The Sheikh's Stubborn Lover (The Adjalane Sheikhs Series Book 2) (3 page)

Chin lifted, Michelle gave back Sheikh Nimr Adjalane’s assessing stare. Nimr shared his son’s perfect features, although age had roughed Nimr’s features slightly. His jaw line was not as sharp, his nose seemed even stronger on his face. He also shared his son’s dark hair and olive skin, but unlike Adilan, Nimr’s eyes were a deep, dark brown that almost seemed black.

He wore Armani as if he’d been born in a suit—a dark, charcoal gray with a pale pink shirt. The shirt was open at the neck and a pink handkerchief peaked from his left breast pocket. She had to give it to him—not many men could or would wear pink and pull off the look.

Standing, she held out her hand to shake his. “Sir.”

His mouth curved in a smile and Michelle could see where Adilan got his charm—that smile was lethal. She remembered her mother’s warnings about Nimr.

‘He’s a smooth talker and an even smoother operator.’

Instead of shaking her hand, Nimr bowed over it, lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her hand, then held her hand between both of his. “You look like your mother.”

Michelle blinked. No one had ever said that before. Deborah Reynolds was a stunning beauty—even after the crash that had left her in a wheelchair, she had the cheekbones and skin of a woman half her age, and worked hard to keep her figure trim. She also had a sensual grace Michelle had never been able to copy.

She managed to slip her hand from Sheikh Nimr’s grip and offered up a smile. She also intended to make clear just what she was doing here. “This is a charming house you have. I’ve been thinking a courtyard and fountains are just what I need in the spot I’m developing not far from the city.”

Nimr’s mouth twitched down. His eyes darkened even more and he shot a hard look at Adilan, who returned it with an insolent one. Ah, so not all was well within the family, Michelle thought.

Heading to the tea service, Nimr poured himself a cup. He took it black and turned to Michelle. “My other son, Malid, tells me you have made such a long trip for nothing. Adilan have you been remiss with the news?”

Adilan stiffened. Michelle glanced from father to son—the tension in the room thickened like the air before a storm. Adilan lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “Malid doesn’t like to keep me informed of any of his plans.”

Sheikh Nimr’s mouth tightened. However, he relaxed into a smile again and turned back to Michelle Reynolds. “According to Malid, the property taxes have not been paid for the past twenty years. By the first of next month, according to our laws, the property will revert back to the original owner.” He sipped his tea. “That is to our family. Or, rather, to Malid specifically, since I understand he plans to pay the back taxes due.”

Knees weak, Michelle sat down again. “That’s impossible. The taxes have been paid.”

“Oh, you know this?” Walking over to the French doors, Nimr glanced out. He had the same height as his son—an intimidating one—the same muscular build, although age had softened not just Nimr’s features but his mass as well. In the harsh light of the sun, Michelle could see the fine lines around his eyes, and a touch of silver just starting to streak his hair.

Shifting on her chair, Michelle wondered if he could be right—but Mother had assured her everything was in order.

Nimr turned back to her and asked, his voice kind and regretful, “You have receipts of taxes paid?”

Michelle bit down on any kind of answer. How would Mother react to this? But she knew. Mother wouldn’t need to react—she’d be in utter control of every emotion and the entire situation. 
Too bad I’m not her.

She forced a smile. “Just how much back taxes are believed to be owed?”

Waving a hand, Nimr said, “Eighty thousand dollars. That is in U.S. currency.”

A hard lump formed in Michelle stomach. She could raise the money, but it would take a serious chunk out of her budget. And getting that much money transferred would take a few days. “But it’s such a small piece of property. Not even five acres.”

She glanced from Nimr to Adilan, who sat sipping his tea, his eyes narrowed. He suddenly wasn’t saying very much. Was he in on this with his father? But she could swear the two were not exactly on good terms—as soon as Nimr had walked in, Adilan went from relaxed to stiff and edgy. Why was he just sitting there, watching and waiting?

Sheikh Nimr was saying something about property values and water. “…a precious commodity. Especially fresh water such as bubbles up from the spring that feeds the oasis. Of course, that includes upkeep fees as well.”

She stood, smoothed the front of her suit and faced him. “What upkeep? The place is an untouched spot.”

Coming back into the room, Nimr put down his cup and saucer on the tea service. “By what Malid tells me, without an owner present, the government was forced to make annual inspections, to oversee all environmental problems. That is what happens when owners live outside our country.”

