The Sheik's Desires Boxset

by Leslie North

  Belle blinked. She was dressed in more traditional garb than usual today, with a long, blue tunic over matching blue trousers. The color brought out the blue in her eyes, and a head scarf was just starting to fall back from her blonde hair. She gave a small smile. “Uh…thank you, I think.” Eden let go of Belle and turned to Zafar. “And you’re Adyan’s brother.”

  Adyan had to cover his own smile—Zafar was not accustomed to being ‘the brother’. Usually, as the eldest, he was introduced first. He frowned at Eden, but she simply grinned—the woman could be oblivious when she wished. She added another insult by saying, “You look a lot like Adyan, but no one would mistake you for identical twins.”

  Now, Adyan had to cover a laugh with a cough. Zafar drew back and stiffened—no doubt trying to look as tall as Adyan. Before Eden could insult his brother further, Adyan stepped forward. “Are you here for lunch? Shall we take it on the terrace?”

  Zafar pulled his glare from Eden and glanced at Adyan. He frowned at the box Adyan had pulled from the back of his sports car. “And what is that?”

  Adyan lifted the box. “The most recent cause of delay.”

  Zafar gave a snort. “What? Is it an ancient box holding a genie? You need to look closer, brother. I would wager a great deal that box was made in Indonesia—someone tried to scratch off the marking, but the ‘I’ is still there.” Zafar glanced at Adyan and asked, “Daheer, do you think?”

  “More likely someone hired by him,” Adyan said.

  Clearing her throat, Eden stepped forward. “Someone want to let me in on who this Daheer is and why he’s makin’ trouble?”

  Belle bit her lower lip. Zafar shook his head and took her hand. “Belle and I are on our way to the airport. And, brother, you are more than capable of handling Daheer. Belle wishes for a dress from New York, so that’s where we must go.”

  “A dress?” Eden asked.

  Belle’s face colored. “Wedding dress. We’re trying to mix traditional and modern, and that means custom.”

  Eden smile softened—it actually softened. Adyan watched in amazement as something of a wistful look came into her eyes, making them seem even larger and darker. He would not have thought it possible, but it seemed Eden had a secret, romantic side she kept well hidden. She took up Belle’s hand and said, “You’ll make a beautiful bride no matter what dress you choose.”

  Belle gave a laugh. “Thanks. Hey, Adyan, you mind if I take Eden with me shopping?”

  “Not possible.” The words came out of Adyan’s mouth at the same instant Eden said the same thing. He swapped a glance with her, and saw her cheeks pink. So it was actually possible to embarrass the woman. He turned to Zafar. “Go. Shop for your bride. The construction is in my hands.”

  “And good hands they are,” Zafar said. He ushered Belle from the palace, but she had to stop to tell Eden five things that really must be looked after in construction, adding, “Don’t forget the stained glass, and the fountain’s height is marked on the blueprints, and if you have any questions for the pool divider, Adyan has my email—or text me—and there needs to be…”

  “…An end to these last-minute instructions,” Zafar said, taking hold of her hand. “We may be using the family jet, but even private flight plans require a reasonable take-off time.” He headed out the door, pulling a waving Belle with him.

  After the door shut behind them, Eden turned to Adyan. “Okay, are all you Tadros guys so macho? What’s with the caveman act?”

  He shook his head and bowed to her. “We can discuss this over lunch.”

  “How about a quick sandwich and we get back to the site—I hate leaving it for so long.”

  “Malik is in charge—he will call if we are needed, and there is not much to oversee today other than unloading. Come…we need to eat.” She glanced over her shoulder at the door, and he couldn’t resist teasing her. “What—are you wishing you could go with Belle?”

  Turning to him, she gave a snort. “And your brother. No thanks. I mean, don’t get me wrong. They seem really happy, and…well, okay maybe I’m just the teeniest bit jealous someone else fell head over heels. I’ve been so focused on work I haven’t made time for—much of anything else. The few guys brave enough to ask me out for a second time usually want something.”

