by Amber Bardan
He frowned, and I’d never have believed Haithem capable of blushing, but his neck changed color. Yep, definitely went a shade or two darker than it had been. I choked back my laugh, shut the vibrator down, put it back in the box, and then stuffed it back inside the bag it came from. Then realized the bag also contained every kind of lube and love-oil solution ever made. Because nothing wins a girl’s heart like gifts of lube.
I patted my chest, trying to keep the laughter in. After all this time, I’d be damned if I lost the upper hand I’d gained on Haithem. Even if it was a cheap, superficial upper hand.
I came to the last of the boxes. Shoes. The part of the experience that solidly confirmed to me that I was a fully functioning woman—because opening those boxes did physical things to me. I can’t imagine the ways in which I may have disgraced myself with squeals and oohs and ahhs if Haithem hadn’t been next to me.
I held it together.
Until the last box. Then I lost it in another kind of way.
My insides froze. I stared down at brown leather boots.
Boots I had at home.
Boots my parents had given me for my eighteenth birthday. Boots that took me out of the warped alternate reality I’d been existing in with Haithem and slammed me back where I’d been almost three years ago.
I’d gotten brown leather boots for my birthday. That morning, when Dad pulled back the tarp on Josh’s Mustang, I’d been so thrilled for my twin. Josh needed special things. Josh had earned them. He’d suffered for them. But as I clutched my new birthday boots to my chest, maybe I was greedy, or selfish, or shallow, or all of those things, because I’d secretly hoped that maybe there’d be a surprise for me that day, too.
I looked around the room at the piles of things around me. Just things. Meaningless things. I, more than anyone, knew how unimportant things were.
I knew what really mattered.
But no one had ever gone to any effort for me. Not that I’d ever gone without. I got things when I needed them. A new outfit when I had a job interview, for instance. But I don’t think anyone had ever thought about what I actually wanted—not even once.
I breathed deep, unable to catch my breath. Why did Haithem have to be the one, the first person to ever floor me by going to a little trouble?
“Something wrong with the boots?”
I looked at him. “Why did you do all this?”
“Told you—this doesn’t have to be unpleasant. You could even try enjoying yourself.”
I dropped the boots and scooped up an armful of clothing. “All of this?” I dumped them at his feet. “All this, just so I’d enjoy myself?”
I couldn’t breathe deeply enough anymore, and I stalked the length of the room.
“You’re angry?”
God, men, so clueless.
I stopped halfway across the room and walked back toward him. “Do you know, for my eighteenth birthday, all I wanted was to go and see Les Misérables while it was in Melbourne?”
Haithem didn’t say anything, but his expression evened.
“I hinted to my mum about it for months.” I stepped closer. “Instead, they gave me boots.” I nudged the boots on the floor with my toe. “Not because we couldn’t afford it or they had something against musicals, just because they couldn’t be bothered—it was too much effort to take me, with everything else going on.” I looked at Haithem. His face blurred. “I’d have been happy with anything, really, if they’d just gone to a little effort.”
I couldn’t see Haithem anymore but knew I’d never seen someone stand so still. I tipped my head back and blinked until my vision cleared.
“So tell me, Haithem, why a stranger who cares little enough about me to keep me prisoner when he could’ve sent me home on a helicopter at any time, gives a crap about anything I might want?”
“What is it you’d like to hear?” He leaned closer, and my gaze flew back to him. “Do you want to hear that I feel sorry for you?” His voice became a whispering caress. “I’m sorry it worked out this way, but that’s not going to stop me from doing anything I need to do.” He straightened. “So enjoy yourself, Angelina, or don’t.” He turned and walked to the door, then paused. “It’s up to you, but it sounds to me as if maybe this is exactly where you need to be.”
THIRTEEN
AT A QUARTER past two, it hit me—no, Haithem had not been secretly hoping to sleep with me. I’d been alone, wearing holes through his bedsheets with my fidgeting fingers for a good three hours when I knew for sure. I could stop waiting.
He wasn’t coming, wasn’t going to sneak between the sheets for a midnight cuddle or a crack-of-dawn tumble. I glanced at the bedside clock. 2:16 a.m. Wow—that minute went hella fast.
Thank god he’d found somewhere else to crash, because if you’re going to pretty much hold a girl prisoner, she definitely deserves the sanctity of her own sleep space. It turned out he had at least some sense of chivalry.
I looked at the clock again. 2:16. Still? I rubbed my face. This was the first night I’d actually gone to bed to sleep—as opposed to falling unconscious or being completely wiped out by some feverish or postcry coma—since meeting Haithem.
Actually, unconsciousness didn’t sound so bad. I’d almost forgotten what this was like, this crazy, hyperactive, middle-of-the-night brain. It was the very reason I had a strict no-texting-after-midnight rule. The crap that goes through your mind when you’re awake but tired in the middle of the night is best kept locked away in your own head.
I peered around the room in the dark.
Could someone please explain to me why, in the cabin of freaking luxury, there was no television? No television, no gaming console, no DVD player. Not even a radio. A girl could lose her ever-loving mind.
If she hadn’t already.
