The Sheik's Desires Boxset Read online

  Belle’s glance followed his gesture. A slight blush colored her cheeks but she looked back at him, her stare direct. “I’ll admit this room is less than successful. There’s nothing here to pull all the elements together.”

  “That is because the elements—as you call them—are not meant to coexist. Look at our city, Miss…Belle. Look at the towers of our old quarter, the mud construction still in use—and then look to the new business district. The two are worlds apart. On one street, it will seem as if nothing has changed in a thousand years. On another, everything is hard lines and glass and change just for the sake of it. That is what my father wishes to blend.”

  She huffed out a breath. “Challenging doesn’t mean impossible.”

  With a nod, Zafar had to admit that was true. He also knew that Reynolds & Family was one of the top architect firms in the world—which was why his father had employed them. Belle stabbed a date, popped it in her mouth and chewed aggressively. He decided she was a woman—a very Western woman—who was used to getting what she wanted. The question for him was what did she want here?

  Was she a scout for her father? Someone here to perhaps sway the minds of others so her father’s plans—whatever they were—would be more acceptable? Was she a spy? To look over the situation and provide insights to her father that would help him? It did not matter.

  What Zafar needed was to change his father’s mind. The family could build something traditional in the south—and then put in a modern sports complex in the already too-modern part of the city to the north. There was no reason to surround the old quarter with more modern monstrosities that would eventually encroach on the old parts of the city.

  But he also knew his father had a very good reason for acting as he did.

  His father had extended the family finances a great deal to court the largest solar company in Germany into relocating their multinational headquarters here —and now his father also had a world-class soccer team willing to relocate to Scaran. All that was needed were the facilities.

  But both the solar company and the soccer team had made it clear that deadlines loomed—both needed decisions made within a few weeks, and they required facilities to be move-in ready in six months. A ridiculously short time-frame. The boost to Scaran’s economy would be enormous—but the risk was also huge. And Zafar knew his father was willing to agree to terms that included financial penalties for failure—such terms could wipe out the family’s entire wealth. It could even lead to his father’s loss of power.

  All because his father had a dream of mixing the old and the new.

  Zafar shook his head. This was a disaster looming. But could this slim girl perhaps convince her father to come up with a plan that would in turn sway Sheikh Ahmadi into a construction that was not as ugly—or as huge a disaster—as this new part of the palace? Something that really could be built in a short time?

  He took up his coffee again and sipped. “We should speak of other things, I think. You have hardly touched your food.”

  She leaned forward, elbows propped on the arms of her chair. “This project is going to be a challenge. But that must mean it’s also an opportunity. Both my parents are known for their innovative work—their designs grace the pages of textbooks for up-and-coming architects. My brothers are now making names for themselves with their ideas—and I will be, too. But don’t think I’ve come here without having done any research. I’m aware of the traditions here—and the influences. You’ve got not just Persian construction, but North African, and there’s a tradition going back to Alexander the Great of a Greek influence that shows up in classic columns and proportion.”

  Zafar frowned. “Miss—”

  “Belle, please.” This time she did grind out the words.

  He sucked in a breath and let it out. He would not be goaded into losing his temper. “I apologize. In my country, it is uncommon to allow such informality, but if you insist, I will try to remember to use only your first name. You speak, Belle, as if you have given this much thought.”

  “Oh, I have. And I brought some initial sketches with me.” She pulled a smartphone from a pocket in her pants. Rapidly, she swiped across it and then held it up for Zafar to see. “These are roughs—just ideas I mocked up on the plane.”

  Frowning, Zafar looked at the images. He saw no need for technology to be used in design. He’d been trained to use pencil and paper—and then blue lines for final drawings. He liked to construct exact models of his buildings so he knew every corner, every view. This…this was nothing but a…well, it was a good drawing, but it was also far too Western for his taste.

  He looked over at…at Belle. She had a hopeful look on her face, and he hated to dash that with criticisms. But the full implication of what she had just shown him sank in. He stared at her, realized his mouth was open and snapped it closed. Eyes narrowing, he told her, “You speak as if you are going to be…be designing this project.”

  Belle’s smile stiffened again.

  Before she could answer, Zafar heard a firm step that he knew. He pushed back his chair and stood. His father stepped into the room and headed for their table. Zafar gave a small bow—the traditional salaam of respect for both his sheikh and his father.

  Ahmadi, he thought, looked worried—tired. He, too, had worn Western clothing—but that was the norm for his father. Today it was a cotton white shirt that hung loose on him, dark trousers and Italian loafers. His dark hair was just turning white at the temples, but Zafar could swear this project was adding more gray every day.

  His father offered smiles, but Zafar could see the worry lurking in his father’s eyes—the need for this project to be completed successfully was weighing on the old man’s shoulders. For a moment, Zafar could wish the whole thing would collapse—but he knew as well as Ahmadi that their country needed this boost to the economy. The world needed to see that Scaran was a stable country, a place where tourists could see the sights, could visit the beaches, and where other countries could invest without fear.

