by Leslie North
He gave her a nod. “You’ll never blend in, but you won’t offend anyone.”
She pulled a face at him, but she also allowed the maid to put a headscarf in place for her. Zafar had also opted for a blend of traditional garb and Western. Today he wanted to be recognized as the eldest of Sheikh Ahmadi’s sons, a son of the house of Tadros. His face, his name, would open any door for them.
He asked the driver to take them into the old quarter, to leave them and return in two hours. He also shortened his stride as they walked so Belle could easily keep up with him. It was the time of day when the marketplace was just opening—stalls were being put out, shop windows were being unshuttered, neighbors called out greetings, and the smell of food and spices and strong coffee and tea began to scent the cool, morning air.
“The colors are so bold,” Belle murmured, fingering a length of fabric from within a stack that had been set out in front of a tiny store. The material would be suitable to be used as banners or door scarves.
“You have a good eye for color,” he told her, liking how she paired a deep red with a royal purple just as vivid.
She grinned at him. “I know most architects don’t bother with the furnishings of a building, but I find I can’t envision a finished structure without also seeing at least some of the décor that should go with it.”
“Come, I wanted to show you some of the tiles you might find in an old building here.” He led her toward a larger shop just down the street. Inside the thick, mud walls—finished with lime and polished to a hard surface—opened into a long, narrow room that was cool, sheltered as it was from the sun and heat. Tiles were set into the walls, around the doors and floors, and boxes of more tiles were stacked on wooden shelves. He watched her wander around, looking at the array of hand-painted tiles.
She glanced at him, her eyes bright. “These are magnificent. But how can they possibly produce enough tiles for a major structure?”
“We’ll need to get them numbers quickly, but they’ll make sure we have enough tiles when we’re ready for them. And I am thinking key accents—around any water, such as the fountain, and in the bathrooms. Perhaps also trails that weave together.”
Belle nodded, pulled out her smartphone and jotted down a few notes. “We should pick a color scheme for each building. Greens for the field. Blue for the swimming house—oh, that could be a total oasis. Maybe a mixture of oranges and yellows for the one on the west side?”
“How about we keep moving? We can come back here once construction begins and choose tile patterns.”
Belle nodded, and Zafar led her from the building. Out on the street, he glimpsed a familiar face across the narrow lane and put a hand low on Belle’s back, intent on moving her away as fast as possible. But it was too late. The man called out, “Zafar, who is your lovely escort?”
Inwardly, Zafar cursed, but good manners demanded he make the proper introductions. He stopped and turned to the man who had called out.
Of course, Daheer was dressed in a very Western suit—Armani, Zafar would guess, and silk. The dark gray gleamed. He was not a tall man—almost as short as Belle—with a stocky build, but the suit did a great deal to hide his extra weight. He wore his black hair cut very short, and he pulled off dark sunglasses and offered a wide, insincere smile. His black eyes seemed almost lost in his wide, pudgy face.
With a wave, Zafar said, “Belle Reynolds, may I introduce you to Sheikh Daheer.”
Daheer took her hand and bowed over, his smile widening. “And what brings you to Scaran?”
Zafar did not like Daheer touching Belle any more than he liked the way the man looked at her. He edged closer to Belle and kept one hand on the small of her back.
Belle seemed to pick up on the tension that now simmered in the air. Zafar felt the muscles in her back under his hand stiffen, but she gave a polite smile. “I happen to be working on the new sports complex.”
Shaking his head, Daheer dropped her hand and glanced at Zafar. “Ah, your father is dreaming is he? And what—now you two are trying to come up with something to please him?” He gave a laugh. “Do you know, I thought I would have to work hard to stop him from building this monstrosity, but I expect you’re both going to do the work for me.” With a nod to Belle, he told her, “Enjoy your visit while you can.” Slipping on his sunglasses, he turned and strode down the street—looking as if he owned it, Zafar thought.
“Who was that?” Belle asked. She sounded uneasy, and Zafar wondered if she had not cared for how Daheer had looked at her either. He was being too possessive, he knew, but he could not stop the reaction. Daheer was not a man to trust.
He took hold of Belle’s hand and turned to stride away in the opposite direction. “The Daheer family has been in conflict with ours since before I can remember. My father’s plans have been viewed as…controversial. Many call it a disaster in the making, which is the one thing it must not become.” Zafar glanced at her. “My father will be seen as a failure and the Daheer family will have a perfect opportunity to push him from power if we cannot get this built—or if the structure is done but then sits empty.”
“That all sounds…well, a little archaic,” she told him. She had not, he noted, pulled away from him.
He led her down another street, this one even more narrow and filled with rug shops that had been here for forever. “It is how things have been done here for centuries.”
“How did he know we’re having trouble with your father’s approval?” She stopped and pulled away at last to touch one of the lush silk and wool rugs with a geometric pattern. The rug seller stepped forward, his face hopeful.
Zafar pushed his hands into his trouser pockets, shook his head at the merchant, and then shrugged. “That is another tradition—the palace has always been a house with too many ears and eyes.”
She smiled at the rug dealer and turned away. “So…one of the maids told him? Someone’s keeping track of what’s happening inside the palace and reporting it back to him?”
