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He was utterly certain that Belle’s ultra-modern ideas had pushed his father away from the idea of anything cutting-edge. Now his father would see what a mistake it had been to work with this American firm and its too-American designer.

  Zafar quickly explained his approach to lay out a central garden as the focal point of the entire complex, with a vast courtyard in the center. He stepped back and folded his arms. His father could view the rest.

  Glancing up, Sheikh Ahmadi shook his head. “I intended you two to work together.”

  Zafar inclined his head, “Yes, sir. We know. But you can easily understand how impossible that became.”

  Sheikh Ahmadi stroked his chin. “Zafar…domes and towers? The world will laugh at us. And Miss Reynolds, when your father called to say you would be able to handle this project solo, I was hesitant. A project of this scope needs someone who fully understands what is required. Your drawings and ideas…they tell me you understand nothing of this site.”

  “But…”

  Sheikh Ahmadi raised his hand. “Each of you have made good points. There are things I can see, but this…” He waved a hand at Zafar’s model. “It is too old and that is impossible. We must have a design from someone who understands the heart of the region as well as someone with vision. You must work together.”

  Zafar glanced at Belle. She looked as stunned by his father’s reaction to her designs as he was. Frowning, Zafar shook his head. “Father, you ask too much.”

  Sheikh Ahmadi sighed. “Perhaps I do. Perhaps I should send you back to your family, Miss Reynolds, and Zafar can find someone else to work with. But there is so little time.”

  Pulling in a breath, Zafar glanced at Belle. She looked back at him, her gaze steady. Looking to his father, Zafar said, “Father, there is no time to talk to more firms—not with the deadline that faces us. You risk losing everything. We…” He had to swallow bile. He did not want this, but he could see no other choice. He would not allow his father to risk everything the family had built over the decades. “We can work together. It will not be easy, but Belle, she has already expressed that the impossible is something she likes to accomplish.”

  The sheikh nodded once. “Good. Now, let’s go eat. I’m starving, and I understand we have roast lamb tonight.” He stood. “Do you think a week is enough time for the two of you?”

  Belle straightened. “More than enough.”

  Dinner passed all too slowly for Zafar. Again, they did not speak of the project, but Zafar worried now. What had he gotten himself into? But if it was not Belle working with him, it would be someone else—perhaps someone without talent. He knew that now. His father had made it clear—this project would never be given to Zafar alone. That rankled inside him like poison. But he would not back away. He would not leave this in someone else’s hands with no say whatsoever in it. They would end up with something like the new part of the palace if that happened.

  After dinner, his father headed to his rooms. Belle turned to him, but Zafar placed a hand on her lower back and pushed her through the doorway, out of the dining room and toward the library that had become her office. “What…?”

  Zafar shook his head. “Not here. Too many ears are listening. That is the real trouble with living in a palace.” When she tried to stop and turn to see who might overhear them, he took her elbow and just kept walking.

  “Zafar, I need to—”

  “No. You don’t. And, please, you will wait until we are private.” He ushered her into the library and shut the door behind them. The brilliant colors on the carpets seemed subdued in the evening light. He turned on two of the lamps—both shaded with Tiffany glass. Sinking down on a low sofa, he scrubbed a hand over his face.

  Belle flopped down on the sofa next to him—he felt the cushions bounce. “Well, that went badly.”

  Sitting up, Zafar glanced at her. “Well, can we do this?”

  She shifted so she faced him. “Okay, so far it’s been each of us working to get what each one of us wanted. I’m willing to…well, compromise isn’t the right word, but obviously what your father wants isn’t something straight out of my head or yours. And he’s the guy paying the bills. So…can we do this? Maybe.”

  He wanted to laugh. “That is not exactly a vote of confidence.”

  Getting up, she prowled around the room. She stopped in front of the drawing table that had been set up for her. He noticed then that she had left some sketches there—scattered sheets of paper. It surprised him that she did not just work on computers. He stood and came to her side. One drawing intrigued him—he thought he saw the edge of a face. He pulled it from the pile, and found himself staring at himself.

  Belle’s cheeks flushed. She folded her arms, unfolded them, and waved at the drawing. “I doodle sometimes.”

  “You’re a good artist.” The likeness was good, but he thought she had smoothed out every imperfection. The way one eyebrow was slightly higher than the other. The small scar he had beside his nose on his right cheek from when he and Adyan had been boys playing with sabers take from the walls of the palace. Right after that, his father had taken all blades off the walls.

  Belle shrugged and plucked the drawing from his fingers. “Thanks. I almost went in for fine art, but well…blood will out I guess. It’s in my blood to do this.” She waved at the architectural drawings.

  Reaching over, Zafar pulled out another sketch—this one was of the old buildings they had driven past. He recalled the structure—a sad one that had been poorly maintained. But Belle had reworked it, constructing a new façade, filling in broken windows, adding shutters, redoing the doorway so it seemed inviting.

  “You have talent, Belle Reynolds.”

  “Yeah, well talent’s not going to be enough. You’ve got an impossible deadline—a building that has to be up in six months. And it’s got to be world class. So the design has to be doable as well as impressive. Now it’s got to survive a desert. All within a matter of days so we can get the blueprints done, and permits pulled, and materials can be ordered and construction can begin. I’m getting exhausted even talking about it.”

