by Sierra Rose
“I downloaded her entire album. I work out to it. I mean, it’s depressing as hell, not upbeat like what I used to work out to, but it makes sense, because if I don’t work out, I’ll end up alone and sad, like those songs,” she whispered giddily.
Marj sat, rapt, as she listened to that honeyed voice sing familiar laments, ballads that left jaded, wised up, secret-Titanic-lover Marj teary-eyed. Brandon passed her his starched white handkerchief wordlessly, and she blotted her eyes. When the last notes died away, and the applause dwindled, Marj looked up at Brandon, holding her hand and sitting beside her, and kissed his cheek.
“Thank you,” she said, “for sharing all this with me.”
“I should be saying that to you. It’s far more entertaining to watch you discovering such wonders than it is to experience them myself. I’m afraid I’m a bit spoiled, too used to the finer things. I take it for granted, exclusive concerts and fine dining and rooms with fresh flowers in them. It’s nice to see you having a go at it.”
“Really? It’s fun for you to watch me cry all over myself at a concert and eat way too many walnuts?”
“Extremely. It’s the most fun I’ve had since Vegas, I’d say.”
“Even better than the opera?”
“It was ballet.”
“Right, the dancing thing. Better than that?”
“Yes. And we ought to get back to the hotel. We have an early morning tomorrow. The tour at Jumeirah is at ten sharp.”
“The what?”
“The Jumeirah Mosque. It’s something to see, I can tell you, and it’s open to the public. We’re going to see it at ten and after that, the day’s yours.”
“I’ve never been in a mosque. I may have to Google it and get a preview.”
“Don’t you dare. It’s only to be seen in person. It’ll take your breath away.”
“I’m used to getting up early so never think I need to go to bed right now. We could go out for drinks or—” she trailed off, “I think I get your meaning. We should definitely go back to the hotel. Now.”
They took the car back to their hotel and whizzed up the private elevator. A host of fluffy pillows threatened to overwhelm the huge bed.
“Our old nemesis the pillow butler has been here,” Brandon joked.
“I think this many pillows can be considered a threat.”
“Like we’re going to be suffocated?”
“They are definitely in my way. I’m not even on the bed yet, and they are in my way,” Marj laughed.
Brandon raised an eyebrow at her and gave his wicked half smile. He grabbed her and tossed her onto the pile of pillows. She squealed, getting a face full of her taffeta gown, which she batted away in time to receive Brandon. He joined her on the pile of pillows and he was kissing her, kissing her until her head spun and all she could do was hold on to him. It flitted through her mind that her gown had been perfect for a gala but would be a real pain in bed.
Before she knew it, his hands were on her bare back. He had somehow done away with the hooks and zipper. He sat up and pulled the dress down her legs, tossing it off the bed with a flourish. Marj kicked off her shoes and opened her arms, pulling him to her.
She loved the feeling of his strong body in her arms, his weight above her. He made her feel girlish and small and impossibly precious. It was a feeling she could grow to need. A chill went through her, not of desire, but apprehension. Because she felt beyond a doubt that she could love this man. Marj could fall for her own husband in the blink of an eye.
Even now she was at the edge of it, and she would have to take care to avoid it. She didn’t want to shatter at the end of six months. She wanted to walk away cheerfully with her cashier’s check for millions and with a wave at her new ex as a lifelong friend. Because she wanted to be in his life. She didn’t think a check would do much for a broken heart, so she had better start protecting herself a lot more diligently. He had already chipped away at her everyday armor, her sarcasm, and her flippant pushing away. Now he had found her without battle defenses, open and hopeful on a pile of pillows in Dubai. She couldn’t let that go on.
When he touched her face, caressing her cheek so tenderly that she wanted to sigh, Marj took his wrist and moved his hand away from her face. She rolled him onto his back, taking the control and taking away the lovemaking tenor of the encounter. She couldn’t handle it. It was too personal, too intimate, too much exactly what she wanted. This could be fun, but it couldn’t be serious. So it was time to pull out her metaphorical bag of tricks and make sure nothing got too real.
