The Sheikh's Unexpected Wife

by Leslie North

  She headed for the room where breakfast usually got set out, wondering if she was late for that. Her cell phone's display was saying it was well past ten already. Getting a little turned around, she found herself walking down one of the hallways, looking for someone she could ask for directions—she needed a map of the place—when she heard Nasim's voice.

  Her heart did a funny little jump.

  She turned, looking for where he might be, tracked his voice down to one white-painted door. She was just lifting her hand to knock when he raised his voice and said, quite clearly, "Will this mean war?"

  Ginni froze.

  Chapter Ten

  Will this mean war? I thought we'd sorted this with that bloody ambassador?" Nasim looked up from the document Arif had handed him. Irritation at having been pulled from Ginni's arms itched under his skin. Neither of the other three ministers in the room would meet his stare, and even Arif was pulling on his beard and smoothing it again in a gesture that spoke of frustration.

  Arif lifted a hand. "I thought everything smoothed over as well. But despite our apologies, despite this wedding fiasco being the making of Sheikh Ahmad's own daughter, Ahmad is insisting Dijobuli has had its honor insulted."

  "And he wants reparations…or else?" Nasim threw the stack of papers onto the table. They scattered onto the floor. "I'm not paying him bloody anything."

  Arif let out a breath. "If we offer—"

  The minister of the interior, Abu Jamal, cleared his throat. Arif broke off what he'd been saying to look at the man. Nasim turned as well. Jamal, a slim, younger man in a rumpled suit, gestured to the scattered papers. "Pardon, but if you read to the last page, Sheikh Ahmad is asking for property. Specifically, for the Ash Lands to be given to Dijobuli."

  Nasim stiffened and pulled in a sharp breath. Arif threw back his head as if he'd been slapped. He slashed the air with one hand. "Impossible. Those are holy lands."

  "Too bloody right." Nasim folded his arms over his chest. He'd only dragged on trousers, a button-down shirt, and shoes, and he was wishing he'd taken time to shower and get a suit on, and that he had Sheikh Ahmad in front of him so he could intimidate the old bugger. "Not bloody happening. We will go to war over that. Very well, if you must, offer Ahmad the bride price agreed to in the contract. And remind him his bloody daughter put another bloody woman in her place."

  Jamal gave a nod and stood. The other ministers gathered the papers. They bowed and left.

  Nasim turned to Arif. "There's no chance Tarek will agree to hand over the Ash Lands, but we're going to have to tell him about this demand."

  Scrubbing a hand over his face, Arif nodded. "This may escalate."

  "If Zahkim loses the Ash Lands, it'll bloody well mean the end of the royal family in Zahkim. The conservatives won't stand for it any more than the progressives will. That'll unite both sides as nothing ever has."

  Arif gave him a hard stare. "Then find another way. We can't afford a war with Dijobuli, either." Arif strode from the room.

  Nasim scrubbed a hand over his face again. Was it only a few hours ago he'd been basking in the pleasure of Ginni's arms? It seemed far longer, almost as if it had been a dream.

  Bloody Ahmad—he was using this as an excuse. And bloody Jasmine, too. She'd gotten all of them into this mess. He scrubbed a hand over his face yet again, scraping his fingers on the stubble on his cheeks. He'd not even had time to shave. He'd been woken by a dozen texts from Arif, had barely had time to throw on some clothes, and he'd had to leave Ginni's arms.

  Damnation.

  Ah…Ginni. He should find her. She was at least one bright spot in this disaster that had become his life.

  He tracked her down in the breakfast room. She sat at the table, dressed in something colorful, sipping from a cup of coffee held in both hands. When he entered, she put down the cup and gave him a too-bright smile. He stopped. She looked…tense. Unhappy, he would say.

  Was she regretting last night already?

  A cold chill crept into him.

  Slowly, he came into the room and took his seat. He wanted to kiss her. Bloody hell, he wanted to carry her back up to his room and forget about Ahmad and the rest of this day, but that was not possible. He found himself uncertain around his own wife.

  Ginni kept that too-wide smile in place, which left Nasim shifting in his seat. He lifted the coffee pot. "Can I freshen your cup?"

  She put her cup down with a clatter. "I heard. ’Bout that war. I can't—won't—be the cause of that."

