The Oil Tycoon and Her Sexy Sheikh (2 page)

“Ph.D. Yes.”

“In what?”

“Marine biology.”

“Marine biology. That’s how you know all about the oil spill.”

“Yes. My doctoral dissertation was on the long-term effects of oil spills on marine life. The results were not good.”

“But we have scientists, too,” she said. “They say that so long as we clear up properly, everything will be normal again within a few years.”

“Is that what you pay them to say?”

“No!” She met his enquiring gaze squarely. “No. At least… not as far as I know.”

Sheikh Khaled nodded. “My research was self-funded. There was no external pressure to come up with the ‘right’ results. And believe me, no one would have been happier than I to know that the human greed for oil was not destroying the world around it.”

“I would be happy to know that, too,” she asserted firmly.

He looked at her for a long moment. “Very well,” he said at last. “See for yourself.”

He unlocked the door and held it open for her.

She nodded at the brass plaque. “‘The Al Mayim Collection.’ Is it yours?”

“It is the collection from my country, Saqat al Mayim. But since the collection focuses on the marine specimens found in our waters, it seemed appropriate to give it that name.
Al Mayim
is the Arabic word for the sea.”

“The Natural History Museum has a collection from Saqat?”

“Of course. They have specimens here from all over the globe, but this collection is at the heart of my research.”

As Olivia entered the room, she saw shelf after shelf of jars and trays containing all kinds of fantastical and faintly gruesome creatures.

“What is your research?”

“I’m making a collection of all the indigenous marine life in the Persian Gulf. There are many species unique to the Gulf and several whose natural habitat is found only in the Gulf and the Great Barrier Reef.” He shrugged off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves to reveal tanned forearms. Beautifully muscular tanned forearms that had nothing to do with the reason she was here.

Olivia dragged her eyes away from the sheikh’s arms and tried to come up with a sensible question. “Isn’t the Great Barrier Reef endangered too?”

“Everywhere that human activity reaches is endangered. But they have done some good work in recent years to protect the reef.”

“Do you have coral in Saqat as well?”

He grinned. “See.” He took her to another part of the room and swept his hand carelessly along the row, where hundreds of specimens of coral in all colors and shapes were stored.

She gasped. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes. More beautiful at the bottom of the sea.”

“You dive?” She shook her head. “Stupid question. Of course you would have to.”

“I learned as a child. It was years before I bothered with scuba equipment.”

He had already moved on to the next shelf of specimens. Olivia followed in fascination. He was totally absorbed in the work, describing to her the smallest details of feeding habits and breeding colonies. She barely understood half of what he was saying. Preserved fish and crustaceans were not the sort of subjects that easily held her attention. But Sheikh Khaled—or Dr. Saqat—was an object of profound interest to Olivia. She was entranced by the way his eyes narrowed slightly when he focused on some minute feature of the specimen he was describing to her. She watched the way he handled the tiniest glass jar with delicacy and precision, and noticed the sure touch of his long fingers when he reached out to stroke the coral. He would know how to touch a woman.

She shook her head firmly, throwing out the rogue thought. She had no business wondering how Sheikh Khaled would touch a woman. As penance, she forced herself to listen carefully to his final lecture on the significance of Saqati marine life and the potential for irreversible damage from an oil spill in the region.

“Look at this.” He pointed to an enormous tank containing the preserved body of a creature quite unlike anything Olivia had ever seen before.

“What is it?” She ran her fingers along the glass of the tank and peered closer. It was at least two meters long with a fish-like tail but no other fins.

“A
dugong
. In your language it is known as a sea-cow.”

“Is it a fish?” It was incredibly ugly, whatever it was.

“No, it’s a marine mammal. See, here, on top of its head. Those are its nostrils.” Olivia looked where the sheikh was pointing and saw the two holes in its skin.

“So it breathes?”

“Like you and me. They can survive underwater for several minutes at a time and dive to thirty or forty meters. But they need to come up for air.”

“Wow.” Olivia gave him a quick glance. His face was set in hard lines. This wasn’t just a hobby for him. He cared about the unprepossessing dugong just as much as the pretty coral or the spiny mollusks.

“How have they been affected by the oil spills in the Gulf?”

He sighed. “Loss of feeding environment.”

“What do they eat?”

“Sea-grass, mostly. They live in the mangrove beds on the shores of the Gulf.”

“But the oil has polluted the mangroves,” Olivia said. She stood up and looked sadly at the dugong. “Are they endangered?”

He shrugged. “They’re not on the official list, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not.”

“We don’t know,” he said, after a brief pause. She felt as if she had been given the benefit of the doubt. “There are still good numbers in Australia and one or two other places. But numbers are declining everywhere, especially in the Persian Gulf.”

