Riad Dubois: The Complete Romance Series

by Avery North

  That took me aback. She felt foolish because somebody had attacked her. Reaching across, I held her hand and squeezed it until she looked at me.

  “Simone, nobody, I mean nobody, has the right to do what he did. You have the right to go where you want to go in safety. Understand?”

  She nodded, her eyes welling up with tears. By way of an answer, she raised my bandaged hand to her face, dropping a soft kiss on my bruised knuckles.

  “Simone, can we start our night again? We were enjoying ourselves before all of this happened.”

  Again, she nodded, turning my hand over to kiss the palm, smiling for the first time since the incident in the square.

  “You know your smile lights up your face,” I couldn’t help saying. It was true, the hazel eyes were beginning to sparkle again, and I noticed how the white shirt was outlining her ample curves.

  “Come here,” I whispered, swiftly moving to her side and raising her to her feet. “I want to hold you.”

  She was in my arms again, linking her hands behind my neck, her body molding itself to mine. She whispered something that I didn’t quite catch.

  “What did you say?”

  “I am starting to really like you.”

  I held her tighter, hoping I had heard her right. Because I was starting to really like her a lot too. Could this really be the woman who had seemed so distant this morning?

  As if to confirm what she had said, she stood on her toes to plant a kiss on my cheek. But then I felt her lips traveling along my face towards my mouth, her hands stroking my back, and I realized this was to be no polite French greeting. This was to be a real kiss. Our lips and tongues met, and suddenly we were clasping one another, my hands on her waist, then her hips, her hands slipping under my t-shirt sending shivers down my spine, shivers that intensified as her hands reached my waistband.

  Breaking from the kiss, we looked at one another for a moment before returning to the deckchair to lie face to face under the throw provided, our legs entangled as we kissed again and again.

  Chapter 4

  Simone

  I winked at him as I passed his breakfast table the next morning, and got a whispered, “See you later,” in response. My parents were strangely muted for once, and we enjoyed a peaceful breakfast. I had told them about the attempted theft of my bag, but nothing more than that. I didn’t need them lecturing me about the dangers of being in the square at night or wondering how I had spent the rest of the evening.

  Returning to my table, I let my mind drift dreamily over the events of the previous night. I could still feel his hands on me and hear his intake of breath as he unclasped my bra to fondle my breasts, I remembered the feeling of his toned body as I ran my hands over it.

  “Are you not eating your breakfast?” My mother broke in on my reveries. "We are going to Ville Nouvelle, the old city, to do some shopping. Want to come?" She was already standing, her bag under her arm.

  “No,” I shook my head. “I’ll spend the morning reading.”

  “OK. Remember, no more trips to Djemaa el Fna.” And they were gone, leaving me to my thoughts and planning how I could meet Brad far away from the Riad so we could have some private time together.

  The quick click of footsteps alerted me to his father, leaving the dining room, a bulky camera bag slung over his shoulders. A moment later, Brad was sliding into the seat, vacated by my mother.

  “Are you going to the pool?” he asked quickly.

  I nodded. I already had my swimsuit on under my kimono.

  “Great,” he said. “I might even swim with you.”

  He was already in the pool when I got there, his swimming trunks revealing rippling muscles and a pattern of tattoos rising suggestively from his waistband.

  “Come in,” he called and watched appreciatively as I shrugged off my kimono and threw it on a chair.

  Slipping in beside him, I heard him say, "so beautiful," before we did a leisurely lap of the pool, swimming next to each other.

  Today I didn’t want to swim fast but just to enjoy the even pace of swimming beside him, to enjoy watching the movement of his body beside mine. Lying on the deckchairs afterward, our swim clothes already drying in the sun, he turned to me. “Will you come to my room? I want to show you something.”

  His room was on the floor beneath mine with a balcony overlooking the main entrance. “If you try to escape, I can see you from my balcony,” he joked as he pulled back the gauzy curtains to reveal table and chairs.

  “Why would I want to escape,” I said as he reached for a guitar propped beside a dressing table.