  “That sounds as if you’ve had a bad experience.”

  Her smile vanished as she stopped dead in the doorway, glancing around. “Tell me, please, that your brother didn’t have a hand in this train wreck.”

  Adyan glanced around. The dining room had a balcony that overlooked the city to the south—it was one of the best views in the palace. However, the room itself seemed an awkward mix of Western design with touches of traditional Scaran architecture that did not fit. Sleek Western lines did not mix with the ornate furniture and detailed plasterwork. He knew Zafar hated the room, often saying it looked as if a wedding cake had been thrown at a modern skyscraper. But it was well built—Adyan had overseen the work himself. He gave a shrug. “My father’s design.”

  “Well, I can see why you didn’t let him loose on the complex you’re building. Nice view. Let’s just eat quick and go.”

  He held out a chair for her. Obviously, she wanted to change the conversation, but now he was intrigued. Who could have possibly wounded her heart to leave her so wary? “In Scaran, we linger over meals.”

  She sat down, but stared up at him. “Why?”

  Sitting down, he shook his head. “To enjoy the food, of course. Tell me, how is your father doing?”

  Eden sipped her water and sat on the edge of her chair as if ready to bolt from here as soon as she had finished eating. “He’s hating every minute of it. My mom—well, she’s a step-mom really, but she’s good with him, and she’s gotten him to take a nap every day. That’s a major milestone. Now, about this box thing…and this Daheer guy?”

  “Not a topic to help you enjoy your meal. We will talk of it after.”

  She shook her head, popped a grape into her mouth, chewed and said, “How about we talk now? Who is he and why does he want this project to blow up?”

  Adyan served her rice and chicken. “Blow up is too strong a phrase. Delays will serve Daheer well enough. Will you have some salad?”

  “Rabbit food? Thanks, no. And what do you mean—oh, I get it. Delay the construction, you miss the six month opening date. The team you had booked finds a different place to play, and that solar company you had coming in finds a new headquarters. You end up with an expensive and empty complex—or as good as—and the whole thing ends up looking like your father was out to stroke his own ego and not help your country. That about peg it?”

  He frowned and asked, “Bread? It is baked fresh every morning and you will not find better in all of Scaran.”

  She propped her elbows on the table. “You’re changing the subject.”

  “No, I am refusing to engage the topic. As I said, after lunch.”

  “Fine.” She bolted down her chicken and rice then primly dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “There…done.”

  “Good. I shall call for dessert,” Adyan said and forced a smile.

  She muttered something he could not quite hear. The servants cleared the meal and brought out honey and dates. Eden eyed the dates with suspicious. “Seriously—that’s dessert. No chocolate?”

  He gave a laugh. “I shall see we import some for you, if you wish.”

  She waved off the offer. “No. I’ll eat these. And now can we talk about this Daheer?”

  “After tea.”

  With a groan, she slumped in her chair. Adyan gave in. He could not bear to see her so disappointed and frustrated. After the tea had been poured, he took up his glass and told her, “The Daheer family has long wished to become the rulers of Scaran.”

  Frowning, she asked, “Wait a minute—I thought the title of sheikh was like king. You got the job because you inherited it.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Yes…and no. A sheikh can only govern if the people allow. If the people
turn their backs on my father, they have the right to call for a vote of confidence.”

  “Sort of like a parliament.”

  “Yes…somewhat. Daheer has spent years trying to undermine faith in my father—either my father is too Western with his ideas or he is too traditional.”

  She nodded. “I can see why he has to walk a fine line.”

  “Yes…and that is what this complex must do. My father is trying to bring prosperity to the country without sacrificing the old ways.”

  Head tipped to one side, she asked, “What about you? What is it you’re trying to prove here?”

  He put down his tea glass and threw his napkin onto the table. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps we should return to the construction site.”

  Her mouth curved. “Hitting a little too close to home there?”

