He didn’t know the first thing about her, and he wanted to know everything.
She paused at the opposite entrance to the tent, probably letting her eyes adjust, and then she gave a subtle wave with her hand. Malik followed the motion with his eyes.
The table where his father sat with Clifton.
Clifton raised a hand and nodded to her. Then he turned back to King Hasim.
A minute ago, Malik would have chosen to sit down at Clifton’s table and talk with his father’s friend. It was the safe bet with good timing—not late enough in the reception for Clifton to feel Malik had neglected him, but not so early that his father would think he needed reassurance.
Malik did not need reassurance. He needed to know who the woman in the white suit was.
She lingered at the open side of the tent and swept her eyes over the room, and Malik put his foot down on the hardwood. Thank God she hadn’t seen his stumble. She hadn’t looked at him. He knew, somehow, that when she finally did it would be a shock to his system. Everything about her looked like a shock to his system, from her hair to her outfit to her…matching white boots.
Boots.
The rest of the women in the room wore black flats or low heels.
The only element of black about the woman—who was somehow connected to Clifton—was a black camera strap across her chest.
He took one more glance at his father’s table and around the tent. They were all involved in conversation. Malik turned to a waiter nearby, one with a tray of champagne flutes in his hands, and snagged two of them.
By the time he looked back, she was gone.
He looked toward the oasis—there she was, walking toward the date palms with a determined stride. She had not been a mirage.
Malik went after her.
He caught up with her at the edge of the pool, where she stood in the shade of a tree. She had lifted the camera to her face and was snapping pictures when he came up alongside her.
“This place is prime,” she said, her voice low and excited. “There are so many options for—oh!” She let the camera fall to her side, and he got his first close view of her face. Heart-shaped lips. Big green eyes. Perfection. “I’m so sorry, Sheikh Malik. I thought you were Mr. Berber.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” he joked, offering her a champagne flute. She took it. “You already know who I am, but we haven’t been introduced.”
“Holly Remington.” She offered her right hand to shake, planting her feet firmly into the earth. “I work with Mr. Berber, as you might have gathered.” Holly’s grip was strong, unflinching. Malik was used to women blushing, their eyelashes fluttering to their cheeks. She met his gaze without a hint of shyness.
Goose bumps rose on the back of his neck, tracing a path down to his spine. Different, something inside him called. She’s different.
Malik released her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Remington.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” Her gaze was frank. “Thank you for the champagne, by the way. You didn’t need to bring it all the way out here for me.” She raised the flute to her lips and took a sip. Malik did his best not to notice the way her lips curved around the rim of the glass. He failed.
“I didn’t want to approach empty handed.” He sipped his own champagne, the sweet bubbles dancing on his tongue.
Holly laughed. “The view is enough for me.” She shook her head and looked back out over the pool, the water sparkling in the sun. “It’s incredible out here. I mean, truly incredible.” She let out a little sigh. “You’ve got a treasure on your hands.” Holly raised her free hand to her hair and tugged at the bun, loosening it a bit. A breeze picked up off the desert and stole a few more strands from the tight knot at the back of her head. Somehow, it looked even better than it had before.
“I do,” agreed Malik, though the words shimmered with a strange double meaning. From the expression on Holly’s face, she understood. This wasn’t just a piece of land to be developed. It was special, verging on sacred.
“You don’t see a place like this very often.” She took a deep breath of the desert air. “Maybe you do,” she said with another laugh. “But not where I’m from.”
“The States?”
“Kansas City, originally,” she said, “but I moved to New York when I came to work with Clifton after graduation.” She waved a hand in the air. “You don’t care about all that, though.” She looked at him with unguarded interest and an open, genuine smile. “I’m sure you’ve got enough on your plate, being a prince. And here I am, going on and on like you’re another developer. You can stop me anytime.”
He didn’t want to stop her. It was rare that anyone talked to Malik like this. Exceedingly rare. Vanishingly rare. Exhilaration ran through his veins like a plane taking off from a runway. “Quite the opposite,” he said. “I do care.”
“Do you?” Her eyes danced. “Because you really don’t have to stay here for me.”
“What if I want to stay here for you? Hmm? What then?”
Her smile deepened. “Then I guess I won’t stop you. You did bring champagne, after all.”
“And questions.”
“Questions?” She leaned in a few inches, her expression somehow coy and confident at the same time. “Are you sure you don’t want to question my boss?”
Malik pretended to look around for Clifton. “He’s not here. That means you’re in the hot seat.”
She burst out with a belly laugh then. “Ask away.”
“Tell me your thoughts. On the projects,” he finished, though the development sites across Qadir were the furthest things from his mind.
“Oh, I think there’s a ton of opportunity here.” Holly’s eyes narrowed, and she swung an arm across the pool. “I’d clear some of the trees on the opposite bank. The shape of the land doesn’t lend itself to a massive structure, so I’d go with several smaller ones. Or maybe not.” She cut a glance at him. “Maybe a large one. In the end, it would be quite the destination. And I think adding a manmade waterfall would bring it all together. That would be the first few years, of course, with additions around the bank at five and seven years. And on this side—”
Malik’s stomach went cold, his throat tightening like he’d swallowed a block of ice.
He’d been wrong. So wrong.
She didn’t understand at all.
They had been explicit in the invitation materials that the oasis was not available for development. Yet here she was, talking about clear-cutting three quarters of it and making it into a place for tourists.
It was the last thing his mother would have wanted.
It was the last thing Malik wanted.
Holly’s voice trailed off. “Sheikh Malik?”
He forced his eyes back to hers, feeling his face fall into a rigid mask. “Very interesting,” he said. Malik gave her the ghost of a nod. “It was good to meet you, Ms. Remington. I have to get back to the gathering.”
He walked away, feeling her eyes on his back with every step he took.
She’d been attractive. That was all. Attractive enough to blind him to her true nature. Holly Remington would bulldoze her way into the future at any cost. She had no regard for the past.