by Leslie North
He’d ignored her texts from earlier that evening. He had to, for his own sanity. He couldn’t be trusted to respond or talk to her until he got his head straight. But Zahir had screwed it back into place just enough.
“I can’t imagine what that must have been like,” Zahir said. “We all grieved when she passed. But you were the closest of anyone.”
Omar nodded, studying the far wall, his gaze sliding over the sculpture she’d picked out just weeks after they’d married, a ballet dancer in bronze. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a knock on his door.
Omar stiffened, casting a curious glance at Zahir. Unexpected knocks were few and far between. It had to be one of the family, but he wasn’t expecting Imaad at this hour.
“I’ll get it,” Omar said, furrowing a brow. He hopped to his feet, the rugs leading to the front door soft under his bare feet. As he pulled the door open, he bit back a gasp. Marian stood in the doorway, looking timid and nervous.
“Hey.” She waved a little, brushing back her curls.
Omar blinked at her. Maybe his conversation with Zahir had produced her out of thin air, or called to her like a snake charmer. “What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk.”
He squinted. Maybe this was a dream. “How do you even know where I live?”
Her mouth fell open, like maybe she was having second thoughts. “I—I asked Annabelle. She told me. I hope it isn’t a prob—”
“And who let you up?” The incredulity swirled inside of him. This seemed like a blessing in disguise.
“The doorman! And then that lady at the desk, the one with the gray hair; she said her name but it was long and complicated.” Marian winced. “I’m sorry, I know it’s Sunday and it’s late, but I really need to talk to you.”
Omar blinked at her, pulling open the door. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, press those curves against him. A day apart felt like a year. “Come in.”
Marian stepped inside hesitantly, looking around like his apartment was a museum after-hours. Zahir rose from the couch, nodding her way.
“Oh, hi.” Marian tucked her hair behind an ear. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. This is actually business-related.”
Zahir smiled professionally, setting his tumbler on the coffee table as he came toward the door. “No worries. I was just on my way out, actually.” He squeezed Omar’s shoulder and then clasped Marian’s hand in his. “It was a pleasure to see you, Marian. Have a good night.”
Zahir let himself out and shut the door behind him quietly, as though to not disturb the scene he was leaving. Omar shook his head a little, like the motion might jostle him back into clarity.
“Sorry, Marian, I—” He pinched the bridge of his nose, gesturing toward the couch. “Have a seat. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I know, I know. I texted, and I called. But when you didn’t answer, I decided to just swing by and see you. Desperate measures, Omar. I swear.” She collapsed onto the couch, sighing dramatically.
Omar paused beside her. “Do you want a drink?”
She looked at the half-full tumbler of whiskey Zahir had left. “What was he drinking?”
“Whiskey.”
She took the glass and gulped back the rest of it, which made Omar smile. Every damn thing she did was great. “That’s fine. I might get another one soon. Listen, we need to talk.”
Omar nodded and eased down onto the couch next to her. His gaze careened up and down her body. She’d opted for simple leggings and a loose top, but even that made him desperate to smooth his hands underneath the fabric, retrace those curves he’d denied himself the night before.
“I’m sorry I didn’t respond. I was with family,” he said simply.
“It’s okay. I figured you would assume it was…personal. Which, trust me, this isn’t.” She shook her head, eyes wide. “I found out something else from my girl in New York.”
Omar nodded, his eyes soldered to the fascinating arc of her shoulder peeking out from her top. “What is it?”
“National Oil had an altercation with someone we know,” she said, rooting him to his seat with her gaze. “Kelly Gunther.”
The words made a few rounds in his head before they really sank in. He furrowed a brow. “What did you say?”
“She found out that he never made his way back to the US as he should have. Kelly went to National Oil for some reason, and it ended with his arrest.”
Omar stared at her, desperate to not believe it. “Oh God. That seems…impossible.”
“My girl knows her sources. And I’m sure we can both guess his goal in going to National Oil.”
Omar groaned into his hands, leaning back against the couch. “Hell. This is why they never called on Friday. It has to be.”
“I thought this required immediate action,” Marian said, reaching for the tumbler again. “Where can I fill this up?”
Omar started to point out the bar then stood up and offered to do it himself. He wanted another one now, too. “I think we can send an email to start.”
“And request a phone conference, at least, sometime tomorrow.”
“Exactly.” Omar filled her glass, and then his own. He returned to the couch, handing her the tumbler. She took a gulp.
“I don’t think he’d get too far with leaking information. Not with how rude and horrible he is,” Marian said, wincing against the alcohol. “My main worry is he’s ruined our good name.”
Omar shook his head, sipping tersely at his drink. “And we should be prepared if he has.” He came to his feet, heading for his briefcase by the front door. “A little preemptive planning is in order.”
13
Marian yawned and rubbed at her eyes. After two solid hours of diagramming every potential secret or foible that Kelly could use against them and their diplomatic responses, the looming crisis felt more like an eventual blip. Kelly might try to take them down, but he wouldn’t. His revenge attempt would prove ineffective.
“I think this is good,” Omar said, pushing away the papers they’d been working on at his elegant dining room table. Everything in his penthouse looked like it came from an interior design magazine. Was that his or his wife’s touch? She was afraid to ask.