  "Ah." He poured himself a cup, wished it was tea, and was at least pleased to see that his hand held steady. "It is nothing to worry you. Sheikh Ahmad is simply trying to see what he can get away with."

  Her mouth flattened, and her eyes narrowed. "Not worry? You're soundin' a damn sight too close to how my Daddy talks when he's getting ready to pat me on the head and tell me to run along and play." She crossed her arms. "I'm not ten, and I am involved."

  He couldn't deal with the anger radiating off her, not after just having Arif and the minister confront him. If he stayed, this was going to become a nasty argument. He had no intention of allowing that to happen.

  Standing, he started for the door. "I must go into the city." He walked out, but a spot between his shoulders burned from Ginni's stare.

  Ginni sat at the breakfast table, her coffee cold, and muttered about men who figured their women couldn't handle a few problems. She'd thought Nasim was different. Well, turned out he was a damn sight too much like her daddy. Figured she'd fall for that type of guy. But all her fantasies of them staying married had just gone up in smoke. Well, she'd show him. She'd fix this—and she'd fix him.

  Pulling out her cell phone, she texted Jasmine to let her know about the trouble brewing. Time for Jasmine to take a hand in this, too. This whole scheme was supposed to have been about helping out a friend, not getting a couple of countries fighting. But Ginni kept thinking of Helen of Troy and all the fuss that girl had caused—that sure was not how she wanted to be remembered.

  The coffee soured in her stomach, and a pounding started up in her temples. It took three texts before Jasmine finally sent one back. The girl texted back a link to an article about a sheikh in Dubai who'd had his marriage annulled after he lifted his bride's veil and found her to have cross-eyes and a better mustache than his. Didn't women have beauty parlors around here? Rolling her eyes, Ginni texted Jasmine again.

  “How does this get your daddy off everyone's backs?”

  Jasmine didn't seem to have an answer to that—least, she wasn't texting back. Ginni let out a soft growl. If Jasmine wasn't going to do anything, that meant this all fell to Ginni. If she could fix this, Nasim would owe her. He'd damn well do that deal with Leeland Enterprises, which would make her Daddy happy—and the rest…well, she'd figure it out.

  All that meant she needed to do some serious thinking to get the answers she needed, and she always thought better when window shopping. She'd have to get a ride into town for a whole lot of staring at pretty things to get the ideas stirring.

  The ride turned out to be the easy part.

  She asked one of the guys in the long, white robes about how to get herself to Al Resab. Fifteen minutes later, a car was gliding to a stop next to the palace front doors. Not just a car, but a seriously long limo with air conditioning, which had her cheering up already. She drank down a sparkling water to settle her stomach, texted Jasmine a few more times, sent a few more texts to her mama—she'd neglected keeping up with the folks. And then the skyscrapers of Al Resab rose up around her.

  The fluttery flags on the front of the car—Zahkim's flag—turned out to be there for more than show. The car parked wherever she wanted it to. She simply pointed to a shop, the limo stopped, she got out, walked a bit, looked around, tried to get her thoughts off Nasim and how he'd turned her world—and her—inside out last night. She needed to think about business.

  An hour of therapy shopping settled her too-busy mind. Ideas started percolating at
last. She smiled. She was just coming out of a store that had offered up some colorful pottery Mama would adore when she saw a pair of familiar masculine shoulders in a boxy American gray suit. She stopped and almost dropped the bag with the planter she'd just bought.

  "Hank? Hank LaRue?" The man turned. Ginni's heart jumped up to her throat. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  Chapter Eleven

  Hank LaRue's grin had always been his best feature. Lopsided, it gave him an awe-shucks boy-next-door look. With his tousled dark-blond hair, that crooked grin, and bright blue eyes, he'd always turned more than a few heads. Ginni had once puffed up her chest to have his ring on her finger and him on her arm. Now, irritation crawled over her skin like spiders dancing. That grin held just a touch too much smugness.

  She marched up to him. She was wishing she'd worn heels, not sandals. In heels, she stood two inches taller than Hank, and towering over him right now sure sounded good.

  Punching a finger into his chest, she demanded, "Did my daddy send you to keep an eye on me?"

