by Leslie North
“For what?” he asked, facing her at last, his hips resting against the granite countertop behind him.
“For our wedding.”
“There will be no wedding. How many times do I have to say it and in what language so you will understand?” He shook his head and prayed for calm. “That arrangement was made long ago by our parents. You and I had no say in the matter, no choice. We are both adults now and I refuse to honor that bargain. When I marry, I will marry for love. No other reason.”
“And you love her?” Shayma raised an exasperated hand toward the guest bedroom door. “That American slut who sleeps with anything on two legs? Don’t think I haven’t read the articles about her. About how she ran out on Heath to traipse after her actor lover to Tahiti. This is the kind of woman you crave? The kind of woman you love?”
“I didn’t say I love her.” The word cut like glass as they left his throat, sounding hollow and false, even to his own ears. Still, he wouldn’t be rushed into anything, pushed into a decision before he was ready. “And she’s not a slut. She’s smart and funny and kind and she’s hit a bit of bad luck, that’s all.”
“Right. I see.” There went the tapping of her toe again and Daveed used all of his willpower not to roll his eyes. Shayma had been a nice girl, a good friend and a fun playmate when he’d been growing up in Al Dar Nasrani, but when she’d turned into such a vexing, confusing, completely confounding woman, he didn’t know. “Fine, then.”
She walked over and grabbed the handle of her expensive wheeled suitcase and headed for the door. “This is not over. I did not travel halfway around the world to give up so easily what is mine. I have a suite at the Plaza Hotel. I need a shower and a nap after my long flight.” She gave him a derisive glance up and down. “From your shabby appearance, we both need to clean up a bit and gather ourselves. We will discuss this again later when we are both more rational.”
With that, she swept out of the condo with all the regal grace of a future queen, her head held high and her posture perfect. Daveed exhaled loudly and slumped against the counter in the kitchen, wondering when in the fuck his life had gotten so out of control.
His phone buzzed from its charger in the corner and he grabbed it, thankful for the distraction. Onscreen flashed a text from Heath.
New lead on Aileen. Meet at my hotel. Half an hour.
Good. Work always centered him and he needed all the help he could get right now. Daveed chugged down the rest of his coffee then headed back to his bedroom to shower and change. As he passed Melody’s door in the hall, he stopped. He’d heard her sobs echoing earlier, and it had taken all his willpower not to charge into the room and gather her in his arms, comfort her and tell her that somehow, some way they’d figure this out and it would be okay. Now, he raised his hand and rested it against the cool wood, as if he might feel her warmth through the door. No such luck. Only silence greeted him. For a moment, he rested his forehead against his hand and closed his eyes. Each time he licked his lips he could still taste her there. His skin was still covered in her scent. And her sweet cries of ecstasy as she’d come apart in his arms lingered in his head. He wanted her, maybe more than he’d ever wanted another woman in his life. But he honestly couldn’t say he loved her because he really didn’t know what love was. His parents hadn’t been in love. Neither had his brothers and their wives. People in Al Dar Nasrani married for money, for power, for protection. Love usually didn’t factor into it.
Now, love seemed to be the most important thing in the world and he had no idea how to recognize it, let alone nurture and grow it with another person. But for Melody he would try. As soon as he got back from his meeting with the guys.
He headed to his bedroom, more determined than ever to get things in his life back on track. First with Aileen’s case, then with Melody.
8
Restless and bored, Mel found herself wandering the streets of Manhattan later that morning. The day was overcast, with only occasional hazy sunshine and the constant gray threat of more snow on the way. She walked through Central Park and over the Gapstow bridge then out onto Fifth Avenue. All the stores had their holiday window displays and she strolled past them, remembering seeing them as a child with her parents. A pang of melancholy pinched her heart before she shoved it aside. Yes, she missed her family. No, she wouldn’t be giving in to their demands and getting back together with Heath. Especially after making love with Daveed.
