by Leslie North
She sighed. “You’re such a good man, Imaad.”
He lifted his brows. “You think so?”
“I know so. I knew it the second I met you. Even though you tried to act like an asshole, I still felt your goodness behind it.”
He feigned disappointment. “So I didn’t fool you?”
“Maybe for a second,” she said, slipping her fingers between the buttons of his white shirt. “Your dad was pissed you came, huh?”
“Livid,” Imaad said, brushing his lips against her hair. “But I’ll deal with that when I get back.”
A sweet moment of silence passed, and then Annabelle said, “This flight is pretty long, right?”
“Long enough to get a good night’s sleep.” Their plush chairs reclined back into something resembling a narrow bed. It was more comfortable than some hotel beds he’d been in.
“What if we do some relaxing before sleep?” She lifted a brow. Grinning, Imaad guided her to stand up while he reclined the seat, folding down the overstuffed arm rests so that their bed was ready.
“I want you to be on top,” she whispered, nudging him with her toe. There was something innocent there, something so sweet it made his chest hurt. He stood and unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it aside, while she sidled out of her clothes. When she was naked, she lay back on the seat, her silky blonde hair splayed out around her head.
Imaad pushed his slacks and briefs down, his cock springing into the air. She smiled when she saw it, welcoming him into her arms when he eased down on top. They kissed, slow and tender, for a long while, neither of them able to break the sweet stream of kisses. She whimpered and spread her legs wider, urging him onward, and he wiggled his hips into place until his cock settled right in the warmest, slickest spot.
She sighed, shuddery and low, dragging her fingers through his hair.
“This is way better than the coach class seat I booked,” she said, just as he pressed inside her. Her breath caught, and he buried his face in the hollow of her shoulder, soothed by the scent of rose and amber, her smooth skin, the feel of her nails digging into his neck. They made love, slow and intentional, their eyes locked as he thrust inside her. Her pussy was drenched and welcoming, their energy so sizzling that sometimes he felt like he could come just from imagining being inside her.
Her unhinged moan was the only thing he heard when he finally came inside her, the silky tightness of her pussy making his vision spotty and then blank.
She stroked his back while the pleasure made lazy circles inside him, like the calming waves in the remnants of a whirlpool.
“That…” she said after a long while, “was fucking intense.”
He captured her lips in a kiss. She was right—intense barely covered it. Which confirmed the furtive suspicion lurking deep inside him.
Annabelle wrung her hands as she and Imaad navigated the hallways of the bright, clean hospital. Thanks to their non-stop flight, she managed to make it there before her mother’s surgery. If she’d been on her original flight, her arrival time would have been in the middle of the procedure.
She paused, checking the signs on the wall again, and then took a left.
“I think we’re close,” Imaad said, his dark brows in a tense line. They’d met barely a week ago, but somehow, she knew he felt this as strongly as she did. Because of his own history, perhaps, but also because of the thing between them. Whatever it was, the thing didn’t make sense. But it was there. And it was becoming rapidly more real.
“Here it is.” She sighed with relief at seeing the signs for surgery prep and hurried toward room B231. Before she pushed inside, she turned to Imaad.
“I’ll wait out here,” he offered, before she could say anything.
“No. You should come in.” When he didn’t look convinced, she added, “You’re the whole reason I’m here on time. Just come.”
Imaad nodded, and she grabbed his hand before leading him inside the room. They stepped in, finding dim lighting and a large bed pushed up against the far wall. Her mother lay in the bed, hooked up to an IV, a machine at her side blinking dully.
“Mom.” Annabelle rushed to her side. Her mom smiled so wide it seemed like it might hurt. Her normally bright blonde hair looked gray in the lighting.
“My sweet baby,” her mom croaked, patting her hand. “You’re here. Why did you come? You didn’t have to come.”
