Sheiks of Ahalamin - Book One.
He's an audacious Middle Eastern Prince. She's a prideful Wall Street Princess. These two warring hearts will burn a trail from the skyscrapers of New York City to the scorching sand of Ahalamin.
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Sweltering humidity thickened the air as Rashid and Califar walked from the private airport's security hub to the waiting limousine. Rashid stretched his neck. He disliked the strangling attire western men wore with ease. The fit of each garment prevented the smallest circulation of air which could give a man relief from the muggy heat.
The cool air spilling from the opened door of the waiting limousine gave him some hope as he slid into the car. "Is Mr. Ballard expecting us?" he asked the driver.
"Yes, Your Highness. My instructions are to take you straight to the Ballard Building unless you have another stop you wish to make."
"No stops," said Rashid.
Narrowing his mental and visual focus, he stared straight ahead. He was not experiencing the joyful contemplation of a man in anticipation of his nuptials. What he was feeling could better be worked out in a battle exercise with his bodyguards.
Depending on someone else to arrange the details of his marriage bordered on the objectionable, at best. The sooner this arrangement saw completion, the sooner the perverse annoyance would end. Allah was not favoring him with speed, however. What could not have been more than fifteen miles from the airport to Jacob's office took the better part of an hour in the congested New York traffic.
At last, he and Califar entered the Ballard building and, by private elevator, made their way to the executive suites. The receptionist informed them of a delay in Mr. Ballard's arrival and offered them a seat and a cup of coffee while they waited. Rashid refused both. Instead, he walked to an expansive wall of glass and stared at New York's towering structures of concrete and steel. He wondered how anyone survived a lifetime in this hard landscape. Canyons of stone and mortar were poor substitutes for unending skies and armies of majestic sand dunes marching to a shared destiny.
A commotion across the room seized his attention from the city below. A whirlwind hit the outer door of the reception area in the form of a woman. Backing through the door, she shouted at someone to hold the elevator. Depositing two large bags on the floor, she hurried back through the entrance.
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With his attention riveted, Rashid waited for the woman's return. Loaded with more packages, she swept into the room and tossed them, one at a time, toward the receptionist. She sucked up the room's energy with her vibrancy. Rashid could not help but stare. By the incredulous look on Califar's face, he was suffering the same problem.
The woman personified exquisiteness. A red leather skirt ended at mid-thigh, exposing long, silky legs. Her full breasts heaved under a low-cut, black blouse. A profusion of curly, shoulder-length, red hair framed eyes as green as a fertile valley. Her red lips parted in a vivacious smile.
