Free A Reputation For Revenge by Jennie Lucas Page A

suddenly insist that I pay you, say, a hundred million dollars for it.”
    “A hundred million…” She couldn’t even finish the number. “For six hundred acres?”
    “You know what the land means to me,” he said tightly. “You could use my feelings against me.”
    “I wouldn’t!”
    “I know you won’t. Because you won’t have the chance.”
    “Getting the land could take months!”
    “I have the best lawyers in the country working on it. I expect to have it in my possession within a few weeks.”
    A few weeks? She forced herself to take a deep breath, to calm the frantic beating of her heart, so she could say reasonably, “I can’t wait that long.”
    His lips pursed. “You have no choice.”
    “But my sister’s in danger!” she exploded.
    “Danger?” He looked at her incredulously. “If anyone’s in danger, it’s Vladimir.”
    Josie frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
    He blinked. “She’s always been his weakness, that’s all,” he muttered. He reached for her hand. “Come inside. I want to show you something.”
    He led her through the exotic green garden towards the palace, and as they walked past the soaring Moorish arches, she looked up in amazement. The foyer was painted with intertwined flowers and vines and geometric motifs in gold leaf and bright colors. Raised Arabic calligraphy was embedded into the plaster on the walls. She’d never seen anything quite so beautiful, or so foreign.
    Josie’s lips parted as, in the next room, she saw the ornamental stucco pattern of the soaring ceiling, which seemedto drip stalactites in perfect symmetry. “Are those
muqarnas?
” she breathed.
    He looked at her with raised eyebrows.
    “I love architecture coffee-table books,” she said, rather defensively.
    “Of course you do.” He sounded amused.
    Her eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head. “It’s beautiful. Even though it’s fake.”
    “Fake?” he said.
    “The builder tried to make it look older, Moorish in design, but with those art-nouveau elements in the windows… I’m guessing it was built in the 1920s?”
    He gave her a surprised look. “You got all that from a single coffee-table book?”
    Her cheeks colored slightly. “I might have spent a few hours lingering over books at my favorite couscous restaurant.”
    He grinned at her. “Well, you’re right. This was built as a hotel when Morocco was a French protectorate.” He looked at her approvingly. “There’s no way Bree is smarter than you.”
    Her heart fluttered. In spite of her best efforts, she was still beaming foolishly beneath his praise as he led her past a shadowy cloistered walkway to the open courtyard at the center of the palace. The white merciless sun beat down in the blue sky, but the center courtyard garden was cool, with lush flowers and an orange tree on each corner. Soft breezes sighed through palm trees, leaving dappled shadows over the burbling stone fountain.
    “Josie?” Kasimir was staring at her.
    She realized she’d stopped in the middle of the courtyard, her mouth open. “Sorry.” Snapping her lips shut, she followed him across the courtyard to a hallway directly off the columned stone cloister.
    He held a door open for her.
    “This will be your room,” he murmured. She walked pasthim to find a large bedroom with high ceilings, sumptuously decorated, with two latticed windows, one facing the courtyard, the other the desert. “You will need something to wear while you’re here.”
    “No, really,” she protested. “All I need is a washer and a dryer—”
    He opened a closet door. “Too late.”
    Peeking past him, she saw a huge closetful of women’s clothes, all with tags from expensive designers. She said doubtfully, “Whose are these?”
    “Yours.”
    “I mean, where did they come from? Were they… left here by your other, um, female guests?”
    “Female guests.” His lips quirked. “Is that what you call them?”
    “You know what I mean!”
    “I wouldn’t come