She kissed him, pressing his hands back on either side of his head to hold him down. He grinned and let her. Marj kissed and licked and caressed him, exploring every inch of his body and rendering him desperate. When he was near frenzy, his pulse racing and eyes dark, she climbed on him astride, lowering herself down his length and taking him. Brandon bucked up inside her immediately and she let him grip her hips, hold her steady as he pounded his way to release, her own hands between her legs, stroking herself to the very cusp of pleasure.
As she rocketed over the edge with her own fondling, his powerful onslaught driving her mad, she cried out his name. She wanted to cover her mouth with her hands, embarrassed that she would think only of him at such a moment. With any other man, she would have been thinking of Scott Eastwood, Channing Tatum, some muscled actor with wry masculine perfection. But this was all Brandon Cates. No one else had ever consumed her so. She had never, not once, called out a man’s name at her peak.
It made her turn away from him, the embarrassment, the knowledge that, even if he didn’t know it meant anything, she knew it. And it was nothing but bad news. She rolled over and yanked the covers over herself. He kissed her bare shoulder and she smiled.
“Did I overwhelm you?”
“Yeah, wore me out completely. I guess I’m not on Dubai time yet. I’m going to crash,” she said, knowing he wanted to get to his work.
“Okay. Good night, sweetie. If you need me, I’ll be in the office.”
“This place has an office?”
“This place? It has everything,” he said with a chuckle.
He left the room, switching off the light for her so she could rest. Damn him for being considerate that way. Marj rubbed her hands over her face, blinked hard and squinted her eyes tightly shut. She was going to go to sleep, dammit, and not think about him or dream about him. Not at all.
Except she did dream about him.
Chapter 10
In her dream, it was all too real.
Brandon Cates, in jeans and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose strong forearms and thick wrists, his hair roughed up in the wind. He held out his hand to her to help her over some rocky terrain and down to a beach. She took his hand, the sizzle of sparks actually visible when they touched. A long dreamy white dress whipped around her bare legs in the wind, some kind of sundress. He guided her to the warm sand and they settled on a checkered blanket. He poured a chilled chardonnay into a glass for her, and she sipped the crisp, buttery liquid with a satisfied smile.
In the dream, Brandon kissed her neck. He held her close and whispered to her. She could not quite make out the words above the rustle of the ocean breeze, the tinkle of wind chimes someplace nearby. She knew she was in love, and that he wanted to be with her. She knew they were someplace beautiful and private. She reached for the picnic basket—where had it come from?—and pulled out a birthday gift for him, tied in a silver ribbon. He opened the long box and his face was transformed by joy. He scooped her into his arms, into his lap and kissed her a hundred times, her lips, her face, her hair. She laughed, teary at the same time, so perfectly happy.
In the dream he held her and kissed her and she knew he couldn’t believe it, their good luck, their happiness. She felt so replete, so perfectly wonderful, as if she had alone been the agent of his pure joy. Opening her eyes to the sun-dappled afternoon, she glimpsed the contents of the box she’d given him. In bright blue tissue paper
was nestled a white plastic stick, something like a thermometer, with two blue lines in the window. She had given Brandon a positive pregnancy test for his birthday. He was turning thirty-one and becoming a father and she, his adored wife, was the mother of his child.
Marj woke up from the dream, her face wet with tears. She threw off the covers, stalked across the room and uncapped the decanter. She took a drink right from the crystal bottle, the burn of Scotch tracing its way down her throat into her consciousness. Of all stupid things, she was dreaming about picnics and presents and having a baby. Her subconscious should have gone all out, she thought cynically, and had her wear a diamond tiara while a shower of rose petals trailed all around them, happy townspeople clapping and perhaps a violin or two playing in the background.
