by Leslie North
"That is if Dijobuli will even allow us access. We may have to use the highway to the north, which adds five hundred miles," Arif said. He shot Nasim another sideways glance that as good as said this was all Nasim's fault.
Closing the report he'd been glancing at, Nasim loosened his tie and leaned his elbows on the table. "We may have to make a deal with Leeland Enterprises to cover the increased oil production."
"What?" The word burst out of Arif. The other two ministers started up protests as well. They said nothing Nasim didn't already know. Leeland Enterprises started off being invited into a country with a small deal, expanded with investment and loans, and ended taking most of the profits as they leveraged that into ownership of the oil wells. That story had been repeated in small countries around the world.
Nasim let everyone run out of steam, and then tapped on the folder in front of him. "We must face facts. The pipeline across Dijobuli is lost to us. Ahmad doesn't have another daughter I could court—"
"As if he would allow that now," Arif muttered.
Ignoring him, Nasim tapped on the folder again. "And he has no son who might inherit the throne and be more reasonable in his dealings. We are left with a dozen cousins in Dijobuli and no clear successor and therefore no immediate solution."
"And an angry father." Shaking his head, Arif leaned back in his chair. "How do we ensure a deal with Leeland does not end up with him stripping Zahkim of what oil we have?"
Smiling, Nasim stood and smoothed his tie. "I think I can negotiate better terms. I may not have ended up with the right wife, but I will see that my new one does well by Zahkim. Now, please excuse me for a few days."
He left the ministers and Arif staring after him.
Heading up the stairs, Nasim stopped to give orders that clothing from the top designer in Zahkim should be brought to the palace for his wife. Wife. That word sat oddly on his tongue, but he rather liked the taste of it. He'd called the family lawyers last night for advice. While the marriage contract with Sheikh Ahmad had been invalidated due to Jasmine's elopement with someone else, the lawyers believed the ceremony with Virginia Leeland to be binding. She had agreed to the marriage, as had Nasim. He told them to look into the details and make certain. He hated surprises, and this marriage had started to spin out of control yesterday when Ginni had swept into his life. He grinned—she was rather like a desert wind, irresistible and unsettling. But certainly not boring.
Heading up the stairs, he made his way to Virginia Leeland's room. He had left orders for a tray with coffee and tea to be taken up to her. He found it outside her room on a side table. More bloody surprises. Putting a hand on the silver coffee pot, he found it still warm. It hadn't been sitting here all that long. He picked up the tray and balanced it on one hand.
Knocking softly on her door, he waited for her to answer.
Nothing happened.
Had the girl bolted? But how? The palace guards would have informed him if she'd sought to leave. Trying the door handle, he found it unlocked. He opened the door and stepped inside. The drapes had been drawn across the French windows, leaving the room in cool shadows. Already the day was warming. Striding across the carpet, he peeked into the bedroom.
Ginni sprawled on the bed, one bare foot sticking out from the covers, the duvet tangled around her waist, her back a smooth stretch of tempting, dark skin. She muttered something in her sleep and let out a long breath.
He held still, but she did not wake.
Setting the tray down on one corner of the bed, he came around the side. She looked utterly beautiful, her hair tumbled, her face bare of any makeup or veils. Something tightened in his chest, but he didn't care to study the emotion—he preferred to leave the woo-woo stuff to Arif. He'd rather simply act.
So he did.
Reaching out, he touched one finger to the spot just under the curling, dark hair on her head, ran his finger down her spine to the small of her back to a spot where two dimples appeared above the covered swell of her ass. The wide hips he had felt but not seen last night remained covered, as did her breasts, but he could see the curve of her waist. And that length of bare back left his mouth watering.
Leaning down, he feathered a kiss between her shoulder blades. She let out a small breath and smiled in her sleep. Straightening again, he eased his trousers to allow more room for the erection now trying to tent the bespoke fit. Staring down at all that smooth, brown skin, he realized he had not presented his wife with so much as a ring. The emerald ring had been for Jasmine and now seemed abandoned on a side table. Ginni needed something else.
