The Sheikh's Forbidden Tryst - A Sheikh Romance (Princes of the Middle East Book 2)

by Holly Rayner

  “What?”

  “You seem like the last person I would have expected was bullied or had trouble fitting in.”

  I nodded and shrugged.

  “People change.”

  “I know, it’s just…”

  “What?”

  Her gaze grew sad.

  “I was bullied, too. There was a group of girls at school who liked nothing better than to torment me. It was around the same time my dad left, so I just…shut down.”

  Her whole face was crumpled with a look I’d never seen before. I squeezed her hand.

  “You’ve never mentioned your dad before.”

  She nodded but still wouldn’t look at me.

  “I don’t like to think of that time. Of him. The way he just left my mom and me. Or the way I just gave up—stopped going to school, stopped wanting to even get out of bed. My mom lost her first job because of having to take care of me, and ended up getting a worse one, which she got fired from recently. I’m better now, but I don’t like thinking of that time, that person who gave up.”

  “You don’t seem like someone who’d give up easily, or someone who’d been bullied, either.”

  Her smile was bitter.

  “Don’t I? I don’t have your easy confidence or charm.”

  I waved my other hand casually.

  “Anything can be learned. Being bullied like that, I think, was the reason I strove and still strive to get along well with people. It was…”

  I took another long swig of wine, drinking to the very bottom of my glass. I didn’t want to talk about it, not even think about it. But already the images were returning to my mind, spilling out of my lips.

  “There was a group of boys who tortured me, too. Practically the whole class joined in, but these ones were the worst. One day, they cornered me on the schoolyard and beat me, in front of everyone, until I was bleeding, begging for them to stop. They didn’t stop. Not until the teachers came. They might not have stopped at all if not.”

  After I’d spoken, there was a gulf of silence as my words filled the room, engulfing everything. Finally, taking my other hand, Lucy spoke.

  “God, Khabib. I am so, so sorry.”

  I nodded, letting her take my face in her hands.

  “I am, too.”

  And now, her eyes were glistening with tears, though it was her lips that were doing everything, that were pressing to mine, slipping over and under them. They were soft and slightly slick, with gloss, or tears, maybe.

  Like this, we pressed our foreheads together and let our bodies do the talking. Everything was one inevitable joining of parts, returning to what we knew best, how we were best together. Her hands and my hands, her lips and my lips. I moved my hands down her body, the wine glass toppled, and I froze.

  Now, Lucy was looking at me with arousal—and fear. She had remembered, too. We weren’t supposed to be doing this. Yet, that look said it all. We were not supposed to be doing this—but we would. She would give in as soon as my lips pressed hers again; it was certain.

  And yet, my lips stopped a millimeter away from hers. Even as I willed them forward, they wouldn’t move. I couldn’t.

  “Not like this.”

  “What?”

  I shook my head and drew away.

  “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want me to. I don’t know why you’re still uncertain about me, Lucy, but I don’t want to push you into doing anything you’ll regret later.”

  Another great sadness passed over Lucy’s face, then, a terrible sort of smile.

  “Thank you Khabib. I…I’m not uncertain about you, I just need to figure a few things out before I throw myself in headfirst. I’m sorry for shutting you out like that. I thought that was the only way to give myself time to do what I needed to. I never meant to hurt you and I never planned to stay out of contact with you for good, only for a few weeks.”

  I nodded and stroked her cheek.

  “Lucy, it’s fine. You take all the time you need. And, when you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

  She nodded and squeezed my hand.

  “It won’t be much longer, and I’ll be back to work as usual. In fact, on Monday, everything will be fine; we can go back to the way things were. You and me—us. Just give me until Monday.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lucy

  Right after Khabib had left, I fell into a horrible, restless sleep. Sleep patch by sleep patch, awake hour by awake hour, I constructed my plan, and the first thing I needed to do was go see my mom. So, Saturday morning, after the strongest coffee I could make, and a banana to get me going, I went over there.

  Being in her claustrophobic box of an apartment, however, with her half-knowing look and waiting silence, was harder than I’d anticipated. I sat there, silent, playing with the marshmallows in my hot chocolate, until she finally said it.

  “Lucy. Tell me.”

  My “What do you mean?” was even less convincing than I could’ve hoped. Yes, Mom looked at me with those blue eyes, piercing even behind her cloudy spectacles. She wheeled her chair over so her intense gaze was drilling right into me. I sighed.

  “Okay, so you know that new job?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How I’m Khabib’s personal assistant.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Khabib’s parents, they’re worried about him. He parties a lot, and they wanted me to dissuade him from the wild life he’s been living. They’ve been having me spy on him and report back to them.”

  Mom was shaking her grey head, but I wasn’t finished yet.

  “And that’s not all.”

  Her gaze shot back up to mine, and I felt my heart plummet. This wasn’t going to be easy— admitting just how much I’d strayed from the honest, sensible girl she’d raised me as.

  “Khabib and I, we’ve been…seeing each other.”

  Her blue eyes narrowed.

  “Seeing.”

  “Going on dates…and…yes, Mom, sleeping with each other.”

  My mom’s head bowed a little.

