Swallowing around the latest flush of desire warming him from head to toe, he said, “I’d have to give it more thought, of course, but it’s an idea.”
“A brilliant one! It’d be awfully generous of you, Mansur.”
Basking in the shower of her praise, he resurfaced momentarily to grumble, “‘Generous’ is a leap. I’d just be doing business. And business isn’t always...nice.”
He knew that, having fought tooth and claw to get his CEO-ship. His presidency was the result of his blood, sweat and tears. He’d had his supporters in the company, but also his fair share of dissenters in board members, higher management, and investors. For nearly two years he’d had to prove his mettle as a potential president and CEO candidate. Not everyone had been thrilled to have a young, overly ambitious foreigner in the running.
Some days had been hard; those were the days he’d felt most like giving in. It had been during that time he’d reconnected with Amal. She’d readily become his confidante and main supporter. After each of their conversations he’d felt ready to take the next day on, and the next, until the day he sat at the helm of his company.
“No, you’re right. Not all business is neat and kind,” she was saying. “And of all people I should know.”
She meant the corruption of the Somaliland government that had shut down the beneficial operation of building her hospital.
Manny tightened his lips, his fingers squeezing her legs. He knew what it was like. Being judged and found unworthy. His father had done it to him and to his mother. He’d almost endured it again before he’d secured his position as CEO. And Amal had done it to him, too, when she had refused his marriage proposal. Coming second or, worse, last to someone always hurt.
He tamped down the hot bile flaming through his chest and creeping up his throat. Torn was what he was—between wanting to be closer to her and pushing her away for good. She called them friends, but they couldn’t be—not when he had this damning attraction for her. It put him in a bind, because he knew how good her friendship had been to him. And her love? Her love had been his salvation. For a brief moment, when he’d thought he had her heart, he’d felt saved from his black anger for his father. She’d made him feel wanted and loved.
“Sometimes it’s a long, grueling climb to the top of the hill.”
He walked to the edge of the hilltop, hoisting her higher on his back and preparing for the more arduous trip downhill.
Before he could worry about taking his first step, though, Amal wriggled in his hold. “I can walk down,” she said.
Her soft breath puffed in his ear and sparked delightful tingles all through him. When she shifted again, his whole body compressed into a hot, tight coil, wired to snap at any moment. Afraid of what he’d do or say if he insisted on holding her to him, Manny loosened his hands around her legs.
She slid down his back, her hands coming off him last.
Manny turned to her and nudged his chin down the hill. “Are you sure?” He dragged his eyes to her flats, peeking out from under her long, dark skirt. “I don’t mind carrying you.”
Actually, it was probably best he didn’t volunteer again, what with how he buzzed from his desire for her.
Amal answered him by plunging forward, leading the way. She managed to get a few paces ahead before he unrooted his feet and caught up with her.
“See?” she goaded, grinning. “I can walk on my own. Not that I’m not grateful for the ride.”
She angled her head away from him—blushing, no doubt. She didn’t have to turn red for him to know her tells. Besides, his face was flushed as well, from the memory of carrying her, of touching her more intimately than he ever had before. And he wasn’t counting their rare rough play as children, when he hadn’t known what it was like to love and be loved by her.
But he knew better now.
Apparently not enough to walk away from her, he thought. Any sane man would be running for the hills by now, but not him. Even though he saw nothing but heartache at the end of the path he was willingly taking with her. She might remember his failed proposal and push him away again, or she might not ever remember and then he’d be forced to live a lie with her.
He didn’t even want to consider telling her what had happened that night, a year ago.
As if hearing his thoughts, Amal said sweetly, “Now will you tell me more about what we used to talk about over the phone and on video-chat? Did we always talk about your run for CEO, or did we manage to get around to talking about other things?”
* * *
“Other things?” Mansur repeated.
Amal bumped against his hand as she sidestepped a jagged rock wedged in the earth. She gave him some room after the danger to her feet had passed them by and smiled up at his wary face. He wore the same expression as when she’d asked him to divulge his memories of her. And yet, despite his obvious reluctance, he hadn’t refused outright.
Maybe your luck’s run out.
She hoped not—desperately so. Thus far she’d learned that Mansur had shared his professional struggles with her. He’d fought to be CEO, and she had learned she’d been there in spirit, right alongside him.
“Other things like life outside of our respective careers,” she explained. “Didn’t we talk about anything else?” Suddenly she wondered if their relationship had been only that. Built on their similar career paths. Their talk all shop. She shivered at the iciness of that possibility, feeling a frown overtaking her face.
Mansur clearly saw it, too, lowering his eyes to her mouth before flicking them up a heartbeat later.
“Sometimes, yes. We spoke about our dreams outside of our jobs,” he said, his voice gravelly with what she was sure he left unspoken. “I wanted to travel more. Cut my hours and see the world. Give back where I could.”
Amal’s heart gave a squeeze, and her smile returned full force. “Did I ever mention I’d love to travel, too? Because if I didn’t, I do.”