  Zafar looked at her. She didn’t look exhausted. Her eyes were glowing with energy. “Can’t isn’t a word in my father’s vocabulary, so I suggest we stop talking and start seeing which parts of our designs work together.” He leaned a hand on the drawing table. “But I think I have an idea.” He held out his hand. “Will you work with me, Belle? Or do you want to quit and go home?”

  For a moment, she hesitated. He saw the distrust in her eyes, but he kept his hand out to her. She frowned, and then her face relaxed. She put her hand into his. “Guess we’re partners.”

  Instead of shaking it, he held onto her hand. Her touch was soft and warm and he didn’t want to let go. He smiled at her. “Oh, we’re going to be more than that.”

  Chapter 6

  He took her out on the motorcycle. She eyed the bike like it was a cobra poised to strike, but he held out a helmet to her. “It will be far easier to see the old quarter this way. I’m going to spend the morning showing you what I love. You get the afternoon in the new downtown quarter. Lunch is a truce and once we’re back here, we set to work.”

  She took the helmet. “I’ve heard of some dumb ideas before, but…well, I don’t have anything better, so that’s even dumber. Just don’t dump the bike.”

  He’d asked her to wear jeans and something that would handle dust and dirt. She’d put on boots as well as the jeans and a sweatshirt without any labels or imprints. He’d worn his black jeans and T-shirt as well as boots. The helmets would also make them faceless. They’d be able to tour the city without anyone noticing.

  He started the tour in the old quarter, taking her to the restaurant he’d designed to replace a crumbling building that had to be torn down. It looked like nothing from the outside—all the best features were inside. The stairs that wound up around the courtyard. The outdoor seating. The terraces. The intimate corners. These were the things he loved. She pointed out how d
ifficult it must be to get hot food to the customers, and how the stairs must be killer on the staff.

  “You could have tucked an elevator into a corner for anyone over seventy,” she told him.

  He had to admit she had a point. They visited two other sites and then headed to downtown’s skyscrapers.

  She loved some of the buildings, pointed out features that even Zafar had to admit worked well—and they found agreement on a few things they both hated in architecture that was simply pretentious without being functional.

  Zafar took them to a small restaurant he knew on the outskirts of the old quarter—one that served local dishes in a family setting. Belle didn’t care for some of the spiced meats but she loved almost anything dripping with honey.

  They headed back to the palace, and Zafar thought if they had not quite reached an understanding at least they now had some knowledge of each other. Now they just had to make it work.

  ***

  “This is impossible!” Belle tossed down her pencil. It bounced off the drawing table, hit the floor and rolled under a chair. “I just don’t see how your ideas about hiding everything inside is going to work with the brief to provide something that’ll impress the world.”

  Zafar stretched his arms above his head. “How about we take a break?”

  They’d been at this since just after dinner and now it was late into the night.

  Belle shook her head and rubbed a hand over the back of her neck. “We don’t have time for any kind of break. We’re no closer to having some kind of unified idea, and you know the actual building plans are going to take time to put together.”

  “Belle, we will get this accomplished. Even if we have to—”

  “We are not cutting corners. I’ve seen what happens when things don’t get built with safety in mind. I won’t have my name—or my parents’ company—tied to something like that.”

  Zafar held up a hand. “I wasn’t going to suggest that, but we may have to propose construction in stages. I’ve told you, this must be a strong building.”

  Belle sighed and flopped into a chair. “Sorry. I guess I’m touchy. When I was seven, my father took me with him to look at a building that was going up. I was standing on the ground floor, looking up, when it started to move. The bolts holding the support beams sheared off. It came out later that they’d only use half the number of bolts the design called for.”

  “Cutting corners,” Zafar muttered.

  She nodded. “Long story short, Dad barely got us out in time and the project manager was almost killed when one of the beams fell. That was a lesson I’ve never forgotten. Finish a day late, folks will forget that. But if a building kills someone, that can’t be fixed.”

  He nodded. “We have no argument there. Shoddy workmanship and inferior materials will have no place here.”

  Belle gave him a smile. “Okay, let’s find something else we can agree on. What about the essential elements you think we have to include in the overall design? And I’m talking essential only.”

  They’d already done this several times, but Belle was determined to get at least a concept for the exterior done. The rest would go fast—she hoped—once they had nailed a concept. Her future was at stake, so it was time to come up with the perfect culture complement.

  Zafar had his chin propped in his hand. His dark, curly hair was mussed from him putting his hands in it to ruffle it. He looked like a pirate planning a raid, or some golden sheikh who ought to be plotting great things for his kingdom. No wonder he seemed to feel as if he belonged in the past—tonight, in his loose white trousers and shirt, he looked the part.

  Belle scrubbed her hand over her face. Clearly she was exhausted if she was now romanticizing not just the competition but a guy she was supposed to work with who didn’t agree with any of her ideas.

  “As I said before, gardens are an essential part,” Zafar said. “They are usually geometrical in design, with four parts. Since we are dealing with four main structures, I envision a large garden in the center, with axial paths extending from the garden’s center to the entrance of each building.”