Pulling out his phone, he sent off a couple of texts to the palace staff, and then he sat down in an overstuffed armchair and put his mobile onto a blaring ringer.
Ginni gave a groan and rolled over in bed, fumbling with one hand for an alarm clock. He got a flash of breast, and she dragged open her eyes. She sat up, clutching the duvet to her breasts. Nasim gave up trying to behave—he'd never been good at it.
He stood and crossed to the bed, leaning in for a good morning kiss on those pouting lips. He brushed a finger down one bare arm and gestured to the tray.
"Your coffee is getting cold. Do you want me to ring down to the staff for a fresh pot?"
Chapter Five
Ginni blinked. "I could get used to this." She bit down on her lower lip. She hadn't meant those words to come out. But finding Nasim sitting in a chair, watching her, looking sexy as all get out was something she could do with every morning.
Now he was standing next to her bed, looking about ready to crawl in with her, those tawny eyes of his shooting off sparks that had her warm all over. The aroma of coffee—bitter and strong—had her lifting her nose and glancing around. She could also do with something to wake her up. Nasim seemed to realize that, for he stepped around the bottom of the bed, poured her a cup and brought it to her.
She wet her lips, still tasting him on them. He stood there, china cup held out to her, his lips curved in the fragment of a smile and eyes giving away nothing of what he was thinking or feeling.
Taking the cup, she asked, "Didn't your mama teach you to knock?"
"I did knock. You did not answer. And you might say my mum taught me more about how not to behave. She took herself off to Paris years ago, after my father died of cancer."
"Oh…oh, I'm…sorry."
"Nothing you should apologize for. I find it far easier to get along with what remains of my immediate family from a great distance. As to the rest, well, I am a sheikh of Zahkim in the Zahkim palace."
She eyed him over the rim of her coffee. "Meaning you do as you please?"
His smile widened. "Not quite, but close enough."
Sipping her coffee—and it had cooled to barely warm—she wondered if anything really ever got under his skin. He sounded calm and in control. She wasn't. Her heart had skipped when he'd touched his lips to hers—just a brush that had warmed her insides and had her thinking about grabbing his tie to drag him down in the sheets with her. The worry rose that this sheikh had already slipped too far under her skin in just a day.
Well, she'd wanted face time with Sheikh Nasim Said, and she'd sure gotten her wish. Now she had to figure out how to work a deal with him.
Still clutching the comforter with one hand, she held out the coffee cup. "It's gone cold."
He took the cup from her and set it back on the tray. "Come have something hot then. I've ordered breakfast for us downstairs. I only had tea this morning." He turned and started to walk out.
She called out to him, "Wait. What about my clothes? I left my suitcase in Jasmine's car."
Glancing over his shoulder, that infuriating, Cheshire Cat smile still in place, he said, "I've taken care of everything. See you as soon as you're dressed."
She heard the door open and close. Throwing off the covers, she fled to the bathroom. At least she had her underwear and some towels there, and she'd drag on that rumpled wedding getup and those little-bit-too-small sandals if she had t
o.
Turned out she had no need of the dress or Jasmine's sandals. She came out of the shower damp, underwear on, her hair frizzing, to find two guys and a gal in the sitting room, all of them slim and fashionable in skinny jeans and loose shirts and standing next to a rack full of clothes. Seemed no one knocked on any doors around here. They also didn't seem like they minded her in her skimpies, even if the heat rushed through her.
One guy tutted at her, the other rolled his eyes, but the girl cocked her head to one side and started pulling clothes off the rack. Ginni found clean underwear—something lacy and black—thrust at her and clothes held up for her selection. They didn't speak English, and she didn't know Arabic, but she got the message loud and clear—"you look a mess, sweetie, so we're gonna fix that.”
She changed her underwear—and lordy, were these lacy wonders just a little touch of heaven. The guy who'd tutted managed to get her hair under control. The guy who'd rolled his eyes nixed the black dress the girl had pulled out and got Ginni into a flowing top and wide-legged pants in a vibrant orange. She'd never worn the color before, but she liked it. Slim flats matched the clothes. Her new crew left a dozen more outfits in the closet, all bright blues and greens and a couple things in white, with an array of shoes, scarves, and everything else a girl could love. She'd have traded one for some makeup but made do with lotion from the bathroom on her face and hands.