  His face paled. He glanced around at the others on the sidewalk now stopping to glance back at them. He tried to take her elbow, but she jerked out of his grasp.

  "Virginia—"

  "Don't call me that. I keep saying only my mama calls me that when she's pissed at me over somethin'."

  "Very well, Ms. Leeland." He stressed the words, voice tense. "Can we talk someplace that isn't on a street? And, yes, your father sent me. I do still work for Leeland Enterprises."

  The irritation changed to a cold sweep down her back. If Daddy had sent Hank, that meant Daddy had either heard something about the wedding or that famous sixth sense of his was working overtime. She should have kept up with the tourist chatter back to her folks, but she'd been far too focused on Nasim.

  Glancing around, she noticed the looks they were getting—and the frowns. She huffed out a breath and grabbed Hank's arm. She could pull him into the limo—but then what? She didn't want to be stuffed in a car with him. She'd noticed a swanky hotel a few doors down, so she let go of Hank and headed that way, her bag of purchases bouncing against her hip. He could just follow, but she was kind of hoping he wouldn't.

  Air-conditioned cool washed over her as soon as she stepped inside the revolving brass doors. Huge flower arrangements decorated and scented the lobby. Ginni glimpsed both traditional dress and Western suits. Good—it was the sort of place for business meetings. She kept going, looking for a bar, and found one toward the right. Dark wood paneling, overstuffed leather chairs, and thick carpets that hushed her steps made it the perfect place for a private conversation, but goosebumps popped on Ginni's arms. She felt like she was in a spy movie—or one of those French farces.

  Plopping down into a chair and putting her shopping in another chair, she saw Hank had followed. She had no idea what she was going to tell him, but she wasn't looking forward to any conversation. Her pulse kept jumping.

  Hank lifted his hand to order them drinks, but Ginni waved off the waiter and leaned forward. "We're off the street. So talk."

  Smoothing his tie, Hank stared at her, his mouth flat and eyes narrowed. "You might not need anything, but I do." He called the waiter back and ordered a bourbon. Ginni started tapping her nails on the polished wood table—that habit had always irritated him.

  After the waiter brought Hank his drink, Ginni stopped tapping her fingernails. "Well?"

  Smoothing his tie again, Hank took a long swallow of his drink and said, "Did you really think it wouldn't get back to your father? Aldrich has too many connections not to hear you've gotten mixed up with some kind of Arab wedding mess." He spat out the words like they'd been sour candy.

  Ginni lifted her chin. "And you're here to fix things? News alert for you. I don't need your rescue, or your help."

  Hank's lopsided grin showed up again. "So you've got a deal in place with Zahkim to ship their oil? And you're not married to a guy you'd never laid eyes on before the wedding?"

  "I don't know what my daddy sees in you. Hell, I don't even know what I saw in you, ’cept you were handy and my folks didn't much think you were good son-in-law material."

  His grin dropped. Putting down his drink, he pressed his palms on the table and leaned forward. "Virginia—and yes, I'm using your full name, because you can't fool me—you are in trouble. Your folks know it. I know it. Hell, most anyone on the street in this pest-hole knows it. You butted in where you weren't wanted, and you think you're going to charm your way out of the outhouse and into the rose garden."

  Heat lifted from Ginni's neck, flooding her face. "Keep talking like that, an' you're gonna end up wearin' that bourbon."

  "Oh, come off it, Virginia. You've pulled some stunts in your day, but getting yourself married to some Arab? You think some dishtowel-wearing camel jockey's gonna be welcome back home at your daddy's country club? Why don't you wise up and do what they do here? Say 'I divorce you' three times and have done with it. That's the way around this backwater. You don't need a lawyer, just some common sense."

  Standing, Ginni grabbed Hank's bourbon and dashed it at him. She missed his face, caught his shirt and tie. Hank jumped up and back, brushing at the spreading brown stain and the ice clinging to his chest.

  Ginni thunked the glass back on the table. "Send me the cleaning bill. No, better yet, go out and buy yourself a new suit and tie—maybe you can find some brains while you're at it." Stepping closer, she punched a finger into his chest. "And you ever refer to any sheikh of Zahkim as a camel jockey, I'll make it my business to put you on the next flight out of here, and it won't be first class you'll be flyin'. More like cargo!"

