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Glacial was how she would describe the dark, clinical interior of smooth panels.
Yes. That was the word, she told herself.
Everything Qazim had a hand in designing was icy cool.
There was a coldness, a clinical quality about the design of elevator's interior, she observed with a knowing eye. The same austere quality was to be found in every one of the many buildings he owned in the city.
That seemed to be the way he liked everything in his life.
Hard edges. Sharpness.
A masculine harshness.
Of course she had criticized him for the sparseness of his designs, even the coldness of them. That had been her job, after all. Why she had come to Qazhar in the first place.
Qazim was about to expand his construction operation into overseas territories, and Grace and the company she worked for had been brought on board as an advisor. The company specialized in helping overseas property developers plan and design hotels in the States.
Qazim had plans for expanding his empire. Big plans. And Grace and her associates were in Qazhar to help him make those plans real.
But, right from the start, there had been conflict. What Qazim liked to build might not necessarily fit in with what America was used to when it came to hotel design.
Qazim's tastes always seemed to tend toward the austere. Not for the first time, she wondered why that was. Why was he attracted to such a style?
She'd sensed a growing harshness in him recently, one of the reasons things had cooled off between them. During recent meetings he'd become abrasive and demanding. Even more demanding with Grace when they were in bed together.
She sighed and pushed the memories of those nights well and truly to the back of her mind. There was no use thinking about that, right now, she told herself.
Grace leaned back against the mirrored wall, feeling the cool glass against her skin. She felt the steady movement of the elevator. She'd be there any moment now.
He hadn't come down to greet her. She wasn't surprised at that. Qazim must still be confident that she belonged to him somehow. That she was his possession.
Grace snorted quietly at that thought. She belonged to no-one, especially someone as brazen and dominating as Qazim. Because he was commanding, even autocratic at times, she told herself.
Of course, there were plenty of women who would like that in a man. And she had to admit that, to begin with, she had submitted to the temptations of being with Qazim.
Completely and utterly.
There had been times in the last few weeks when Grace had been sure she'd lost her mind.
That was how Qazim had affected her.
Grace's mind drifted to memories of their love-making. Especially during recent weeks, when things between her and Qazim had become really intense. She felt her heart quicken, her pulse begin to race, even as she recalled the last few times she'd visited Qazim in the very place to which she was headed.
Surely she must be crazy coming here, she admonished herself. It was risky and she knew that Qazim might well misinterpret her coming here like this. He might just believe it was like old times. That she couldn't resist him.
Grace shook her head and smiled sardonically.
Qazim was about to find out that she could quite easily resist him. And reject him.
She knew there was probably no better way to break the news to him than in his own domain, the place where he enjoyed so much power.
The elevator began to slow. Grace stepped forward and composed herself, drawing in a deep breath.
Then the doors slid open and Qazim was standing there. Right in front of her. In all his glory.
Grace's throat tightened involuntarily and she forced herself to smile at Qazim. He smiled right back at her, a hint of hunger and cruelty at the corner of his mouth.
God, he was gorgeous, she gasped inwardly to herself. She felt the color flush her cheeks. She dragged her gaze away from him. But it didn't last very long. WIthin a few moments, she was gazing at him, trying to maintain a blank expression on her face.
