by Avery North
“Firstly, you must remember that if something is worrying you, it is not silly. And secondly," placing a finger on the tip of her nose, "you will not lose me! I've waited too long for someone like you to come into my life."
She smiled through the tears that were threatening to spill over.
“Now, let’s sort this out. You want a place of your own, where you can live independently.”
“Yes,” she nodded. “A place where I can bring some of my things over from Wales, set up a home, maybe even do some cooking, keep a pet.”
He laughed at the enthusiasm in her voice.
"Would I be allowed to visit you there?"
“Yes,” she played with his hair, “I might even cook for you. It would be like starting to date all over again!”
“Have you a place in mind where all of this can happen?”
She told him about the research she had done. By the time they had finished their coffee, they were busy discussing the apartment she had chosen and where she was going to put her favorite pieces.
“I may even go to Wales to help you sort your things,” he suggested as they walked back to the hotel hand-in-hand.
***
“I believe this is their best suite,” Aryn dropped a brief kiss on Helen’s forehead as he escorted her into their room.
“This is lovely,” Helen took in the beautiful lounge, the bowls of flowers and the expanse of beach and sea she could see through the open windows and hugged herself with delight.
“You like it? Perhaps we can go for a walk on the beach tonight after I have finished with Olan?”
“Sure,” she nodded. Olan had met them at reception, and Helen had instinctively shuddered when shaking hands with him. There had been a coldness in his limp handshake, not the warmth she had come to associate with people in this country.
Aryn stood beside her as she admired the view. “We have the morning to ourselves before I have to meet with Olan,” he eyed her speculatively as he loosened his jacket, tossing the garment on a chair.
This time she was ready for him, there would be no holding back. She had studied his profile, the shoulders, and well-manicured hands steering the car on the long trip from Marrakesh and had wondered what being with him, really with him, would be like. Those strong arms were around her now, sending thrills through her body as he lifted her t-shirt to fondle her breasts, taking first one nipple, then another in his mouth, his hands against her back, fingers inching towards the base of her spine and inside the waistband of her skirt.
Moaning in pleasure, she clung to him, searching hungrily for his kisses, her tongue responding to the movement of his, feeling it exploring her mouth. Wriggling free of the skirt, she let it slither over her legs to join the t-shirt on the floor.
“You are beautiful, so beautiful,” he said huskily as he unclasped her bra, and pulled at her panties until they joined the skirt on the floor. Reaching for her hands, he placed them on his zipper, encouraging her to undress him, until he stood naked before her, his member proudly calling for her attention. Feeling the excited tension of his body and the strength of his member in her hands, she kissed him more urgently now as she stroked him.
Pushing her onto the bed, he bent over her, and she felt his stubble grazing her neck, moving down to her breasts and continuing lower. She gasped sharply as he reached her clitoris. He bent low over her mound, his tongue flickering over her clit until her first orgasm came and she reached desperately for his member, encouraging him to enter her.
Parting her legs, a finger on her clitoris, he rolled a condom on and leaned over her, entering with a strong thrust, his swollen member filling her love channel. Her breathing became ragged, coming in short gasps, her walls tightening around his member until he came, filling the condom and sinking onto her yielding body.
“That was so good,” he whispered in her ear when he had regained his breath, “so good!”
“Mmmm, so good,” she whispered back, nuzzling his ear and looking at him with sparkling eyes.
***
Olan unexpectedly joined them for lunch. A frown on Aryn’s face told Helen the intrusion was unwelcome to him as well. This was meant to be their alone time when they could enjoy the afterglow of their lovemaking. A quick wink from Aryn as the manager took a chair at the table seemed to say, “Later Helen, later.”
The conversation between the two men distracted Helen from the memories of the morning she had just spent. There was something wrong here. Why did she feel Olan was searching for information about the workings of the Dubois group or about the reason for Aryn’s visit? And why did she feel that she was being scrutinized and was not very welcome? A shudder passed through her as Olan, reaching for the water jug, brushed her hand.
She would have to talk to Aryn when they were alone again. Her moment came when a server appeared at their table to tell Olan he was needed at reception.
“Aryn, is there something going on here?” she whispered urgently.
“I don’t know. But all does not seem to be well. Our meeting should explain a lot.”
“Just be careful. I don’t trust him … why I don’t know,” she said in response, not sure why she was still whispering, and shooting a warning glance at Aryn as Olan re-entered the room.
***
When she met Aryn later for their arranged walk on the beach, more was revealed. Tucking her arm into his as they walked on the still-warm sand, Aryn said, “You were right. There are a lot of funds not accounted for. I don’t think Olan is as reliable as Gilbert thinks.”
“Oh no,” Helen’s eyes widened. “Can you see where the money has gone?”
“Not really. That is Aziz’s area of expertise – he’s the accountant after all. I will probably have to get him down here.”
“Something you are forgetting is that I am an accountant, as well. I may be able to help you."
“So you are. I had forgotten.” Aryn smiled, “Yes, you may well be able to help.”