She was being set up here—she knew it. She glanced at Adilan and saw the pulse beating in his jaw. Hell, he looked just about as angry about this as she was. That knot in her stomach tightened. She swallowed and tried to stay civil.

Nimr offered up another small, half smile. “It is fortuitous that you’ve chosen to visit Al-Sarid. I assume you will want to take care of the back taxes immediately. Before Malid does so. I can give you directions to the office you must visit. You will want to go today, for a holiday begins tomorrow and the offices will be closed for a week.”

Michelle folded her arms. “What convenient timing.”

She started for the door, but Nimr called out, “Do give my best to your mother, Ms. Reynolds.”

Tears blurred her vision and stung her nose. Michelle kept walking. Someone—Hassan, she supposed—opened the front door for her. She stepped out onto the front porch and stopped, pulling in a huge lungful of air.

Those bastards—they’d planned this. She didn’t want to break her promise to her mother, but how was she supposed to come up with eighty thousand in less than a few hours. Even if she could get a transfer, this was going to put a serious dent in the budget—but she didn’t have an architect now, either.

She kicked at a small stone and bit back the urge to let out a scream. Behind her the door opened and she heard the snick of the lock. She turned to see Adilan standing in front of the door, looking maddeningly calm. Chin lifting, she narrowed her eyes. “I suppose you think you’ve won.”

He took her elbow. “Come. We should have this conversation in your car I think.”

She wanted to pull away from him, but he had too tight a grip. Leading the way, he headed to her town car. He opened the door and waited for her. She stared at him, tempted to just tell him to go to hell. But she kept remembering how he had seemed at odds with her father. She gave a short nod. “This had better be good,” she said, and climbed into the car.

Adilan came around the car and got in on the opposite side. He gave the driver the name of a hotel in the city owned by the Adjalane family. He wanted Michelle Reynolds where he might be able to keep an eye on her.

Shifting so he could look at her, he studied her. Color flamed on her cheeks and her eyes sparked like the finest sapphires in a strong light. He decided it would be best to be blunt and quick, before she decided to throw him from her car. Or perhaps take his head. “I haven’t won. Malid and I want two different things.”

She leaned forward to pull out a bottle of water from the car’s bar. She didn’t offer him one. “You both want my mother’s property.”

“For entirely different reasons.”

Michelle kept staring at him, her eyes narrowed and her breathing short and quick. “What does it matter? I can’t get eighty thousand dollars in just a few hours.”

He leaned forward, dropping his elbows to his thighs and let out a long breath. “And I cannot believe I’m going to say this, but such funds are easy for me to secure.”

She blinked several times. “What? Are you—are you offering me money? Is this a sales pitch again?”

Leaning back, he gave her a small, twisted smile. “I am offering to keep my brother Malid from stealing your land.”

Staring at him, a small frown pulled her eyebrows tight. He wanted to reach out and smooth that thin line but he didn’t think she would appreciate the gesture. But he could guess her thoughts. “This isn’t a trap. I am being honest with you, even though it pains me to do so. Do you know the full story behind the property?”

She took a sip of her water and lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I know what my mother told me.”

“Yes, and I know what my father told myself and Malid. I believe the truth is probably somewhere else. But for now, let us call it love gone awry.”

She gave a snort.

He paused for a moment and then smiled. “You think that is not so?”

“I think when it comes to my mother, love usually isn’t part of the equation, but go ahead and keep talking.”

Shifting, he looked out the window at the desert and sky. “My father for years has ranted about the spot of paradise that he lost—the family jewel, he calls it. It has a special significance for him and he regrets having ever let it leave the family’s ownership.”

“So why did he give it to my mother?” she asked, her voice flat.

He glanced at her. “At the time, I believe he thought their love would last forever—that the land, and your mother, would never leave him. As you are aware, that was not the case.”

Michelle nodded. “Boy was it ever. Which is why you offered to buy it back?”

“There is more to it than that. My father is uncertain if Malid or I should take over the company when he retires. Malid is the elder—he will head the family no matter what when my father dies. But the company is a different matter. When I learned you were coming to Al-Sarid, I thought I should approach you about purchasing the property. I am interested in a fair deal.”

“Fair? That depends on your point of view, doesn’t it? So are we talking some kind of contest? You win if you get the land? Your father will have what he wanted and he’ll think you’re the guy to run the company?”

Adilan pressed his lips tight and shook his head. “There is more at stake than that. I desire—as does my father—to leave Al-Hilah just as it is. My brother would rather we exploit the fresh water source and turn Al-Hilah into an upscale luxury resort for the wealthy.”