“Like I wouldn’t!” She leaned forward, kissing her mom’s cheek. “I love you so much, Mom. Of course I have to be here.” She swallowed a knot in her throat, turning to beckon Imaad closer. “Mom, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
Imaad stepped forward, looking more boyish than she’d ever seen him. Her mom turned slightly, squinting up at him.
“This is Imaad,” Annabelle said. Imaad reached out to shake her mother’s hand, offering a polite smile. “He’s the whole reason I made it here on time. And we’re also engaged to be married.”
Her mother gasped, her eyes filling with tears as she looked between her and Imaad. “Oh, my baby! Are you really? To this handsome man?”
Imaad smiled widely, and Annabelle swore she caught a flush in his cheeks. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Your daughter makes me insanely happy.”
Annabelle stared at Imaad for a moment, her voice totally lost. Was that true? And wasn’t it true for her, too?
“I always knew my Annabelle would find the pea to her pod,” her mother said, her words slow and labored. “She’s a pistol, but the right man can handle it.”
“Well, I found him,” she blurted, meeting Imaad’s gaze like she’d been caught red-handed. Her cheeks lit on fire but she couldn’t look away from him. “We found each other.”
Her mother cooed while Imaad squeezed her hand. Were they acting now? It sure didn’t feel like it. But maybe he was just going along with it.
“Mom, tell me about the surgery. What are they going to do?”
“There’s a growth on my lung. They’ll take it all out and then find out what it is. That’s all.”
Annabelle cocked a brow. “That’s all? That’s a lot.” Anxiety tightened her belly and she reached out for her mom’s hand, hoping she wouldn’t see the tears filling her eyes.
“Oh, I’ve survived worse than a little lung surgery,” her mom said, batting her hand in the air. “Breast cancer, skin cancer—I’ve got this, whatever it is.”
Annabelle grinned. Her mom’s indomitable spirit had kept her going this long as much as anything else had. A nurse came into the room, informing them that they would have to step out, since they’d be prepping her mother for surgery. “Okay, mom. We’ll be here when you wake up. I love you.”
“And it was a pleasure to meet you,” Imaad added, reaching out to hold her mother’s hand. His brown skin contrasted with her pale hand. “Once you’re out of surgery, we can get to know each other better.”
Annabelle kissed her mom’s forehead, and then she and Imaad exited the room quietly. They made their way to the small waiting room around the corner, furnished with a dozen chairs and a tiny beverage stand. If only there were beds in the waiting room, too. Her sleepless flight to New York had left her exhausted and dying for a pillow.
“Well,” she said, plunking down in a chair, looking up at Imaad. “Now we wait.”
17
Imaad eased into the chair next to her, his heart racing. He had so many questions after those five minutes inside the hospital room.
“The surgery should last about six hours,” Annabelle said, yawning and avoiding his gaze. He smoothed his hand over her back, trying to preemptively calm her. The surgery hadn’t even begun yet, but she’d need all the calm she could get.
“Why did you tell your mom we’re engaged?” The question popped out of his lips without even thinking about it. Annabelle turned to him guiltily.
“I just…wanted her to be happy. If something happens during surgery…if she doesn’t make it, or…” Annabelle paused, swallowing. “She always told me growing up
that a good man who loves me and respects me was the most important part of a partnership. If I was going to bother with anyone, he had to be good, she always said. I feel like she regretted getting involved with my dad, to be honest.”
“So you wanted her to think that you’d found that?” He fought to make the words come out even. He rubbed his fingers over her neck, admiring the way this made her eyes flutter shut.
“Yes.” She paused, enjoying the neck massage. “And it’s true. You’re a good man. Having me detained was the sweetest thing anyone’s done for me.” She turned to him, grinning.
Imaad laughed. “They’ve always called me a romantic.”
“And, I dunno, if she doesn’t make it…I want her to know that I’m happy. That I’m going to be okay.”
Imaad smoothed his fingers over her shoulders, wishing he could replace his fingers with his lips. “You’re an amazing daughter, Annabelle.” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead, the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. “And I want you to know that whatever happens, I’m here for you. I swear it.”