"Not just a pretty face, you know," she laughed as Aryn slipped a hand around her shoulders and pulled her to him, slipping his hand under the folds of her kimono.
“Far more than a pretty face,” he murmured as he traced the outline of the bikini she was wearing under the kimono, letting a finger stray idly over her nipples before lowering over her bikini bottoms.
“If we walk further along, we may find a more secluded spot,” he whispered in her ear before taking her hand.
The sun had already set behind the sand dunes, and the moon was spreading her glow over the water when they returned to a late dinner in their room.
Chapter 7
Lying awake beside him, her legs tangled with his, Helen listened to Aryn’s breathing and inhaled the scent of his aftershave. Yes, she was falling in love with him. Never had she felt such closeness to a man she had dated. It was a pity she had to return home so soon. But they could have a long-distance relationship. Lots of people did it. There was Skype and video calling and flights at weekends. It could be done. Turning away from him, she attempted to sleep. She had made her decision. There was nothing to worry about.
But sleep wouldn’t come.
Her movement had woken him. Reaching for her, he pulled her back beside him, folding his arms around her.
“You can’t sleep, Helen. Why?”
“I think I need to read for a while, but I’ve left my book in your car. I will go and get it.” She slid out of bed, reaching for her clothes.
“No, Helen,” he propped himself up on one elbow. “I will go. I can’t have you wandering out there at night on your own. I insist.”
Laying a finger on her lips, he stopped her protests before reaching for shorts and a t-shirt.
When he had left, Helen sat and watched the full moon casting its beams over waves and sand. Checking her watch, she realized Aryn had been gone for longer than expected. Another glance at the watch five minutes later and alarm bells began ringing. Something must have happened; she would have to go down and inv
estigate.
Exiting the sleeping hotel and entering the car park, she pulled up short when she saw the figure sprawled on the ground beside the black sports car.
Running over quickly, she reached the body, instinct telling her that it was Aryn − who else could it be sprawled beside his car? Heart pounding, she bent over him, taking in his battered face and ragged breathing.
“Aryn, Aryn! Who did this to you? Who did it?” she cried, cradling his head.
His voice was weak. “I don’t know. Somebody jumped me and punched me in the face,” He gingerly touched the bloody welts.
“I thought you were dead,” Helen rocked him in her arms, feeling her heart rate slowing as she realized that the only damage appeared to be to his face. There was a lot of damage there, but nothing that couldn't be fixed. But first, she had to get him inside. She couldn’t leave him outside on the ground while she went to look for help.
Walking slowly, bearing his weight on her shoulder, she got him back inside the hotel. Seating him on a couch by reception, she asked the boy on the desk to call a doctor and the police.
“The police?” the boy asked.
“Yes, the police. And get me water and a cloth.”
She had most of the blood washed away by the time the doctor arrived. Watching him dressing the wounds on Aryn’s face, she breathed deeply, calming herself until she realized the police hadn’t come.
The reception boy’s explanation was that Mr. Olan had advised against calling them as it would cause too much disruption at that hour of night.
“Did he now?” Helen found herself thinking seriously. Well, if the police couldn’t be contacted, a quick call to Mr. Gilbert in the morning should solve that problem.
With Aryn safely back in bed, Helen poured herself a coffee in the lounge. She would have to take over Aryn’s work in the morning − if she could convince him to let her. Gilbert would have to be called, and Aziz contacted.
Bringing her coffee through to the bedroom, she looked at the sleeping Aryn. The doctor had given him a sedative to overcome the risk of shock, and Aryn was already sleeping soundly. Bending her ear to his face, she listened to his sleep-time mumblings. Hearing him say her name, she lifted back the covers to slide in beside him, enjoying the warmth of his sleeping body next to hers.
Placing a hand on his heart, she wondered how she could have been so stupid. A long-distance relationship interspersed with Skype calls was not going to work. Biting her lip, she remembered again the terror she had felt when she saw him lying on the ground. No, this had to be a relationship that continued in Morocco. She could do it just as Louise had done. She didn’t relish telling Louise that she had so dramatically changed her plans, but she hadn’t expected something like this to happen.
Aryn was still feeling groggy in the morning but consented to her picking up where he had left off in Olan’s office.
“Just be careful,” were his parting words, “I need you back by my side.”
With the words “I need you” ringing in her brain Helen made her way to reception and from there through a labyrinth of corridors to the hotel office, the brass key she had been given at reception dangling from her hand.
In the office, there was no sign of Olan, but she hadn’t expected him to be about. Unimpeded, Helen worked quickly to unravel the web of fraud he had spun around the hotel. Fortunately, he had been using techniques that had been a part of her training. Three hours later, Olan’s secrets had been unearthed. He had obviously had very good reason to want Aryn out of the way. Finishing her work and pocketing the desk keys, she left the office. Now it was a matter for the Duboiss and the police. Placing the calls, she had set the wheels in motion.
Aryn was awake when she got back to the suite. She laughed when she saw how embarrassed he was about the bruises on his face. Why worry about bruises when it could have been so much worse?