  “So, you’ve been spying on your boss, and sleeping with him.”

  My head hung sadly, my gaze turned away; I couldn’t look at her. Not now.

  “And this Khabib, he’s all fun and no seriousness, eh?”

  I shook my head.

  “He really cares about me, Mom. He wants to introduce me to his parents as his girlfriend. He’s changed his lifestyle since we’ve started seeing each other.”

  When I chanced a look up at her, she didn’t look as angry as I’d feared. She pursed her lips.

  “That part I understand. What I do not understand, however, is this agreeing to spy on him in the first place.”

  “They threatened to fire me—I’m under contract to Khabib’s father, Ra’id, not Khabib.”

  “And so what if they did? You could find another job, maybe not as good a one, but still.”

  Her gaze on me had once again become piercing.

  “Lucy?”

  “Well, we need the money.”

  After my quiet voice, hers seemed extra-loud.

  “We need the money, do we?” Her voice went quiet again, and she took my hand. “My dear Lucy, do you mean to tell me that you’ve been engaging in this spying nonsense all for me?”

  “Well…kind of, yeah.”

  She smacked my hand lightly, then drew me into a hug.

  “Silly girl. Oh, my silly, generous sop of a daughter. You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “I know, I just couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to support you properly.”

  “Stop worrying about me so much. I’ll always be able to manage.”

  She tightened the hug, and we stayed there for a few minutes. I was breathing freely for the first time in what seemed like weeks. Finally, finally, I had told someone. Thank goodness.

  Releasing me, Mom gave me a soft pat on the hand.

  “Well, you know what this means, then.”

  “Huh?”

&nbs
p; Now, she was smiling at me.

  “You know why you came here.”

  “No, I…”

  “Yes, you do.”

  And suddenly, I did.

  “I have to tell them.”

  She nodded.

  “I have to tell Ra’id as soon as I can. That it’s over. That he can fire me if he wants to, but I can’t spy on my boss—and certainly not the man that I love—for a second longer.”

  Mom squeezed my hand.

  “That’s my girl.”

  The actual telling part, however, did not go as smoothly as planned.

  “No,” Ra’id said flatly.

  I glared at the image of him on my phone’s screen.

  “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

  I had rehearsed what I was going to say, and Ra’id’s possible reactions, anticipating many different scenarios. None, however, involved the simple word ‘no’. No explanation, no compromise, just ‘no’—plain and simple.

  “Your job will be done soon enough; we have a trip planned soon, in a few weeks. You can finish then.”

  “But I told you, I can’t keep doing this. The guilt is too much for me.”

  “And I heard you. But you will have to continue working for us for the time being.”

  “I don’t know if I can do this, then.”

  Ra’id’s face darkened.

  “A week, then. One week more—that’s all we’ll ask of you. Then you can continue your job as a PA without having to report to us.”

  I exhaled, all the fight I’d built up over the last few hours sliding out of me easily.

  “Okay.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  At Ra’id’s question, I glanced up to see that the man actually looked as concerned as he had sounded. Once again, the truth was bubbling up in me, threatening to spill out. So, instead of lying, I cited a different truth.

  “Oh, yes. It’s just this party I’ve been planning for Ra’id’s 30th birthday next weekend…it’s been a lot more work than I bargained for. Caterers, guests, decorations—it seems every day I’m fielding calls from someone who’s confused or has messed up.”

  Ra’id nodded.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. And thank you for all you’ve done for our son. When we do finally explain the situation to him, whenever it is, he will come to thank you, too, to see that you also had his best interests at heart.”

  To my half-hearted nod, Ra’id waved.

  “Goodbye, Lucy.”

  Even after the video call was over, I glared miserably at my phone’s screen. If Ra’id knew the truth, something told me he wouldn’t have said that. If he had any idea of the truth at all, he would know that thanking me was the last thing Khabib would do.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Khabib

  The days leading up to my birthday were perfect. Lucy was back to normal, my little angel, organizing everything and telling me nothing. Every time I glanced over into her office, she was flitting about, calling someone while she was on hold with someone else, ordering something online that I couldn’t see.

  Mahir was as tense as ever, which was no surprise, though he did seem to be breathing down my neck a bit less than usual. Even my parents seemed to have calmed down. In our weekly video chat, instead of berating me about my latest tabloid appearance, they only wished me a happy birthday. They made some sly remark that I’d get my present on the day of, and that they knew I’d enjoy it, but I had no idea what they were talking about.

  Even Donna was screwing up less, only double-booking me once in the week (a definite improvement from her usual four simultaneous appointments every two days). Meanwhile, sales for the Samara Reseda were through the roof, and only going higher. Basically, things couldn’t get any better.

  On the day of my birthday, before the party, Lucy took me on a picnic. After Oscar and Bruno had made their tentative second meeting—with suspicious sniffs and sharp barks, then laying together in the corner of the tartan picnic blanket—we set to eating.

  “Hellooo? Khabib? I’m taking the food out, now.”

  Lucy waved a hand in front of my face to get my attention. I had been distracted by her dress, zoning out while admiring her gorgeous figure. The blue flowers on the flowing white fabric perfectly suited her sweetly smiling face.

