by Leslie North
“I am not Muslim, for your information. I am Christian. My family has been since the fifth century AD.” He finished off his milk, then set his empty cup aside. “Anything else you’d like to know about me?”
She swallowed hard and stared down into her mug, her blond brows knitted. “Heath mentioned to me once that you were a prince or something. Is that true?”
Heath needed to keep his mouth shut, Daveed thought, but saw no harm in responding to what she already knew. “My family rules a small island kingdom off the coast of Saudi Arabia called Al Dar Nasrani. The country is currently a sheikhdom and I am the oldest son, so yes, I would stand to inherit the throne and the title of Sheikh should something happen to my father.” He looked away. “However, my two younger brothers have been doing their best to convince my father to abdicate the sheikhdom and adopt parliamentary rule for the people of Al Dar Nasrani. A true democracy. I would like this as well.”
Melody tilted her head slightly. “You don’t want to be Sheikh?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I want to be free to live my own life, make my own choices.”
“Like choosing your own bride?” Melody asked. “You mentioned your arranged marriage earlier.”
“Exactly.” Even now, twenty-five years later, resentment still burned hot in his chest. How could a parent, any parent, do that to a ten-year-old child? Shackle them to a marriage that they neither wanted nor understood? And after they’d promised him they wouldn’t too. It was unthinkable, unforgettable, unforgiveable. In truth, that was the main reason he’d left his island home behind and moved to the US right after high school. Of course, his scholarship to Yale had helped in that decision as well. He’d entered their international law program and never looked back. He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ah, well. Doesn’t matter now anyway. That’s all water under the bridge. I haven’t seen my family in years and doubt they’d even recognize me now.”
“What about the girl you were engaged to?” she asked, leaning a bit closer to him, her fascination with his story apparent in her relaxed movements and rapt stare. And damn if her interest and attention didn’t make him feel more like a king than he ever had back home near his father’s throne.
Daveed chuckled and stretched out his long legs in front of him. “Shayma, you mean? Oh, I suppose she’s doing just fine these days. She always was a tough cookie, even at six-years-old. Truth is, I did kind of like her back then, but once our parents forced it upon us I wanted nothing to do with her anymore.”
“Was she pretty? Have you seen her since then? Does she still live in the Middle East?”
Her rapid-fire questions made him smile. “She was very pretty, still is. I saw her briefly at my high school graduation. One of her older brothers was in my class. At that time she looked a lot like that new actress. The one in the Wonder Woman movie.”
“Gal Gadot?” Melody said, giving him an astonished look. “Man, she must be gorgeous then.”
“Yes, she was quite striking. And no, I do not know where she is now.”
“Wow.” Melody sat back, her expression turning pensive. “Do you ever regret it?”
“Regret what?”
“Your decision not to marry her? To give up your title and throne?”
“No. Never.”
“I wish I could be so certain of my choices in life,” she said, her tone wistful. “Most days I feel like I have no clue which way to turn.”
“Hmm.” Daveed crossed his legs, his ankle resting atop his knee and settled into his seat. “Tell me more about this Jefferson Hanks idiot. Help me understand why the hell you’d run away with him halfway across the globe without a second thought for the man you were engaged to.”
* * *
Melody pulled her legs in a bit tighter beneath her and clutched her mug of hot milk tighter. It wasn’t the question that made her unsettled, though it was certainly direct. Nope. It was the fact that Daveed was sitting across from her without a shirt and… damn. She’d never really paid much attention to his looks before, but the man was seriously gorgeous—all tanned smooth skin and rippling muscle. And those eyes of his, startlingly light brown and intense and far too knowing for her comfort.