  Grabbing her shopping and her purse, she stomped from the hotel. Heat hit her as soon as she left the lobby. She stood on the sidewalk, pulling in breaths, heart pounding, wishing she'd hit Hank with her purse. Letting out a growl, she headed for the limo, temper in tatters.

  The comfort of the car didn't do anything to settle the heat bubbling inside her. Oh, that stupid man! And then her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number, almost hit Ignore, but she might as well have it out with Daddy, too.

  "What?"

  Aldrich Leeland's voice came over the phone, his drawl slow. "Nice way to greet your father, Ginni. Just heard from Hank. He's saying we've got a disaster on our hands."

  Ginni swallowed hard. She took a deep breath. "Daddy, when are you gonna decide I can handle myself?"

  "Maybe when you prove it."

  "An' how am I ever gonna do that with you sendin' your dogs after me?"

  A long silence followed. Ginni bit down on her lower lip. The urge to dump everything into her father's lap nibbled at her. He'd know how to keep Sheikh Ahmad happy and how to get a deal done with Zahkim and Leeland Enterprises. In the process, he'd unhitch her from Nasim as well, and that's what stopped her.

  She didn't want her marriage undone.

  That thought left her frozen, phone to her ear, and her heart hammering.

  She was in love with Nasim. She knew it down to her bones. She'd fallen for him sometime in the past couple of days, and the trouble with that was she wasn't sure Nasim saw her as anything more than a problem—just like Hank and her Daddy did.

  Oh, what was she going to tell him? Oh, hey, Daddy, I think I've started a war?

  Sucking in another breath, she tried to pick her words carefully. "Three days. I'll call you back, and if it's not all sweetness and light, I'll let you know. But I'm never gonna learn much of anything if you don't give me the chance."

  His voice softened. "Baby girl, I just hate seeing you unhappy. That's all."

  "I know. But it's been a long time since I was a baby or a girl, and sometimes it takes a stretch of unhappy to get to the other side. Mama's always talking about needing rain to make rainbows."

  "Trouble is, lotta times, rain comes along with hurricane winds, and good luck finding much of anything to put back together after that. You got your three days."

  "And Hank?" She sta
rted chewing on her thumbnail.

  "I'll call him home. Don't think the desert suits him anyways."

  She pumped a hand into the air and ended the call. Then she pushed a hand into her hair. Three days. What in tarnation was she going to do in three days?

  The limo pulled up to the palace entrance before she'd managed to calm herself. Ginni stared up at the white marble, the turrets, the ornate carving. For an instant, she was tempted to ask the driver to take her anywhere else, maybe out to some place she could walk off her anger. But she had ideas about what she needed to do. Next thing that came with them was to figure out how to meet up with Sheikh Ahmad to put those ideas into action.

  Heading inside, she made her way to her room, left her purse and the few things she'd bought in the city. She walked out onto the terrace. The gurgling of the fountains in the garden pulled some of the tension from her shoulders. She needed something to eat, she decided. Heading downstairs, she made her way into the garden, looking for someone to point her to food.

  Instead, she found an older woman sitting in a shady spot at a round table, a teapot and pastries in front of her. The woman looked up. She wore black robes but without any veils. Gray streaked her black hair, which she wore pulled back into a bun. Kohl lined dark eyes, and the woman had an assessing stare.

  She smiled, however, and gestured to one of the other chairs. "You must be Virginia. Please, will you join me?" She spoke careful, lightly accented English.

  Ginni hesitated, but the tea smelled like licorice, and those pastries just needed to be eaten. She sat down. "Call me Ginni."

  "I am Sheikha Amal. That would be the wife of a sheikh. Or former wife. My husband once ruled Zahkim. I'm Tarek's grandmother."

  "His mamere?" Frowning, Ginni asked, "Does that make us—?"

  "Family. Yes." She poured tea and gave Ginni another of those direct, assessing stares. Ginni found the dark eyes unnerving. This woman was like Mama times ten. She sipped her tea. Amal offered the plate with the pastries, and Ginni decided hunger beat out trying to act like some kind of princess. She devoured three of the pastries—and, lordy, but they were good. Amal chatted about the weather—the heat, the lack of rain, the flowers in the garden. Ginni mumbled answers around her pastries.