by Monodee, Zee
As he passed the red and white wooden church erected on the edge of the rocky beach—a landmark of Cap Malheureux—he slowed the car in anticipation of finding the entrance to the villa. A uniformed security guard threw the gate open at his approach.
Khalid accelerated up the winding drive flanked by lush gardens, watching the wood and wrought-iron panel slide closed in the rearview mirror. He should’ve spared the guard the effort. He would be leaving as soon as he apologized to his “date,” handed her the flowers, and hit the road again.
At least, he planned the meeting to go that way as he parked and exited the Jaguar. The front door lay wide open, and he stepped into the cool semi-darkness of the thatched-roof villa, the bouquet in his hand. The interior appeared empty, not a human sound to be heard. A waft of salty breeze caressed his cheek in the entryway.
His step heavy on the polished teak floor, he trudged toward the back of the house. Pausing in the open panel of the sliding glass doors to the terrace, he caught a glimpse of the view. Blue waters sparkling even in the late afternoon, with the jutting tip of Coin de Mire island emerging from the sea in a giant chunk of basalt rock.
A postcard image of the north coast—an idyllic setting for a date. He chuckled at the irony. Why couldn’t he be like other guys? He lingered in a dream location, about to meet a woman who would be his for the night, and who would leave in the morning with no questions asked or hopes of anything beyond a few stolen nocturnal hours. He should jump on the opportunity.
And speaking of this woman, where was she?
Clutching the bouquet, he stepped onto the terrace, and froze. No, it cannot be….
She stood barefoot on the luxuriant green lawn, hands atop the back of a chaise as she gazed at the scenery. Her long, turquoise silk dress clung to her lithe body and shimmered like the waters of the lagoon beyond the spit of the land, making her resemble a nymph who’d stepped out of the aquamarine depths. Her shiny, golden hair danced down her back in soft curls the mellow wind lifted from her pale, creamy shoulders. From where he stood, he had a clear view of her delicate, sculpted profile. Eyes closed, she basked in the dying light, and when she opened them, he’d see their translucent jade.
A year ago, across a busy street in Abu Dhabi, the unique sparkle of her gaze had captivated him. She’d worn a black abaya, the long cloak hiding every one of her curves, and a purple shayla scarf that had bared nothing but the oval of her face from her eyebrows down to her chin. Dressed the same as every other woman in the country, she should’ve melted into the crowd. But those irises pierced him when she’d looked in his direction just before she ducked into her chauffeur-driven car.
Lost in thought, he jerked when she turned and stared at him.
His gut experienced the punch of a hard fist as her eyes locked with his, and his chest squeezed at the same time a dagger ripped at his lungs.
A date with his wife—how, ever, would he walk away now?
Chapter Two
Leila blinked, but the picture remained the same. Up the three steps to the stone-cut terrace, her husband stared at her with narrowed eyes and a tense expression. Why did he have to remain so silent, so close yet so far from her?
A small puff of air left her parted lips when she contemplated the sheer charisma that emanated from his arresting body. Dressed in pressed, navy linen trousers and a white cotton shirt that skimmed the wide breadth of his shoulders, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he presented a formidable picture. Arab men were generally tall and brawny, but Khalid had something else that made him stand out in a crowd made up of big physiques.
Absolute physical presence, as well as a quiet intensity in his gaze, as if nothing escaped his notice. His face appeared shuttered; under the dark, closely-cropped beard on his pale-gold cheeks, his jaw had clamped. His mouth, with those soft, oh-so-soft lips, pursed in a tight, thin line, echoing the narrowed look in deep-set eyes. She’d always thought he could pass for white, if it weren’t for the nose. He had the typical, somewhat bulbous and hawk-like nose of the Arabs.
A soft breeze danced across her shoulders and lifted the locks of shaggy black hair from his wide forehead.
