The Oil Tycoon and Her Sexy Sheikh (7 page)

A few yards away, one of the guards stood, impassively keeping watch over her. The other was, she presumed, still in the mosque with Khaled. This was what it must be like for him all the time. Watched, protected, accompanied. He couldn’t stroll down to the souk alone, nor even go in to pray.

“I’m sorry I was so long.” Khaled’s shadow fell over her and she got to her feet.

“You weren’t.”

“You found some entertainment, I see.”

“Boys and football. Some things are the same wherever you go in the world.”

He laughed. “Indeed. And some things are very different.”

She wanted to ask him about his faith, but feared it might seem like prying into something too personal. In Scotland, she had never considered what it meant to Khaled to be a Muslim, to be the ruler of a Muslim nation. Here, Islam was real and immediate. The public call to prayer of the
muezzin
punctuated the day, and there were signs everywhere of the practice of their religion. The women had their heads covered with neat scarves, and they wore long dresses or the practical tunic and leggings of the
shalwar kameez
, keeping them modest. Some things were very different, indeed.

“Here.” They turned a corner and suddenly the street opened into a wide square, filled with noise and color and people. This was a different side of Saqat from the calm tranquillity of the mosque, but she found it as appealing.

“What a wonderful place to spend an afternoon.”

“I didn’t have you down as the sort of woman who lists shopping as one of her hobbies,” he said teasingly.

“I don’t. But this is different.”

“Come on then. We only have an hour. No more.”

An hour wasn’t nearly enough to spend wandering from stall to stall, examining all the goods and chatting to the traders. Olivia was enchanted by it all. The fragrances of incense and spices, heavy in the warm air, the sounds of an unfamiliar language in quiet conversation and occasional loud shouts. The shapes of the buildings, the colors of the fabrics, the noise and bustle of men haggling pleasurably for hours over the price of a pile of goat hides. Everything was different, and yet, the closer she looked, the more she realized it was not so different after all. Children played in the streets here just like they did in Aberdeen, ignoring their mothers’ shouts when it was time for them to go home. Women stood in groups, chatting and gossiping while they did their shopping, like women all over the world.

She was frustrated by her lack of Arabic. A few of the traders and several children spoke some English, but otherwise she had to rely on Khaled to translate for her. She wanted to be able to talk to people, to find out what they wanted. Would the Saqati people welcome the news of oil in their waters? Would they care, like Khaled, about the precious marine life it would put at risk? Or would they only think of the wealth it could bring? She wanted to understand their ambitions, their hopes and dreams. How would the arrival of MCI Oil upset their way of life? How could they make sure it was a good thing for these people and for their children and grandchildren?

She made a few purchases, taking care to buy things from a number of different stalls at Khaled’s suggestion. She didn’t know if it was because she was a wealthy foreigner, or if it was because of the sheikh’s presence, but everywhere she went, she was treated as an honored guest. She tried on strings of beads, laughing at the stallholder’s exuberant suggestions as more and more were thrown around her neck. Khaled was no help, merely grinning at her and shrugging. Yards and yards of brightly colored woven cottons and silks were irresistible. She pulled out the fabrics from the roll and draped them around herself. At each stall she chose something to buy, as a way to repay the friendliness with which everyone treated her. At a table full of carved wooden treasures, she enlisted Khaled’s services to help her select a pipe that she hoped her father would appreciate.

“This one, do you think?” She held up a cedar wood pipe, with a delicate tracing around the rim.

“I didn’t know your father smoked a pipe.”

“He doesn’t, much, but he has a small collection. I’d like to take him something from Saqat.”

“This is more traditional.” He pointed out a darker pipe, with a strong geometric carved design.

“Traditional is good.” She picked up the pipe and asked him to find out how much it was.

“Should I haggle?” she asked Khaled when he relayed the price to her.

He laughed. “You should have been haggling everywhere. They are all making bets on how much they can get away with charging you.”

“And you let me!”

He took the pipe from her. “It’s fine. I would have stopped you if the prices became too outrageous. Shall I haggle for you on this?”

“No. I’ll pay what he’s asking.” She could afford to be generous.

One of the guards stepped forward to take her packages, leaving Olivia unencumbered on their walk back to the palace grounds. The security team had their uses, then.

He took her back by the sea road. There was hardly anyone else around and he was in a better mood than he’d been since she arrived in Saqat. If she was going to talk to him, this was her opportunity.

“So you decided that we could be friends after all?” She nudged him with her elbow.

His brow creased. “It seems so.”

“I’m glad. I’ve enjoyed the afternoon.”

“There will be gossip.” His voice was tired, and for the first time she noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

“Will that matter?

He sighed. “Yes. Probably. I shouldn’t have done it.”

“We were in a public place, Khaled. There wasn’t anything indecent about it.”