A car honked nearby and Mel looked up to discover that she’d somehow walked over to the entrance of the Plaza Hotel without realizing it. Sighing, she stared up at the iconic Beaux-Arts architecture. Shayma had mentioned she was staying here before she’d left the condo earlier. Mel had stayed here too, more times than she could count. For some reason she couldn’t quite explain, she headed into the lobby and smiled at the towering Christmas tree set up near the marble staircase in the lobby. As she looked around at all the decorations, a doorman came up to her and bowed slightly.
“Ms. Hascall-Ebons. Wonderful to see you again.” He tipped his hat to her. “How may I help you today?”
“Oh, I…” Unsure what to say, she blurted out the first thing that popped into her head. “I’m here to see a friend who’s staying in one of the suites.”
“Ah.” The doorman led her over to the elegant reception area and hailed the concierge on duty. “Ms. Hascall-Ebons is here to see a friend. Please make sure she’s taken care of.”
Heat prickling her cheeks, Mel thanked the man then turned to face the snooty looking guy behind the counter. Honestly, in her current situation, she couldn’t afford a paper napkin in this place. But they didn’t need to know that. Besides, she sort of did want to see Shayma. After all, she was the only other woman who would know how to deal with Daveed following his hasty retreat this morning.
“Your friend’s name, please?” The concierge asked, not looking at her, his fingers poised on the keyboard in front of him.
“Um, Shayma.” Mel struggled to remember the woman’s long name. “Shayma bint Amr Kahlan. She’s visiting from Al Dar Nasrani.”
Fast click-clacks issued as the guy typed in the name then picked up the phone receiver beside him. “Yes. I’ll just call and let her know you have arrived.”
Eyes wide, Mel swallowed hard. “No! Wait, please. It’s kind of a surprise. If you call, you’ll ruin it.” She looked around, searching for a way to convince him to let her upstairs without advance warning. If Shayma knew she was coming, she might refuse to see her at all. Given the circumstances, Mel couldn’t say she blamed her. But for whatever reason, she felt a kinship with the woman and she wanted to talk to her more. Get her opinion of the situation with Daveed. Her gaze locked on a plaque on the far wall, glowing bronze beneath the recessed lighting. She wasn’t one to throw around her family’s name to get what she wanted, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “My father would not be happy to know his daughter’s plans were ruined. He sits on the board of directors for this hotel. It would be a shame to lose a job so close to the holidays.” A low blow, but an empty threat. She’d never go that far, even if she were speaking to her father at that point. Still, Snooty Guy didn’t know that. She prayed it would give her enough leverage to get upstairs unannounced. “May I have an elevator key card, please?”
The concierge blinked at her several times, not moving, and her hopes nosedived. Then, lips and jaw tight, he reached over and grabbed a black plastic card and ran the magnetic strip through a reader before handing it to her. “One hour. After that the card will expire. Suite 2004.”
“Thank you.” She grinned wide, genuine this time, and snatched the card before heading to the golden elevators across the way. The air smelled of fresh pine and cinnamon and quiet, tasteful carols drifted from the overhead sound system. The entire space was cast in a golden glow from the twinkle lights festooning the marble archways and pillars and for the first time since this whole debacle started, she felt like her old self again. Changed, yes. But maybe st
ronger for it nonetheless.
The elevator doors dinged and Mel stepped onboard, sliding her card into the slot beside the twentieth-floor button then leaning back against the mirrored wall as the car sped upward. Exactly what she planned to say to Shayma when she arrived at the suite was still a mystery, but she’d think of something. She always did.
Minutes later she stood outside the white double doors of Shayma’s suite, smoothing a hand down the front of her pink wool coat. She knocked once, her hand shaking slightly, then waited.
No answer.
Had the concierge gone behind her back and called ahead anyway? She swallowed hard and raised her hand to try again just as the lock inside the suite clicked and the door swung open.
Shayma stood there looking at Mel with wary eyes. She’d changed too, from her more formal travel suit earlier to black pants and a cheery green and red holiday sweater with a fuzzy angora white heart on the front. Mel recognized it from the previous year’s runway shows in Milan.