“Yes. Yes, I see.”

He looked down at her grimly. “So what are you going to do about it, Ms. McInnes? Withdraw the offer from MCI Oil?”

Olivia’s mouth opened, but no words came out. She had forgotten why she was here. How could she have forgotten the deal? A couple of hours in the company of this man and she had put aside the ambition of a lifetime. The MCI deal was going to secure her position as CEO of the company when her father announced his retirement later in the year. If she failed, the board would have excellent grounds to refuse her appointment. Many of them already believed her to be too young—and, though they might not say it aloud, too female—to take over.

“I can’t do that,” she managed to say eventually. “I can’t.”

“Well, then, we have a problem.”

“Yes, we do.” Gathering her wits as much as she could manage, she said, “It’s your problem as much as mine. Your father wants the deal, and your people need it. What happens if you just say no?”

He glared at her for a few moments then sighed heavily. “I don’t know.”

“Well, then, we have a problem.”

Sheikh Khaled twisted his lips ruefully. “I already said that.”

“So now what?”

She waited in the corridor while the sheikh locked up the collection. He slipped the keys in his pocket and turned to face her. They were standing close to each other. Too close. His lips twitched. He obviously knew exactly what he did to her, with his tie pulled loose and his shirtsleeves rolled up. The top button of his shirt was undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of golden skin and dark hair, with a steady pulse throbbing at the base of his throat.

He was irresistible.

She had to resist him.

She sucked in a breath and stepped back.

The sheikh’s hands shot out and gripped her elbows. He didn’t pull her closer, but he wasn’t letting her go. She could feel his warmth through the layers of her wool suit and silk blouse.

“Now, you invite me to Scotland and I decide whether MCI Oil has anything to offer my country. Or not.”

Chapter Two

The prospect of seeing Olivia McInnes again was the only thing Khaled looked forward to as he flew north to Aberdeen. If he had to negotiate between the Scylla of poverty and the Charybdis of environmental disaster, he might as well have an attractive woman to flirt with while he was doing it.

That wasn’t entirely fair. Underneath her dark curls and captivating cornflower-blue eyes, Olivia was a lot more than a pretty face. Clever, competent, and, so far as he could tell, compassionate. He wasn’t yet convinced that her apparent concern for the dugongs hadn’t been part of her strategy to clinch the deal, but he wanted to find out. He ought to know what sort of woman he was going to do business with if he decided to go ahead.

The car pulled into a circular gravel driveway, and Khaled looked curiously out of the window at Olivia’s family home. Dalneith House was as grim as anything in a Victorian novel. The bleak granite building had been designed to withstand the worst of the Scottish weather, but no thought had been given to making it inviting or homey in its appearance.

Khaled stepped out of the car and immediately shivered. The air was damp, and the wind was harsh against his skin. He hoped the house would be cozier on the inside than it appeared on the outside. He hurried toward the front door and was relieved when it opened to allow him straight in.

The housekeeper took his coat and called for a man to carry his bags upstairs. He introduced his bodyguards. “They’ll need to look around, I’m afraid, but I don’t anticipate there’ll be any problems.”

“Welcome, Sheikh Khaled.” Olivia came down the stairs and held out her hand to greet him formally. The thick woolen sweater and kilt she wore disguised her figure most disappointingly.

Khaled shook her hand. “Thank you, Ms. McInnes. I see that Scotland’s weather is living up to its reputation.”

“Indeed. You must come through to the drawing room and get warm. I’ll order tea.”

“Tea to heal all ills. How wonderfully English.”

“Scottish,” she corrected him pointedly.

“My mistake. You are a true Scottish rose.” She blushed a delicate rose pink, as if to prove his point. He waited until she had turned away before grinning. Flirting with Olivia was going to be fun.

Blue and green tartan carpeted the floor of the drawing room, and above the mantelpiece a majestic stag head displayed its antlers proudly. Uncomfortable armchairs in faded dark red velvet were positioned at sufficient distance from each other to discourage any intimate conversation.

“Good afternoon, Your Highness.” A tall, slight man with graying hair rose to greet Khaled.

He smiled and took the proffered hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. McInnes.”

“Olivia, get a cup of tea for the sheikh.”

“Thank you. Milk but no sugar, please.”

He was ushered to the seat nearest the fireplace, though little warmth came in his direction. He gratefully accepted the cup and saucer Olivia offered him. English tea wasn’t his favorite drink, but it was hot, and right now that was all he needed.

“Thank you for coming to see me. I realize it was a risk sending Olivia to secure the deal with Saqat. Better to deal directly with the boss, eh?” Oliver winked at Khaled.

“Your daughter assured me she has full responsibility to negotiate the contract.” Khaled frowned.

