He reached for her hand and took it in his. Her fingers were long, her nails short. She was attractive, but not delicate. He turned her hand over and stared at her palm. There were several calluses and a couple of scars. These were the hands of someone who worked for a living.

“Squeeze my hand,” he said, staring into her green eyes. “As hard as you can.”

She wrinkled her nose, as if she couldn’t believe what he was asking, then she did as he requested.

Her fingers crushed his in a powerful grip.

Impressive, he thought. Perhaps she was who and what she claimed.

“Should we arm wrestle next?” she asked. “Or have a spitting contest?”

He laughed. “That will not be required.” He released her hand. “Would you like to see the car?”

Her breath caught. “I would love to.”

They walked through the palace to the garage. Along the way, Qadir pointed out some of the public rooms along with a few of the more notable antiquities. Maggie paused to look at a large tapestry.

“That’s a lot of sewing,” she said.

“Yes, it is. It took fifteen women over ten years to complete it.”

“I don’t have the patience for that sort of thing. Seriously? I would have killed someone within the first six months. One night I would have snapped and run screaming through the palace with an ax.”

The vivid image amused him. Maggie Collins was not a typical woman and he had met more than enough to know the difference. Although she was tall and slim, she moved with a purpose that was far from feminine. She had striking features, but wore no makeup to enhance them. Long dark hair hung down her back in a simple braid.

He was used to women using flattery and sexuality to get what they wanted, yet she did not. The change was…interesting.

“This is my first palace,” she said as they continued walking down the long corridor.