“What do you want?” Shayma asked, not moving to allow Mel inside, but not totally blocking her way either. Her tone was soft, edged with suspicion. “If you’ve come to gloat over your relationship with Daveed, you can save your energy. I’m tired and I’m not in the mood.”
“Actually, I was kind of hoping we could talk,” Mel said, her small smile trembling. “Men can be such dicks sometimes, right?”
Dark gaze narrowed, Shayma stared at Mel for a few seconds, silent, then finally stepped back and waved her inside. “Yes,” she said as she closed the door. “They can be quite difficult. Especially men like Daveed.”
Mel looked around the beautifully appointed suite, taking in the overstuffed furniture upholstered in creamy suede, the mahogany side tables, the crystal chandeliers. She’d grown up in this lap of luxury, but it had taken losing it all to make her really appreciate it. She perched on the edge of a sofa cushion and clasped her hands in her lap. “Why Daveed especially?”
“Well, with him being who he is, the entitlement’s inbred.” Shayma draped herself elegantly over an arm chair across from Mel and folded her long legs beneath her. “He comes from a long line of desert sheikhs. Men who are used to taking what they want without remorse, without question. It was fine back in the days of old, but not so much now. And not so much in modern Al Dar Nasrani.”
A bit of the tension in Mel’s tight shoulders relaxed under Shayma’s soothing, low voice. Her English was excellent, but there was still a lilt of exotic accent that intrigued Mel and made her want to learn more. “Tell me about your country. Is it all sand dunes and Morrocan-style castles?”
Shayma snorted and rolled her eyes. “You’ve been watching too many movies. No. Al Dar Nasrani is actually mostly tropical forests. We’re so close to the equator that we get a lot of rain.”
“Wow. Sounds gorgeous.”
“Yes. It’s quite lovely.”
Mel bit her lip and stared down at her hands, her fingers tightly clasped. “I’m sorry about this morning, with Daveed. He’d mentioned having an arranged marriage as a kid, after what happened with me and Heath. But I guess I assumed he’d ended the contract and he never said anything to make me believe otherwise.”
“It’s all right.” Shayma sighed. “It was stupid for me to come here anyway. My parents pushed for it, still believing in the old traditions even though I told them things had changed. They’re not going to be pleased when I go home alone.”
Awkward silence fell between them and they each looked around, anywhere but at each other. Finally, Mel noticed the shoes, bag and coat sitting near the door and her posture slumped. “I’m so sorry. Were you on your way out?”
“I was going to go out to do a bit of holiday shopping.” Shayma shrugged. “Would you like to join me? As a native New Yorker, you could show me all the best deals.”
“Oh, I’d love to, but I can’t.” She winced slightly. “After I broke things off with Heath, my parents disowned me. I’m afraid I don’t have a penny to my name currently.”
Shayma scoffed. “All the more reason you need to come. Retail therapy. And don’t worry. I’ve got enough money for both of us.” She stood and slid her feet into a stylish pair of winter boots and tugged on her coat. “C’mon. Sounds like you and I have much more in common than I originally thought. We could both use a shoulder to cry on, eh?”
Mel had never turned down an opportunity to shop before in her life and she wasn’t about to start now. She wouldn’t spend any of Shayma’s money on herself, but she could certainly help the woman pick out her presents. “Okay. You talked me into it.”
* * *
Across Manhattan, in the cushy hotel where Heath was renting a suite while his condo was otherwise occupied, Daveed stood outside the door to the room, already late for the meeting but loath to go inside and deal with the barrage of shit his friends were sure to lob his way. According to the texts he’d received earlier, Heath’s father’s contacts had come through with more information about the firms mentioned in Aileen’s note.
“Why so glum this morning, man?” Murphy asked, gesturing Daveed inside after answering the door. “You look like someone kicked your puppy.”