Regal, poised, so sure of himself. Yet, gentleness pulsed just underneath the confidence. She’d experienced the same reassuring certitude on the day she had first met him. In the crowded living room of Bashir Al-Arif’s dowager aunt, the old hag had introduced her to the one who’d asked for her hand, and questioned if she consented to the union.
Why were they asking her? Men decided everything. Women had no say. Beyond a cursory glance at the male who led the proceedings, to at least ascertain who in the lineup of blokes in the parlor she would be handed to, she hadn’t sought to know more. Khalid’s eyes lit on her, but his regard caused no apprehension or panic, unlike anytime Bashir had stalked her with his lecherous stare. Something told her she could trust Khalid. And alone in their honeymoon chamber, the same trust had echoed in every heartbeat. She had risked a bold visual appraisal of her new husband then, and lost her breath at his beauty.
Like now, as if she were seeing him for the first time.
His gaze caught hers, and she gasped. He’d come back. For her?
Then the realization slid in. He was her date for the night. But how? Carole hadn’t told her Khalid had returned to Mauritius, and the matchmaker, Madame Eve, didn’t know either of them.
She bit her lip when she noticed the bouquet he held. Pink roses, of a dusky, champagne hue. The same ones she’d stopped to buy at the shop earlier. Khalid had bought them out? For a date with her?
Yet, she saw the shock rumbling in her own system in his rigid stance. He’d drawn up to his full six-foot-one height, a sure sign he sought the upper hand. He hadn’t known, either.
An unknown woman had brought them together, working almost a miracle. Could this be a sign?
And what of him leaving her here all those months ago, dumping her like cargo before he shipped off to return to his life?
The burn of anger flared inside her, scorching her desire for him and wiping out every good thought she’d ever held for Khalid Al-Nadir.
With quick treads, she stepped toward the veranda. The sun-heated paving stones burnt the soles of her feet, yet she paid the hurt little heed. Nothing could sting more than knowing he had left her, and would leave again.
Flight—written all over his face, in the way he lowered his head and started to turn away from her. Without saying a word, he would abandon her once more….
Not on my life. Who did he think he was? She reached the veranda, the tin roof-shaded stone floor cold under her feet. She’d let other people take charge of her life too much. Now she would snatch control over her destiny.
“Assalam aleikoum.” She addressed him with the universal Muslim greeting, more out of habit than really wishing peace on him. Wrath, despair, loneliness—these she wanted to cast onto him. The same debilitating emotions she had experienced when he’d deserted her.
He inclined his head. “Waleikoum salaam.”
And peace be upon you, too.
The gall of him. She reached for the bouquet. “Are these for me?”
Her low, sultry tone stunned her. Who was this composed, sophisticated woman?
I have grown up.
In the past three months, she had changed along with her circumstances. Leila Hassan Al-Nadir no longer cowered; she stood tall and proud. With the freedom to be her own person, she no longer feared consequences, especially not in the face of a man’s whims and moods.
Khalid thrust the flowers toward her. “I shouldn’t be here,” he grumbled.
She grasped the bouquet, making sure her fingers brushed his on the clear cellophane wrapping. He released the bunch, pulled his hand away as if singed, then took a step back.
“You about to run again?”
He froze. In his narrowed gaze, in the drawn-out blink, she saw the rumblings of a formidable temper not to be goaded. But she wouldn’t back down. She didn’t know
when she’d get a chance to talk to him again, and he would not escape without hearing how his desertion had wrecked her life.
The sconces on the veranda walls lit up for the night. The golden glow tanned his skin to a delicious honey color, and in the flick of his eyes, she encountered doubt, hesitation. Her barb had hit home. Good. He wasn’t an arse, after all.
Yet, he’d shown her earth-shattering pleasure. Rapture she’d never suspected existed in a marriage bed. Bliss she’d never dreamed would touch her life.
Only to leave her the following morning.
That had hurt, even more than realizing she woke up, all alone, in a foreign country inside the house of a stranger.
