Never Seduce a Sheikh(2)

Eyes the color of dark, bittersweet chocolate looked into his and he experienced the oddest sensation. Like a whisper of static across his skin, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

Blonde brows—unusual combined with dark eyes—quirked a little in response, but she didn’t look away.

Interesting. Most of the time, women blushed and either averted their gaze or regarded him with blatant sexual interest when he looked at them. Lily Harkness did none of the above. Instead, she looked at him up and down like a general surveying an approaching army for weaknesses.

An instinct within him, one that had been long buried, went quiet and still in response—the hunter spotting new and challenging prey.

She frowned, as if she too had felt something, but didn’t quite know what to make of it. Then, with the merest shrug of her shoulders, she put the phone in her pocket, and strode towards him, leaving the bodyguard trailing in her wake still trying to get the parasol up.

“Your Highness,” she said as she approached. “I’m Lily Harkness of Harkness Oil.” She held out her hand. “A very great pleasure to meet you.”

He did business with many westerners, but none of them strolled up to him and introduced themselves with a handshake. Still fewer, when it was a woman doing the handshaking. And that voice. Coolly confident with a sensual, husky edge. It made him think of things not entirely appropriate for business meetings.

He took her hand, opened his mouth to speak, but she kept right on going. “I must apologize for keeping you waiting. Some urgent business I had to deal with. I hope you didn’t have to wait too long in this heat?”

She hoped he didn’t have to wait too long in this heat?

Isma’il smiled. “Your concern is touching, Ms. Harkness. But as you can see, not only do I have an air-conditioned limo for my comfort, I also have a parasol.”

Blonde brows twitched. “A parasol?”

He raised a hand. The bodyguard with the parasol approached along the tarmac.

She examined the bodyguard. “That’s not yours.”

“What isn’t? The bodyguard or the parasol?”

“The parasol.”

“You’re right. It is not for me. It is for you.”

“For me?” She frowned in puzzlement, as if the idea that she might need shade was utterly alien to her.

“Yes. In my experience, many ladies find the heat here a little too much.”

She lifted a brow. “I think you’ll find I’m not most ladies, your Highness.”

“I think I am beginning to understand that, Ms. Harkness.”

At least, she wasn’t like the ladies he knew. The demure, quiet ladies of his court, the soft, feminine curvaceous ones he liked in his bed. No, most definitely not.

Small beads of sweat had begun to appear on her forehead, though the cool, professional smile she gave him betrayed no discomfort whatsoever. “Excellent. Now, I’ve been looking at the schedule you sent through and, forgive me, but there are a number of issues I’d like to raise.”

Ah, westerners. They were all the same. All impatient. All wanted to head into business immediately without giving proper respect to the hospitality of the host. Dahar was far more westernized than it used to be, but they did have their traditions.

He’d thought Lily Harkness would be more aware of this, especially considering one of Harkness Oil’s major selling points was their sensitivity to local customs.

Perhaps this was an example of her inexperience? If that was the case, then she would need to learn how things were done here.

He smiled at her, allowing the mask of charm to thin a little. “Of course. But as much as the idea of conducting a business meeting on the airstrip fills me with joy, perhaps this would be better discussed at a later date. It is the custom in Dahar to leave business until the proper time.”

She blinked. “The proper time?”

“Yes. There is a time and place for all such things, Ms. Harkness. And now, is neither the time nor the place.”

Like a ripple on a still pond, the faintest trace of emotion disturbed her smooth expression. Then it was gone, professional smile firmly in place. “But of course, your Highness. I understand.”

So cool. As if even the fierce sun’s heat couldn’t touch her. A heat she clearly must be feeling given the deep flush in her golden skin and the obvious sweat on her brow and upper lip.

The hunter’s instinct stirred again, wanting to test her in some way.

“You look a little pink, Ms. Harkness,” Isma’il observed lazily, deciding to keep her outside little longer. Heat was something she would have to bear if the desert trip he’d planned to meet with the tribes affected by the drilling was to go ahead. “Are you sure you don’t want the parasol after all?”