by Sophia Lynn
"Sheikh Rasul …"
He frowned at her with mock severity. "I thought we were beyond that. Do I have to order you to call me by my given name without the title?"
She blushed. Usually she was so competent and quick witted when she was working with customers or vendors. What had happened to that?
"Now may I hear you say my name?" he said softly, and she took a deep breath.
"Rasul," she said, and it came out softer and breathier than she had intended. For a moment they were both still. She wondered if the same shiver that went through her had gone through him. This might prove to be very, very bad for her objectivity after all.
"Good," he said softly. "That is a fine start."
Before she could ask him what he meant, he led her into the glass elevator and punched the button for the penthouse. When she entered his home, Berry was impressed by the quiet opulence and elegance of the place. She had had plenty of rich clients and buyers before, but so few of them really knew how to make things look good. His home was austere, perhaps even a little sparse. The textures in the rugs, the furniture, and the wall hangings were very rich, however, and everywhere she looked, she wanted to touch.
"The item that I want you to appraise is on the table," he said. "I'll order us some food while you take a look at it."
She walked into the open dining room, not expecting anything untoward, but then when she saw what was in front of her, she froze.
Occupying pride of place at the center of the table was the brass camel statue that they had fought over at the souk, and Berry was suddenly beset with a whirlwind of feelings.
Finally, however, hilarity won out. She slouched into one of the tall chairs, covering her face with her hands as tears rolled down her cheeks. There was something startlingly refreshing and cleansing about her laugh, and when she looked up, Rasul stood with one shoulder hitched up on the doorway, an amused expression on his face.
"I was wondering how you were going to react to that," he admitted, and she shot him wry look.
"You know, the other reaction that I was considering was all about rage and pitching a fit. That was an impressive risk to take, I think."
He grinned, coming into the room with her. "I've already tasted your ire," he said with chuckle. "I was well braced and prepared for it."
Berry shook her head. "All right. It's probably time for me to start earning my keep, so let's talk camel. I didn't get much more than a cursory glance at the piece before, so I'll get a better one now."
She pulled the camel towards her, trying to be as businesslike as she could. There was something just a little unnerving about the way he was standing behind her, watching her every move as raptly as a hawk. Berry supposed that she could have been flattered, but the word that came to her mind was a little stronger. Somehow, she felt as if she were being seduced, something that surely could not have been happening simply because he was watching her as she examined a brass statue.
"It's about what I thought it was," Berry said, resolutely keeping her eyes on the statue. "It's a great example of Alamun brass work from some three hundred years ago, maybe more, but the way the brass is scored and refined suggests that that's about the right vicinity. Alamun's art has always been wonderfully realistic and very detailed, but this piece is exceptionally good for its age. You can see where the sculptor really knew camels, knew their habits, and their attitudes. See how the head is slightly tilted and the legs are folded just so? That's the mark of a man or woman who knew what they were doing."
"Woman? There were women brass workers back then?" he asked curiously, and Berry shot him a wary look.
"Look, you are getting my expertise free of charge through offering my boss your ear. You can do what you like with my information, but really, don't tell me that it's bad, not when I've spent so long getting it right."
He raised his hands peacefully, but she could tell that there was still something amused about his expression. Some of the good feelings she had gotten from him over the last few minutes were disappearing again.
"I did not mean to offend," he said. "It is only that my country's history has not been one that has included a great many women in it. For better or worse, Alamun women have always been very much attached to the home, whether that home was a charcoal burner's hut or a sheikh's palace."
Berry thought for a moment. If this was a regular job, she would simply let it go. Antiques were sometimes a remarkably conservative industry, and she would rather make a sale than argue. However, she wasn't really making a sale here, and this was the Sheikh. If he kept on making assumptions like this, there might be some severe consequences down the road.
"So … how old are you?" she asked.
Rasul looked surprised. "I am thirty-four, if that has anything to do with anything …"
"That makes sense. That makes you ten years older than me and at least five years older than Fatima al-Hassan and Mirah Adnan."
He frowned a little, but she was pleased when he recognized those names. "You mean the professors of women's history at the university?"
"They are historians," she corrected, "and over the past few years, they have done some very important work when it comes to revisiting the history of Alamun. The history that we think of as real is often written by men, and one thing that I have discovered in my trade is that men do not often pay attention to what it is that women are doing. At worst, they will certainly take credit for their work."
Rasul scoffed, and she hung on to her temper with gritted teeth. "One of the great prides of Alamun manhood is that we protect our women. We offer them the best, and we do not force them into the world to work or to be made weary with war."
"That sounds positively wretched to me," she said decisively, "but if you read the work done by the professors I mention, there is a long history of women working and innovating in Alamun, if only you know where to look."
On an impulse, she lifted the statue, turning it to one side so they could see the bottom. Unlike the rest of the statue, the camel was flat there save for a maker's mark, a stylized flower underscored by two slashes.