The pain flared from her heart to radiate throughout her body. Leila steeled her features and threw her shoulders back. She was done accepting the cards fate dealt her. Her runaway husband would have to understand.
“I’ll get dinner ready.” She breezed past him into the villa, didn’t wait for him to follow; her tone had brooked no argument. If he possessed a hint of the good man she believed him to be, he wouldn’t bolt.
She felt the burn of his dark stare on her while she went to the fridge and pulled the two food tubs from the rack. Hachis parmentier—meat pie. She preferred shepherd’s pie with lamb, but beef was a Mauritian staple. With a quick flick, she searched the container for the halal logo, a little word written in Arabic. Muslims could not eat pork, or meat not slaughtered according to Islamic rites. This turned buying ready-made prepared meals a pain in many countries, but thanks to the thriving Islamic population on the island, almost every company used halal meat. Still, out of habit, she checked.
While the meat and potato layers heated in the microwave, she poured two glasses of chilled white grape juice. Try as she might, she couldn’t ignore his presence in the doorway, hands in trouser pockets and one shoulder casually resting against the frame. She took quick, surreptitious glances at him from under her lashes. The timer dinged, giving her something to do so she opened the door and retrieved the food. She placed the tubs on the counter, returned with the glasses, and pulled a bar stool from under the island. “Come eat.”
Her head lowered, she reached for the cutlery tied inside thick, white linen napkins at the edge of the counter. He grasped the same bundle, and their hands touched.
Leila wasn’t able to bring the “cool girl” persona into place this time. She gasped and peered up at him.
With his eyes on her, he unwrapped a napkin and handed her the fork. She grabbed it, and took a bite; however, she could have been eating air for all the taste she registered on her tongue.
Without a word, he joined her.
Was this what dinner would be like? Stretched silence? Once they finished, he would leave. She struggled to think of words that would keep him there, at least until he explained why he’d abandoned her as he had.
“Did you know you were meeting me?”
He glanced up and shook his head. “You?”
“No. Carole didn’t tell me who I had to meet.”
He huffed. “Carole? I should’ve known.”
She blinked. “You, too? She signed me up at a dating agency or something—”
“1Night Stand.”
“What?”
“The name of the agency and the nature of the date.”
A one-night stand. That meant sex, didn’t it? And more…. She had to ask, before she lost the tiny flicker of confidence that sparked in her. Hate him, loathe him, love him—she couldn’t deny she wanted him. God knew for how much longer he’d be her husband, so if she could have him while he remained legal for her, she would. “I get you for the whole night, then?”
At his audible breath intake, she wanted to smile and scream victory. He hadn’t imagined she’d take the upper hand here—she had to keep the edge.
His jaw tense once again, he looked away before pinning her with an intense look. “I’m sorry.”
Not what she’d expected to hear. Her resolve faltered at his apology, before she recalled how he’d hurt her. “As you should be, for what you did to me that morning.”
After I woke up in your arms, feeling safe and cherished for the first time in my whole life.
He’d bolted from the bed after a long, deep kiss, coming back with a glass of water he’d asked her to drink. Then, everything went blank.
A small muscle ticked in his left cheek. “I apologize. You don’t know how sorry I am.” He ran a hand through his hair. “If I could do anything—”
“You can.”
Where is all this steel coming from? A woman scorned? A jilted wife?
“How?”
She stepped down from the stool and walked around the counter to reach him. He stood as well, and she stopped a foot from him.
“Stay,” she heard herself saying. “Spend this night with me.”
Chapter Three
Who is this woman? Certainly not the timid bride he’d taken to the marriage bed, the one who, despite years of being married, had reminded him of a delicate, shy virgin on their wedding night. He faced a seductress, a confident creature out to lure a man.
Out to make him pay.
Did she know the worst punishment for him would be to leave her once he’d had her again? Heaven and hell rolled into one, a sweet agony he would never refuse although it led to the darkest torment he’d ever endure. Once more.