  This new complex would provide jobs and pull money into Scaran—other companies would see the benefit of basing their operations here. But all of that hinged on a facility that would be world-class—but if that was gained with the loss of their culture, what good would that be? That, too, would only give their enemies a target to criticize.

  Belle had stood as well, and now Zafar watched his father bow to her and smile. “Marhaban, Miss Reynolds. I see you have met my son, Zafar. Good—this is good. I wanted my two architects to begin working together at once.” He grinned and spread his hands wide. “East and west—you two will have much to discuss, and unless I miss my guess you are already starting into discussions. That is what inspires true creativity.”

  Zafar glanced at Belle Reynolds. So a woman was to be the lead architect from Reynolds & Family. Not Mr. Reynolds, and not one of his sons, but a Western woman full of ideas and thinking that she knew everything about his country’s tradition.

  He wanted to slap a hand to his forehead. His father was setting everything in place for an even bigger disaster than this new wing to the palace.

  Chapter 2

  Belle could feel her cheeks warming. How did she get herself into these things?

  It was obvious that Sheikh Zafar hadn’t been told that she was to be the lead architect. It was equally obvious Zafar wasn’t happy about it, but his dad seemed more than pleased.

  Sheikh Ahmadi looked a lot like his son—both tall men, lean and handsome. Zafar was a touch taller than his father with dark hair that curled slightly on the ends and golden eyes that reminded her of a lion. A little too much like a lion since he left her feeling like a fat zebra he was watching with a mixture of animosity and calculation. He was watching her with a mixture of animosity and calculation. Well, if he thought she could be intimidated, he was wrong. She wasn’t going to be a zebra, she’d turn herself into one of those ugly wildebeests who could best a lion. She had to stifle a snort at the idea.

  Zafar
shot her a narrow-eyed glance, as if he disapproved of levity, but he turned to the sheikh. “Father, it is good to see you so early in the day. You don’t often take breakfast.”

  “We don’t often have such a charming guest in residence.” The sheikh seated himself. Zafar filled a glass with coffee from a carafe, and Belle sat down again, too. She was still trying to figure out the dynamic here.

  Zafar Tadros was one of the most gorgeous men she’d ever met. He had a classic profile—straight nose, strong jaw and high cheekbones. Hollywood would love him and those dark, brooding good looks. One glance at him and her heart had started pounding like she was a high school girl gazing at her first crush. She’d told herself to get it together, get over it and get to work. Work was what mattered—she had a chance to prove herself here and she wasn’t going to blow it.

  She took a short breath now, smiled, and ate another date even though she didn’t really like them—too sweet and sticky. She also gave Sheikh Ahmadi a long, assessing glance—he was going to be her supporter, even if Zafar looked like he wanted to pack her bags and ship her home on the next flight out. “I’m ready to get to work right after breakfast,” she offered, hoping that would get her mind back where it was supposed to be. On work. Not on Zafar and the muscles she could see under that tight T-shirt of his.

  Sheikh Ahmadi rubbed his hands together. “Excellent. We should talk about some preliminary ideas and schedules. I think a week is good for you two to come up with initial sketches. Old and new. That is what I want to see. We want a complex that is so compelling even movie firms want to film there—it must become an icon of all that is good in Scaran. Our traditions and our future!”

  Belle watched Zafar’s face go from suppressed anger to calculating. When she met his gaze again, she saw a look in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine. He was plotting something—and he’d just dismissed her as any kind of problem.

  That was a look she was familiar with—and it immediately set off the rebellious streak in her. No way was she letting him push her out of the way. This was her chance to change how her family viewed her—this was her chance to prove to the world she wasn’t just riding on the success of her family. With a smile, she pulled out her phone and started showing off her initial drawings. She’d done them on her computer tablet on the plane and had emailed them to her phone. She had not sent them to her folks—she didn’t want them breathing down her neck or starting to take over the project.

  No…if she was lucky, she’d keep her parents and her pushy brothers out of this.

  For years, they’d been patting her on the head, tossing her safe designs that were already half done by them, and treating her as if she was not only the baby in the family but the little girl who needed a pat on the head and a room done up for a princess. She’d had a total rebellion phase in college, where she’d turned herself into a math major. That hadn’t lasted. Blood won out—and building was in her blood.

  She’d gravitated to art and then back into architecture. She’d tried setting out on her own, but her name was the biggest block—Reynolds meant a certain innovation, and every job ended up with her somehow getting connected back to her parents’ firm. When they’d offered her to come back, she had. And it’d been great for six months. Then she’d drifted back into being their little princess.

  It was as much her fault as theirs—she knew that. It was too easy to go to her parents for help with a design, or to start talking shop over the dinner table and in five minutes her brothers would solve five problems that had been bugging her for days. She needed to prove herself not just to them, but to herself. She needed to pull off what Zafar himself had said was impossible—and she had him to work with. Well…good.

  If Zafar wasn’t on board with her vision, she’d find a way to get him on board. This building was going to be the crowning jewel not only for Reynolds & Family, but for her.

