And yet, how can he not love the only woman whose ever touched his soul?
Grab your copy of The Sheikh’s Surprise Twins (Qadir Sheikhs Book One) from
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EXCERPT
Chapter One
“Stunning. Absolutely stunning.”
Malik looked out over the oasis and wracked his brain for the name of the man who stood next to him at the edge of a tent. Whoever he was, he was right—the oasis was perfection. Malik had always thought so, ever since he was a boy. He’d been visiting all his life and still considered it to be the most beautiful place in all Qadir.
That was true even in comparison to all the other properties that belonged to the royal family. Back in the old days—the truly old days—the ruling family had taken a trip around the country once per year, staying at many of their smaller palaces and estates. Some had since been turned into museums. Some were still private vacation getaways.
The oasis was none of those. The jewel in the center of the desert sprung up around a crystal pool fed by an underground reservoir deep beneath the surface. Date palms and green plants surrounded the pool, all of it looking so lush it could have been a mirage on the dunes.
Malik, standing at the edge of the enormous white tent perched on a dune overlooking the pool, had been thinking of his mother when the CEO from the French firm came to stand next to him. Name. What was his name?
“It is,” he agreed, and the name came to him in a flash. Enzo Raphael. One of France’s premier property developers, and one of ten the royal family had invited to this gathering near his late mother’s oasis.
“I could see using it as inspiration for another property,” commented Enzo, lifting his champagne flute to his lips. “There’s something raw about it. I could strip it down to its essentials and create something utterly modern. A new form.”
A new form—all right. A vision of some pointed spire with an unnatural bend to the building flashed into Malik’s mind, and he mentally crossed Enzo off the list of potential contractors.
“Interesting,” he told Enzo. “Keep us apprised of your thoughts, would you?”
“Of course.” Enzo inclined his head and stepped gracefully aside.
Whatever Malik thought of ultra-modern buildings and new forms, the man did have excellent manners.
Malik turned to face the inside of the tent, which buzzed with conversation. His brothers Baqir and Zaman sat at a table with two developers from Germany, plates heaping with the catered meal. It had been no small project, Malik knew, to bring all the food out to the oasis, but he’d wanted the developers to gather here first before they came to him with their proposals.
His father, King Hasim, had put him in charge of the first five development locations. This was only the beginning of his increased responsibilities as crown prince, and Malik knew it for what it was—a test.
His father would never abdicate if he thought Malik was unfit to lead Qadir. So everything he did from now on, including this event, had to go off without a hitch.
At any rate, the oasis was the perfect gathering point—neutral ground. Under no circumstances would he let any of them develop the property. It had come into the royal family through his father’s marriage to his mother, and Malik’s future wife would decide for herself what to do with it when the time came.
It was that mystery woman’s right. His mother had left it to him in her will, with conditions. Ultimately the oasis would belong to Malik’s bride, but he felt a sharp pang behind his breastbone and his throat went dry whenever he remembered that his mother would never see his theoretical wedding ceremony.
Maybe it hadn’t been an excellent idea to have everyone meet at the oasis.
Malik put that thought, and all the other melancholy ones, out of his mind. He’d met three of the developers so far, including Enzo. He knew Baqir and Zaman had talked to several as well. And the king? Malik scanned the tables, each covered in a pristine white cloth. His father had been out walking at the edge of the pool. Now he was tucked at one of the tables with Clifton Berber.
The two men were friends from their college days. Clifton’s invitation had been at the king’s express request, though Malik wasn’t sure an American developer would be able to do the properties in Qadir justice. The royal family had visited the States several times over the years, and nothing about the architecture had impressed Malik. Most of their portfolio was full of high rises, steel and glass towers that would look fine in New York City but tear at the beauty of the desert.
Keep an open mind. It wouldn’t do him any good to write anyone off now. He mentally returned Enzo to the list. He had to hold back, at least a little. As king, he would need to be able to weigh all the available options and leave his personal biases out of it.
He had seven more developers to meet with. It was time to wade back into the fray. Two of them stood near the catering table, plates in hand. He’d start there.
Malik took one step toward the table. His foot was still six inches from the temporary hardwood floor of the tent when he saw her.
His heart missed a step, tumbling into his rib cage and landing near the pit of his stomach.
Gorgeous. She was gorgeous. No—stunning. And something altogether different from any of the other women at the event. The four women in charge of development companies wore a uniform of sleeveless black dresses topped with gauzy coverups for their shoulders, and their assistants wore similar outfits.
Not this woman.
Her pantsuit was all sharp edges, whiter than the tablecloths. She’d swept her blonde hair back into an equally sharp bun.
Who was she here with?
Malik had made his entrance fifteen minutes after the developers, a move that was calculated to let them get comfortable in the space and mingle with one another before he arrived. His father had gone early with Clifton, his brothers stepping in shortly afterward. Why had he insisted on being the last to arrive if she was in here?
He didn’t know the first thing about her, and he wanted to know everything.
She paused at the opposite entrance to the tent, probably letting her eyes adjust, and then she gave a subtle wave with her hand. Malik followed the motion with his eyes.
The table where his father sat with Clifton.
Clifton raised a hand and nodded to her. Then he turned back to King Hasim.
A minute ago, Malik would have chosen to sit down at Clifton’s table and talk with his father’s friend. It was the safe bet with good timing—not late enough in the reception for Clifton to feel Malik had neglected him, but not so early that his father would think he needed reassurance.
Malik did not need reassurance. He needed to know who the woman in the white suit was.
She lingered at the open side of the tent and swept her eyes over the room, and Malik put his foot down on the hardwood. Thank God she hadn’t seen his stumble. She hadn’t looked at him. He knew, somehow, that when she finally did it would be a shock to his system. Everything about her looked like a shock to his system, from her hair to her outfit to her…matching white boots.