“Yes, yes, but men understand each other better.”

Khaled set his teacup down carefully. “I have never had any difficulty understanding a woman.”

A muffled laugh came from Olivia’s direction. Her father huffed, but sensibly refrained from argument or explanation. “Nevertheless, I daresay that now you are here, we will be able to come to an arrangement.”

“Since I have begun the negotiations with your daughter, I prefer to continue to deal with her.”

Oliver laughed. “Think she’ll be a softer touch, eh? Well, I suppose I can’t deny that.”

Khaled turned to address Olivia directly. “I don’t think that at all.”

“The sheikh and I began discussing some possible amendments to the contract in London, Dad. I think it will be easiest if I continue to lead the negotiations for MCI.”

“What sort of amendments?” Oliver’s tone was sharp.

“I have particular concerns that need to be addressed before I could consider consenting to the agreement. Environmental concerns.”

Oliver waved a hand dismissively. “Global warming claptrap, I suppose.”

“Father,” Olivia said, warning him not to say more.

“Not at all,” Khaled said. “But I can see you don’t want to be bothered with it, Mr. McInnes.”

Oliver turned to his daughter. “You’ll see that it’s done properly, Olivia.”

“Yes, of course.”

“And you’ll let me know if it’s too much for you.”

“I can handle it. Is there anything you were particularly interested in finding out about, Sheikh Khaled?”

“I’d like to tour one of your oil rigs while I’m here.”

“There’s no need for that,” Oliver said.

“I’m a scientist. We like to see things in practice, not just read about them in theory.”

“Why did you become a scientist?” Olivia asked.

Khaled shot her a glance. Was she merely making polite conversation, or did she really want to know? “Why not?”

“You’re the heir to the throne of your country. You must have responsibilities there. And if not, you could be one of those playboy sheikhs living it up on expensive yachts with glamorous models. Isn’t that what most men in your position would be doing?”

“Olivia!”

Khaled put out a hand to calm the other man. “It’s a fair question, though I have no idea what most men in my position would be doing.”

“Are you going to answer the question?”

“I’m a scientist because I like it.” He shrugged. “My father was generous enough to let me do what I wanted with my time. I always loved the water and the life in it, so that’s what I chose to study. I remember the oil spill from the first Gulf War and the way no one seemed to really care about its long-term effects on the whole ecosystem. Once it was cleaned up on the surface, all the attention died away. So that’s what I decided to research. Why are you an oil executive?” He turned the question back on Olivia before she could probe any further.

She bristled. “Why shouldn’t a woman be an oil executive?”

“No reason. But that doesn’t explain why you became one.”

“I suppose not.” Olivia sipped her tea.

He waited, his gaze lazy but insistent.

She looked nervously at her father before she answered. “It’s the family business.”

“You could have chosen something else,” Oliver said.

Father and daughter had obviously had this conversation many times over the years.

“I didn’t want anything else.” A fierce light blazed in her eyes. “I don’t want anything else.”

There was tenderness in Oliver McInnes’s face as he looked at his daughter. “You don’t always have to choose the hard path, Olivia.”

“Because I’m a woman?”

He put his hand on her knee. “Because you’re my daughter.”

Olivia covered her father’s hand with her own. “I know, Dad. But this is what I want, and I’m good at it.”

“Aye, that’s true enough. She won’t let you have things all your own way, Sheikh Khaled.”

Oliver was proud of his daughter; that much was obvious. He just didn’t understand her dreams. Khaled smiled ruefully because he knew exactly what that felt like. He remembered the long arguments he’d had with his father after his older brother’s death unexpectedly left Khaled heir to the throne. Eventually, father and son had reached a truce that allowed Khaled to remain in England, pursuing his studies, but he spent three months each year in Saqat, with his people. When his father decided the time was right, he would have to go home. It was his duty.

Her father retired early after dinner, leaving Khaled and Olivia on opposite sides of the huge, ancient dining table, talking idly and sipping aged, peat-smooth Scotch. She was surprised to see him drinking, but recalled hearing somewhere that many Muslims did drink alcohol in non-Arab countries, and in private.

“I can see that the MCI deal might seem like a conflict of interests for you,” Olivia said, “but I can assure you that we will do everything in our power to protect the marine life of the Saqat waters. I’ve been doing some thinking and I have a couple of ideas to run past you.”

“So have I.” His voice was soft and seductive and Olivia had to take a deep breath before she could reply.

“I read your thesis,” she began.

“Really? What on Earth for?”

“Believe it or not, I am interested in the long-term environmental impact of oil spills.”

“Touché.” He laughed. “So has it cured your insomnia?”