  The other problem, however, was going to be Sheikh Ahmadi—he might be her supporter, but he also seemed to have a blind eye when it came to design. He loved everything she showed him—even if one drawing conflicted with the previous one. No wonder this part of the palace had ended up looking schizophrenic. She’d learned years ago that some clients had a clear idea of what they wanted, some knew it when they saw it, and some would put a stuffed elephant into the design if you suggested it. Just as some folks were tone deaf or color-blind, some people were design dummies. That was Sheikh Ahmadi. He loved it all—he thought every idea was brilliant. Belle was tempted to offer to stand the building on its top just to see Zafar’s face darken and to hear Sheikh Ahmadi exclaim what a wonderful idea that was.

  She resisted the urge.

  It already looked like Zafar was barely containing his temper. His fists had bunched, he wasn’t sipping his coffee so much as glaring at it, and she could swear she heard his teeth grinding. She could actually feel a little sorry for the guy—his dad had sprung this on him, probably to avoid any arguments, and she knew what that was like. Family. Had to love ‘em. But how was she going to make this work?

  In other circumstances, she’d have been happy to date the guy. He was smart, good-looking, but it would never have gone anywhere. She knew that. She had done her research, and Zafar’s designs—all built here in Scaran—were more than traditional. They were a slap in the face of everything except traditional design. This was a guy who’d rather live in the past. He didn’t use metal or glass—or if he did, he hid the elements. Oh, sure, some of the buildings were beautiful—but this project wasn’t a private residence, or even a high-end restaurant.

  This project needed to scale—meaning it had to fit thousands into a stadium and provide business offices for multinational companies. They wouldn’t want their image reflected by a quaint, Moorish-influenced structure. It was all good to talk about courtyards, but a sports complex needed a climate-controlled stadium. A world-class business office needed impressive views and offices that would seem a perk to any executive—meaning every bit of technology available.

  She could already see that Zafar would be fighting her every step of the way to ensure his design was the one that would ultimately be built at the edge of the desert. But would it all boil down to whoever spoke last to Sheikh Ahmadi?

  Uneasy suddenly, she shifted in her chair. What would happen when Zafar found out she was the underdog of her family and the few designs that had her name attached to them were ultra-modern, made of metal and glass, and nothing that appealed to any idea of tradition? And he would find out. She’d bet on that. Was there even a chance they could give a nod to Scaran’s traditions? Maybe some columns—or tile in the lobby? She had to scratch her nose. No way was this big guy settling for crumbs. She’d also bet on that.

  He had that stubborn, firm chin, and it was obvious from his designs she’d seen that he loved the culture of his country. He’d want stone and tile—and probably mud—everywhere. Not steel and glass.

  And he was also making plans.

  Those lion eyes showed calculations going on—did he plan to try and scare her off? Intimidate her? Make her think that modern architecture couldn’t stand up to desert sun and sand, the low humidity inland and the high right on the shore? Did he think she didn’t understand the temperature ranges the structure had to handle—another reason for a modern approach?

  Sheikh Ahmadi handed Belle’s smartphone back, and Zafar offered up a charming smile that set Belle’s stomach quivering and put her on alert. “I think, Father, that Belle should see the area where the complex is to be built. Seeing it in person will give her a better perspective on what will work and not work.”

  “Perfect.” His father stood. “I am pleased you are both embracing a cooperative effort on the design. I will be out of town for a few days but when I return I look forward to seeing what you have come up with.”

  Zafar nodded and stood. “Enjoy Dubai, Father.”

  Mouth pulling down, the sheikh waved a hand. “There is no enjoyment to be had meeting other Middle Easter
n leaders who only want to fight over oil and religion.”

  Belle threw her napkin on the table and she too got to her feet. “Shall we go now?” His mouth twitched down. What—he’d expected her to claim that she had to get her nails done first?

  “An excellent idea. It will be too hot later.” He let his stare travel down to her feet and back up. “However, I believe you will be more…comfortable in dress that does not expose so much of your skin. Not only will you receive fewer stares, you will be less likely to return with sunburn.”

  “You haven’t heard of sun block?” she asked. But Sheikh Ahmadi’s mouth had pulled downward as well, so she widened her smile. “I’ll meet you at out front in five minutes.” She turned and headed for her room. The palace was a maze of rooms, but she’d already mapped out the core structure in her head. And she was going to come back downstairs in long sleeves, khakis, and boots, ready to show Zafar that no way was she giving him an inch.

  Chapter 3

  Zafar leaned against his shoulders against one of the columns beside the front doors. The foyer was one of his favorite rooms. A twenty-foot ceiling, a Moorish lantern of colored glass at the top, tile floors that created a lush garden under the feet, pale walls that curved with the uneven plaster that had been polished decades ago. This was tradition at its best. This was what he wanted to show to the world.

  He envisioned the complex with arched walkways—a structure painted to blend into the natural landscape. The complex would comprise several stadiums—both indoor and outdoor—allowing a variety of sports to be practiced and played. He could envision domes with honeycomb ceilings, ornamentation in the form of mosaic tiles, a typical four-part in the center of the complex, and a lush garden pathway would lead from one building to the next. It would be harmony.