“What do they eat?”
“Sea-grass, mostly. They live in the mangrove beds on the shores of the Gulf.”
“But the oil has polluted the mangroves,” Olivia said. She stood up and looked sadly at the dugong. “Are they endangered?”
He shrugged. “They’re not on the official list, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It’s not.”
“We don’t know,” he said, after a brief pause. She felt as if she had been given the benefit of the doubt. “There are still good numbers in Australia and one or two other places. But numbers are declining everywhere, especially in the Persian Gulf.”
“Yes. Yes, I see.”
He looked down at her grimly. “So what are you going to do about it, Ms. McInnes? Withdraw the offer from MCI Oil?”
Olivia’s mouth opened, but no words came out. She had forgotten why she was here. How could she have forgotten the deal? A couple of hours in the company of this man and she had put aside the ambition of a lifetime. The MCI deal was going to secure her position as CEO of the company when her father announced his retirement later in the year. If she failed, the board would have excellent grounds to refuse her appointment. Many of them already believed her to be too young—and, though they might not say it aloud, too female—to take over.
“I can’t do that,” she managed to say eventually. “I can’t.”
“Well, then, we have a problem.”
“Yes, we do.” Gathering her wits as much as she could manage, she said, “It’s your problem as much as mine. Your father wants the deal, and your people need it. What happens if you just say no?”
He glared at her for a few moments then sighed heavily. “I don’t know.”
“Well, then, we have a problem.”
Sheikh Khaled twisted his lips ruefully. “I already said that.”
“So now what?”
She waited in the corridor while the sheikh locked up the collection. He slipped the keys in his pocket and turned to face her. They were standing close to each other. Too close. His lips twitched. He obviously knew exactly what he did to her, with his tie pulled loose and his shirtsleeves rolled up. The top button of his shirt was undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of golden skin and dark hair, with a steady pulse throbbing at the base of his throat.
He was irresistible.
She had to resist him.
She sucked in a breath and stepped back.
The sheikh’s hands shot out and gripped her elbows. He didn’t pull her closer, but he wasn’t letting her go. She could feel his warmth through the layers of her wool suit and silk blouse.
“Now, you invite me to Scotland and I decide whether MCI Oil has anything to offer my country. Or not.”
Chapter Two
The prospect of seeing Olivia McInnes again was the only thing Khaled looked forward to as he flew north to Aberdeen. If he had to negotiate between the Scylla of poverty and the Charybdis of environmental disaster, he might as well have an attractive woman to flirt with while he was doing it.
That wasn’t entirely fair. Underneath her dark curls and captivating cornflower-blue eyes, Olivia was a lot more than a pretty face. Clever, competent, and, so far as he could tell, compassionate. He wasn’t yet convinced that her apparent concern for the dugongs hadn’t been part of her strategy to clinch the deal, but he wanted to find out. He ought to know what sort of woman he was going to do business with if he decided to go ahead.
The car pulled into a circular gravel driveway, and Khaled looked curiously out of the window at Olivia’s family home. Dalneith House was as grim as anything in a Victorian novel. The bleak granite building had been designed to withstand the worst of the Scottish weather, but no thought had been given to making it inviting or homey in its appearance.
Khaled stepped out of the car and immediately shivered. The air was damp, and the wind was harsh against his skin. He hoped the house would be cozier on the inside than it appeared on the outside. He hurried toward the front door and was relieved when it opened to allow him straight in.
The housekeeper took his coat and called for a man to carry his bags upstairs. He introduced his bodyguards. “They’ll need to look around, I’m afraid, but I don’t anticipate there’ll be any problems.”
“Welcome, Sheikh Khaled.” Olivia came down the stairs and held out her hand to greet him formally. The thick woolen sweater and kilt she wore disguised her figure most disappointingly.
Khaled shook her hand. “Thank you, Ms. McInnes. I see that Scotland’s weather is living up to its reputation.”
“Indeed. You must come through to the drawing room and get warm. I’ll order tea.”
“Tea to heal all ills. How wonderfully English.”
“Scottish,” she corrected him pointedly.