Disgusted with her commonplace, sappy dreams, she took another drink, coughed, and hoped she wouldn’t vomit from her drink. She’d needed it to clear the cobwebs from her stupid, hopeless romantic, impossible brain.
She used to dream about cars, beautiful expensive foreign ones, often driven by equally exotic and wealthy men in suits. Now all it took was one guy with his sleeves rolled up, one specific guy giving her a handkerchief or putting a blanket over her or touching her hair and she was gone. Completely over the moon over the littlest things, things she’d never realized were missing from her life. She had nothing but contempt for her late blooming sentimentality. She dug a t-shirt out of her suitcase and started doing sit-ups. Then she did some lunges and squats. Exercising always helped her focus. And she needed to focus on what she had (more than she ever dreamed of) and what she intended to do (be pleasant for five more months and then split with the money and her heart intact). Anything that ran counter to the goal had to be cut out. So, basically, the less time she spent with her spouse, the healthier and happier she’d be in the long run.
She made lists on her phone of things to do and not to do. She would have as much fun as possible. She would make an effort to fit in and be reasonable. She would try, as far as was practical, to make Brandon’s life better. She would NOT get in a fight with the WQ. She would NOT encourage him to do thoughtful things for her because it created a vicious cycle of affection and appreciation. She would NOT do romantic or personal things for him. She would NOT fall in love.
It wasn’t a very good list, and it didn’t do much to make her feel better in all honesty.
Chapter 11
The next morning, she was exhausted from being awake most of the night. She kept to her list. She dressed modestly for the mosque tour. She didn’t tease Brandon about how hot he looked in his chinos or about not getting themselves arrested for showing affection in sacred spaces. In fact, she bit her tongue a lot to keep from flirting with him. Flirting was her default setting and he was pretty damn irresistible so all her instincts just spun and sparkled around him, wanting to attract his attention, engage him in banter or sexual congress. She wanted to tease him and tickle him and kiss him and jump him, to be truthful. Instead, she walked beside him, not touching him.
Not touching him was harder than she thought it would be. It required concentrate thought, intention. Because instinctively she reached for Brandon.
As if he were hers.
The mosque itself was stunning, like something from a fairy tale, all white with minarets, intricate marble friezes and columns. The interior was so green, so colorful with lively tile mosaics and a high, airy ceiling figured in a multitude of colors as well. There was a hush to all that ornate space. It felt hallowed and silent and she wanted to look everywhere at once. She tried to memorize the details of this surreal, watercolor spot where she stood so near to Brandon but never touching him. It threw into relief for her the distance between them, between her feelings and his plan to secure an inheritance.
Marj couldn’t believe she was in this place, so exotic and unforgettable, with such a man and she was making herself miserable. So she made up her mind to quit. She had a strong will and she knew she could do it. So she made an admiring murmur over a mosaic and Brandon smiled his approval and all at once she was in a much better mood.
After they finished the tour, she told him she wanted lunch but his phone rang, and he had to go to an impromptu meeting. He suggested she go shopping and they would meet up at the Burj al Arab for dinner in the exclusive restaurant at nine. So Marj went off on her own and shopped at some exquisite stores, and sent photos to Britt of the rare silks and fine embroideries. She even picked up a jacket for Britt whose style ran more toward the conservative…this one was dark green, beautifully cut, with embroidered flowers at the cuffs and hem. It was a statement piece that would bewilder and delight her best friend.
It was great fun shopping for presents, she decided. But she would keep her vow and not buy anything for Brandon. Not even that pair of dangerously dark jeans that would cling to the shape of his ass like…she had better walk away. Marj picked up a couple of dresses, a wrap for the evening in case she needed to cover her shoulders for some reason. Back at the hotel, a long bath and some Snapchat with Britt and then she had several hours to kill.
