The Sheikh’s Second Chance Lover

by Holly Rayner

  Three works in progress lined the counter, and Brooke paused to check on them. They seemed to be holding their shape, at least. She ran her finger along the tapered side of a bowl, thinking about how she might paint it.

  The doorbell rang.

  Startled, Brooke sent the bowl flying off the counter and barely managed to get her arms around it before it crashed to the floor. She took a deep breath to steady herself and replaced the bowl carefully, then shook off the rush of adrenaline and went to answer the door.

  Her guest was a stranger, a man of about her own age with dark skin and bright eyes. He smiled, revealing the whitest, straightest teeth Brooke had ever seen. “Hi, neighbor,” he said.

  Brooke blinked.

  The man held out his hand. “I’m Blaine Mustafi. I just moved in next door. Thought I’d introduce myself.”

  She returned his handshake. “Brooke Bailey.”

  He leaned in a little, just through the doorframe. “It’s hot in here. Is your AC broken?”

  “Just off.” She shrugged. “It’s expensive to run. You might want to be careful of that; the landlord charges extra for everything.”

  Blaine nodded. “Thanks for the tip. Hey, I was wondering if you could help me?”

  “What with?” She adjusted her ponytail again, feeling awkward. She hadn’t really had an opportunity to clean up after her workday, and she was sure she had wet clay all over her clothes. It wasn’t the first impression she would have chosen to make.

  “Well, I just finished moving in about half an hour ago,” Blaine said, “and I’m starving, but my fridge is empty. I just need someone to point me to the nearest grocery store.”

  Brooke nodded. “Come on in. I’ll draw you a map.”

  Blaine made himself comfortable on the couch in the living room, and Brooke mixed up a couple of glasses of lemonade. If he was knocking on her door to locate the grocery store, she thought, he almost definitely lived alone. That was the kind of thing you’d do together with a girlfriend or a roommate, if you had one.

  Interesting.

  She brought the lemonade into the living room, handed him a glass, and began sketching out a map to the nearest grocery store. “So what brings you to Jasperville?”

  “To what?”

  “Jasperville?” She paused. “Wow. You must be tired from the move.”

  “Oh. Right. Jasperville.” He laughed. “Tired of life in the big city, I guess.”

  “What city? Burlington?”

  He laughed. “No. New York.”

  “Oh!” Brooke was pleasantly surprised. “I used to live there, too!”

  “Really?” Blaine sat up a little straighter. “Why’d you leave?”

  “Well, I was there for school, and school ended,” she said. “And I wanted to be close to my mom. Besides, I don’t know if I was ever really a city girl. I was always a little restless there, you know?”

  “You’re a country girl, then?” He sounded disappointed.

  “I don’t know if I am,” Brooke hastened to correct him. “Jasperville definitely has its drawbacks. But it’s a good quiet place to focus on my work.”

  “What do you do?”

  She gestured around her. “I’m a sculptor. I work for commissions, mostly.”

  “What kind of sculpture is it?”

  “Right now I’m doing a lot of utilitarian stuff for this woman my mom knows,” Brooke said. “It’s not the kind of work I love to do, but she pays well, and some days you have to take whatever work you can get.” She indicated the partially finished pieces lining the counter. “I’m working on those.”

  Blaine stood and walked into the kitchen to examine them. He picked up the same bowl Brooke had almost dropped. Still a little on edge, she instinctively wanted to ask him to put it down, but held her tongue.

  Blaine set the bowl back down. “These are really nice.”

  “Thanks.” She felt herself blush a little.

  “So you’re a real artist, then.”

  “Well, I don’t know if I’d say that.”

  “Why not? You make art, and that’s how you pay the bills. What would you call it?”

  Brooke shrugged awkwardly. It just seemed so pretentious, she thought, to refer to herself as an artist. She was more of a craftsman, wasn’t she? Making things to order?