Waving good-bye to her new friends—heck, anyone who'd seen her in undies had to at least be called that—she headed out. She had to ask twice where she'd find Nasim, but she tracked him down to a cozy—by palace standards, she was thinking—room set with a glass-topped dining table and food.
"The aroma of coffee helped guide me," she admitted. When she walked in, Nasim stood and pulled out a chair for her. She grinned at him. "Ain't you just sweet as can be and better than a butler."
He gave her a sideways look, but she winked to let him know she was joking. Shaking his head, he sat and snapped his fingers.
A couple of the staff—she could tell them by white pants, some kind of long, white tunic, and the lack of dishtowels on their heads—appeared carrying black velvet cases.
"It's customary to give a bride jewels," Nasim said.
The staff opened the cases, and Ginni caught a sharp breath. She'd never had much interest in fancy sparklers. Her mama had a set of pearls and some diamond earrings Daddy had given her, but Ginni had been more interested in asking for her first pony and European ski trips. But these…oh, lordy.
One case held a ruby and diamond necklace. The rubies hung like drops of blood from a circlet of flashing diamonds, which looked like stars pulled out of the night sky. The other held a gold ring with an oval ruby surrounded by smaller diamonds, and a matching brooch. "All that's missin' is a tiara."
"That's still in the treasury," Nasim said. He stood, came around the breakfast table and took up the necklace. He fastened it around her neck, his fingers warm on her skin, leaving her even hotter than she had been. He pressed his mouth to her skin, just under her jaw, right where her pulse thudded hard. She almost melted.
Taking her hand, he slipped on the ring. It was a touch loose, and he frowned at that. "I'll have it adjusted," he said, sliding the ring off her finger again.
She touched the necklace, cool and hard on her skin. Her mouth dried, and her mind emptied. What do you say to a guy who gives you rubies before breakfast?
Nasim settled back in his chair, waved away the servants, and took up his coffee cup. "There's flatbread, goat cheese, fresh fruit, yogurt, and jam. I generally prefer kippers, eggs, and crumpets, myself, so those are available if you'd rather."
She glanced at the food, hardly seeing it and not really tempted by much other than the man sitting next to her. "Coffee's fine." She poured out a cup, found it strong and bitter—dark and handsome as you could wish. She almost groaned and was glad she hadn't said that.
Leaning toward her, his scent teasing her with a hint of musk and spice, he asked, "Shall we talk business?"
Chapter Six
Nasim watched Ginni fiddle with her coffee cup, turning it until the handle had made one circuit around. He had no difficulty reading her. She shifted in her chair, tugged at a curl near her cheek, and he knew she must be starting to realize she had ruined his wedding—she owed him. Which did not put her in a strong place for any negotiations. Now, he had gifted her with jewels, leaving her even more in his debt. He smiled and waited to see what she'd do. Personally, he would have ignored the disadvantages and pressed his case anyway. Ginni seemed to have other ideas.
Propping her chin on her hand and her elbow on the table, she asked, "Any chance we can get out of the palace for the day? I'm stallin', I know, but I told my folks I was staying to see some sights and I hate to make myself out a liar." She gulped down her coffee. "And, truth is, I need a better lay of the land."
He almost laughed. Instead, he pulled out his mobile, called for his car and some supplies for the day, then stood and held out his hand to Ginni. "I shall show you one of the true treasures of Zahkim."
Standing, she touched a finger to the necklace. "Feelin' a touch overdressed here."