  “Okay, this should get your attention.”

  Lucy was holding a glistening piece of vanilla and cherry cake.

  While I took the piece, Lucy pulled out something else from the basket – a second piece of cake. It was chocolate, with layer upon layer of delicious-looking mousse. My gaze shot to her incredulously.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  She kissed my cheek.

  “Kidding.”

  When I grabbed her and squeezed her, she giggled with glee, then pulled away, vigilantly holding the chocolate cake in place.

  “Careful, careful!”

  Then, she pouted.

  “I thought you wanted me to kid you.”

  Now it was my turn to kiss her cheek.

  “Clearly, you learn from the best.”

  Placing the piece on the ground, she grinned mischievously.

  “You haven’t even seen the rest of the picnic.”

  The “rest of the picnic,” as it turned out, was delicious cake slice after delicious cake slice—all baked by Lucy herself, no less. There was carrot cake, vanilla cookie-dough with sprinkles, cinnamon-banana-nut, and, the best by far, angel food cake. We shared every piece, at my insistence.

  By the end of it, we were laid out on the grass, giggling with how horrible we felt. Lucy poked my side.

  “I had intended to save some for later.”

  I poked her back.

  “And when exactly did you plan on mentioning that?”

  With a kiss on my cheek, she giggled.

  “By the time we were through the third piece, I’d forgotten.”

  I rolled around so our faces were inches apart.

  “I’m not sorry you forgot.”

  “Me neither.”

  And then, my lips met hers and she tasted like cake, only I wasn’t sure which kind. Whatever it was, I liked it; I liked her. Lucy Morrison.

  She broke out of my kiss, so that she could tell me, “Happy birthday. We’re only getting started.”

  And the glint in her beautiful blue eyes told me that she wasn’t kidding, either.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lucy

  I couldn’t wait. The whole day, as we picnicked together, stuffed our faces with cake together, walked off the cake with a stroll by the river together—all of it was wonderful, sure—but still, I was restless. Excited. How Khabib would love what I had planned for him!

  At home, getting ready, I had to concentrate to make myself stop smiling that stupid smile so I could put on some lipstick without smearing it everywhere. But it was hardly my fault; I was just so excited.

  Finally, I had the chance to do something nice and wonderful for Khabib, not something I was hired to do, not even something I got to do in reaction to another one of Khabib’s generosities, no. This was all coming from me, for him. I wanted this to be the best day of his life, the best night. I wanted to do all this to show Khabib just how much he meant to me, just how sure I was that we worked together, that I could really see myself with him.

  Sure, I was still under contract to his parents, but Ra’id had agreed to it himself—I would be done in less than a week now. Done and free. Free to love Khabib, tell him the truth, finally let my guard down. Free to do as I wished.

  As I walked into the Taglyan Complex, I almost forgot that I was the one who had commissioned its pillars to be draped with blue sashes, Khabib’s favorite color. It was only 7 p.m., the start time, but inside, guests galore were already meandering about, trying the chocolate fountain, sipping fizzy drinks.

  A hand around my waist startled me, and Khabib laughed.

  I wagged a scolding finger in his face.

  “You! I told you no
t to come until eight!”

  Khabib’s smile was indefatigable.

  “Need I remind you, little lady, just whose birthday it is?” He grinned wider. “Besides, I missed you.”

  And, once he kissed my cheek, I melted.

  “You’re right, sorry. I just wanted there to be lots of people here when you arrived.”

  Khabib scoffed and threw his hand out, gesturing at the large crowd.

  “Yeah, you’re right—what is this? There’s pretty much no one here.”

  We laughed together and then the guests spotted him. Khabib spent the next hour or so talking to friends and acquaintances who couldn’t get enough of him. All the while, as I drank and chatted to guests myself, the delighted birthday boy kept circling back to me, kissing me, squeezing me, whispering in my ear—all when I least expected it, of course. Each time he came up to me, he seemed happier, more alive.

  “How did you find Billy? You know, he was my billiards buddy when I first got to L.A.”

  With a shrug, I smiled mysteriously.

  “Can’t divulge my sources.”

  Khabib threw his arms around me.

  “Whoever the source, however you did this—Lucy, it’s incredible, it’s…I mean, just taste this.”

  Just as his drink’s deliciousness was seeping into my mouth, the teal blue overhead circular lights came on, throwing the whole room into a stunning blue and gold glow.

  Khabib turned to me, his eyes searching mine.

  “Lucy, does this mean…”

  The only response to give him was to stride up to the spotlight-lit podium, down the rest of my drink, look out to the crowd, and speak.

  “I’m not one for speeches, but tonight we’re celebrating a very special man, so I’m going to do my best. In fact, Sheikh Khabib is more than just a special man—anyone who knows him can attest to this. He’s an innovator, an instigator, an inspiration. And to me, over these past few months, Khabib has become much more than that. He has defied every assumption I have made about him, challenged me in ways I never expected, surprised me, and delighted me. This man, Sheikh Khabib bin Samara, has been generous without bounds, and not just with his money and his time. With his heart, too.”