  “Do you sing?” he asked, checking the guitar’s tuning.

  “Of course, I sang with a group at university, at parties and barbecues, sometimes even in the shower.”

  “Know this one?” He was strumming a little-known rhythm and blues song. Catching the rhythm, I sang along to his playing, watching his nods of approval.

  “And this?” Suddenly the tempo changed, and we were performing a rock song with me strumming an imaginary guitar as he belted out the chorus.

  We collapsed laughing into the balcony chairs, the guitar on the table between us.

  “You should listen to this,” he handed me a disk as our laughter subsided. “That is one of my group’s recordings. Tell me what you think when you have listened to it.”

  Reaching for my hand, he pulled me to my feet. "Let's go inside." Already his hand was slipping around my waist.

  “Last night was good,” he murmured. “But I didn’t get to see you in all your glory.”

  “True … I didn’t get to see all of you either,” I murmured, letting him slip the kimono off my shoulders, revealing my now-dry bikini. Reaching for his shirt, I started to undo the buttons, but he stopped me.

  “Let me look at you,” he said, his hand tracing the curve of my body, moving lightly over my waist and hips until it came to a stop between my legs, drawing a moan of pleasure from me as he lightly stroked me.

  Lifting me in his arms, he laid me on the bed, sending shivers through me as he kissed my body all over, thoroughly exploring me with his mouth.

  “I would love to make love to you,” he whispered. “But not now. It has to be special, after a nice meal, a nice evening out together.”

  He was propped on an elbow, looking deep into my eyes. “Would you like to meet tonight, go somewhere special, then come back here?”

  Brad

  She left after we had planned our night. An evening in the New City, cocktails and dinner in a place of her choosing, then back to my room. This holiday in Marrakesh was proving to be much better than I had expected. But I couldn’t forget the fear in her face when I rescued her in the square, or the terror I had felt when I realized she was no longer beside me.

  An inner voice warned me that I was falling in love, and that had no place in the life I had been planning for myself. I chose to ignore the warning and focus on organizing myself for my trip to Djemaa el Fna. There was something I had to do to right the way that man had treated her, and for that, I would need to leave early before the square became crowded with people. Beside the leather dyeing quarters, the porter had said. I should be able to find that, and there couldn't be many men about with a nose as badly damaged as he was if the pain in my knuckles was anything to go by. But first, I had to get the guidebook from my father's room and grab some lunch.

  The Riad lobby was quiet as I slipped out, a different porter on duty at the door, and most people probably escaping the sun in their rooms or out exploring. I took the path Simone had led me the previous night and noticed how quiet everything had become in the daytime. There was nobody about except for a few cats lounging on top of walls, no hawkers, or smoke from braziers hanging over the square. Nothing but people going about their daily business, all dressed in the white robes that protected them from the heat, except for the man in black robes who suddenly fell into step beside me.

  “You are looking for something, Sir?” he asked in heavil
y accented English.

  “Yes, the leather dyeing section.”

  “Through the souk, Sir. Walk to the end into a square, there you will find them.” He grinned at me from under his fez hat. “Follow the smell.”

  Following his instructions, I entered the tented village of the souk. All was quiet there; also, stallholders napping among their wares while they waited for the evening to come and the buying and selling to start.

  I stopped at one stall where the vendor was working to buy a bottle of water and discovered the man in the fez again at my elbow.

  “You are lost, Sir. You are lost. Follow me this way."

  Did I detect a warning glance from the young man who had sold me the water? Perhaps, but by my phone, it was 120° F and no weather for a dehydrated Englishman to wander about in.

  Following my guide, I eventually saw the tents opening onto a wide square, and the pungent odor of tanneries filled my nostrils.

  “Here you are, Sir.” My guide turned to face me, a distinctive leer on his face. “There is the man you are looking for.”

  I was face to face with Simone’s assailant, his nose clumsily patched up.