  Blaine returned to the couch and sat down. Brooke tried to take in his good looks without being too obvious about it. He had a stylish haircut that she could tell required regular maintenance, and he was clean-shaven, which she liked. His skin was the color hers darkened to when she was deeply tanned, although thanks to her work schedule, she hadn’t gotten out of the apartment much in months and was conscious of how pale she looked. He was a good dresser, too. Even though he was only wearing jeans and a T-shirt, the clothes fit him well, as if they’d been tailor-made for him. He moved with a confident swagger she both admired and envied.

  She pushed the map she’d drawn across the coffee table. “Here. This will help you find the store.”

  He chuckled. “There’s no way I’m going to be able to follow that.”

  Brooke blushed furiously. Her sculpting talent had never translated well to drawing, but she’d thought she would at least be able to diagram the streets of Jasperville to his satisfaction. “Oh. Um, I can try to redo it.”

  “No, no, it isn’t your fault,” Blaine said quickly. “I’ve never been able to read a map. As soon as I get out the door, I’ll get all turned around. I even had trouble finding my way around New York at first, and that’s one of the easiest cities in the world to navigate.”

  Brooke managed a laugh. “I’ve gotten lost there, too.”

  “Thank God I’m not the only one.” He smiled.

  “I have a feeling it’s happened to a lot of people,” she said. “Everyone talks big about how easy it is, but the problem is, I can never remember where anything is. I’ve ended up walking blocks out of my way to find the right subway line.”

  Blaine nodded but didn’t comment. Had she said something wrong again?

  “Could I possibly have another glass of lemonade?” he asked.

  “Oh, of course! Definitely!” She almost tripped in her haste to fulfill his request. “Do you want it the same way? Or more sugar? Less sugar?”

  “No, it was great the first time, thanks. So what kind of sculpting do you do, if you don’t like making bowls? Because those are some pretty good bowls.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’d like to be doing more artistic stuff, but that doesn’t sell very well. Most of my customers are my mom’s friends or people who live around town, and they want something they can use, not just something to look at. The art pieces sold better in New York, but I didn’t have as many customers there.” She shrugged. “You take what you can get in this business.”

  “Art pieces,” Blaine pondered. “Like what? Nudes?”

  “No! Like abstracts.” Brooke pointed to the top shelf of her bookshelf, where one of her pieces held pride of place. “That one’s mine. I really like how that came out.”

  Blaine walked over to examine the piece. Brooke noticed, with no small amount of pleasure, that he refrained from touching this one. “You made this?”

  “Yeah. It was the first thing I made when I moved home from New York. I was feeling really inspired. I thought it was going to be the start of a whole new era for my work, but then everyone started ordering salad bowls.”

  “And that killed your inspiration?”

  “It was more that I didn’t have time any more to work on stuff that felt personal. Every time I sit down in my studio, I’m getting caught up on dinnerware commissions. I have no idea what would come out if I tried to make something I wanted. For all I know, I’ve totally lost my touch.”

  “I’m sure you haven’t,” Blaine said. “This is really good.” He raised a hand to its contour but still didn’t touch, as if there was some invisible energy protecting her piece. “Would you make something for me?”

  “I’d ha
ve to charge you by the hour.” She smiled, hoping he’d understand that she wasn’t trying to distance herself from him by maintaining her professionalism.

  “Yeah, I’d pay. Of course.”

  “What would you want? Don’t say a bowl.”

  “Nah, I have plenty of bowls.” He grinned. “You could sculpt me—how about that?”

  “Sculpt…you?” Had she misunderstood what he was asking for? The saucy grin that had overtaken his face made her fairly sure she hadn’t. “What do you mean, exactly?”

  “I could use a little artwork for my new place,” Blaine said. “And posing for an artist sounds like fun.”

  “You mean…naked.”

  “Well, yeah. I don’t think clay is the best medium to represent my clothes.” He grinned. “Besides, I look better au naturel.”

