wheeze.
Finally, Malid conceded the fight by tapping the mats.
Nassir jumped into the ring and pulled Adilan off Malid, who lay there, gasping for air. Looking from Malid to Adilan, Nassir said, “Adilan won. Are we all clear on that?”
Reluctantly, Malid nodded.
Adilan climbed out of the ring, his body aching, his ribs sore. Nassir helped Malid to his feet, and they both stepped from the ring.
Holding out his hand, Adilan waited. Malid pulled off a glove, went to his locker and pulled out a flash drive and the photos from his coat pocket. He came back to Adilan, and stared at his brother, his eyes narrowed. “That woman…she means this much to you?” Malid asked.
Adilan looked from Malid to Nassir. At last he nodded. “She does.”
Whether that was good or bad, only time would tell. He refused to worry about it, especially right now.
All he could think about was that he had promised Michelle lunch and another trip to the Zia oasis. After a quick shower, he dressed, stuffed the photos and the flash drive into a trouser pocket, and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He had a cut above his eye and bruises over his cheek and jaw. He hoped very much Michele could forgive him looking like he had lost this fight. But what would she think of him and his family if she ever saw these photos?
Chapter 14
Michelle glanced at her watch again. The town car that Adilan had said he was sending had shown up, and had brought her to the palace. Hassan had shown her to the same morning room she’d been in on her last visit. She’d spend ten minutes sitting on one of the lovely chairs, then she’d spend ten minutes pacing. She’d give him another ten minutes and then she was leaving.
What was going on? Had he changed his mind about meeting her? Or had his father found out about them and forbidden the meeting? But if that was the case, why wasn’t she being thrown out? Had something happened to Adilan?
She walked to the French doors that overlooked the inner courtyard. Today, the fountain and greenery didn’t sooth. She pulled out her cell phone and texted him again.
“Michelle?”
She spun around and gasped. Adilan stood in the doorway, his face cut and with purple bruises.
“What happened to you?” She rushed to his side and lifted a hand that hovered over him. She didn’t know where to touch that wouldn’t cause pain.
Limping into the room, he sank down on a chair with a sigh. And he grinned. “Malid and I…we spar sometimes.”
“Yeah, and UFC guys just trade a few friendly punches. I hope he looks worse.”
“He does.” He put up a hand, touched his cheek and winced. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
She came over and sat down next to him. “Are you still up for lunch? Do you want to…lie down?”
He took her hand. “The waters at the Zia oasis will help heal me.”
She wasn’t sure she believed that, but when he stood, she helped him to the door. Hassan held the front door for them, and discreetly handed Michelle a small bag. Once they were in the town car, she glanced inside and saw salve, arnica and some aspirin. It seemed Hassan was used to someone in the palace coming home looking like they’d gone one round too many.
The car started out for the Zia oasis where they’d been yesterday, but Adilan gave order to change direction and head to Al-Hilah. “It’s more private,” he said, leaning back and closing his eyes.
“And what about lunch?” Michelle asked.
Adilan waved at the driver. “He has a picnic in the trunk.”
“You think of everything.”
He winced. “I wish I did sometimes.”
She wanted to start doctoring him at once, but she waited until they’d made it into Al-Hilah and had settled on the greenery under the palms. The driver had brought the picnic basket and had spread out a blanket, and then he’d returned to the car. Except for the birds overhead, they were utterly alone, sheltered by the sandstone mountains.
The rivers babbled pleasantly, the air caressed her skin, and Michelle pulled out the salve to tend to the worst of the bruises. Adilan hissed and winced as she dapped at his face. She pulled back and told him, “What about the parts I can’t see?” He pulled off his shirt. His ribs were coming up in purple and yellow. She frowned at him. “And the rest of you?”
Standing, he stripped off his shoes and trousers. He wasn’t wearing underwear, and Michelle could feel her face warming. Even though they’d been intimate yesterday, she wasn’t used to sitting outside wit
h a naked man.
Adilan lay down on the blanket as if naked wasn’t just a great look for him but was also the one he liked the best. She started dabbing arnica on the bruises.
Grabbing her wrist, Adilan shook his head. “You are wearing too much.”
Smiling, she sat back. “Really? And here I was thinking you were underdressed.” She put down the first aid kit and stood. She kicked off her shoes and slowly unbuttoned her shirt. She’d worn a white silk shirt—it was about the only sexy thing she owned. Her trousers were khaki. She let them fall. Her underwear was clean and cotton. She pulled it off as fast as she could—no sense even trying to make it look sexy.
Adilan just kept smiling at her, his green eyes darkening in a way that somehow made her feel like Mata Hari
Grabbing her hand, he pulled her down to lie on the blanket with him. “This is new for me.”
She choked back a laugh. “Being with a woman? I don’t think so.”
“No, this.” He touched her cheek and let his fingers trail down to her breasts. “I have always been the brother with the most beautiful girl in the room hanging on my arm. It was the one area where I could compete with my brothers and win. But with you…I want to keep you to myself. I don’t need to show you off—I want your beauty for myself.”
The possessive tone in his voice sent a shiver through Michelle. “No one’s ever said anything like that to me.”
“Are the men in America all blind?”
She managed a smile. “I had a…my last relationship, he always said I was sensible.” Taking up the salve, she started to rub it on his skin again.
He shook his head. “I don’t need…”
She put a finger over his lips. “Yes, you do. Because I am sensible, and you…I’m not sure you really are.” Pressing on his shoulders she made him lay down.
Reaching up, he put his hands on her breast. “You feel amazing.”