“I don’t have insomnia and I enjoyed it. Well, not exactly enjoyed, but it was very interesting.”

“Hmm.” He still sounded skeptical.

“And I’ve been thinking of ways that MCI Oil can work to minimize the risk of future spills.”

“Good.”

“I hoped you’d be pleased.”

“You’re changing your business practices to please me?”

“No,” she replied sharply. “No, I’m changing them because it’s the right thing to do. And because I want you to sign that contract, Sheikh Khaled.”

“Why?”

“It’s my job.”

“Of course.”

Olivia stared into the depths of her glass. Eventually, she added, “My father will be retiring soon. I will take his place as CEO of the company.”

“And you need this contract?”

“I need to persuade the rest of the board to support my appointment.”

“I see,” he replied drily. He laid a hand over one of hers. Olivia nearly jumped out of her seat at the warmth of his touch. He smiled gently. “Shall we leave the rest of this conversation for another time?”

“Why would we? Isn’t this what you’re here to talk about?”

“I’m here to see MCI Oil in practice. That means getting to know the people in charge, as well as seeing how the company works.”

“About that,” Olivia said. “You can’t just visit an oil rig. They aren’t tourist attractions. Everyone who visits has to have the proper safety training.”

“Do you?”

“Of course. It’s important for me to keep up to date so I can visit the rigs and make sure everything is in good order. And so that I can always go out if there is an emergency.”

Khaled looked impressed. “I can do the safety course.”

“It takes three days.”

“Fine.”

“Your bodyguards will need to do it too if they plan to accompany you onto the rig. There are no exceptions.”

“No problem. I expect they’ll enjoy it.”

“It’s physically demanding.”

He laughed. “Are you trying to put me off, Ms. McInnes? Because I assure you, if you have something to hide on your oil rigs, I will find it out.”

“Not at all,” she replied instantly. There was no way she was going to explain that her reluctance had nothing to do with the rigs and everything to do with the flustered way he made her feel. “Can I offer you another glass of whisky?”

“Please. It’s very good.”

“It’s from our local distillery.”

She poured him a generous measure. He took the glass and raised it to her in a toast. “Olivia.”

“Sheikh Khaled.”

“Just Khaled is fine.”

It felt too intimate. “Sheikh Khaled. So what did you want to know about me?”

He grinned at her. “I haven’t prepared a questionnaire.”

“Nevertheless, I’m sure you have a good idea what you’re hoping to find out. It would be much more efficient if you simply asked me.” And it might help to keep their conversation firmly on a business footing. “I don’t have anything to hide.”

“Now that is intriguing. Almost everyone has something they prefer to hide.”

She held out her hands. “Try me.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

Was he serious? “Why do you want to know that?”

“Why don’t you want to tell me?”

“For heaven’s sake, I don’t have a problem with telling you. I simply don’t see why it’s relevant.”

He grinned at her, teasing her. “Ah, I have it now. You’ve decided what things are relevant and you don’t mind me knowing those.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She cradled her hands around her glass, warming it slightly.

“So what is it then?”

“What?”

“Your favorite color.”

She let out a long sigh. “Red. Happy now?”

“Scarlet or crimson?”

Olivia bit back her frustration. “Poppy,” she said after a pause.

“It suits you.” He nodded at her red sweater. “Mine is brown.”

“Brown?” she asked, curiosity temporarily overcoming her irritation.

“Mm. It’s such a complicated color. Every time you find something in nature that looks brown, it turns out to be a mixture of a hundred other colors. I like that.”

“You like complicated things?”

“I like breaking complicated things down into simpler parts. How long has it been since you worked on the rigs?”

“Nearly ten years.”

“There’s a scar here.” He picked up her hand and his thumb traced the silvery mark between her first two fingers.

“From a kitchen knife. I was chopping a cucumber and it slipped.”

He laughed. “So there is something that you’re not so good at?”

“Plenty of things. Cooking is one of them.”

“I can cook.”

His eye caught hers, and for a moment there was no whisky, no contract, no oil rig—only Khaled watching her. She held her breath as she gazed back, trapped in the black depths of his eyes. A log fell in the fireplace, and the loud crack was enough to break the moment.

“Do you cook traditional Saqati food?” she asked, bringing her thoughts back to their conversation.

“Mostly I cook baked beans on toast.”

“I can scramble eggs.”

“For breakfast?”

“For supper. It’s not worth doing a cooked breakfast just for me.”

“There’s a way round that.” He grinned at her and Olivia smiled back, pulled in by his easy charm.

“I’m not sure that would be worth it for a plate of scrambled eggs.”

Khaled laughed out loud. “Oh, I’m sure it would.”

She laughed too, but shook her head. He pushed back his chair and stood. “My bones are freezing.”