“You are alive,” she chuckled. “The bruises will heal.”
She walked to the bed to cradle his head and kissed him on the lips.
“When I saw you lying there, I thought that you were dead. I was so scared.” Suddenly, uncontrollably, her tears spilled over. She had been holding them in for too long.
Alarmed, Aryn pushed himself into an upright position and reached out for her to join him on the bed.
“Helen, please don’t cry, don’t cry.” Cupping her face tenderly and looking deep into her eyes, he asked, “You really thought I was dead? Would it have made such a difference to you if I had died?”
She nodded through her tears. “Yes, it would, it would. I didn’t think it would, not until I saw you lying there and then … ”
He was sitting bolt upright now, searching for a tissue so she could wipe her eyes.
Wincing from his injuries, he took her in his arms.
“Don’t go back to the UK, Helen. Stay here with me; we can be together here. That is if you can bear to look at my damaged face?”
In answer, she took his face in her hands, kissing each bruise gently.
“Is that a ‘Yes’ Helen?” he asked when she had finished.
“Yes, it is.”
“And I had thought you were a career woman?”
“So did I − and I am,” she interjected hurriedly, “but I am also a woman with feelings.”
"Don't worry, Helen," he took the crumpled tissue from her hand. "With me, you can be whatever you want to be."
Epilogue
Aryn swung the car into his parking space at the Riad. Louise smiled at him as he unbuckled her seat belt.
“Are you going to break the news, or am I?”
“Let’s see how things unfold. I’m not sure why you are worried about telling Louise.”
“Because I came here to persuade her to return to the UK. Now I am going to tell her that I am staying in Morocco with a man I didn’t even get on with less than a week ago.”
“And tell her that Casablanca is your preferred location. I presume it still is?”
“Yes, especially as I will be continuing my career in your offices.”
“And will I tell her how I got these bruises?” He asked, looking at the yellowing bruises in the car mirror.
“Gilbert has probably told her already. He probably filled her in before he left for Essaouira.”
"Yes," Helen nodded, remembering Gilbert's arrival and Olan's swift dismissal. “Do you think Olan will be prosecuted?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. At least he won’t be able to continue with what he was doing.”
Louise greeted them warmly as they entered the Riad.
"Welcome back," she gave Helen a hug. "Am I correct in saying you are going to become a fully-fledged Moroccan?" Holding her friend at arm's length, she looked from her to Aryn.
“Yes,” Helen blushed. “I am allowed to change my mind now and again. And how have you been doing?”
“Great, Gilbert is waiting for us in the courtyard.”
They followed her through to the courtyard, where Gilbert had champagne chilling on ice and nibbles arranged on the table.
"Welcome back, everybody," he greeted them with a flourish. “We have some serious celebrating to do this evening. Let’s drink to Aryn and Helen’s new relationship! And Louise's new apartment, whereby the way she is going to cook for us at some point! And not forgetting the Dubois chain, which has survived what could have been a very large calamity!”
He raised his glass to a round of applause.
Book 3: Finding Freedom
Blurb
Brad is a rebel. His middle-class upbringing taught him many life lessons, but none of them speak to his spirit and passion for music. Eager to leave the next and explore life on his own terms, he books a flight to Marrakesh.
Simone lives a life of luxury in her native Paris, but even with all the opulence and access to anything she wants, she feels unfulfilled. Her desire is to leave the safe confines of her wealthy family and explore the world. Marrakesh seems like the perfect place to begin.
; When Brad and Simone meet, they immediately recognize that they’re kindred spirits, but it’s not until a terrifying incident, do they realize their connection may run deeper.
Can this pair from vastly different worlds find peace, harmony, and everlasting love?
Chapter 1
Brad
My father, Joshua, slung his heavy camera bag over his shoulder. Less than twelve hours at the hotel, and he was already racing off to catch up on his work. But that was the life he enjoyed, always shooting more pictures for that magazine. If only he didn’t find it necessary to keep reminding all of us how important hard graft was.
Still, I was determined I wouldn’t let him rile me on this trip. I had accepted his invitation to come along, I might as well enjoy the trip, even if I was already wishing I was back in the studio with the boys putting the finishing touches to the recording. I reminded myself that this wasn’t something I should say to my old man. Dropping out of university to follow a career in music was still a touchy subject to him. That, along with many others − my tattoos, my choice of friends, of clothes. The list went on.
“Brad, I have to go. You sure you will find something to do for the day?” For a moment, he looked concerned. Had he forgotten again that I was in my late twenties, about to break onto the music scene, easily capable of taking care of myself?
"Sure, Dad," though what I would find to do, I really wasn’t sure. But apparently, there was a pool and internet access here. Not much in the way of human company, though. Only the servers were younger than me, with the exception of the French girl Louise had pointed out earlier. But she was with her parents and probably only spoke French anyway. I could hunt down Louise to hang out with, although that might not be terribly wise. My mother had blamed her, probably wrongly, for the breakup of the marriage.