Annabelle looked up at him and burst into tears. Imaad hugged her until her crying subsided, the front of his shirt drenched. And then a while later, he realized she’d fallen asleep. He moved carefully, trying not to rouse her, and adjusted their positions so she was leaning against him more naturally. He settled into place as best he could and tried to shut his eyes.
But sleep wouldn’t come. Not even after their mostly-awake flight from Parsabad. Too many thoughts roiled around in his skull—too many hopes and excitements keeping him alert.
Imaad kept vigil in the waiting room for hours while Annabelle snored in his arms. After about five hours—his ass long gone totally numb—a disheveled-looking business man wandered in, a pot belly hanging over the edge of his belt. His worried, icy blue eyes looked suspiciously familiar.
“Annabelle?” The stranger asked it quietly, as though afraid he might be dreaming. Annabelle stirred in Imaad’s arms and blinked against the light.
She groaned immediately. “What are you doing here?”
Imaad knew—this had to be her father. The resemblance was too strong for it to be anyone else. Her father approached slowly, his weary face earnest and drooping.
“I came to check on your mother,” he said. “I want to make sure she makes it through okay.”
“These surgeries happen every day, every hour,” she snapped back at him, her voice caustic. “Don’t you remember? She’ll be fine. You shouldn’t have bothered.” She crossed her arms, turning away from him.
Her father deflated, sinking into a nearby chair. “I was wrong.”
Annabelle’s gaze flicked over to him. He could tell that her father didn’t normally say those words. “What?”
“Annabelle, I’m sorry.” Her father rubbed at his forehead. “I was wrong about that, and about the deal. Everything. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since you called. I just want to be here for your mom and for you.”
Annabelle’s lip trembled as she watched her father. Imaad tightened his grip on her, hoping it might help steady her.
“Well, be here then,” Annabelle finally said, her voice shaky. A few moments of silence passed before Imaad thought to introduce himself.
“Sir.” He leaned forward, offering a hand. “I’m Imaad Almasi.”
Her father shook his hand slowly, his eyes wide. “Sheikh Almasi’s boy?”
He nodded, clearing his throat. “Yes. I thought it best to accompany your daughter back to the States.”
“My God.” Her father shook his head, looking between the two of them.
“While I appreciate your attempt to make the merger more appealing to my father by offering your daughter’s hand in marriage, I just want you to know she’s not yours to give away.” Imaad glanced down at Annabelle, who watched him with watery eyes. “I am, however, grateful that you tried. Because otherwise I wouldn’t have met your stunning daughter nor had this incredible opportunity.”
Annabelle’s brow creased, and she opened her mouth to respond at the same time someone stepped into the waiting room. The doctor stood, still scrubbed out, his face mask pulled aside.
Annabelle bolted upright, her hands over her mouth.
“Annabelle Thomas?” The doctor smiled when Annabelle nodded. “I came to let you know your mother’s surgery is complete. She’s in recovery now. From the look of the growth, it was likely benign. The pathologist should have the official report within a couple days.” The surgeon offered a small smile before taking his leave.
Annabelle gasped, throwing her arms around Imaad. “Oh my God! This is the most amazing news!”
Imaad hugged her hard, pressing as much of her against him as he could, able to feel every ounce of her joy seeping into him. When they parted, Annabelle was crying. Her father was at her side, a hand on her shoulder.
“Birdy, let me go sit with her for a while.” The old man looked tender somehow. “I’ll let you two know when she’s awake.”
Annabelle nodded, and then slumped back into her seat. She watched him leave, an unreadable expression on her face.
“I think he’s still in love with her,” she said finally, her eyes still on the doorway he’d passed through. “After all these years.”
Imaad nodded, following her gaze; maybe he could see the same thing she did. “Not all love fits inside the convenient boxes we make for it. It seeps out, one way or another, in ways we least expect it.”
Annabelle sighed heavily, resting her head against his arm like raising a white flag of surrender. “God, you’re right. Why do you always have to be right?”
