Never Seduce a Sheikh (International Bad Boys Book 2) (3 page)

His smile widened, becoming a little darker. A little sharper. A little more dangerous. Reminding her that this man was the son of a brutal king.

“To me, Ms. Harkness,” he said softly. “You must prove yourself to me.”

Perhaps it was then that Lily began to realize she wasn’t dealing with just another difficult man. Another arrogant CEO.

Oh no. She was dealing with a sheikh.

I
sma’il leaned against
the doorframe and watched Lily Harkness’s tall figure with some amusement.

Since arriving at the palace, he’d expected her to want to retire to the apartments he’d set aside for her visit to freshen up. At least, that’s what most women seemed to want to do after a long flight. But no, apparently this woman preferred taking a tour of the business center he made available to all his guests before she did anything else.

She was nothing if not focussed.

Right now, she stood by the large, ornately carved desk, her back to the view of the palace’s renowned gardens, her arms crossed over her chest, a concentrated look on her lovely face as she scanned the room.

“So,” he drawled, “does everything meet with your expectations?”

She didn’t so much as glance in his direction. Even though her dark blue suit was, by now, starting to look a little crumpled, she still managed to look poised and coolly in charge.

“Yes, it’s fine.”

“It is not quite what you are used to in Sydney, I’m sure.”

Lily glanced around the vaulted room with its tiled floor and arched doorways before finally looking at him. “No, but it’s adequate. Thank you.”

“You are very free with your praise. The palace staff will be most appreciative.”

Dark eyes studied him for a moment. “I’m sorry, your Highness, but were you expecting something more from me?”

“A thank you never goes amiss.”

“I did say thank you.”

“An indication that you meant it is usually welcome. A smile to accompany it, for example, can work wonders.”

She stared at him. Then, that tight, professional smile of hers appeared which was rather disappointing. For some reason, he wanted more than that, though how much more he didn’t know.

“Thank you. This office is most adequate to my needs.” The smile disappeared as her gaze shifted to the sleek computer sitting on the desk. She bent and pushed a button, switching it on. “I assume, since we’re standing in what is essentially an office, I can now talk about the reason for my visit?”

Isma’il shifted against the doorframe. “Certainly? You have questions?”

“Yes.” Lily straightened. “I’m curious about what exactly I have to prove to you and why.”

A fair point. The rest of the way back to the palace in the limo she’d been very careful to steer away from any business questions, clearly having taken his warning to heart. He’d been impressed. Then, further impressed by the insightful questions she’d asked about Dahar and its people.

“Is that your only question?”

“No. There are some things about the desert visit that—”

“Forgive me, Ms. Harkness, but if you do not perform to my liking, then there will be no desert visit.”

The sounds of the fountains in the gardens outside were peaceful, calming. But the expression on Lily’s face was not. Tension settled into her features, her tall figure becoming stiff. And he had the sense that she was trying to hold something back. Very possibly anger.

“I’m sorry? I was given to understand that a meeting with the desert tribes to discuss drilling on their land was necessary.”

“It is necessary. But it is not a discussion in the way you are thinking. We need their permission before drilling commences and that involves delicate negotiations. And I am not going to bring some untried western woman out to meet them without making certain she can do the job without causing offence.”

The tension didn’t leave her posture. “The other companies got a meeting?”

“They did.”

“Without having to prove themselves beforehand I assume?”

“The desert tribes are very traditional. They respect age. Experience.”

“And I suppose being a man doesn’t hurt.”

He didn’t sugar-coat the truth. “No.”

For a long moment, she just looked at him. Then, she turned sharply away, pacing over to the large screen placed on the wall opposite, giving it a cursory check before going over to another desk where a printer and fax were set up.

He watched her move around the room, curious to see how she would take this. It would not be an easy truth for her to hear, not for a western woman who was used to being dealt with as an equal in her industry. It would be interesting to see how she would respond.

He found himself studying the way she moved as she checked over the printer. Strong. Decisive. As if this place was hers, as if she owned it. There was an arrogance to the way she held herself that if she’d been a man, he would have found offensive. But she wasn’t a man and he didn’t find it offensive. He found it compelling.

She pushed a couple of buttons on the printer, checked the little screen then glanced at him.

“So what do I have to do?”

“To what?”

“To get Harkness into pole position. Obviously, I can’t change my sex, but I have other things I can offer that might sweeten the deal.”

Isma’il pushed himself away from the doorframe and strolled into the room, going over to the carved wooden desk. He picked up a pen, toying loosely with it. “This contract is very important to you is it not?”

“All contracts are important to me.”

He looked across the room to where she stood by the printer. “But I think this one is more important than others, yes?”

Her gaze met his. “If you must know, yes, it is.”

“You need to prove yourself. Prove that you are a worthy successor to your father.”

There was a silence. Then, she said, “I’m not the only one.”

Isma’il was not expecting the cool observation. Neither did he like the way it slid under his skin like a barb. He was not his father’s worthy successor. It would not take much to do better than Khalid and Isma’il wanted more than to merely succeed him. He wanted to obliterate all memory of his father’s reign entirely. “How is that relevant?”