  He stood and held out a hand. With a huffed breath, she put her hand into his and stood. “Don’t think I’m done prying.”

  With a small tug, he pulled her into his arms. Her eyes widened and she braced one hand against his chest, but he wrapped his arms around her. She fit against him, her body warm and pliant and that sweet, musky scent of hers wrapping around him, leaving him light-headed.

  “Adyan,” the word came out with a warning.

  He grinned. “We have parts to play—we’re supposed to be romantically involved.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  Swooping down, he caught her mouth with his before any more words could come out. For an instant, she froze and he wondered if this is what she would always do—become a hard statue. But her lips softened and she slipped her hand up to his neck to hold on.

  In the next instant, he was holding on to her.

  She kissed like an angel—like a devil. She was all fire and heat and demand—of course she would be. She parted her lips and pulled in the breath from his lungs and took as much as she gave. He put his hands on her waist and dragged her closer. He wanted skin against skin and to carry her down to the ground and to…to what?

  Sense came back in a sudden blurred haze, and he pulled away, his breath ragged. Her face was flushed pink and her eyes were dark, and what were these American men thinking not to take a woman such as this and keep her?

  He could see the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat, and she swallowed and licked her bottom lip with a swipe of a pink tongue. That had him wanting to kiss her again—but they did have work to do.

  “Come, we should get back to the site.”

  She gave a nod. He relaxed his hold on her, but she still had her hand wrapped around his neck and she pulled his head down and kissed him—her mouth hot and demanding, and then she nipped at his lower lip and let go. “You better know you’re playing with fire.”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “I live in a desert. I know how to deal with heat.”

  She gave a snort and stepped away. “I’ll just bet you do. But fair warning here—I know your reputation…the playboy prince of Scaran. You’re all over the Internet and I am not going to become yet another bimbo you’ve bagged.”

  He grinned and folded his arms. “You already have, dear Eden. For the only way you can continue to supervise this construction is as my girlfriend.” He put out his hand. “Now…shall we go back so I may impress you some more with my skills?”

  Chapter 6

  The man was maddening. He was sexy as hell and was constantly touching her, and what was worse was that she was growing to like it a little too much. How long had it been since she’d found a guy who’d give as good as he got? She frowned over that. Larry Hall had been the one guy she’d thought would last—until she’d learned he was more interested in becoming the heir to her father’s company than he was in her. She’d dumped him—and he’d tried everything to win her back. But he’d taught her the truth—most guys wanted her for her father’s bank account and a top spot in her father’s company. She’d settled into the role of the difficult daughter, the no-nonsense business woman, the woman who worked on the construction site but who could never be one of the guys. And she was dang sure that was a disappointment to her dad because he still wanted that son he’d never had.

  But Adyan didn’t treat her like she was practically one of the guys.

  He fussed over her, teased her, and pushed her hard. He was happy to act like her boyfriend on-site—holding her hand, making sure she had water to drink and showing her around like he really was showing off the work being done. But in the construction trailer, he’d argue schedules and work crew assignments, and he never seemed to mind when she had a point to make that was better than his.

  That was rare.

  But the history she’d learned about him—his image of a guy who only dated blonde supermodels—haunted her. How could any woman really trust a guy like that?

  So while it was a good scheme to pretend to be his girlfriend—and, okay, it was fun to have a guy that cute hanging onto her and treating her like she was a princess—she was so not becoming another notch on his bedpost.

  She had to keep reminding herself of that—but a girl could look, and she didn’t mind doing that. Adyan was more than just good eye-candy. The guy didn’t mind pitching in with the workers to fix a broken engine or repair a generator or pull out welding gear. She could see that the men respected him and listened to him—and if small things kept nagging at least they were meeting the schedule. Almost.