I kicked my feet. The sheets were too heavy, yet not warm enough. For some reason, my calves twitched as though they wanted to run away. This was why, for the past year, I’d popped a sleeping pill at precisely nine o’clock every night, unless I was going out. Pill at nine, asleep by ten. No sleeplessness. No late-night musings.
No midnight psychotic rocking.
Pill and sleep.
Simple as that. The doctor agreed with this method from the beginning. It was the one thing I’d opened my mouth to complain about. Insomnia, they called it. I’m not sure I agreed. I knew what the problem was—too much alone time with my brain. I peeped at the clock.
2:16.
Are you freaking kidding me?
I leaned over and whacked my fist against the top of the clock. Pain shuddered through to my elbow. I looked and waited. The digital display flickered and then...2:17 a.m. Fantastic. Now only how many more minutes until dawn?
So why had Haithem managed to make a “right” choice on this one thing, and not slept in his own bed? Sure, given the circumstances, it’d be completely morally bankrupt or whatever, but like the guy had more than fifty cents in that vault, anyway. Wasn’t I tempting enough to warrant giving it a go?
I sat up. In fact, besides a few saucy looks, he had not put a single proper move on me since I’d awakened from that fever. What was up with that?
Maybe puking on him had put him off?
That’s not real sexy...
Not that I’d sleep with him now, obviously. I fluffed the pillows and lay back down.
Except, maybe I should...
Maybe sleeping with Haithem would crack him. Just like a nut. Sex—and then snap, hard shell gone, tasty center up for grabs. I mean, Emma could get a guy to do just about anything with nothing more than the power of her vagina. I’d seen her do it a hundred times. She chewed them up, spat them out, and then moved on to the next one.
And my vagina and I had come here for the express purpose of getting laid. Maybe not express, but let’s be hones
t, we’d wanted to be laid.
And Haithem was still superhot.
And no one was around to judge.
And after what he’d put me through, an orgasm or two—possibly three—wasn’t too much to ask for, was it? If I were ever going to try meaningless, detached sex, what better time than right damn now with a man who infuriated me?
Except he still hadn’t come on to me again—not even when I’d waved a vibrator at him. I flung my legs off the edge of the bed, jumped out and snatched my fluffy robe off the chair. At the very least, I’d get answers.
I marched to the door and tugged it open. A cool sea breeze filled my lungs, reminded me we were nowhere near home. The usual rules did not apply. In fact, there was no good reason why I couldn’t take Haithem up on his offer and focus on enjoying myself for once.
I crossed the deck and reached the stairs. This time I held on to the railing with a death grip as I made my way down. Reaching the bottom, I scanned the lower deck. A dark silhouette walked the perimeter. I couldn’t see which guard it was, but I didn’t fancy another incident like the last time I’d surprised one of those dudes.
“Hi,” I called, and waved, waiting for him to come to me.
The silhouette approached at a steady pace. I breathed out. He reached the bottom step, and I could make out his features. Yep, Spanish-speaking cowboy-guard.
“Hola.” I understood that first word, thanks to Dora the Explorer and my time babysitting, but not the rest of the sentence he rattled off. I guessed by his tone that it probably went a little something like “Go back upstairs.”
I pulled my dressing gown tighter, and because it was most likely still 2:17 a.m. and the normal rules need not apply, I cracked a smile. “Take me to your leader.”
He looked at me blankly.
Either he was way too lame to appreciate my late-night humor, or he really didn’t speak English. I sighed. “Haithem, take me to Haithem.”
He frowned.
“Haithem said I could come down here.”
He stared at me. I wasn’t sure if it was my repeating Haithem’s name or if the guard actually could understand, but he inclined his head and walked toward a door. I followed, and he led me down a dim hallway, then to a closed internal door. He nodded at the door and waited.
I stared at the shiny wood-veneer surface. My stomach fluttered. The excess energy fueling my nerves dwindled a little. I glanced back at the guard. He nodded at the door again. Too late to back out. I held my breath, knocked, then turned the handle, stepped in and shut the door behind me.
A light flicked on, and Haithem sat up in bed, hair mussed, eyes narrowed and jaw set hard. A sheet pooled at his waist. My mouth pooled in response. He was shirtless. And what a chest, goddammit. Muscled enough to make me want to trace every ridge with my hands but not so muscular that it looked as if it took too much effort for him to be that way. My gaze flicked to where the sheet rested in his lap. Where dark hair gathered to a central tuft.
Possibly, he might’ve been fully naked under the sheet.
My skin caught fire. Went up in flames, as though someone had put a match to me. I swallowed twice.
“What’s going on, Angelina?”
I stared at his lap.
“Why are you in my room?”
In his room? I glanced around. This room was more like a regular—but still nice—hotel room. This wasn’t his room. I had his room.
“Why isn’t there a TV in the cabin?” I blurted out the only question I could come up with.
“What?” Haithem scratched his cheek. He’d shaved. Damn him, he’d shaved—and showered, too, going by the smell of him. Because yes, I could smell him. He used some kind of scented man soap that made me want to crawl right onto his bed and rub my face all over him.
“Why is there no television in my cabin?”
He rested against the headboard. “I had the televisions taken out. I find them disruptive.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Is that all?”