“Yeah. Good enough, at least.” Marian picked up her empty tumbler, heading for the sink in the adjacent kitchen. She set it on the counter, furtively sizing up the arrangement of the room. Marble countertops, bereft of utensils and appliances. Everything gleamed and sparkled. Omar was so neat.
She turned and inhaled sharply when she found Omar in the doorway, his arm propped against the molding. His dark eyes gobbled her up in a very specific non-business way, but this was where the real test began: standing her ground.
“You have a lovely kitchen,” she said, breezing past him, trying to ignore the heat that rolled off his body. She headed for the living room, where she’d left her shoes. “I’ll get out of your hair now. It’s getting late.”
Congratulations. You did it. She lamely patted herself on the back in her head while she slipped her flats on. Now you can go home and masturbate while thinking about Omar.
She noticed her phone on the dining room table where they’d been planning, so she diverted, her footsteps making a soft snick-snick against the smooth wood floor. Omar stood at the far end of the table, his jaw flexing as he watched her. The silence sizzled between them.
“Just need this,” she said as she grabbed her phone, her voice withering in the tension between them. God, what is this? She tried to force a little laugh, but it stuck in her throat. Omar’s eyes were like obsidian.
“Okay, well,” she said, turning for the door. Just get out the door. Unless he asks you to stay. Please ask me to stay. I have so little time left here.
But no. She would do well to reaffirm the professional boundaries. She already knew what the romantic entanglements would bring with Omar—more conflict and confusion about his past. And she didn’t have time for that. She couldn’t heal him when
he was clearly still so hurt.
“Marian, stay with me.”
His gruff words made her freeze in her spot. She stared at the door, hesitant to turn around. Thoughts raced in her head, but nothing seemed clear or right. Staying the night was all she wanted to do. But she would only want more, and more. And Omar could never give her that. For his own reasons, but also for practical reasons.
She spun slowly on her heel, daring to meet his gaze. He approached slowly, his request still echoing in the air between them.
“I don’t know if I should.” She swallowed hard, looking around. This beautiful penthouse palace, where he’d lived with his wife. Her being here reeked of a bad idea. You’ll regret this if you stay. When he pulls away. When he makes this awkward. When he grows cold.
“I know that you should,” Omar said, reaching out to touch her arm. The small caress blasted through her, made her knees weak. Damn you, Omar.
“Trust me, I want to—” she began.
“Then do it.”
Her words shriveled in her throat. “But I think you might be better off if we don’t do this anymore.” She gestured to the air between them. “You know?”
“No.” Omar took one more step to close the gap between them and slid his hand around the back of her neck, pressing his mouth against hers. A slow, thorough, exploratory kiss wiped away every contrary thought from her brain.
“Okay,” she gasped when the kiss broke. “Okay, yeah, I’ll stay.”
Omar grinned boyishly, pulling her by the hand toward the hallway. “Come. We should go to bed.”
She stumbled after him, a haze settling over her. This felt right—too right—but the logical side of her still whispered to keep her distance. Like that was possible anymore. Omar pushed her by the hips into his bedroom, his eyes ablaze as he followed her like a predator.
“Lovely bedroom,” Marian said, barely glancing around. All she caught was dark gray bedcovers and starkly framed black-and-white photos.
“Mm-hmm.” Omar pinned her to the bed and she fell backwards, a giggle escaping her. He climbed on top of her, showering her face with a flurry of kisses. She clutched at his head, welcoming everything, desperate for this sensation to never end.
God, if only you lived in New York…
She pushed the thought away, along with a slew of other things that ensured this would never work out long-term. And why was she even thinking long-term anyway? Why couldn’t this just be a harmless Parsian fling?
Omar flipped her over onto her belly and tugged at her leggings, bringing them down to her knees. He took a bite of each ass cheek, his fingers slipping beneath the damp fabric of her panties.
“Ooooh.” Marian let out a low moan as his fingers went straight for the sweet spot. He knocked and prodded at her clit, prompting dizzying waves of satisfaction. Their one day apart had felt interminable; they had so much to catch up on now.
“I love these pants you wore,” he whispered hotly into her ear. The weight of him pressed against her was too delicious to bear. “They turned me on immediately.”
“Some people don’t consider them pants,” she breathed, rubbing her butt against the hard line of his cock. “They’re just leggings.”
“Well, whatever they are…I vote you wear them to the office every day.”
Something about his words sent happiness spiraling through her. Even the briefest hint at a future warmed her. Damn you, Omar! He leaned back for a moment to step out of his pants and briefs. Then he nuzzled her ass cheeks, tugging her panties down to join her leggings.
“I want every part of you,” he growled, nuzzling her legs apart. She gasped as his tongue traced the lips of her pussy, passing gently over her clit. He slurped and suckled from behind, an interesting angle that stoked her fire more intensely than normal. She moaned and writhed against the bed, knotting the covers in her hand.