She shook off her errant urge to reach out and touch his skin so see if it felt as warm and soft as it looked and instead tried to focus on answering his question as best she could. For some reason she really wanted Daveed to understand why she’d done what she’d done. Maybe it was because he’d been nice to her tonight when she’d had nowhere else to turn. Maybe it was because for once she wanted someone to see beyond her tabloid reputation and her parents’ wealth and see the real Melody beneath. Or maybe it was just that sitting so close to him in the semi-darkness, with a lovely light snow falling outside the windows and the twinkling lights of Christmas all around them, created a sense of intimacy that had her yearning for more.
“Honestly,” she said, shrugging slightly and staring out into the wintery New York night. “I think I loved the idea of being engaged to Heath more than I actually wanted to marry him. Does that make sense?”
Daveed gave a small nod, his gaze narrowed. “Still doesn’t explain you running off to Tahiti though.”
“Right.” Her self-deprecating laugh sounded far too loud in the quiet condo. Melody lowered her head and stared into her near-empty mug. “I’m such an idiot. Guess the tabloids were right on that one, huh? Truth is, I fell hard for Jefferson Hanks the night I met him backstage after seeing him in Lawrence. And yeah, I know it’s been out forever and I’m behind the times, but I’ve been busy.”
“Lawrence?” Daveed frowned. “As in Lawrence of Arabia?”
“Yeah.” She looked over at him and smiled. “From the confused look on your face it seems like I’m not the only one behind the times.”
He sniffed and looked away, as if he could care less about some Broadway musical. “I’ve been busy too.”
Yeah, busy keeping Heath from seeing me, she wanted to say, but bit the words back. It was all water under the bridge now anyway, given her midnight run to the South Pacific with Jefferson. Melody sighed then continued. “To answer your question, yes. Lawrence is a musical adaptation of the beloved story of Lawrence of Arabia. Or as Jefferson liked to point out, it’s the longest-running hit on Broadway.”
Daveed gave a derisive snort. “Whatever. So you fell into insta-lust with this man and ran off across the globe with him? Doesn’t speak very highly for your judgment skills.”
His words hit her like a sucker punch to the chest, but she took them in stride. After all, he was right. She hadn’t been thinking when she’d taken off with Jefferson. If she had, she might’ve seen the warning signs much sooner. “Jefferson is quiet a schmoozer. He’s good-looking and charming and pretty dazzling when you first meet him. Those things cover up a lot of faults underneath. With me feeling neglected by Heath and lonely, I guess it wasn’t hard for Jefferson to sweep me off my feet. It wasn’t until we landed in Tahiti that I realized I’d made a mistake. Believe me, under full sunlight, the guy’s a lot skinnier and balder. And don’t even get me started on his vanity. All he ever talked about was himself. In third-person, no less. Like he was some deposed ruler of the kingdom. The Royal We.” She rolled her eyes and Daveed chuckled. “The worst part though was when we finally got settled in our private beach house and got ready for bed. I figured at least I’d get a little snuggle time out of all this mess for my trouble, but no. Jefferson promptly informed that he’s gay and he refused to sleep in the same bed with me.”
Melody took a deep breath and gave a sad, slow smile. “See? Warning signs. If only I’d paid attention, I’d have picked all this up before I’d left the States and maybe avoided destroying my life. But no. I raced headlong into bad-decision-land just like I always do. Jefferson told me then that the only reason he brought me to the island was for the publicity I could garner for him. So, I turned around and headed back to the airport
that same night and caught the first available flight back home, after I pawned my ring, of course.” She blinked down at her bare hand, the sting of unexpected tears at the back of her eyes. “I never meant to hurt anyone, least of all Heath. But when I got back home my family basically disowned me. They won’t even talk to me. My dad’s attorney called me and said my access to all my credit cards has been denied and he’s cut off my monthly allowance from my trust fund. When I asked him why my dad would do such a thing, knowing that was the only means for me to support myself, the attorney said my father blamed me for leaving my mother unable to function over the loss of the ‘wedding of the year’.” She used air quotes for emphasis on the last part. “With no other choice, I came here, hoping maybe Heath could see his way to at least letting me sleep on his floor for the night so I didn’t have to camp out on a bench in Central Park.”