He wanted to say no. Ya Allah, how he wanted to push her away and walk out before he lost the little sanity he still possessed, the little restraint he could still call on. With the Leila he’d known, he could’ve called the shots.
But not with this woman, who was still his wife. His for the taking, especially when she offered herself with such unashamed boldness. She had changed, become harder than the sweet girl he had married, yet the persona she showed today intrigued him more than anything. What would it be like to make love to her? Would she take the upper hand in bed, too?
He gulped at his wayward train of thought. Nothing good would come out of them coupling again. He had to resist her, leave.
Who was he kidding, though? He’d knocked her out when he had brought her to the island, because he feared he would never have been able to turn his back on those jade-colored eyes in which had swirled an abyss of hurt and longing.
Eyes he peered into now when she closed the distance between them. The hem of her dress swished against the top of his shoes, a sensual promise of what could happen between them tonight.
Khalid forced himself to tear his gaze from her, to snap his head up so she’d understand he meant no, he wouldn’t allow her any closer.
She paid him no heed and snaked a hand up his chest, her soft fingers lingering on the naked skin of his neck. She didn’t stop there, though. She trailed her other hand up, until she twined her fingers behind his neck, and in the process, pressed the whole length of her body to his.
He winced, unable to hide. Not his feelings for her, not his desire as he grew hard against the gentle press of her belly. He tried to rein himself in with a deep breath. All for naught.
His wife laughed, a throaty sound to poke at the burning embers of his need for her and make him crave her with a yearning that went beyond despair.
“Hold me,” she ordered on a soft whisper.
He shouldn’t. But damn if he could resist. Her heat wrapped around him, the scent of her flowery perfume cloaking him in an inextricable cocoon where he lost himself.
So he stopped fighting and brought his arms up, to splay his hands on the small of her back.
She closed her eyes when he touched her. Her low moan shattered what remained of his composure.
Khalid pulled her against his chest. She snuggled into his embrace, laid her head on his shoulder. He breathed in the sweet smell of her hair, those glorious blonde tresses he hadn’t known she hid under her scarf. His surprise when he had seen her for the first time without the head covering, in their bedroom on their wedding night, had threatened to consume him even more than the
flame of lust that had singed his body.
Time came to a standstill while they remained in each other’s arms, until she hummed a soft tune and started to sway to the same rhythm. Listening closer, he recognized the music, an old Kenny G classic.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked, pulling away to peer into her face.
She glanced up at him, green eyes liquid with heat and desire, before she nodded. Leila didn’t need words to convey what she wanted to him. From the very first moment, he’d been attuned to her, anticipating her every wish, fulfilling them before she could voice them. He’d thought such instinctive knowledge odd, a transcendental connection never experienced on this plane of existence.
And he so wanted to give her everything she deserved. But the kicker was that he didn’t deserve her.
Would it be wrong for him to take what should be off-bounds for him?
Just one time. Just this once, tonight….
He reached into his trouser pocket for his cell phone. Scrolling through the files, he found the tune he searched for, the one she’d been humming. As he placed the device on the counter, the melodious notes of Kenny G’s sax floated out. A track made for romance, for a magical night.
How would he walk away in the morning?
Don’t think of that. Not now.
Khalid slammed the lid on the questions. Pulling her to him once more, he pressed his cheek against the top of her head and swayed to the music.
She sighed against his chest, the thin cotton of his shirt doing nothing to hamper the warmth of the expelled breath. His body surged to readiness, eager to claim what it had been denied for so long.
But he couldn’t jump ahead—not fair to his lover, and unbecoming of his upbringing. Muslim men were told to take their pleasure, but only after their wives had found their climaxes. In the words of the prophet Muhammad—peace be upon him—lovemaking without foreplay was cruelty to women.
He skimmed his hands up her back, caressed her shoulders with reverence. A shiver danced through her. Pushing his hands into the thick tumble of curls, he clasped the sides of her head and made her look up.