  She was stunned. She had literally just met him, and already he was talking to her like this? If it had happened in any other circumstances, at the bar or a store or anything like that, she would have stormed away feeling angry and harassed. Even now, she couldn’t believe she wasn’t ordering Blaine out of her apartment. How dare he!

  And yet, there was something about him. Was it possible that he liked her and that this was flirting? It all seemed very good-natured. And Blaine was certainly right about one thing—he was attractive. It would be no strain at all on her to look at that body for the hours it would take to get the sculpture right.

  And there really were no single men her age in Jasperville. It had been a particular source of frustration ever since she’d moved home. Her old high school friends were all either married or intensely single, and when she’d asked them to set her up with somebody, they’d laughed as if she’d made the joke of the century. Brooke had tried online dating, but the closest men she could find were all at least forty-five minutes away by car, and none of them had been particularly appealing.

  Now here was a highly attractive new neighbor who appeared to be single, sexy, and wanted to take his clothes off for her. Why was she even stopping to think about this?

  “Okay,” she said, letting a smile creep onto her own face. “I think that could be fun.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, why not? It’d make a good story, that’s for sure. And it’s a pretty unique way to get to know somebody. We’d have to spend a lot of time together, though. It’s hard to get a human figure right.”

  “You still charging me by the hour?”

  She laughed. “I’ll give you the friends-and-family rate.”

  “Which is what?”

  Brooke named an hourly fee. It was half of what she usually charged, but based on the amount of time this project would take, she knew the final total would be considerable. She’d be able to stock the fridge, pay the electric bill, and possibly even rent a stall of her own at the farmers’ market.

  Blaine laughed. “Seriously?”

  “Is it too much?” She hesitated. She really shouldn’t knock the rate down any lower, or she’d be undervaluing herself. She did need to be compensated for her time.

  “It isn’t enough!” Blaine said. “You’re a professional artist, and that’s all you charge? Let me pay you what you’re worth, please.” He named another figure, considerably higher than Brooke’s first estimate.

  “Whoa.” Brooke was blown away. “Are you sure?”

  “Upfront. And the other half on delivery of the finished work.”

  “You mean that was only half?”

  “Hey, you have to be paid well to look at this dreadful visage all day, right?” He laughed, signaling false modesty, and Brooke inwardly agreed with him. There was nothing dreadful at all about his appearance, and they clearly both knew it. Blaine could probably charge other people to look at him with his clothes off, if he’d been so inclined. A sculpture of him would truly be a piece of art.

  Brooke shook his hand. “You’ve got a deal.”

  “Great! When do we start? Right now?”

  She laughed. “I thought you needed to go to the store!”

  “I don’t even know where that is! Come on, let’s get to work. I’ll figure food out later.”

  “Absolutely not,” Brooke said. “If you’re going to be posing for hours, you’re going to need to eat first. Come on, I could use a few things from the store myself. I’ll take you.”

  “Great!” Blaine lit up and got to his feet. “Maybe you could show me around town, too?”

  “Around Jasperville?” Brooke was dubious. “There isn’t that much to see.”

  “There’s got to be something. Local nightlife?”

  “Not really. People drive up to Liberty for clubs.”

  “Where’s Liberty?”

  “About forty-five minutes that way.” She pointed.

  Blaine sighed. “Damn.”

  “I’ll show you what there is around here,” Brooke said, sensing his disappointment. “It’s a nice little town, for what it is. Some cute mom-and-pop shops. There’s a great diner, a really good place to have lunch. And we do have a bar.”

  His face lit up at that. “Is it fun?”

  She shrugged. “I like it.”

  “Great. I can’t wait to see it.”

  Brooke ducked into her bedroom, changed into a shirt that didn’t have clay all over it, and adjusted her hair. When she emerged, Blaine was waiting by the door.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “Let’s go.”

  3

  Ali

  “Blaine?”

  He turned to face her. She was watching him expectantly, as if she’d already had to call his name several times. He still hadn’t quite adjusted to it, he realized. Jim had begun referring to him as Blaine as soon as they’d boarded the helicopter, and he knew he was supposed to be internalizing his new identity, but it was challenging. They should have let him pick his own name, he thought. He could have come up with something he’d have felt more of a connection to.