Omar sighed softly, then nestled his cock in between her legs. She arched up to meet him and he pressed himself inside slowly, a low groan escaping him as he did. She moaned along with him, suddenly so grateful for his heat and the fullness that tears pricked at her eyes. Jesus, this man made her think crazy things. Nobody had ever felt so good with her, or inside her.
“Marian.” Omar grabbed an ass cheek in his hand so hard that it hurt. She bucked against him, and he started a slow rhythm, one that brought her to the precipice in record time. He snaked a hand underneath her shirt, seeking a breast, cupping it gently.
They moved together in jerky unison, desperate pants escaping them, the friction leading to a delicious climax.
“I’m close, Omar,” she whispered, pinching her eyes shut. She fisted the bedspread as she took another long, deep thrust from him, which made her breasts jiggle.
He pounded into her, gripping at her hips to hold her in place. He thrust again and again, until Marian’s pussy clenched and the freefall was impossible to ignore. Her orgasm spilled over and consumed her, but he didn’t relent, slamming into her with long, frenzied thrusts that pushed her to new heights each time. She let out a wail, something throaty and foreign, as the pleasure wracked her over and over.
Omar groaned a moment later and slowed his movements, stilling as he pulsed hot inside her. His chest heaved as he collapsed onto her. Her eyes drifted open and shut as the powerful climax receded into a pleasant buzz.
“Holy...hell.” Her voice came out weak and muffled.
“Mmmm.” His cock throbbed inside her. A moment later he slipped out and fell onto the bed next to her, cupping her face in his hand.
She snuggled up to his smooth chest. Three little words hung heavy on her tongue, but she wouldn’t say them. It didn’t seem right to say them. Not now, probably not ever. But they were there, despite all the logic and rationale in the world.
They smiled lazily at one another until sleep overcame her and she drifted off.
Hours later, Marian awoke with a start. Bladder aching, she fumbled around for a moment, trying to get her bearings. She was still at Omar’s, but where again? She squinted in the darkness, trying to make out anything familiar. A bedside clock glowed with an ungodly hour: 3:21 a.m. She swallowed a dry taste in her mouth and swung her legs over the bed. Omar must have tucked her in, since she was magically covered with sheets and a blanket. He must have taken her shirt off, too, because she was definitely nude.
She smiled as she stumbled out of the bedroom, unsure where the bathroom might be. There had to be one close to his room. She glanced both ways down the hall; to the left was the living room, and to the right were a slew of closed doors. It had to be one of those.
She grabbed at the handle of the first room, flipping on the light. A spare bedroom. She turned off the light and shut the door, trying the next one. A closet. She grunted, trying the next one in line. His office.
His scent hung in the air, drawing her inside. The light she flipped on glowed soft yellow, illuminating his bookcases and a wide, spacious desk. She blinked as she took it in. Just a quick glance, like being a tourist.
She walked along the bookcase, checking out the spines she could read in English. She grinned. Some detective novels, Plato, and plenty of cookbooks. A diverse selection. She dragged a finger over his desktop, needing just a few more glimpses before she left, despite her straining bladder. A notebook sat open on his desk, papers splayed out. She peered down at the writing, something elegant and feminine staring up at her.
My dearest Omar…it’s impossible to describe how much I’ve come to love you! It’s like years have passed instead of months. I know that once I pass on, I’ll continue loving you for eternity. Yours forever, Anahita
Marian blinked, rereading the short letter. There were stacks of them. Each one on a piece of stationery. She’d spent her days writing letters to Omar. She flipped through them—most were in Farsi, but a couple stood out in English. She read as much as she could until she heard something in the distance. And whatever it was, she wouldn’t risk being caught in his office. She hurried out of
the room, clicking the light off and the door shut.
The next room she tried was the bathroom, a huge, white arena with a jacuzzi tub and two sinks. She stared at the white tiles as she peed, the love letters heavy on her mind.
What was she doing here, when she knew this was a bad idea? Clearly he’d read them recently, if they were sitting out on his otherwise clear desk like that. He probably read them every night before he went to bed, for two full years. She rubbed at her face, the truth settling into her.
She’d stepped into something she should have never gotten mixed up with. Just do the job and leave—that was her only mission. And it was time to stick to the plan.
Marian returned to the bedroom, tiptoeing quietly around the room as she searched for her clothes in the darkness. Omar snored softly as she dressed once she found all of her clothes folded neatly on a chair in the corner. Things like that made her smile…things like that she’d miss about Omar.
But this would never work.
14
Omar readied for work the next morning feeling lost. Finding out Marian had left in the night rubbed him the wrong way. Why would she do that? He scowled at his reflection as he adjusted his tie in the bathroom mirror. They’d had a lovely evening, even fallen asleep together.
It’s because of Anahita.
He still hadn’t addressed that looming issue, but how? He needed to come clean to her, to admit that maybe he was ready to try for something new but also maybe he would never love again. Though maybe he already loved Marian. Confusion shuddered through him. None of this made sense. And the longer it didn’t make sense, the more he would push Marian away.
On his way to the office, a text came in from Marian. “I’ll be working from the hotel today. Not feeling well.”
He tapped a quick response. “Is that why you left in the middle of the night?”
Her reply text took a few moments too long. “Yeah. Sorry. Didn’t want to wake you.”