"Here, what do you think this is?" she asked, showing him the mark.
"A maker's mark, I imagine," Rasul said a little impatiently. "A sign to tell you that it came from such and such's studio."
"It might be," she agreed, "but during the period in which this statue was made, it was more likely that an individual would leave a signature rather than a company name, so to speak. Most of these signatures were made with script, so we would have a proper name. This one didn't."
Rasul tilted his head to one side, and she could see that in spite of himself, he was interested in what she had to say. "You're saying that this is a pseudonym of some sort."
"I am. Many women of the era had flower names. This would have been a subtle way to reference herself without drawing too much undue suspicion."
"So this statue was cast by a renegade female brass worker?" Rasul said speculatively.
At that, Berry had to shrug. She dearly wished that she could tell him that this was the case, but she couldn't, and at the end of the day, she believed in her very core that you sold people antiques, not wild stories.
"I think that it is likely," she said. "I think that there is no way for us to know what really happened back then. It could be as you say, a studio mark rather than that of a specific artist. That is always possible. However, I know what I believe."
He ran a gentle hand along the back of the camel, tracing the arch of its neck and the tack and bridle that adorned it.
"Whoever the sculptor was, they would have been very skilled," he said finally, and that was something that Berry was definitely willing to agree to.
"Very much so. You overpaid, but not by all that much."
He shot her an inquisitive look. "And didn't I see that you were planning to give that woman just a few hundred dollars?"
Berry shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. She had figured that the woman's sob story was not
hing more than a story, but there was always the idea that it could have been real. If that was so, her hard haggling had taken away money that the woman had needed, only to put that money into the hands of Michael Farnsworth, who definitely did not need more of it.
"It's the way we do business," she said haplessly, and Rasul's gaze grew a little sharper.
"Really? It is your business to swindle the people who live in Alamun, who are actually heir to the history that you have just told me about so eagerly?"
"It is not swindling," she said. "She would have received a fair price from me, one that she agreed to. It was entirely her business whether she would have accepted my offer or not. I would not have forced her."
"But you would not have told her what this piece is worth, would you?"
Berry could feel a hot blush come up on her cheeks. "Are you kidding me? Are you telling me that I need to blow every advantage I have in the souks and at the estate sales? Am I supposed to really just sit back and hope that people want me to take things off their hands even if they are worth far more than I can pay for them?"
He ran all his fingers through his thick dark hair, and she could see in that single gesture that he truly was frustrated. This was more honest than anything she had seen out of him so far, though, and it was oddly refreshing.
"There must be some sort of middle ground," he said. "Somewhere between preserving your business and not swindling the people who are selling to you."
"Well the minute you find out what it is, why don't you tell me all about it?" she snapped.
For a moment, it looked as if they were going to get into another fight, but then, they were interrupted by the chime of the doorbell.
"That would be our food," Rasul said with a sigh. "Let's table this for now, yes?"
Berry nodded warily as he went to answer the door. She wondered if there would ever be a point when they were calm with one another, where they were at peace rather than constantly at combat. If she was honest with herself, however, there was something terribly engaging about that combat. When she stopped to take stock of herself right now, she could feel that her cheeks were hot and that her heart was beating harder.
She was no stranger to confrontation, but this was the first time she had ever felt so very excited for it. Berry wondered what this meant for the future, but she decided at the moment that she and Rasul should simply focus on not killing each other.
CHAPTER FOUR
Forty minutes later, she pushed herself back from the remains of her dinner, groaning a bit as she did so. "I'll be perfectly honest, I did not expect to enjoy that as much I did," she said. "I was expecting that you were just going to order us up a plate of kebabs or something …"
He smiled at her gamely. "Give me a little credit," he said. "I know that this is beyond your regular duties, and no matter what you might think of me, I really do want this to be pleasant for you."
"Why?" Blushing a little, Berry wondered if the single glass of champagne that she had sipped with her meal had gone to her head. That was hardly a question that you asked of a man whose good side you decidedly wanted to be on.
To her surprise, he answered her seriously. "Because, if I am perfectly honest, I have not been able to get you out of my mind ever since we met. I see you when I look at art, and when I am in crowds, I think I see you all the time."
She blinked, because if she was honest, that had happened to her as well. It was unnerving to find out that they had been having the same experiences, but it was also surprisingly comforting.
"I guess you don't fight with many people in the souk," Berry said, trying to make light of it, but the look he gave her was frankly brooding. Instead of answering her, he stood up out of his chair to come stand close to her. He was close enough that it startled her for a moment, but then it struck her that she was feeling no fear at all. There was something calm about this moment, even as her heart started to beat faster.
"I don't think it is that," he said softly. "With your permission?"
His request was so mild, so easy, that she nodded without thinking about it. Once he had her consent, however, he moved faster than a striking snake as he pulled her up into his arms for a kiss.