“I’m fine.” Daveed tugged off his jacket then squared his shoulders and took a seat on the oversized, sectional sofa. The place was nice and tidy, if a bit modern and minimalistic for his tastes. Not that he cared much about décor at the moment. He could’ve been standing in the Taj Mahal for all he noticed. Juggling two women at once was not how he wanted to live his life and kept him in a constant state of distraction. He’d not handled things well this morning. He knew that. Running away would solve nothing. Plus, it was cowardly and it was wrong. He’d been raised better than that. But his feelings toward Mel were still so confusing. He couldn’t stop thinking about her—the way she tasted, the way she smelled, the soft sounds she made as she’d come apart in his arms—they were all a part of him now and he carried them with him wherever he went.
But did the warmth that filled him each time he remembered their night together equal love? He wasn’t so sure. After all, they’d just met days before. They were opposites in many ways—she was an organizational wreck where he was neat as a pin; she couldn’t cook to save her life where he loved to dabble in different cuisines in the kitchen. But on the other hand she was funny and sweet and so much smarter and talented than she gave herself credit for and…
Damn. Yep. He was definitely in trouble.
His chest squeezed with affection and yearning. He inhaled sharply. Now was not the time or place for that. He had work to do and friends to help. Thankfully, Heath walked in and kept him on target.
“Nice of you to show up. Finally.” Heath handed Daveed a bottled water then slumped down into one of the leather chairs in the room.
Daveed cringed. “Sorry, man. I had some issues to deal with back at the condo.”
“Issues?” Heath shook his head. “That problem got a name? Maybe Melody?”
“And Shayma.” Daveed sighed and dropped his head back against the sofa cushions. “She showed up this morning with no warning. The two women met. It was… awkward.”
“I bet!” Murphy snorted. “Damn, dude. You always get the most interesting problems.”
“You did it, didn’t you?” Heath gave him a disgusted look. “Even after I warned you what a mess you were walking into, you slept with Mel, didn’t you?”
“She’s not a mess,” Daveed growled, coming to her defense. “And what I have or haven’t done with her is none of your business. She had nothing to do with the problems between Shayma and I anyway. It’s that damned arranged marriage my parents still insist we honor.”
Murphy raised his bottle of water in a toast. “My sympathies.”
Begrudgingly, Heath joined in. “Mine too, buddy. If anyone feels your pain right now, it’s me.”
“Thanks, guys.” Daveed cracked open his water and took a long gulp before scooting forward in his seat. “I really don’t want to talk ab
out it though. Can we just focus on Aileen’s case?”
“Sure thing.” Heath set his bottle aside and moved forward to rest his forearms atop his knees. “Some of my dad’s corporate contacts finally came through with more information about those companies you discovered in Aileen’s note.”
“About damned time,” Murphy said, allowing some of his worry to show on his face at last. The guy was a rock, both mentally and physically—skills honed during his time as a Navy SEAL. But bottling all that stress and strain inside had to take a toll on the guy. Daveed too had been trained from an early age to remain stoic during times of upheaval. After all, part of his training to be the future ruler of Al Dar Nasrani was keeping his cool under pressure. His time in the military had only strengthened those skills.
Murphy, though, had given a whole new meaning to calm and collected. If one of Daveed’s family had gone missing, he would’ve been climbing the walls. His friend, however, seemed to take each new hit in stride. It was only because Daveed knew Murphy so well that he picked up on the telltale signs of tension—the faint lines around the man’s eyes and mouth, the constant tap of his booted toe against the hardwood floor, the slight twitch in his muscles each time his sister’s name was mentioned.
“So.” Heath continued. “Let’s start with that law firm. Baines, Monroe, and Walford. Typical high-dollar, business law sharks. They built a reputation for themselves representing multi-billion-dollar companies involved in dubious environmental disasters, like that recent oil spill off the Yucatan peninsula.”
“Sound like they’ve got plenty to hide then,” Murphy said, raking a hand through his coal-black hair and leaving it even messier. “Maybe Aileen was poking around in one of their cases.”
“I doubt it.” Heath exhaled slowly. “They’ve had a problem with leakers inside their firm for years, and most of the dirt on them has been put out in the press already. I think it’s pretty unlikely she would’ve found anything new on them.”