Daveed sat back, the taut muscles of his chest and stomach moving beneath his golden-brown skin in a hypnotic way that Melody found herself unable to stop watching. She frowned, thinking maybe the hot milk was kicking in sooner than expected if she was getting this woozy over a man she barely knew.
“So you have nothing then?” he said.
She shook her head, not trusting her voice, as she forced herself to look away from him. “Nope. No money. No work experience. Nowhere to turn but Heath for help. And now you.”
For a moment, he seemed quite startled by her inclusion of him in that statement, as if he’d not really considered helping her any more than he already had. But she was desperate and desperate times called for desperate measures, right?
“Well,” he said at last. “This will require a plan then.”
“A plan?” she frowned. “What kind of a plan?”
“A plan to tame your impulsive nature and get your life back on track.” He reached over and snatched her empty mug from her hand then stood to take their cups into the kitchen. “I suggest you get a good night’s sleep tonight. We’ll have a busy day tomorrow.”
3
“You weren’t kidding, were you?” Daveed said the next morning as he carefully maneuvered the twisted metal of the destroyed frying pan into the trash bin. “No skills whatsoever. At least not in the kitchen.”
He’d been making them breakfast when she’d walked in—fresh as a daisy in her clean white T-shirt and faded jeans, the material of both highlighting her creamy skin and lush curves. He’d staunchly done his best to ignore it all and concentrate on cooking. When she’d offered to help, he’d accepted, thinking it would be better to keep her busy and not lingering around him, tempting him. Of course, that had been before she’d somehow turned making hard boiled eggs into a warzone and nearly set fire to Heath’s condo.
With a dish towel in hand, Daveed fanned the lingering smoke and stench of melted silicone from the pan’s handle from the air. Melody stood near the corner of the stove, looking about as pathetic as the last toy on the shelf at Christmas. Unwanted sympathy for her pinched his chest and he felt an overwhelming urge to clear the sadness from her eyes, to make her smile again. She did have such a nice smile that seemed to light up whatever room she was in.
“Right. Okay.” He glanced around. “How about toast? The bread’s in the drawer over there. I think four slices should do it.”
Cheeks flushed, she glanced up at him with something that looked an awful lot like gratitude and warmth zinged outward from his center to his extremities. Still no smile yet though. Suddenly, that goal had become more important than any secret mission he’d ever run in the Syrian desert.
“Okay. Toast I can do,” she said, grabbing the bread and brushing past him, her arm brushing his and sending shivers of awareness through him. “Have you come up with anything more in this plan of yours for what I’m supposed to do now?”
“I have.” He hadn’t. Not really. Unfortunately, after returning to his bed last night, his thoughts had been consumed with thoughts of her stranded, alone, forced to resort to seeking out some seedy pawn dealer in Tahiti to sell her engagement ring in order to get enough money to make it home. She was resourceful. He’d give her that. But this Jefferson Hanks asshole sounded like a real arrogant douchebag and if Daveed ever had the bad luck to run into him here in the city he might just have to punch the guy out for doing that to Melody. He tossed a handful of peppers and onions into the scrambled eggs he was stirring, the weight of her stare heavy upon him. “I think you should stay here for now, until we can get the rest of your life situated.”
She stared at him a moment, her expression stunned. “You’re inviting me to stay here, with you, at Heath’s condo?”
“Unless you have somewhere else to go,” he said, eager to make it sound like he wasn’t keen on keeping her around, even though he kind of was, for reasons he wasn’t ready to admit just yet. “If you do, then by all means, get out.”
Her expression shifted to annoyance. “Funny. I told you I don’t have any money.”
“And no job skills either, correct?” He nodded toward the toaster, which now had black smoke rising out of it. “Best unplug that and dump it out then try again.”
“Shit.” She pulled the plug from the outlet and retrieved the charred bread from the slots, tossing them into the trash atop the mangled pan before trying again. “See? I’m hopeless.”