“I know. But here, there is a different expectation. Men and women are not normally friends.” He spread his hands in a gesture of frustration.

“You are the sheikh. Can’t you make the rules?” She wanted to help. He oughtn’t to feel this guilty.

He shook his head, but he smiled slightly. “I wish that were the case, but even if it were so, there is something else I must tell you. There will be a formal dinner at the palace tonight. Several members of the Saqati Council will be present and will wish to meet you.”

“Of course.” She had been expecting something of the sort.

“The Treasury Minister will be present with his daughter, Aliya.”

She nodded, though she still wasn’t sure why he felt the need to explain.

“She is the woman my father would like me to marry. Our betrothal is due to be announced later this week.”

The air left Olivia’s lungs. She stumbled a little, but put out her hand to stop Khaled when he would have helped her. It was ridiculous to feel like this. Their affair—it barely deserved the name of an affair, it would have been more accurate to call it a one-night stand—was over. They both knew that. And now that Khaled had been called home, it was natural that he should begin to consider his marriage.

He would be the emir. He would need his own family. His own heirs. He would need a wife who would support him, because Khaled would always shoulder too many burdens for one man. He needed someone he could trust to share his burdens in private.

They turned off the road toward the palace. Khaled led her away from the formal steps at the grand entrance, to a discreet door in the garden walls. The guard nodded at the sheikh and let them pass. Every step he took, every place he went, he was under scrutiny.

Presumably, it would be the same for his wife. She, too, would be accompanied by bodyguards if she wanted to browse the stalls in the souk, or to visit a friend. Would she be permitted to pursue a career?

Olivia made herself take a deep, calming breath. It was none of her business what the life of the sheikha would be.

Belatedly she realized she had yet to respond to Khaled’s announcement. “Congratulations.”

He grimaced. “Thank you.”

“You are unhappy with your father’s choice?”

“No.” He shook his head and she thought he was trying to persuade himself. “No, my father knows Saqati society better than I do. I have no doubt that he has chosen well.”

No doubt he had chosen the suitable wife Khaled had described to her. A woman from the right sort of family. A woman the Saqati people would welcome and approve. A woman who was not Olivia.

“It sounds so impersonal. So unromantic.”

“It is not supposed to be romantic. It is my duty.”

Chapter Six

Olivia dressed carefully for dinner. She needed to look suitably formal while remaining businesslike in her appearance. It was important that the Saqati Council members look at her as an oil executive first, and a woman a distant second. She didn’t want to risk the possibility of a comparison with Aliya, especially if the gossip had already begun after their excursion to the souk. She selected a little black dress and matched it with a short sparkly cardigan in the same color. Her makeup was discreet, and she limited her jewelry to a pair of small diamond studs.

She descended the wide, sweeping staircase into the fairy-tale gilded foyer. It was a setting fit for Cinderella’s ball, not the kind of business dinner she was anticipating. A small group of men in traditional Arab robes were gathered around Khaled. He was the only one dressed in a Western-style dinner suit. The dark colors looked good on him and the tailoring of his jacket emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. There was nothing arrogant or proud about his stance, but he naturally commanded attention, even from the older men. Olivia watched unnoticed for a few minutes before he looked up and saw her.

He excused himself from the others and came forward to speak to her.

“Ms. McInnes.” She was grateful for his formality. She needed all the help she could get in remembering that she was here to do business, and nothing else.

“Good evening, Sheikh Khaled. Will you introduce me to the council members?”

“Of course.” Before he had chance to do more than turn in the direction of the other men, he was distracted by a new arrival.

“Excuse me. There is someone I must greet.”

He stepped around her, leaving her alone in the grand hall. A waiter offered a glass of sparkling wine, though she noticed everyone else drank water. Olivia took it and sipped as she watched Khaled bowing formally to the man who had arrived. He moved to one side and she saw him bow again, to a girl. A young Saqati woman in a pale pink embroidered garment that covered her from neck to toe, and with a matching headdress. The dress was cleverly cut on the bias so that it clung to the slender body beneath, showing tantalizing hints of curves at her waist and hips, and around her breasts. The light chiffon sleeves revealed long, slim arms. The overall effect was of a richly patterned, ornate frame for the girl’s oval face with its dark eyes and wide, full mouth.

Olivia’s breath caught in her throat. In slow motion, she saw Khaled lift the girl’s hand and bring it to his lips. The kiss was brief and dispassionate, but the girl stared up at Khaled with wide-eyed awe.

Aliya. It must be. This was the girl Khaled was supposed to marry. The girl he was going to marry. She was younger than Olivia had expected. Eighteen or nineteen, perhaps. A child compared to Khaled. A doe-eyed child, overcome with awe by the prince who had been chosen for her.