“That is not a problem you need to worry about. For now, let us focus on the work…and on the work only.”
Good advice, Zafar thought, and he could do with listening to his own advice. Belle Reynolds was not his to protect—she was a guest and a woman he must work with. He needed to keep that in mind.
They toured the rest of the old quarter, visiting a few other sights Zafar thought she should see—the gardens of the city’s most famous restaurant, and the old fortifications. They had lunch in the new part of town, in a café that offered not only the best pastries but also a lovely view onto a modern structure that blended elements that Zafar liked—a fountain and lovely tile work. Belle took photos on her smartphone. They headed back to the palace with a few more ideas agreed upon.
Back at the palace, Zafar encouraged Belle to head to her room to dress for dinner. He wanted a word with his father’s head of security about the possible breach. The older man shook his head and said it was impossible to stop all bribes—when money was involved, even the most loyal might let slip a few words. Even so Zafar asked him to look into the matter, then headed to his room to shower and change.
When he came downstairs, he found Adyan and Belle already chatting. A maid had brought in lemonade, and Zafar waited for her to leave before going to greet his brother.
Chapter 8
Belle watched the two men shake hands. They weren’t identical twins, but they were very close to it. Adyan, she thought, had a little more muscle than his brother. He wore a white silk shirt that looked as if a deep breath might strain the buttons, khaki trousers and what looked like construction boots. Maybe she was prejudiced, but she thought Zafar had finer features and was a little better looking. They both had dark hair and tawny eyes, but Adyan wore his hair buzzed close to his skull, and that left Belle thinking of the statues of ancient pharaohs.
She realized she’d been gawking at them and not paying attention to the conversation between the two men—something about repairs to the old palace that Adyan had been
overseeing. She sipped her lemonade, thought it over, then asked, “Don’t tell me you’re an architect, too?”
Adyan grinned. “You need not sound so dismayed. I leave the drawing to my brother. I like to get my hands dirty.”
Zafar slapped his brother’s broad shoulder. “Adyan will supervise the construction work. He’s overseen five new buildings in Scaran.”
“Four of which you hated, brother.”
Zafar nodded and pulled a face. Belle looked from Zafar to Adyan. Was Adyan another supporter for more modern buildings? “So I take it you don’t have a problem with modern constructions?”
He shrugged. “I build to the plans. It’s not my place to say if something’s ugly or not—I just want to know it’s going to stand up over time. I like to see solid foundations and sound engineering.”
A gong sounded, and Zafar waved to the nearby dining room. “We should discuss the time frame needed for permits and setting down the infrastructure and the foundations.”
Adyan nodded, but the smartphone attached to his belt beeped. He pulled it out and put down his drink. “Looks like we’ll have to talk tomorrow.”
“What’s going on?” Belle asked. Adyan didn’t look happy, and Zafar had become tense.
Putting his phone back in its case on his belt, Adyan smiled. “Nothing major. We have had an ongoing problem with some of the labor force. Workers quitting or threatening strikes. It’s usually just one person stirring up trouble, and it’s delayed some of the palace repairs.”
She glanced at Zafar. Was this something else the Daheer family was doing? “This isn’t going to impact the complex, is it?” she asked.
Adyan waved a hand in a vague gesture. “For a project this size, we’re using an outside construction company as well as local labor—it’ll be their headache to manage the workers. In fact, the day after tomorrow I have a meeting with the only construction company willing to bid on the timeline Father wants to keep.” He glanced at Zafar and lifted his eyebrows high. “It would be very nice if I had something to show him, brother.”
Zafar grinned. “Your hint is taken. We’ll have something for you before then. Enough at least to begin estimating costs and schedules.”
With a nod, Adyan left. Belled turned to Zafar. “Less than two days and you think we’ll have something—something your Father’s approved? Are you an optimist, or just crazy?”
Zafar shrugged and offered her his elbow. “We can discuss that over dinner. The cook—if we do not eat—may quit. And I will not have you wasting that lovely dress you have worn.”
She glanced at his arm and then back to her face. “Things are moving rather quickly.”
Zafar nodded and smiled. “They have to in this situation. Do you have a problem with that?”
She put her hand on his arm. Her awareness of him kicked up again—the firm muscle under her fingers, the scent of him, the masculinity that left her feeling oddly fragile. She put up her chin. “No problem at all. But right after dinner I’m changing into sweats and we’re going to stay up until we do have something to show your father.”
***
“That is not the way things are done here,” Zafar insisted. He stood with his arms folded, staring down at a table now littered with a dozen discarded ideas.
After dinner, he’d also changed, putting on the loose white shirt and trousers that Belle was starting to recognize as the traditional garb. The windows stood open to let in the warm night air—the moon was up, but they had the lights blazing inside the workroom. She was regretting her choice of sweatpants and a tank-top. Right now a swimsuit and a dive into the fountain she could hear splashing sounded like a much better idea.
She threw down her pencil and faced him. “Tradition is not going to be the draw here. People want function and comfort…and any company based here wants to look like they’re on the forefront of technology. And…this has to be built in six months!”