“Hmm.” Given her crap cooking, he wasn’t inclined to disagree. But there had to be something she could do, something she was good at. Obviously she’d been educated, so she had to have some skills. “Where did you go to college?”
“Vassar.”
“Well, you had to get good grades to get into that school. What were your best subjects?”
“I liked history.” She tapped her finger against her full bottom lip, drawing his attention to her soft pink lips again. His thoughts once more swerved to what those lips might feel like against his, what she might taste like on his tongue. He shook off the inappropriate track his thoughts had taken and nodded toward the toaster. “Better check that bread again.”
Melody did and this time the toast was perfect, if a bit on the darker side. She smiled, finally, and his world brightened. “Thanks. Guess I can do something correctly, right?” Her soft hums filled the kitchen as she spread butter on the bread. “Oh, and to answer your question. No, my grades weren’t particularly good. My mom went to Vassar, which means I’m a legacy. If you had a relative who went there, that increases your chances of getting in. My dad donating a huge amount to renovate their auditorium didn’t hurt either.”
“I see,” he said, frowning. There went that avenue of opportunity. Still, she wasn’t stupid, contrary to popular belief. He refused to believe that a woman who could scrounge her way from one side of the earth to the other didn’t have some marketable skills. He’d just have to dig a little deeper to find them, that was all. “What did you major in? Perhaps some of those classes could translate into marketable skills.”
“Liberal arts,” she said as she slathered the next piece of toast with butter.
Daveed did his best to hide his cringe at her words and failed miserably, if the irritated look she gave him was any indication. “That doesn’t give us a lot to work with.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” She shook her head and placed the dirty knife in the sink. “Considering my parents had my whole life basically planned out for me before I turned eighteen, I never really thought I’d need college. I only went for the parties.”
“Wow. That’s depressing.”
“Which part? The fact they had my life planned out or the parties?”
“Both.” He carried their plates of food over to the bar. After pouring them each a glass of orange juice, Daveed grabbed the morning paper and sat it beside Melody on the counter then took his seat and snagged a stack of Post-It notes from near the landline phone along with a pen. “Guess you should start with the classifieds. There’s always places that need wait staff or cashiers. Maybe that’s right up your alley anyway, considering how you love to spend mo
ney.”
“Very funny.” She squinted at the paper then him. “What are you doing?”
“Making a list,” Daveed said, scribbling. “Pros and Cons.”
“Of the job market?”
“Nope. Of you.”
Melody sat back and crossed her arms while he did his best not to notice how the movement only served to highlight her magnificent rack. “I can’t wait to hear you proclaim all my faults.”
Daveed shrugged, glancing over at her as he swallowed a bite of his eggs. “Let’s see. Under Pros we have highly energetic.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Under the Cons column we have hopelessly disorganized.”
“Wait a minute.” She scowled. “You can’t possibly know that about me. We just met.”
He raised a brow and stared pointedly at the disaster area the kitchen had become in the short time she’d been in it. He’d also had the dubious pleasure of catching a glimpse of the guest room earlier and it looked like a hurricane had gone through there. She’d been in Heath’s condo for one night and already it appeared they’d need to call in the Red Cross for aid.
Melody compressed her lips and scrunched her nose, pink color rising in her cheeks. “Okay. Fine. Tidiness and organization aren’t my strong suits. But I have skills in other areas.”
“Enlighten me,” he said, pen at the ready to jot them down.
“I can sniff out a bargain at Bloomingdales from fifty feet away. And I can plan the crap out of a bachelorette party.”
“Right.” He put the pen down and continued eating his breakfast. Her stare nearly bored a hole through the side of his head as he took his time eating. Finally, he finished the last bite and pushed his empty plate away. “Given your lack of real world experience, I’d suggest you look for entry-level positions.”
Daveed got up to take his plate to the sink, ducking to avoid the wadded-up napkin she lobbed at his head.