“Ms. McInnes, there are several members of the Saqati Council here tonight who would like to make your acquaintance.” Khaled’s private secretary, Jamil, had come to her side. His words acted like a cold shower, reminding her why she was here. She wasn’t here to ogle the sheikh and his proposed bride.

Olivia summoned up a smile and nodded. “Of course.”

At dinner, Olivia was seated between the Saqati Foreign Minister and Jamil. The minister kept Olivia on her toes, asking probing questions about MCI’s overseas operations. The conversation required her full concentration, and she was grateful for the distraction that prevented her gaze continually drifting toward the other end of the table where Khaled sat next to Aliya. He was remarkably attentive, drawing the young girl into conversation. Olivia couldn’t tell what they were talking about, but she noticed the way Aliya occasionally smiled for Khaled. She was very pretty. Khaled clearly thought so. His father had chosen well, and that was good. She didn’t want Khaled to be unhappy. A lifetime with a wife he couldn’t even like would be an unfair torture. Aliya was young enough and Khaled kind enough that the two of them would be able to forge a marriage based on respect, even if there was no love.

Who was she to say that there would be no love? Khaled had never so much as hinted that he loved her. He’d told her from the start about Aliya. He’d made it clear that their relationship could not last beyond their few days in Scotland. And yet today, in the car, he’d wanted her. He’d missed her as much as she had missed him, every minute after he had left. Olivia had taken to sleeping in the spare room where she and Khaled had made love in front of the fire just because it gave her an illusion of being near to him.

Love was a big word. Who could say, if she and Khaled had been free to take weeks, months, even years over their affair, whether it would have developed into love? But it was ridiculous to suppose that after a few days it could be there. Khaled would have years to fall in love with Aliya, and Olivia had plenty of time to find the right man for her. One who was free to fall in love with any woman he wanted. One who would make her feel as precious and cherished as she did when Khaled held her in his arms. One whose kisses sent shivers down her spine the way Khaled’s did. One who listened and understood her, who laughed and teased her out of her bad temper, and who saw and sympathized when she was sad, just like Khaled had.

But it wouldn’t be Khaled. She couldn’t have him, and there was no point wishing she could.

“Ms. McInnes?”

Olivia put a smile on her face and turned to her right. The minister on her left was deep in conversation with his other neighbor, leaving her to be entertained by Jamil Fayad.

“Excuse me, I was miles away.”

“Sheikh Khaled mentioned you wished to arrange a meeting with him.”

“Yes. There are some issues with the contract we still need to discuss.”

Jamil nodded politely. “I will schedule some time for you on Thursday, if that is convenient.”

“No earlier?”

“I am afraid that will not be possible. Did you enjoy your visit to the souk today?”

“Very much. It was so different from the tourist markets that you see all over the Middle East.”

“Unfortunately, Saqat is not a tourist destination.”

“Unfortunately?” That had been part of Saqat’s charm for Olivia. The market stalls carried traditionally crafted items produced by and for the locals rather than mass-manufactured souvenirs designed for Western visitors.

“We cannot compete with other Arab nations to build luxury hotels and golf courses in the desert. At present, there is nothing in Saqat to draw the foreign tourist.”

Olivia took a mouthful of some delicious pistachio dessert. “The foreign tourist and their foreign tourist dollars?”

“Precisely.”

She looked around at the ostentatious display of wealth at the table. Gold plates and gilded candlesticks. Bejeweled dishes heaped with fresh fruits. Saqat could put on a show as dazzling as anyone could want. The palace itself was well equipped and well maintained, but Olivia had already seen how desperately the country needed a new source of income. The city was full of crumbling buildings and outdated infrastructure. Khaled had told her that Internet access outside Saqat City was patchy and unreliable. Many people still eked out their living from the land. Small holdings of goats and chickens, fig trees, and almonds, and of course, fishing in the clear waters of the Gulf provided a basic lifestyle for the majority of the population.

They needed their oil. Tourism was a hard and unpredictable business, and most of Saqat’s coastline would not be well suited for it. But money from the wells could build hotels near the sandy beaches and establish new communities around those areas. All the potential was there.

If Khaled signed the contract with MCI Oil.

…

Khaled turned away from the window in his father’s room. Olivia had spent the whole morning lazing by the palace pool alone, and he had spent most of the morning glancing out of the window to watch her. He hoped his father hadn’t noticed how distracted he had been.

Last night at dinner, he had forced himself to keep his attention fixed on Aliya. She was pretty enough, and now that he was finding his way past her shyness, a pleasant dinner companion. More intelligent than he had suspected, and not without ambitions of her own. Aliya’s father had worked hard for his daughter’s marriage, but she herself was studying for a business degree and had told Khaled about her dream to open a dress shop in Saqat City. A designer boutique, she had explained with enthusiasm, to showcase the best of Middle Eastern design, as well as a few carefully selected global brands.