She sipped her water and turned to stare outside the car window. When she looked at him again, she asked, “What happens if neither you nor your brother gets Al-Hilah back?”

Adilan lifted a hand and let it drop. “Then my father will be unhappy. Perhaps he will look outside the family for the next CEO of Adjalane Real Estate and Land Development Group. My offer to buy you out stands.”

She shook her head. “Al-Hilah is worth a lot more than what you’re offering and you know it.”

He grinned. “Very well. How about I double the offer?”

Michelle choked on her water. He leaned closer to thump her on the back, but she held up a hand to block him. However, he left his hand resting on her back.

She shifted and eased away from him. “I can’t…I…it’s not my place to sell.”

Adilan said nothing for a moment. He thought about all she had said and at last gave a nod. “Your mother?”

Twisting the cap back on her water, she stared at it. “Family. Seems we both have issues with our parents. I…my mother’s been in a wheelchair for three years, but the one thing keeping her going with rehab and therapy is the idea that she’s going to return to Al-Sarid. To that oasis. If I sell Al-Hilah…” She glanced at him. “Well, I don’t think she’d turn up her toes and die, but she’d probably never speak to me again.”

He nodded. “Yes, I, too, will face a very unhappy parent if I do not succeed. But what Malid plans—I cannot let him get away with cheating you or ruining that oasis. We will stop by my bank in the city.”

The plastic bottle squeaked and crunched as she gripped it tight. He took it from her hands. His fingers brushed over hers—they seemed cold to him. Stiff. He wanted to take her hand in his and ease then into warmth. But she was staring at him, her eyes darkening. “Why would you do this?”

Adilan smiled. He wanted to lighten the mood between them. He wanted not to talk of their disappointed parents. It was a lovely day, and he was with a lovely woman. He touched the back of her hand with one finger. “There are conditions.”

Michelle rolled her eyes. “Of course there are.” She pulled her hand away and took back her bottle of water. “Let’s get this over with—what are they?”

She gasped when he set one hands on the tops of her thigh. She jerked in reaction, but when he tightened his fingers, she froze in place. “My conditions are that I will loan you the money you need. That will give you time to transfer the funds. In exchange, I wish you to consider a trade— Al-Hilah in exchange for another piece of land on which you may build. That would give my father what he wants, your mother a reason still to come to Al-Sarid, and it will put a smile back on your gorgeous face.”

Michelle’s face reddened and she stammered, “You think I’m gorgeous? No…forget I asked that. I don’t know about any kind of trade.”

Adilan leaned closer. “I only ask you to consider this? Come, we will stop by my bank, pay the taxes, and I will show you the property I have in mind. Then you can make up your mind.”

Frowning, she squeezed her water again, but she didn’t move away from his touch. “Why do I have the feeling you could sell ice to an Eskimo?”

He laughed. “I promise not to offer you a slightly used camel. However, I will ask you to ride one.”

Her eyes widened. “Is that possible? You’re kidding me—people still ride camels across the desert? What do you…well, I don’t know…rent camels?”

He laughed outright at the way her mind worked and sat back. “You could, but it is much easier to simply own several dozen.” Her mouth fell open. He touched a finger to her cheek. “Oh my little American. There are many places in the desert where a vehicle cannot go. Too many miles with no fuel stations and the sand is too deep. So deep in fact, that people have lost their vehicles to the shifting sands in a matter of minutes. But for now we must deal with the shifting sands of red tape.”

Leaning forward, Adilan gave directions to the driver to get to his bank. It took no time at all to put a cashier’s check in Michelle’s hands. Her eyes widened again and her fingers shook slightly. She stared up at him with such wonder in her eyes that he wanted to lean down and kiss her. Instead, he took her to the government office to get her taxes paid.

The officials seemed ready to block any effort to pay the taxes and fines. Eyes shifted away when he asked for Mr. Massad, the head of the department. As soon as Adilan gave his name, the clerk softened, Mr. Massad was called and very quickly the paperwork was done.

Now Adilan would show her the land he hoped she would take in trade, and they would have lunch. As Michelle paid the taxes and fines, he called ahead to arrange for a tent to be set up on the property. Another call and caterers would see to it that roast lamb, honey and dates, and other dishes would be ready for them.

And if he could not talk her into selling Al-Hilah or trading it, well, there were other ways to persuade a beautiful woman.