“I’m just pointing out the fact that we have similar goals. Success with this contract is what we both want.”

He didn’t bother to deny it. “You are correct. The future of my reign and the wellbeing of my country rests on this decision. Which is why, it has to be the right one. With the right company.”

“The right company is Harkness Oil.”

So much cool authority in her voice. So much surety in those dark eyes of hers. A steely kind of surety. As if she would let nothing stand in her way.

Something dark and hungry turned over inside him. It had been a long time since anyone had challenged him in quite this way. He tended to nip such things in the bud as early and with as much subtlety as possible. The precise scalpel to his father’s blunt hammer. But he’d forgotten how much pleasure there was to be gained in matching wills with someone. With a woman in particular.

Isma’il pushed away from the desk, prowling over towards her. He wanted to get closer to her, see what she would do. How she would handle him. She was so confident, so poised. Invulnerable. But everyone had their weak points and he wanted to know hers.

She watched him come, unmoving. Unflinching. Even when he stopped bare inches away from her.

“You are very sure of yourself, Lily Harkness.”

Her gaze didn’t change as she looked up at him. “I’m very sure of my company, your Highness.”

He’d become conscious of the faint hint of her perfume, the one he’d noticed in the limo. A clean, fresh scent with a hint of sharpness. Like rainstorms and freshly cut grass.

A faint wash of color stained her cheekbones. But she didn’t look away or move.

The air between them crackled, electricity charging the atmosphere.

He liked it. Liked the confrontation between them. It was . . . exciting.

“Indeed, your company has an excellent reputation,” he said. “But it will take more than an excellent reputation to win this contract.”

Her chin lifted. “Tell me what more you need and I’ll get it to you.”

He didn’t have to tilt his head much to meet her gaze because she was very tall.

Neither would you have to bend to reach her mouth . . .

The thought came out of nowhere. Irritated with himself, Isma’il ignored it. This was business and thoughts of kissing Lily Harkness, CEO, was not part of that business. No matter how exciting he found matching wills with her.

Turning away, he took a stroll around the room instead, idly picking up bits and pieces from the desks, examining them in a cursory fashion.

“That sounds like the offer of a bribe.”

“Call it what you want. If it’ll get me the contract, I’ll pay it.”

He paused by a bookshelf, studied the titles on the spines. “You are very competitive. Winning is important to you, is it not?”

“I’m in a competitive business. I’ll use anything that gives me an edge.”

He turned from the bookshelf, glancing across the room to where she stood. Watching him. Strong and elegant and decisive. Not to mention focussed.

Apparently, before she’d joined her father’s company, she had been an Olympic swimmer. Gold medallist too. Not that that was any surprise. He had a feeling Lily Harkness would never settle for anything as paltry as silver.

Isma’il lifted an eyebrow. “Anything?”

“Within reason, of course.”

He prowled over to the desk again, once more picking up the pen he’d dropped earlier. Her gaze followed his movements. Curious. Did she find him as challenging as he found her?

Isma’il slowly turned the pen over in his hands, enjoying that particular thought far more than he should have. “Before I take you into the desert to meet with the tribes, I will need to know that you can do business with them in the way they are accustomed. That you will not alienate them.” He met her gaze. “I realize this is your company’s speciality, but it is you who represent your company. I would like proof you have the personal touch with my people. And I would like that proof tonight.”

*     *     *

Lily frowned at
the unsettled feeling that lingered in her gut. The way he’d looked at her just before, as he’d stood close. Intent. Like a hunting tiger focussed on his prey. It had been oddly exhilarating. She’d felt . . .

Lily closed off the thought. No. She’d felt nothing.

“The personal touch?” she asked.

He still leaned against the edge of the desk, a gold pen held loosely in his long, elegant fingers. “Yes. Many of my ministers will be at the welcome cocktail function I have scheduled for you this evening. They’re all very interested to meet you. I want to see that you can get them on side as it were. Show them you know how business is done in Dahar. Prove to them Harkness’s reputation.” A smile curved his mouth. A smile full of cool amusement. “It will not be easy. They were most displeased to hear of your father’s retirement. But then, you do not strike me as a woman who is afraid of a little hard work.”

“I’m sure I can manage.” She hadn’t had to deal with heads of state yet as CEO, but she was confident she’d make an impression. Though if they were all as difficult as this sheikh, then she might have her work cut out for her.

“Oh, I’m sure you can.” With precise care, he put the pen down on the desk. “They like a pretty woman.” His voice was soft, deep, with a roughness to it and an accent with echoes of British public school, underlain with something more exotic. She tried not to fixate on the sound as he went on, “Female beauty in all its forms is much appreciated here in Dahar. They also like to be flattered. To be charmed.”

An odd little sensation skittered down her spine as he spoke. It wasn’t fear. Couldn’t be fear.

You’re beautiful, Lily. So damn beautiful. But you wouldn’t be wearing a dress like that if that if you didn’t want men to touch you.

A memory, twelve years old, escaped from the locked iron box she kept it in. Of her, in the gown she’d worn at her medal celebrations, and Dan’s drunken slurred voice . . .