“Actually, you did.” He slung her a half-smile. “That hasn’t changed. You talked about seeing as much of the world as possible when we were younger. And that was before I ever dreamed to call America my second home.”
“You consider Hargeisa your first home?”
“I do,” he said, nodding and pursing his lips. He looked to be giving his next words some thought before he spoke again. “I might not desire living there at the moment, but someday I’d like to return for more frequent visits. Maybe even build a home close to my mother, so I’ll have an excuse to make the long flight over.”
“I’m glad I still want to travel,” she said. “I don’t always feel certain of my emotions and thoughts anymore.” Then she looked to him and asked, “What else?”
He rubbed his beard—a nervous tic she realized. She was worried that he’d finally shut the door to her inquisitiveness. So he pleasantly surprised her when he said, “We spoke about my family, and yours.”
At the mention of her family, Amal grew both hot and terribly cold.
“Bashir was often giving you a headache, waffling about his schooling. He’s always had a good head on his shoulders, and a big heart, so it’s no shock he switched from business to medicine. He’ll make a great doctor.”
“Pharmacist,” she corrected, smiling warmly. “Last I spoke with him, he wanted to be a pharmacist.”
“A great pharmacist, then. I have no doubt.” Manny lowered his hand from his jaw. “And Abdulkadir is happy running his travel agency? I take it that hasn’t changed.”
“Yes, he’s very happy,” she replied. She spoke often enough to Abdulkadir to know he was doing well, financially and physically. “Both my brothers are doing well, and it’s eased a burden off my chest that I may or may not have felt before the amnesia.”
“You always worried about them,” Mansur said.
Amal blinked fast, her eyes pinching, hot with quick tears. She
wiped them quickly, gasping a laugh. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me.”
Mansur’s hand on her forearm stilled her. She turned to him. Their bodies were mere inches apart. She could take a step forward and their chests would be touching. Amal had felt what that was like when he’d carried her uphill on his back. It had taken every bit of control to keep herself from squirming when his hands were on her, her front to his back. Now she warmed again, just like before, flushing all over at the naughty part of her that wanted to recreate those electrifying sensations once more.
She wasn’t crying now.
“You care for your family a lot. That part of you hasn’t and won’t likely ever change.” He dropped his hand from her. “It’s not something to be ashamed of either...something to feel sorry over.” He paused, and then said, “I envy that in you. And I know that you caring for my mom makes my heart rest easier when I can’t be by her side myself. So, thank you.”
She shook her head, stopping when she glimpsed his stern look. He wasn’t going to accept any more of her self-deprecation it seemed, so she gave up. “You’re welcome,” she whispered, and knew that he heard her.
They walked in silence, continuing to the base of the hill.
When they got down, Amal steeled her nerves and asked, “Did I speak about my father?” Her voice barely a whisper when she asked.
Mansur gazed deep into her eyes before he dipped his head.
That opened a floodgate for her. “He visited me right after I came home from the hospital.” Amal paced forward, then wound back to his side and peered up at him. “Your mother would’ve thrown him out, but I asked her to let him in to see me. I thought that he had traveled to Hargeisa when he’d heard I was in the hospital. Abdulkadir had seen him, and warned me like your mother. But I didn’t listen. I shouldn’t have let him in.”
She sucked in a breath, realizing she was speaking faster than she was allowing herself to get air. Only suddenly it felt like she had to get this off her chest. But she hadn’t even told Mama Halima what had happened fully...the shame had been too great.
Why tell all this to Mansur?
Because he’d leave for America sooner rather than later. She wouldn’t have to deal with his pitying looks.
“What did he do?”
Mansur’s voice was eerily calm. The quiet before the destructive storm. When she tightened her lips and turned her head to the side he didn’t let her off the hook easily.
“Amal, tell me. What did your father do to you?”
He’d broken her heart without so much as touching a hair on her head.
“He... He asked for money as usual.” There. She’d said it, finally.
Moving to mold his big, warm hand to her cheek, he rasped, “He isn’t worth your thoughts, Amal. Put him out of mind.”
“He’s my father,” she said, pulling free of his hand and missing his touch as she took more steps to distance herself from him. An arm’s length away from him now, she was able to think coherently, even as her voice trembled with the tears blurring her vision. “He has a right to ask for help, even if his timing wasn’t opportune.”
“Then why are you upset? What’s the problem, Amal?”
Mansur kept a respectful distance, but his clenched jaw and fists hinted at the anger he’d leashed on her behalf. She knew he hadn’t been close to his father, and that it had to do with him having had a second wife and family, but she didn’t need him conflating his contentious memories of his father with hers.
“He didn’t stay after I’d transferred the money to his account.” She had used her phone, and as soon as he’d had what he wanted her father had been in a rush to leave.
“Where is he now?” Mansur’s tone curled into a low growl.
She imagined that if her father had been with them now, Mansur wouldn’t have held back in pummeling him. As impressive as his control was, he looked ready to do some serious damage on something—or someone. She hadn’t pictured him as capable of violence until that very moment.