  Scrambling for a new pencil, Belle began to sketch as he spoke. His voice—low and rough—was making her think of tents and palm trees and hidden water.

  “There needs to be a walled center—a place for meditation and prayer,” he told her.

  She began to think of conch shells and curves in the garden. But wait…what if they went with the tent metaphor. She quickly roughed out lines. Tents that weren’t really tents—high tech materials with built-in solar panels and skylights for natural lighting. “What do you think of this?” she asked. She leaned over to show him the drawing.

  He leaned closer as well.

  And suddenly all she could think of was him—his scent, his warm presence, his sharp intelligence. Her mouth dried. She kept looking at a stray curl of dark hair that looped around his ear. Her heart was pounding.

  “That’s good. But a tent will billow in wind—what if we add curves here? Soften the lines and make the roofline only seem like a tent.” He took her pencil from her hand, leaving her fingers tingling. “In keeping with traditions, we should provide a private space for women apart from the men.”

  Belle took back her pencil. “What if the courtyard has a yin-yang design? A water feature in the center. There could be restrooms nearby as well. The courtyard could be left open, or we could install a cover that could be opened or closed. Oh, hey, that would be ideal for one of the stadiums—I read how Roman coliseums had coverings they’d pull back or close.”

  Zafar took the pencil from her again and sketched in a few more touches—reworking the tent idea so there was an obvious main entrance and so it provided shelter from desert winds. When he pulled his hand back, Belle cocked her head and smiled. “Okay…at least we have a start.”

  Zafar grinned. “We have a courtyard and a concept. And is this really world class?”

  “Don’t knock progress.” She picked up the pencil and tapped one end against her cheek. “We have several football stadiums back in America that have sliding domes. They are very expensive to build.”

  “Money is not the problem. But if we are simply redoing what has been done, how does that make this building unique?”

  Belle began to sketch, letting the ideas simply flow through her fingers. “What if we’re thinking the wrong way? Your tower ideas—what if this is a tent next to a city. We have the city walls here—soaring towers, then walls here, fairly flat on two sides to allow plenty of room for the dome to rest when open.”

  Zafar nodded and moved closer to her. “A plain exterior with an arched walkway surrounding the entire structure. The arched doorways are very traditional. And inside the walkway, the ceilings could be vaulted.”

  “But not too high. The actual stadium seating would need to be slanted so anyone sitting at the top could still see down onto the field. What’s it supposed to seat again?

  “No less than fifty thousand.”

  “Good—the large stadium acts as the city, with towers and then the tents fit around it. That’s going to work—that’s new.”

  Zafar nodded. “That is also perfect.” He looked up at her and smiled.

  Her chest tightened and her heart did an odd little jump that it had never done before. For an instant, she could only stare into those tawny eyes. His face was so close to hers. His breath brushed over her cheeks. She stilled, her heart still pounding. She could she a small scar near the corner of his mouth, a curved crescent that almost looked like a line from smiling. He had golden flecks in his eyes, a rim of black around the iris.

  Straightening, she put her down the pencil and rubbed the stiffness from her fingers. “I need to call it a night.”

  Zafar stood. He took her hands in his and started to rub. He had long fingers and broad hands. “Sore?”

  She was having trouble breathing. If she leaned forward an inch, she’d bring her mouth next to his. He was smiling slightly and she realized she
liked his smile, and that he didn’t smile enough. Heart thudding, she pulled her hands away. This was a job—it was work. With a nod, she headed for the door.

  Zafar’s voice caught her before she could escape, “Come early to breakfast.”

  She glanced back at him over her shoulder. Oh—big mistake. He was still smiling at her, and she knew now she was a sucker for that smile. “And do what?” she asked. Her voice sounded rusty to her—as if she had no need to talk with him and every need for action.

  “We’ll take a walking tour through the city so you can get a better feel for the interior designs and how we might expand the concept.”

  She nodded, unable to do more. Escaping from the room, she headed for her bedroom. Tired as she was, she still lay on her bed, thinking about Zafar. Would a fling with him really be so bad?

  But it would. It would be a distraction. He would throw her off her A-game. She wouldn’t be able to concentrate. Worst of all, it wouldn’t stay a fling. Just a few days with the guy and she was already in danger of falling for him. And how could she do that when his life was so clearly here and hers was back in the States?

  Chapter 7

  Belle came downstairs in sensible walking shoes. Zafar approved. He was pleased to see she’d thought ahead and had donned a pair of light, loose tan slacks and a white blouse that somehow made her look feminine and soft. She’d added more perfume, and the fragrance drew him to her. She was, in some ways, an exotic flower— something that could never bloom in the desert, but that was nevertheless strong and enduring.

  She was full of contradictions—very American, and yet she could at least appreciate some of the traditional elements he had shown her. She was open to new ideas—too much so, he thought—and yet he sensed in her a tie to the past that many did not have. She would not be working in her family’s company if she did not have some respect for the past—for her parents’ legacy. This would be a good day, not only to expose her to more of his country’s architecture, but to understand her better.