  Eden worried over every minute lost—every half hour or half day. The schedule had no room for extra time and she talked Adyan into starting up a night shift. They’d have to be careful about that—it got pretty darn cold in the desert at night, and she didn’t want accidents starting up. Abbey Construction had a reputation not just for great work but for safe work, too. However, if they could double up on the shifts, they could get more done. But it meant she couldn’t be there alone to supervise—because Adyan couldn’t be there twenty-four/seven. So they had to get someone else in whom they could trust.

  Two names came up—Malik and Hamar—as a good fit. Eden liked Malik better. He always seemed to be first on-site and last to go, and his English was a lot better than Hamar’s. She argued about it with Adyan, and finally they settled it with rock-paper-scissors. Adyan had stared at her as she’d explained the game.

  “Rock beats scissors—you can pound scissors.” She pulled out his hand, forced two fingers out, and then pounded on them with her fist. “But scissors cut paper.” Flattening his hand, she used two fingers to mime the cut on his hand. “And paper beats rock because it can wrap it up.” Folding his hand into a fist, she covered it with her own.

  He kept staring at her. “A game? You make important decisions with a game? And not even a good one. How does paper covering rock beat stone? Stone should beat anything. Stone gives us bedrock to build upon.”

  She frowned at him. She still had her hand over his—still had his warm skin under hers. She was having trouble thinking about anything except just how dark his eyes were—like rich coffee. Clearing her throat, she pulled her hand away. “Well, how else do we do it?”

  He pulled out a real sheet of paper. “We make two lists—good qualities for each man, and then pick the best.”

  She watched as he drew the line and started to list each man’s assets. Then finally, when he had two columns of equal length, she asked, “Now are you ready for rock-paper-scissors?”

  Shaking his head, he pulled out a coin. “No, we will flip and Allah will decide.”

  “Works for me,” she told him. And grinned when Malik won the night supervisor job. “Seems Allah agrees with me.”

  She let Adyan head out to give the news that Malik would be the night shift supervisor, while Hamar would work the day under Adyan. Pulling out her cell phone, she put in a call back home. She’d been keeping up with email and phone calls when she could fit them in, but most evenings she was ready to fall into bed without even taking time for dinner. Adyan, however, wouldn’t let her keep such habits. He’d send a maid to rouse her, to get her into a shower, and
she’d have dinner with him—or with him and his father, and sometimes with his whole family.

  Zafar hadn’t warmed up any to her. It was a wonder how the man could look so much like his brother and yet be so different. Zafar seemed traditional to the core—or at least to his headscarf and habits. Adyan always looked like he belonged in this century—and acted like it, too.

  At least she had hit it off with Belle, even if she hadn’t with Zafar, and she liked to rise early enough to spend an hour with Belle going over the plans, trying to make certain she understood the intention behind each line and each part of the construction. She’d never had a woman architect to work with before, and it was a treat to find someone as creative as Belle, and someone so open to solutions to the building problems that cropped up. Things like where should the plumbing pipes go, or conduit for the electrical, or even simple things such as ceiling lights—there were a million details.

  And a thousand place for things to go wrong.

  ***

  Adyan hadn’t been to the gym in a month. No, longer than that. Six weeks, was it not, since Eden had arrived in Scaran and work had started. Six weeks of her pretending to be his girlfriend—and six weeks of her managing to hold him at arm’s length.

  Oh, she was happy to flirt with him. At the work site, she did just as she had promised—she turned those big, brown eyes of hers up at him and batted her lashes, smiled and hugged his arm. But once the doors closed on them, she became all business and only business. He had no idea what to do about that, but he wanted to do something.

  However, she was no doubt right about this as she was about so many things. They did not need the complication of sex between them. No, they needed the construction finished—and then perhaps he would see if there could be more between them than teasing. And that thought had sent him to the gym.

  He needed to work up a sweat and take a cold shower. He needed his muscles to burn so his mind would empty. Then, perhaps, he could be clear about Eden—and what he wanted from her. That was what was starting to trouble his nights, robbing him of much-needed sleep.