“Far from us,” she said, sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose. “He should be in Mogadishu. He has family there. A brother and sister I’ve never met. He wants to start a business. That’s why he asked for the money.” Luckily, she’d had some to spare. “It’s like I told you...his request for money wasn’t what troubled me.”
“It was realizing that was all he wanted from you,” he gritted, baring his teeth.
Amal flinched, her eyes squeezing tight as she soaked in more calming breaths. Hearing Mansur voice aloud how she felt about her father’s cut-and-run attitude had knocked the wind out of her. Now she caught her breath, opened her eyes and confronted his simmering ire for her father.
“Don’t be angry with him. I should have known better.” She lifted her heavy shoulders, the shrug doing nothing to rid her of the sadness this conversation had wrought. “He didn’t stay to raise us, and he didn’t visit regularly either. I just couldn’t help but hope. Or maybe the amnesia made me vulnerable—” She broke off with a head shake and turned to walk on before she remained mired in the past.
Mansur caught up quickly, bumping into her hand this time—purposely, she realized, when he grumbled, “I like your hope.”
She had liked it, too—before she’d awakened to hopelessness.
As they walked forward to view Mansur’s inheritance Amal began to wish something crazy: for her amnesia to rid her of her hope, because it wasn’t doing her any good. That included hoping for her father to have a change of heart, and for Mansur to want to stay longer with his mother.
And with me, she thought with a sinking heart.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MANNY STARED LONG and hard at the spring-green untilled pasture before him. His mind was rich with ideas of what he could do with the inheritance if it ever became his. That didn’t last long when he glimpsed Amal’s subtle frown and the stifled frustration in her enticingly dark eyes.
He shrugged out of his suit jacket and dropped it to the ground, crouching to spread it out as a makeshift blanket. Amal noticed him only after he called her.
“Amal?”
She looked down to him, confusion deepening her frown. Then the light of realization went off in her eyes and she sat down beside him, sharing the jacket he’d thoughtfully set down without a peep of protest. It was the second sign that something was off. The first being her moody expression.
He knew it was bad when she said softly, “It’s really beautiful. You should meet your family and then do what you proposed about leasing sections of farmland to local farmers.”
It was her tone that broke him. Flat. Listless. Hopeless, he concluded, with a shiver crawling over his skin.
She sat with her legs under her, her hands in her lap and her posture unnaturally stiff. She didn’t even seem aware of his presence—at least not until he nudged her leg with his, just as he’d done at the hospital. Then Amal snapped her head to him, that frown still marring her pretty face. Brows pleated, she looked down to where his thigh bumped her again. She looked adorably perplexed.
He smiled, but masked it when she lifted her head up.
“It’s more than I expected,” he confessed, looking at the expansive land stretching out before them. “Now I know what all those Romantic and pastoral poets wrote about when they were so in awe of nature. Very picturesque.”
“Has it changed your mind?” she asked.
He was pleased that she’d latched on to his lure. As long as she wasn’t in her own head, she was safe from the sorrow he knew she had to be entertaining. He knew because he’d done something similar after she’d rejected him. The only difference was that he’d lost Amal and had no one else to lean on. But now, despite her being the source of his pain once, Manny was finding it more difficult with each passing day to remember why he should steer clear from getting any closer to her emotionally...
<
br /> And physically.
He had to be careful. But surely he could create some comfort for her in the meantime? Even at the risk of throwing himself under her perceptive gaze...
“It might have,” he drawled, leaning back on his arms and crossing his legs one atop the other. He felt her watching him as he stared out at the inheritance his father had left him. Thinking of his father had him saying, “I was shocked to learn he’d given me anything.”
“Why? He’s your father. Aren’t you his firstborn?”
“Yes, but there wasn’t much love between us. I hadn’t seen him for years.”
And Manny had preferred it that way. He’d left at seventeen and never looked back to see himself as a boy, flailing wildly—and embarrassingly so—for his father’s attention. He had made himself a new man. Sloughed free of the skin of the insecure teenage boy he’d been when he had pulled himself out from under his mother’s skirts.
As much as he appreciated his mother, staying with her would have never brought him the peace his profession now gave him. He stood on his own two feet, his history nowhere near as important as his present and future. That was where all his possibilities lay—before him, not behind.
Amal shifted to face him more, her knee touching his outer thigh, their contact re-established accidentally. She looked down at the same time as he did, but neither of them made a move to break the contact.
“When was the last time you saw him?” Amal asked.
“Shortly after I left for America,” he said.
“Mansur, that’s fifteen years!”
Amal’s aghast look reined in his retort. He had to remember that she was viewing him through the filter of her high value on family.
“I’m aware of my age,” he grumbled, “and I can do the math myself.” But then he hissed in a breath at the hurt blooming on her face. Trying again, he said, “There’s a reason I kept away from him. It’s personal...something I’d rather not touch on.”
Harlequin Romance September 2021 Box Set Page 57