For a moment, she was too stunned to realize what was going on, but then she sank into the kiss as if she was sinking into a bath of warm water. Berry had never had a kiss like this one before, never had one that threatened to consume everything she was and make her anew.
His mouth explored hers with a kind of ruthless power that left her gasping, and when he pressed his tongue into her mouth, she was left whimpering with need.
Berry's hands landed on his arms in a desperate attempt to stabilize herself. She felt as if she was off balance. Her world had shifted around her, and when he finally pulled back, she was breathing hard.
"You are … incredible," he said softly.
Dumbly, Berry looked at him, her eyes wide. How had she never noticed before that his eyes were gray? They were as silvery as mirrors, bright in his dark face in a way that she had never seen before. At the moment, they were focused on her in a way that she had never had a man look at her before.
"Why did you do that?" she asked, her voice sounding distant even to her own ears.
"Because when I look at you, that is all I can think of," he said. "I wonder if it is what brought us together in the souk, as well—a kind of attraction that has no name."
"It's only something we can feel, and something that acts on us," Berry said, and then she heard herself. Before she could fall into his arms again, she shook herself, standing up straight and tall. "No. That's foolish superstition," she said decisively. "That was … that was chemistry. Just chemistry …"
Rasul's gaze turned amused, and she could feel her temper spark again. What was it about this man that could enrage her just moments after he made her feel as if her soul would fly out of her body if she was not able to touch him again?
"Chemistry, some kind of spiritual pull, it does come out to one and the same, does it not?" he asked. "You felt it as well."
"What I felt," she retorted, "was something that was born of a very destructive urge. Look. This is not something that is going to work."
He sat down again, and feeling awkward standing, she did the same. He found a small cookie leftover from the detritus of their meal and offered it to her. Because Berry needed to gather her thoughts, she took the cookie, taking a tiny nibble. It was sweet and spicy, sugar and anise, a flavor she decided she quite liked.
"Why do you think that this could never work?" he said, utterly practical.
"Well, among other things, you're the Sheikh," she said. Why was she grasping for reasons? The reasons that they could not be together were many and manifold. Weren't they?
His grin, if anything, grew wider. "Ah, but in Alamun, that means that I have the most power and the most authority of any man in the country. I may do as I please."
"Only the most powerful man?" Berry couldn't resist jibing. "Does that mean that there are women who are more powerful than you?"
He laughed, but there was a kind of warmth to his eyes that hadn't been there before. "Well, one day, there will be a woman who is more powerful than me, who will rule me the way that I rule the country …"
She swallowed. For some reason, suddenly, it was hard to meet his eyes. "Who is that?" she asked.
"That will be my wife," he answered. "The country answers to the Sheikh. The Sheikh answers to his Sheikha. It is the way it has always been."
Berry took a deep breath, deliberately not looking at Rasul. Apparently, there was something about the man that made her reactions untrustworthy. It would have been one thing if she had found his kiss disgusting or if she had been angered or afraid. The problem was that for some reason, she wasn't. Instead, whenever she looked at him, all she could see was his mouth. When she looked at his mouth, she only wondered what it would feel like to kiss him again.
"Besides," she said, "We don't even like each other."
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The moment she said it, she wondered if it was true at all, and for the first time, Rasul looked startled. "Really? We don't?"
"God, I mean look at us," she said with a wave of her hand. "Seriously. I'm not sure we've managed to have a single conversation without snapping at each other. We fight like cats and dogs, and I think the only peaceful moment we've had …"
She trailed off, and he finished for her. "Was when we've been kissing?"
"Yeah—that. So it only makes sense to me that we keep our distance," she said. "Everything we do feels … combustible."
He laughed a little at her words, but he shook his head. "I would like to propose a different theory," he said. "May I?"
"Um, sure, go for it, I guess."
"What I think is happening between us is far too much for our acquaintanceship to bear at the moment. We met, and there were fireworks. This irritates and frustrates both of us because we do not have a stable foundation to build it on."
She bit her lip. There was certainly something to what he was saying. The feelings that she had for him simply seemed like too much at this time, too powerful, too heavy to hang off of a man she had only known for such a short time.
"I think I see what you mean."
"Then I think that the obvious solution is to make sure that we actually do have more of a structure. I want to get to know you, Berry, very much. Perhaps what we have is a bonfire that will simply burn out of control no matter what we put in front of it, but … well, let us say that I have hopes for more."
Berry wasn't sure what the right answer was. On one hand, every part of her heart and her body told her that the thing she wanted was to be closer with him. However, her head was cautioning her against what was essentially an entanglement of her personal and professional lives.
"It might make working with me a little easier for both of us," he continued. "After all, there are many things that I would like you to take a look at, and perhaps it would be better if we could do so without baiting each other?"