Marj researched what she’d need to know tax-wise to set up a freelance marketing business. She looked a little for potential clients. She glanced, just glanced at her dating profile, changing the status to unavailable. Looking with a slight longing at all the likes and messages she’d had come in over the last few weeks. She should delete them. She shouldn’t think about how these were the types of guys she used to go out with, have fun, flirt and be complimented and dance and kiss and sometimes more, with no complications or drama or trying hard not to touch anyone or get her heart broken. It had been a much less complicated time in her life and she missed the carefree simplicity. She shut the app and looked at a flash sale online. Somehow the marked down designer shoes didn’t capture her imagination the way that bout of gleaming nostalgia had. Those easy days of fun and flings…she couldn’t get it off her mind. Sure, she’d been lonely, but it had been a lot less painful than this shadow of a relationship, this one-sided infatuation with a man who could never trust her.
She got ready, almost by rote, applying eyeliner, pinning up her curls, wriggling into a bandage dress that was slightly tighter than it had been when she was going to the gym every day. She made a note in her phone that she would, come hell or high water, spend at least ninety minutes daily working out. She would not skip it. Would. Not. Skip. Marj wasn’t going to let herself go in the name of protecting her heart...it wouldn’t matter what size or shape she was, that size or shape, she was painfully certain, would still want Brandon Cates.
She steeled herself for the night ahead, for another splendid location, another attentive comment or gesture from Brandon in another devastating suit. Another night of biting her lip instead of saying what needed to be said. That she was scared. That she couldn’t keep doing this, living a half-life. That this time together in Dubai had been so bittersweet because it was a pantomime of what they might really have had in another life, if both of them were whole. If her ex hadn’t cheated with his secretary, if Brandon’s father and stepmother had been caring and supportive instead of abandoning him emotionally. If they were either of them remotely skilled at being in a long-term situation.
Which they were not.
So she sat in the dim, sumptuous restaurant, lit softly blue by the aquariums at the center, and stared at it all with a sort of disconnected wonder. It was happening to her, but it was also an illusion. She was pretending to be someone who belonged here, the beloved wife of a man who moved in these circles and to whom dining in the aqua tinted ambiance as rare fishes swam by was nothing special at all. When in fact, it was she who was nothing special in this scenario. She was a stand-in for his eventual real wife, for some future woman who could fit into his world and teach him to believe that truly good things, astonishing things happened. She was too jaded, too brash for such a task.
He talked to her about the meeting he’d left, about the customs of the area and how he gree
ted his associates and took their leave so formally, how it was grand to relax with her here. Clearly, he wasn’t wearing control top pantyhose that made peeing, much less relaxation, damn near impossible. But she smiled and didn’t mention those because she was here on his dime and had sworn to be pleasant. They ate, and he took her to the top viewing deck. She peered out over the water, giddy from the height and felt her stomach lurch. Because wouldn’t this be a great place to kiss? If you were with someone who loved you, you could kiss him right on top of the world. Or if you were with someone who didn’t love you back, you could stand there dumbly, admiring the view and murmuring stupidly about what an engineering achievement the place was.
They rode the elevator down and at the hotel, he had to Skype with the home office so she went to bed early. Their flight was in the morning.
Chapter 12
At the office, Brandon found that his lissome new assistant was even more perilously perfect. Holly had the minifridge stocked with his favorite bottled water plus a few cans of the lemon seltzer he liked. She had a jar of walnuts on the corner of his desk waiting beside a flier for the half marathon that was coming up in a few weeks. He drank the water without comment and did his job. When he had to buzz her to give instructions at last, she appeared in the door both as perfect as he remembered and at the same time, startlingly beautiful. She was dressed professionally, her white blouse tucked into a pencil skirt, her blond hair pinned up, tiny gold hoops at her earlobes and a long string of pearls looped twice around her collar. Nothing at all out of the common way except the fact that she could have easily stepped from the pages of a magazine, airbrushed and flawless, except she required no PhotoShop to render her so.
“How was Dubai? Did you go up the Burj?” she asked.