The Sheikh's Stubborn Lover (The Adjalane Sheikhs Series Book 2) Read Free Page B

breath. She was not going to let his charm get under her skin. She walked up the steps and wasn’t surprised when the door opened for her. A man in the loose, white robes or taub and headscarf or keffiyeh that she had seen on the city streets bowed to her.
    Hassan, I presume.
    “Uh…I’m here to see Adilan Adjalane? In…the morning room?”
    Hassan held open the door. “This way please.”
    Stepping inside, the cool of the room swept over her. She could hear the soothing, rhythmic tumble of a fountain. She followed Hassan through an elaborate entrance with a domed ceiling and so many things to see it would take her a week to catalog everything—rugs, vases, paintings, carvings. Golden hand rails protected dual winding staircases that rose from either side of the large foyer, and a stunning crystal chandelier caught the light. Richly colored rugs offset the stark whiteness of the walls.
    She followed Hassan into a smaller room lined with books. French doors opened out into another courtyard with a pool and the fountain she had heard. The doors let in the mountain breeze, scented by flowers.
    Hassan waved a hand. “Please wait. Sheikh Adilan will be with you momentarily.”
    She pressed her lips tight. Sheikh, she knew, was a title given to just about anyone in the Middle East who held land and power. In this part of Arabia, you couldn’t throw a stone without hitting someone who put the word sheikh in front of his name. But it was no wonder Mr. Bashira didn’t want to get on the bad side of the Adjalane family—they could make business impossible for poor Mr. Bashira. How on earth was she going to deal with these people?
    Strolling over to the French doors, she glanced out at the courtyard. At least the family had taste—the private garden was even more beautiful than the public ones. The scene of jasmine floated to her along with what had to be roses and a touch of citrus. The fountain was a tiled centerpiece in the lush gardens, and stone paths wove a tempting, curving path into secluded spots. If only she wasn’t here on unpleasant business.
    Sensing she was no longer alone, she turned and saw Adilan standing in the doorway. The air seemed electrified suddenly, as if he’d swept in along with a thunderstorm. She fidgeted with the strap of her messenger bag. Adilan was smiling as if at some private joke—was he amused that he’d stolen her architect away from her? She stiffened.
    He moved into the room and gestured to the low couch. “A pleasure to see you again so soon. Please be seated.”
    She sank onto the cushions of the nearest chair, watching Adilan. He moved with purpose and grace—it was a pleasure to watch him. He obviously knew his body well, and knew how to use it. Michelle remembered how he’d looked at the oasis—a fantasy come to life. She frowned and reminded herself this man posed a threat.
    But the sexual energy coming off him was staggering. He was a walking invitation to sin—all muscle and temptation. It was all Michelle could do to hang onto her senses. She searched for some kind of ice breaker—something to distract the man—and all she could think of was to ask, “Hassan called you sheikh?”
    She winced inwardly— what a stupid thing to say .
    Adilan waved a hand. “Yes. It is a title of all the Adjalane males hold. By Al-Sarid law, should the Sharqi family ever cease to run the country, my family would assume that leadership role.”
    “Nice not to need elections,” she muttered.
    His smile widened. “Would you like something to drink? Will you stay to dinner?”
    “Tea would be lovely.”
    “Excellent. The British left us with a fondness for tea. Will you have rose, hibiscus, or perhaps our family’s own blend? You will not find it anywhere else in the city.”
    Michelle relaxed slightly. “Hibiscus would be lovely.”
    Adilan stood and strode to the door. He said something to Hassan, then closed the doors and sat down again, crossing one leg over the other. “Did