They stopped at the Paradise Inn, which was one of the circuit houses in town which select guests could use. Local businesses from Srinagar were one of the privileged few. Noor took off for a nap and made Ziya promise that they would do the cable car ride before sunset today. Since Gulmarg was a good two hours away, it was going to be a little tight.
Ziya and Krivi arrived at the Jaan-e-Bahaar estate where the saffron fields were located and their owner Bashir Khan awaited them.
The fields were on the highway itself, and were blooming with healthy orange strands and little purple wildflowers that made her want to run out and gather up an armful. Krivi braked smoothly at a convenient spot off the shoulder of the road and Ziya hopped down before he could do much more than engage in neutral.
His eyes followed her slim, jeans-clad figure as she ran nimbly between the rows of saffron and wildflowers and suddenly knelt down and just touched a single bloom. His heart thudded uncomfortably, once, and he gripped the steering wheel tightly before deliberately loosening his muscles one by one. He went out and joined her at a brisk pace and was once again caught off-guard at the sheer, unguarded pleasure visible on her face.
Ziya Maarten didn’t know the first thing about camouflage. And he couldn’t understand how she’d survived without getting her heart shattered into a million pieces given her rough childhood and adolescence. Either she was the most deluded creature he’d ever come across, or the strongest woman.
Ziya, unaware of the conflict inside her assistant manager’s brain, just smiled goofily at him as she knelt between the sea of flowers. Breathing in the heady scent of one of the costliest spices on earth. In a reputable restaurant in London, a pound of saffron would be bought for a cool three hundred pounds without a flicker of an eyelash. Not to mention its dollar equivalent in the rest of the world. Ziya already had feelers out in a couple of places in downtown Mayfair and a place in Manhattan that were in desperate need of saffron.
Milking them was not in the plans, but a healthy profit was nothing to sneeze at. Business School Tenet number twenty-three.
“It’s goddamn gorgeous, isn’t it?” she asked.
Krivi stuffed his hands in his pocket, a dark, unreachable shadow of a man in the bright noon sun.
“Yes,” he answered. Because saying otherwise would have been a lie.
Ziya stood up, brushing the mud off the knees of her jeans and smoothed the siren-red blouse she wore tucked into the waistband. It billowed out fashionably against her slim waist, and on her feet she wore smart black boots. Low-heeled that made for easy walking and she carried a black blazer that she slipped into when she caught sight of Bashir Khan coming their way.
Krivi noted the way she fluffed out her short hair against the collar of the jacket but kept his eye on Khan too. And the way the blond streaks shimmered golden in the afternoon light.
He struck his hand out to Bashir Khan before she could.
“Krivi Iyer,” he said briskly, in Hindi. “We are representing Goonj Enterprises. This is Ziya Maarten, Operations-In-Charge.”
Bashir Khan, a local Kashmiri who smelled of the saffron he grew and cigarette smoke shook hands with Krivi, sizing him up instantly. He regarded Ziya for a moment and then smiled as he shook hands with her too.
“Welcome, Miss Maarten. And may I say you are as lovely as your voice,” he added in perfect English.
Ziya smiled, pleased but her silver-gray eyes were cool. The man might have charm but this was still a business meeting. She nodded at the rows of flowers below them and said, “You have a beautiful set-up, Mr. Khan. The sunlight is adequate, your irrigation system seems to be in perfect working order and the harvest seems to have been particularly kind to you this season.”
Bashir smiled modestly, his light green eyes cooling too.
“Allah is kind, Miss Maarten. And please, let us not be formal. Call me Bashir miyan.” Brother, in Urdu.
“Bashir miyan,” Krivi said politely, “I was wondering if we could take a look at the property. Photographs haven’t done it any justice.” He tacked on a smile at the end, but caught Ziya’s frown before she hid it.
Why was she frowning when he was trying to be agreeable?
“Absolutely, Mr. Iyer. This way, please.” Bashir invited them on a well-worn pathway between the hedges. “And later on, if you are satisfied with what you’ve seen, maybe we can have a cup of kahwah.” A local tea brew that tasted delicious and smelled even better. “And talk terms.”
Ziya smiled, non-committal and distant. “I’m afraid Mr. Iyer doesn’t make the decisions around here, Bashir miyan. I do. I have the degree in business management.” Her smile turned a little nasty. “He doesn’t.”
Bashir grinned and bowed before her. “As madam says.”
Ziya offered her elbow to the man and he took it gallantly, leaving Krivi behind to follow if he chose to.
“Tell me about your rainfall scarcity backup plan,” she invited. “And I am very interested in finding out if organic pesticide is as effective on the southern part of the property as it is here.”
She might have been distracted by a hot ex-war vet who seemed to put her down every chance he got, but she still knew her work better than anyone else. And she was damned if some man was going to take her work away from her.
As Bashir talked her through his operation, elaborating on the points that she particularly wanted clarified, she resisted the urge to look back and check the thundercloud expression on the man following them. She would have been surprised to find that he wasn’t angry at her high-handedness at all.
In fact, if Ziya had looked back at all, all she would have seen in his midnight eyes were covert speculation and outright admiration.
“Where have you guys been?” Noor demanded a couple of hours later as she got in the car.
She was dressed in butter-soft jeans and knee-high boots with three-inch heels. Her coat was a leather floor-duster that swept in her wake like a regal cape. In fact, with her flowing hair and the Jackie O glasses she wore on her thin nose, she very definitely resembled a princess from some visiting principality.
She plonked on the passenger seat before Ziya could open the door for her.
“Can I get off first?”
Noor wriggled her butt and edged to the side so Ziya could get out and into the back.
Noor punched Krivi in the arm in a sisterly gesture. “You are late, mister,” she announced. “I had to have room service and you know I hate that.”
Ziya rolled her eyes as she settled herself in the back, after shrugging off the jacket and carefully folding it before placing it in the seat next to her. Next to her laptop briefcase. Because their meeting had run over, ending with a very successful kahwah tea meeting, she didn’t have time to change and get into more comfortable clothes.
“At least you got to have lunch, sweetie. We only had kahwah chai and you know how much I hate it,” Ziya retorted.
Krivi shot her a look on the rearview mirror as he gunned the engine and they took off in a blur of gravel. Her stomach dipped again at the unreadable emotion in his eyes and the easy, almost animal confidence with which he handled the Rover as he drove. His long, dark fingers caressing the wheel in a gesture she couldn’t help but notice. Dammit, but she didn’t want to notice anything about him.
“I didn’t know you hated kahwah,” he said, as he took the exit out of the city, flashing the Military Vehicle pass again at the checkpoint. “We wouldn’t have drunk it you’d said something.”
She shrugged, and felt her shirt blow out against her. “It wasn’t important. Bashir miyan was more inclined to negotiate