It was a good plan and he wished her well with it. As his wife, it would be good for her to have her own interests. A small business, not so time-consuming that it would stand in the way of her royal duties, but something that helped raise the international profile of Saqat would be ideal.

Outside, Olivia was taking off her perfectly modest bright blue shorts and white T-shirt, an outfit revealing enough to set Khaled’s imagination whirring. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her now that she was wearing a dark orange swimsuit. The stretchy fabric clung to every curve of her body.

He couldn’t not watch her.

He couldn’t not want her.

He just had to find a way of dealing with that.

Fortunately, he had plenty to take his mind off her. His father was determined to hand over the reins of government and to do it properly. He wasn’t well enough to spend more than a few hours a day with Khaled, but the time they had was spent in the inner office going through details of their current budget, the state of relations between Saqat and her neighbors, the men on the council and those whom the emir had in mind to invite to become council members in the future. Khaled was made acutely aware of how generous his father had been in protecting him from such matters up until now. But it was time for him to take on the responsibilities, and it was his duty to learn as much as he could from his father’s years of experience before he was left on his own.

“Son?”

“I’m sorry, Father. I was distracted for a moment.”

The emir looked at him intently. “Khaled, I know this is not what you wanted.”

“I will do my duty, sir. You need have no fears.”

The older man shook his head. “I have none on that front.”

“Then what is troubling you, sir?”

“Tell me what you think of Mahood’s daughter.”

Khaled ran a hand over his face. “She is very lovely.”

“Indeed.”

“I am sure she will be a most acceptable bride.”

His father nodded. “She is very acceptable to me, Khaled, but I am not the man who will be her husband.”

Khaled looked back to the window. Olivia was swimming lengths in the pool. Her dark curls were sleek with water and her skin was beginning to redden in the heat of the sun. She should use waterproof sunblock. He could make an excuse, run down, and tell her. He could offer to put it on for her.

“Is there an Englishwoman, Khaled?”

He gave a short, sharp laugh. “No, no Englishwoman.” Which was true enough as it went. His Scottish rose wouldn’t let anyone brand her a Sassenach.

“But there is someone?”

Khaled drew in a deep breath. “No one whom I could, in honor, ask to be my wife.”

It wasn’t as if they were in love. In the end, they had only spent one night together. One foolish night, as it turned out. You weren’t supposed to start thinking about marriage after one night. It wasn’t enough to start building hopes for a lifetime. Perhaps if they had had more time together in Scotland or in London, they might have been able to find a way to make it work. But here in Saqat, more nights together weren’t possible. There shouldn’t even have been an afternoon walking around the city together.

His father would be horrified if he knew Khaled was considering taking a foreigner and a
kafir
for his wife, and Olivia would be equally horrified, surely. The only life he could offer her in Saqat would be a poor return for giving up her home, her job, her ambitions. She wasn’t a woman who would be content to swim and sunbathe all day. She was capable of so much, and she needed a place where she could shine. Olivia deserved her dreams, and Khaled couldn’t give them to her.

And there was the rub.

Even if, by some miracle, she were prepared to consider it, he could not ask Olivia to be his wife because she deserved so much more than he was able to offer her. She deserved her own dream. She deserved to be made CEO of MCI Oil. She’d worked for it all her life, she was more than good enough to do the job, and the deal with Saqat would secure it for her. How could Khaled ask her to give it all up? How could he say to her, just at the point when she had finally earned everything she had ever wanted, that she should marry him and leave it all behind for a shallow and unfulfilling life as a decorative wife? It would be the worst insult he could offer her.

“I see. I am sorry, my son.”

“Yes. Yes, so am I.”

…

“Ms. McInnes?”

Olivia looked up from her desk. A young smartly dressed woman waited by the door. “Please, come in.”

“Thank you. I am Jemimah Saoud. I work here in the palace, and Sheikh Khaled asked me to ensure that you have everything you need during your stay with us.”

The office she had been allocated was well equipped with fast Internet access and a sleek modern fax and printer. There was nothing else she needed. “I do, thank you.”

“And is there anything else you would like? I am at your service during your visit.”

Olivia chewed her lip. There was something she would like, and Jemimah might be the person to help her.

“I’d like to meet some Saqati people. Not the council members, just ordinary people. Women who would be willing to tell me about their lives. I would like to understand more of the culture and society here if my company is going to do business with Saqat.”

Jemimah’s face lit up. “I can arrange that. Let me make some calls and see what I can do.”

“I’ll need an interpreter,” Olivia said. “I’m afraid I don’t speak any Arabic.” She made a mental note to change that. It wasn’t good enough to rely on other people’s willingness to learn English or to translate for her.