I leaned my shoulder against the wall. “No.”
“What then?”
“How come you’ve stopped hitting on me?” I glanced at my slippers.
Yeah, I played that cool.
“You’re not here for the same reasons anymore.”
I looked up, my fingers twitching. “I didn’t agree to service your needs, you mean?”
His lips thinned. Odd, I used to think he was so hard to read, but now his anger blazed for me to see.
“That...and you’re only twenty. I’m thirty, and I enjoy women who are at least old enough to drink.”
Ouch.
That one hit me like a slap. Actually, maybe a slap would have stung less. Having Haithem look at me and imply a lack of attraction... I tried to shake it off, that old worry that I wasn’t enough.
I smiled a bitter smile I’d seen on other women but never pictured on myself.
“Well, presuming we’re still in Australian waters, not America, where clearly you’re used to spending time—”
He twitched. Seemed as if I’d guessed what he hadn’t chosen to tell me.
“Then I’m old enough to drink, to vote, to drive and to fuck.” I smiled a little wider. “But if that’s not enough to alleviate your conscience,” I said, almost choking on the word, “then rest assured, I’ll be twenty-one in a little over a week.”
Haithem stared me down then met my smile with an even more sarcastic one. He flipped back the sheet, exposing his hip and one long, long leg. I ate up the sight—Haithem naked, shoulders to toes. Oh, dear, merciful Lucifer. My insides did hot explosive things.
“By all means, come here then.” He stroked the empty space next to him.
Challenge lit his eyes—I double dare you.
I almost dived onto that space, yet, for some reason, my heart revolted, made me shake with things other than lust. Maybe pride. Turned out that I needed to know he really wanted me.
“As stunningly seductive as that offer is, I’m afraid it fails to send my lady parts to their happy place.”
I flashed a grin, watched his expression go blank, then I fled the room before I proved myself a total liar.
* * *
MAYBE MY JAB at Haithem’s seduction skills prompted the pseudo dating, or perhaps he simply enjoyed eating sweets with women. He brought me cheesecake. Not a slice, not a mini cheesecake, but a whole damn family-sized baked strawberry cheesecake on a glass platter. At least I was more prepared than usual, lounging in a deck chair, looking extra sharp in designer sunglasses, high-heel shoes and a brand-new sundress when he set dessert on the table on the deck and called me to “breakfast.”
I pulled myself up from the deck chair and walked over to the table, feeling a little taller next to him than I usually did. He set a bottle of champagne on the table, then went inside the cabin and came back out with two champagne flutes. He pried the lid off the bottle with a pop and eased the foam into a glass without so much as a drip, then handed me a full sparkling flute.
“Champagne breakfast?”
My fingers closed around the stem.
Haithem held on to the glass. “Well, since we are still in Australian waters, and you’re old enough to drink...”
My heart did a backflip. He’d just given me something—knowledge. It wasn’t lost on me. Nor was the fact that with him, such a gift would be deliberate. He let go of the glass, and I pulled it to my chest and sat in one of the chairs.
He filled the other glass, not looking up. “Why didn’t you tell me about your impending birthday?”
“Like you didn’t know. You saw my date of birth.” I pushed the sunglasses back into my hair.
“No, I mean earlier.” The bottle clinked on the tabletop, and he looked at me. The sun hit his eyes just right, showing m
e hidden highlights in what appeared to be total darkness. “When I asked you to come away with me, you said you had responsibilities.” He sat cautiously. “You never said you had a special birthday. Is that it? Are there celebrations planned for you?”
My stomach dropped. A pile of bricks could’ve been placed on my chest, and there’d have been less pressure on my ribs. I pushed the glass to my lips and sipped. Bubbles tingled on my tongue. How do you describe something as being the exact opposite of a celebration? I took another bigger sip. Champagne burned up my nose and into my eyes. I hadn’t done the sums when he’d invited me on his yacht, but if I’d realized I could be away from home for my birthday, maybe I’d have made a different choice.
I’d have made a different choice.
“Doesn’t matter now. I won’t be home for it, will I?”
“No.” He said it simply. If he had any remorse, I couldn’t tell.
I shut my eyes, tried to shut down the surge of relief. I shouldn’t feel that way. I should want to be with my family on that day.
Josh’s twenty-first birthday.
Because, let’s face it, there wasn’t room for it to be mine. Not in my heart, not in theirs.
I opened my eyes. Haithem cut a thick slice of cheesecake.
He handed me the plate, but I shook my head.
“Don’t like cheesecake?”
“I like cheesecake just fine.” I took another mouthful of bubbly. As though he hadn’t already worked out that my love of sweet, cheesy baked goods came second only to my love of chocolate pastries. Not that I let myself overindulge.
Haithem sat and picked up a fork. “You shouldn’t drink that on an empty stomach. It’ll go to your head.”
“Well, my mother taught me a lady never eats sweets for breakfast.” I drained the glass then plonked it down. It hit the table harder than I meant it to, sending a jolt into my funny bone. I’m not sure what she’d say about champagne breakfasts. “And to save treats for once a week. So after yesterday’s breakfast, I think I’ve met my quota and broken enough rules.”