With a snap of his fingers, he called for the servants. They came with the box for the necklace—a trifle really, too modern to appeal to Arif's bride and too heavy to suit Tarek's wife. Nasim took his time unfastening the clasp, brushing his fingers over Ginni's neck with touches that left goosebumps on her skin. He was pleased to see her reaction, to watch her tongue slip out to touch her lower lip, to see the pulse jump in her neck. He started to wonder why no man in America had taken her for a bride. Perhaps having to face Aldrich Leeland was too much for most men. And what would Aldrich think when he learned his daughter had married without so much as a word to her family? Well, that was Ginni's problem, wasn't it? Still, he could help her avoid some of the awkwardness of talking to her family. He could at least give her a respite.
Taking her hand, he led her to the front doors and out to his car.
She glanced at the battered International Harvester Travelall, its paint faded to a dull green, her dark brown eyes going wide. "This is yours? Gotta say I know good ol' boys back home that have fancier wheels."
"This is Jessie—Jessie, meet Ginni. Jessie is my reliable companion, and I promise you she is the safest ride out to where we are going."
Ginni gave him a sideways glance, but she patted the hood. "Long as you've got air conditioning, sweetheart, we'll get along fine."
The International had belonged to his father, and Nasim had never had the heart to sell it. Besides, it honestly was one of the best ways to get across the desert. Four-wheel drive, an indestructible engine, a large interior that allowed him to carry a tent and survival gear as well as several passengers and a picnic, it lacked only the greater comfort of plush seats. Jessie's air conditioning was temperamental but behaved today, blasting out cold air. Nasim drove from the palace grounds and out the gates, then took off cross-country.
Ginni grabbed for the shoulder strap of her seat belt as they bounced over what was little more than a camel track. She laughed. "Well, gotta say, you know how to show a gal a good time. Hang on for the ride." She gave a shout and another laugh.
Nasim found himself grinning as well. Ginni's enthusiasm for adventure seemed infectious.
He drove, and she pelted him with a dozen questions about Zahkim. What else did they have beside oil—any crops, fresh water supplies, industry? She knew little about Tarek's efforts to modernize the country, but she talked about regional stability as if she had done some reading before she'd taken Jasmine's place at the wedding.
Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to a barren strip of land that divided Zahkim from its neighboring country, Dijobuli. Nasim shut off the engine, and Ginni stared at the expanse of rocky desert in front of them. She glanced at Nasim.
"Uh, by any chance are you plannin' to leave me here?" He shook his head. Reaching into the backseat, he grabbed scarves for each
of them and handed one to Ginni.
"To keep the sun from your head. Come on. It is almost time." Climbing out of the International, he came around to Ginni's side. She had the door open, but he took her hand to help her out of the high vehicle. Her thin shoes were not made for the desert, so he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the rocky overhang that overlooked the land.
Once he set her on her feet, she caught a breath. "Wow—that's quite a view."
He swept out an arm. "The Ash Lands. It is said to be holy ground."
They had driven up a road to the top of a cliff that overlooked twenty miles of desert.
She frowned. "Ash is about right. Gray and—I'm sorry to say—not that appealing. Maybe it's ’cause I'm used to the green back home. This is a treasure of Zahkim? Seriously? I was expecting something a little more…treasure-ish."
"You Americans—no patience."
"And you have tons?" She put a hand on her hip. "With the moves you've been putting on me, I'd say not."
He grinned and grabbed her hand. "Come. We must go higher." They hiked another twenty yards up the rocky outcrop, following a thin, winding goat path. At the top, the wind—dry and touched with sand—brushed across his face. It tugged on his headscarf, and he noticed Ginni struggling to keep hers in place. Stepping behind her, he put his hands on her shoulders, tucked her scarf more firmly around her neck, and turned her to face the east, toward the border with Dijobuli. "There…look."
The sun shifted a few degrees from overhead to starting its descent into the west. As it did, it slanted over the Ash Lands and turned the vast sweep of sands and rock below them into waves of silver edged with gold. The Ash Lands changed from gray to a shimmer of colors.
He explained. "The minerals in the soil react to light. You can see this only for a few minutes on any summer day, and then…" As the sun kept on with its slow arc, heading toward eventual sunset, the colors vanished. Again, the Ash Lands looked gray and forbidding and empty, although he knew that to be an illusion as well, for the desert held a vast amount of life.