Four full days in New York City passed before Annabelle and Imaad prepared for their return flight to Parsabad. Between visiting her mom at all hours of the day, showing Imaad her apartment, visiting her favorite coffee shops with Marian, and teaching Imaad how to hail a cab in NoHo, she wasn’t sure if this was still an emergency health visit or some sort of Disneyland version of happily ever after.
She and Imaad acted like a couple, talked like a couple—and fucked like a couple. They actually made love, which she hadn’t dared say out loud yet, but still, the words were always there, staining the back of her mind. You love Imaad.
Marian wouldn’t shut up about him either. The constant stream of texts calling her out on their not-so-subtle lovey-dovey nature wasn’t helping her keep a level head. She’d already offered to be her maid of honor, which was certainly not helpful.
But the bliss cloud persisted, followed the two of them around like a stalker. Couldn’t shake it if she tried. And once they touched down in Parsabad, feeling as refreshed as if enjoying the aftermath of a spa getaway in Bali, Annabelle had the sense that things were somehow going to get even better.
Her father had smoothed things over with Imaad’s father. She wasn’t sure how he’d managed it, but she wouldn’t question it. Maybe he’d offered Marian’s hand in marriage now, Annabelle joked to Imaad. Probably one of his brothers was next. One merger marriage could very well lead to another, Imaad agreed.
In the moody office of Imaad’s father, the two of them strode toward his desk purposefully. Annabelle was ready to resume the merger, her mother was recovering, her father was a slightly reformed asshole, and with Imaad at her side, she felt like they could tackle this deal and a million more.
“You’re back.” His father looked pleased, despite his dry tone. “I’m happy everything went well.”
“So are we,” Imaad said, looking over at her. He paused, watching his father for a moment with hard eyes. “Perhaps now you’ll see I’m capable of making some decisions for myself.”
His father sighed, setting his pen down. “Son—”
“I want to make this clear,” Imaad said. “I have tirelessly supported you and your business and every little thing you ask of me. But I’ve realized recently that I need to stand up for what I believe in. And Annabelle helped me see this.” He glanced over at her, squeezing her hand a
gain. “I need to do things as I see fit. I’m twenty-six years old. I can make choices for myself. My way isn’t the wrong way…and your way isn’t the only right way.”
His father clenched his jaw, studying the desk top. An interminable silence settled between them.
“So, what is this about? You want to call off the merger?”
“Absolutely not. We need the merger.”
“The marriage, then.” His father jerked his head toward Annabelle. “You want me to call that off?”
“Yes.” Imaad’s conviction shuddered through her, and disappointment followed in its wake. But we’re so good together. They hadn’t mentioned the arranged marriage once during her mother’s recovery. Instead, they’d spent time together as a burgeoning couple should—exploring one another, falling deep into each other’s crevices and hidden spots, delighting in the joys and wonders uncovered.
His father sighed extra long, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Okay. We’ll dissolve the marriage clause.”
“But we must do it now,” Imaad said. Annabelle lifted a brow. The verbal agreement seemed enough. “It’ll be easy enough to take out of the contract.”
Imaad’s father nodded slowly, turning to his computer. “As you wish.”
His father muttered to himself as he clicked around, navigating to the contract. Annabelle tried to bite back her smile as she watched Imaad; the way he stood up to his father made her fall for him even further, if that were possible. After a few more minutes and a lot of backspacing, the printer churned out a document. Imaad’s father slid it over the desktop, looking over the rim of his glasses at his son.
“For your review.”
Imaad passed it to Annabelle first. She received it hesitantly, flipping to the third page where the marriage clause had been. All instances of the arranged marriage had been removed. It only contained agreements about the corporate merger.
“This looks great,” Annabelle said. Imaad found a pen for her to sign. She scribbled her name on the last page, followed by Imaad’s father. A heavy silence settled in the room, Imaad’s dark eyes glittering with a secret.