Boots.
The rest of the women in the room wore black flats or low heels.
The only element of black about the woman—who was somehow connected to Clifton—was a black camera strap across her chest.
He took one more glance at his father’s table and around the tent. They were all involved in conversation. Malik turned to a waiter nearby, one with a tray of champagne flutes in his hands, and snagged two of them.
By the time he looked back, she was gone.
He looked toward the oasis—there she was, walking toward the date palms with a determined stride. She had not been a mirage.
Malik went after her.
He caught up with her at the edge of the pool, where she stood in the shade of a tree. She had lifted the camera to her face and was snapping pictures when he came up alongside her.
“This place is prime,” she said, her voice low a
nd excited. “There are so many options for—oh!” She let the camera fall to her side, and he got his first close view of her face. Heart-shaped lips. Big green eyes. Perfection. “I’m so sorry, Sheikh Malik. I thought you were Mr. Berber.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” he joked, offering her a champagne flute. She took it. “You already know who I am, but we haven’t been introduced.”
“Holly Remington.” She offered her right hand to shake, planting her feet firmly into the earth. “I work with Mr. Berber, as you might have gathered.” Holly’s grip was strong, unflinching. Malik was used to women blushing, their eyelashes fluttering to their cheeks. She met his gaze without a hint of shyness.
Goose bumps rose on the back of his neck, tracing a path down to his spine. Different, something inside him called. She’s different.
Malik released her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Remington.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” Her gaze was frank. “Thank you for the champagne, by the way. You didn’t need to bring it all the way out here for me.” She raised the flute to her lips and took a sip. Malik did his best not to notice the way her lips curved around the rim of the glass. He failed.
“I didn’t want to approach empty handed.” He sipped his own champagne, the sweet bubbles dancing on his tongue.
Holly laughed. “The view is enough for me.” She shook her head and looked back out over the pool, the water sparkling in the sun. “It’s incredible out here. I mean, truly incredible.” She let out a little sigh. “You’ve got a treasure on your hands.” Holly raised her free hand to her hair and tugged at the bun, loosening it a bit. A breeze picked up off the desert and stole a few more strands from the tight knot at the back of her head. Somehow, it looked even better than it had before.
“I do,” agreed Malik, though the words shimmered with a strange double meaning. From the expression on Holly’s face, she understood. This wasn’t just a piece of land to be developed. It was special, verging on sacred.
“You don’t see a place like this very often.” She took a deep breath of the desert air. “Maybe you do,” she said with another laugh. “But not where I’m from.”
“The States?”
“Kansas City, originally,” she said, “but I moved to New York when I came to work with Clifton after graduation.” She waved a hand in the air. “You don’t care about all that, though.” She looked at him with unguarded interest and an open, genuine smile. “I’m sure you’ve got enough on your plate, being a prince. And here I am, going on and on like you’re another developer. You can stop me anytime.”
He didn’t want to stop her. It was rare that anyone talked to Malik like this. Exceedingly rare. Vanishingly rare. Exhilaration ran through his veins like a plane taking off from a runway. “Quite the opposite,” he said. “I do care.”
“Do you?” Her eyes danced. “Because you really don’t have to stay here for me.”
“What if I want to stay here for you? Hmm? What then?”
Her smile deepened. “Then I guess I won’t stop you. You did bring champagne, after all.”
“And questions.”
“Questions?” She leaned in a few inches, her expression somehow coy and confident at the same time. “Are you sure you don’t want to question my boss?”
Malik pretended to look around for Clifton. “He’s not here. That means you’re in the hot seat.”
She burst out with a belly laugh then. “Ask away.”
“Tell me your thoughts. On the projects,” he finished, though the development sites across Qadir were the furthest things from his mind.
“Oh, I think there’s a ton of opportunity here.” Holly’s eyes narrowed, and she swung an arm across the pool. “I’d clear some of the trees on the opposite bank. The shape of the land doesn’t lend itself to a massive structure, so I’d go with several smaller ones. Or maybe not.” She cut a glance at him. “Maybe a large one. In the end, it would be quite the destination. And I think adding a manmade waterfall would bring it all together. That would be the first few years, of course, with additions around the bank at five and seven years. And on this side—”
Malik’s stomach went cold, his throat tightening like he’d swallowed a block of ice.
He’d been wrong. So wrong.
She didn’t understand at all.
They had been explicit in the invitation materials that the oasis was not available for development. Yet here she was, talking about clear-cutting three quarters of it and making it into a place for tourists.
It was the last thing his mother would have wanted.
It was the last thing Malik wanted.
Holly’s voice trailed off. “Sheikh Malik?”
He forced his eyes back to hers, feeling his face fall into a rigid mask. “Very interesting,” he said. Malik gave her the ghost of a nod. “It was good to meet you, Ms. Remington. I have to get back to the gathering.”
He walked away, feeling her eyes on his back with every step he took.
She’d been attractive. That was all. Attractive enough to blind him to her true nature. Holly Remington would bulldoze her way into the future at any cost. She had no regard for the past.
That jolt when he first saw her had been a mirage. He wouldn’t be tricked again.
That’s what he told himself all evening. That’s what he told himself all night, when visions of Holly wouldn’t leave his mind. And that’s what he told himself two mornings later, when the invitation to a reception hosted by her company arrived.
He hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her.
There was only one way to get her out of his head.
Grab your copy of The Sheikh’s Surprise Twins (Qadir Sheikhs Book One) from
www.LeslieNorthBooks.com
The Sheikh’s Pregnant Wife: Hasan Sheikhs Book Two Page 12