  Blaine. I’m Blaine.

  He crossed the coffee shop to where Brooke was standing at the counter, money in hand. “Can I buy you something? A welcome-to-Jasperville treat?”

  You can buy me a drink, he thought. But of course, she couldn’t. It was one in the afternoon on a weekday, and that wasn’t the kind of first impression he wanted to make. Ali didn’t care about Vermont, ultimately, but while he was stuck here, Brooke did seem like she’d be good company. It would be too bad if he completely scared her off on the first day.

  “How about a muffin?” he said, pointing. “Are those blueberry?”

  “Yes,” the barista confirmed. “Three ninety-nine.”

  Brooke handed over her credit card and received an iced coffee and the muffin, which she passed to Ali. “Enjoy.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “So this is your coffee place?”

  “Yeah. We don’t have any coffee chains in town, but this place is probably older than I am. I love it. Don’t you think the atmosphere’s great in here?” She gestured with an arm. “All the art on the walls is from local artists.”

  “Anything of yours?”

  “God, no. I can’t paint.”

  “They should commission you for some sculptures to use as table centerpieces. That would look really good, actually. I’m picturing smaller versions of the one that was on your bookcase.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Brooke pondered. “Maybe I’ll talk to the owners and see if they’d be interested.”

  “You definitely should.”

  They left the shop, Brooke sipping her coffee and Ali pinching off bites of his muffin as he took in the town around them. It was suffocatingly small. Most of the businesses seemed to be clustered around a single street, fittingly named Main Street. Side roads led to quaint houses and the occasional small apartment building, like the one Ali and Brooke lived in. It wasn’t exactly the cabin in the middle of the wilderness that Ali had feared, but it was almost as bad. If he’d been passing through this place in his car, he’d probably have wondered if they even had ele
ctricity.

  He probably should have changed clothes. He stuck out in this town like a sore thumb. He doubted anyone here knew designer clothes by looking at them, but they’d be able to see there was something different about what he was wearing. They would know he didn’t belong. Brooke had persuaded him to swap his city shoes for boots before they’d left, clearly not realizing that his boots were an impulse buy and had never been worn before. They pinched at his toes and heels now, and he thought he might be getting a blister.

  It was too bad he couldn’t call for a car, but Jim Wellers’ tinted windows would just make him even more visible. If my parents really wanted me to stay safe, he thought glumly, they should have left me in New York, where I can blend in.

  “So,” Brooke said, interrupting his thoughts, “what’s your story?”

  “My story?”

  “You know mine,” she said. “I went to art school, I moved back here, and now I make bowls for church ladies to keep the lights on. How about you? Why’d you leave New York?”

  “Oh.” He shrugged. “Just, you know. The usual reasons.”

  “The lights were too bright?”

  “Something like that. I guess I was just feeling a bit burned out.”

  “I know that feeling,” she said, sympathy in her voice. “Work stuff?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I was in business.” He avoided eye contact, knowing it was a weak lie. He had studied business at Columbia, so he knew he could talk anyone’s ear off about business theory, but if Brooke wanted to hear any specific details of the business he had been involved in, he would have to start wildly inventing.

  Fortunately for him, she didn’t have a follow-up question. He wondered if she could sense his readiness to change the subject.

  “We could always use more small businesses around here,” Brooke said. “Especially from someone who really knows what they’re doing. I’m sure you can tell Jasperville’s economy isn’t exactly the best.”

  “Right.”

  He didn’t like lying to her, he realized suddenly. He was surprised. He prided himself on his ability to grease the wheels of conversation with half-truths and fabrications. It was a skill that came in very handy at both fundraisers and parties and had helped him to more than his share of donations and free drinks. Lying had never bothered him before. But now, walking alongside Brooke in this uncomfortably wholesome little town, he felt a pang of guilt.