“You think traditional building methods take time? Two months and I could have a facility done that is open to the sky and lovely.”
She stabbed a finger at the design. “If we use some prefab materials, we’ll cut months off the timeline—and it’ll safer.”
Zafar shook his head and let out a breath. He dropped his arms to his side. “That is acceptable, but if we do that, we should work in traditional elements.”
Belle shook her head. “It’s going to end up looking like the part of the palace you hate—we want to contrast elements. The idea here is that we’ve got a concept of a tent and a city, but now we want to wow people with the contrast of stepping from the old into the new. We want to shock the eye.”
He frowned, and she was starting to worry she was never going to make him see her point. But he took her hand and started to pull her with him to the French doors that let out onto the courtyard garden. “Uh…Zafar?”
Turning, he put a finger to her lips. “No. For once, you will not talk. Just come and see.” He pulled her with him out into the courtyard. She could hear a night bird trilling. A cool breeze brushed over her skin, the air scented with flowers.
He led her past the gardens and to a structure at the back of the palace. He led her inside, flipping on the lights as they entered. She glanced around and saw three kayaks hung on the wall. “What is this?”
Zafar threw her a look, pushed open a door at the back and tugged on her wrist. She stepped into a room with an arched ceiling of translucent panels. Concrete slides, like a large drainage ditch, surrounded them. Zafar flipped a switch. Pumps began to hum and water rushed down the slide. Air jets caused the water to churn. As she watched, the wall panels shifted from clear to opaque.
With his mouth close to her ear, he said, “It’s a kayak training course. The water is stored in underground vaults and recycled.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it. This is so…untraditional.” Eyes narrowing, she faced him. “You’ve been giving me a hard time about my ideas, and yet you had this built. So why are you giving me grief about using solar panels?”
“A mirrored surface will not look like a tent.”
“They don’t have to be mirrors. We’ll go for even higher tech and use the new materials that can be made to look like anything. Come on, if you can do this—” She broke off and waved a hand at the splashing water. “You can go for a little more innovation in your dad’s building. I know you’re trying to prove a point, but I think it’ll be better if you prove it with contrasts. We want to show the old can live alongside the new—they don’t have to be mashed in together. Let’s use the new where it works best, and the old in select places that provide space for rest and sanctuary. It’ll be like finding a secret retreat.”
Zafar was frowning again, his eyebrows pulled tight and his tawny eyes had darkened. Belle held her breath. This was a make or break moment—she knew it. Either he was going to dig in his heels and they’d never get anything done, or…
“You may be right.” He scrubbed a hand over his face.
Belle tipped her head to the side. “Really?”
He nodded and faced her. “Yes…yes, you make a good point. The old and the new—they don’t blend well. But the contrasts—I see what you mean there.”
She gave a laugh, relief and fatigue blending in a giddy mix. “We’re going to do this!” she said and threw her arms around his neck.
He grinned, put his hands on her waist, picked her up and spun her around. Water splashed around them, making her hair curl and leaving his face damp. She wiped a stray drop from his cheek, and he stilled. Suddenly, she became aware that she’d grabbed him. He held her tight, her breast pressed against his chest, and she couldn’t get air into her lungs. He put her back on her feet, but he didn’t let go. She was afraid for a moment that he would kiss her—his mouth hovered over hers. His thumbs skimmed up under the hem of her tank top.
“Zafar?” she said, the word a breathy release of air.
He licked his lips. “Let’s get back to work. I’ll shut things down her
e.”
She nodded. That was sensible—a wise thing to do. But oh how very much she wanted to be stupid at this moment. She pulled away from him, turned and stepped outside the building, her pulse beating fast. Cool air brushed her skin. She could hear the water shutting off, leaving the night quiet again.
Walking back to the workroom, she hugged herself and kept telling herself they had to focus. But she kept thinking about Zafar—how he’d felt under her hands, all muscle and strength. How his eyes had seemed to darken, how she was a sucker for that quick flash of his smile. When he’d looked at her just now, she’d seen he was thinking what she was—how they worked so well together. How well they’d fit together in other places.
She gave a groan. This was getting harder and harder.
Back in the workroom, she pulled out her tablet and starting on some new sketches. The moment he stepped back into the room, she felt that instant jolt of awareness. She watched him from beneath her lashes as he leaned over the drawing table. She knew how they could work now—she’d finish up the drawings for the exterior. Zafar would sketch out corners and smaller touches that they would blend in together.
All of that meant working through tonight—and some of tomorrow.
And how was she going to do that and keep her hands off this man?
Chapter 9
They had it—or most of it, Zafar thought. He leaned over Belle’s shoulder, looking at the designs she had finished on her tablet for the exteriors. He could see now how to integrate traditional touches into the interior—the archways around the exterior, the water element in the center, the smaller rooms tucked into various meeting rooms.
Belle shifted on the low sofa where she sat and his gaze fell to the valley between her breasts. He straightened, and she glanced up at him. “You’re just full of surprises, for someone who is so traditional, that is.” She smothered a yawn.
“I am very traditional in all the ways that count,” he told her. “And the tradition is that one should be in bed before the sun comes up.