  Chapter 5

  Simone

  My parents still hadn’t returned from their shopping trip when I returned to our suite. Just as well, I would have some precious alone time to reflect on the morning’s happenings. Straightening my kimono over my bikini and taking an iced coffee from the fridge, I took a seat on the balcony and extended my legs in the sun. The temptation to sunbathe topless was strong, but I had seen the rules on the bedroom door forbidding that. Not wishing to embarrass my folks further, I had to be content with hugging myself and tracing the pattern of Brad’s kisses on my body.

  I had to prepare for tonight. Fortunately, I had brought my best underwear with me as well as my favorite blue dress. I could use a scarf to cover the low-cut neckline until … well, until later. And of course, I would have to do my nails. Teal would be the best color to go with my dress.

  Absorbed in my plans, I didn’t hear my parents entering their room until my mother tapped on my bedroom door.

  “Simone, we need to talk,” she said, sticking her head round the door.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  "We had heard the full story about your experience last night. The lady who owns the boutique in Ville Nouvelle witnessed the whole thing while out with her husband.” My mother was standing at her full height, seething with rage.

  “How do you think I feel hearing that my daughter was in the company of a young man who threw a punch at someone? A young man covered in tattoos no less.”

  “Mother,” I looked at her aghast. “That young man was rescuing me from a dangerous situation. Were it not for him, much worse could have happened.”

  “I told you, dear.” My father appeared behind her shoulder. "There had to be some reasonable explanation. But as for you, Simone, remember that you are living under our roof. Any more contact with this young man, and we will have to consider changing our arrangement.”

  "What? Well gladly, Papa, gladly." I was on my feet now too. Could they really not be grateful to the man who had saved me?

  “And your plans are?” my mother hissed, her anger not abated in the slightest.

  “Wait and see,” I closed the door in their faces.

  My perfect morning of planning my date had been interrupted. Well, this issue had been coming to a head for a while now. I had wanted to leave home for a very long time; they had been the ones objecting to it. And I could do it; it was far from impossible. I had my allowance, a good qualification, and money earned from my translating work, as well as some singing. And I could do it now. Passing my parents in the lounge without a word, I made my way to reception.

  "Yes, we have a room," the receptionist told me. "Not a very big one, but it has a balcony and is free for the dates you want.”

  I gave her my card and took the key.

  Installed in my new room, I began preparing properly for my date. The blue dress was exactly the right choice for an evening of dining and cocktails, and the lace of my bra just peeped out ever so slightly from the low-cut neckline. A light pashmina and a spray of perfume, and I was good to go.

  ***

  The courtyard was deserted when I entered. I pulled out a chair and prepared to wait. I was early, much too early, but darkness was already falling. A rumble of thunder in the distance announced the arrival of one of those sudden Moroccan storms. Already the sky was lighting up in the distance with the first flashes of lightning. Soon guests would wander out here to watch the spectacle, and soon, well in thirty minutes or so; Brad would be here. I smiled, imagining how he would react to his first Moroccan thunderstorm.

  But thirty minutes later Brad still hadn't arrived. The storm was raging overhead; he couldn’t be out in this. He had to be in the Riad. But why was he not beside the pool as we had arranged? Could he possibly be in the dining room with his father?

  I decided to wait another fifteen minutes, but before the fifteen minutes were up, I saw his father joining the group watching the storm. And he was alone.

  He reached for my arm when he saw me approaching him.

  “Simone, have you seen Brad?” There was a tinge of anxiety in his voice.

  “Not since this morning. Where could he be?” Suddenly I was anxious too.

  Joshua shook his head. “I have no idea. We were going to meet in my room before dinner, but he didn’t show up.”

  “We arranged to meet here at seven.”

  Joshua looked at his watch. “This isn’t like him, not like him at all. Let’s give him another thirty minutes. He could be delayed somewhere,” his voice trailed off, he didn’t sound like he believed his own words.

  As the minutes ticked by, my sense of unease was growing. I hadn’t been stood up, of that I was sure. Something had happened. Something bad.

  The thunderstorm ended as quickly as it began, petering out with a final flash of lightning and a clatter of raindrops.

  “Let’s go inside to reception,” Joshua took my arm. “He may have left a message there.”

  For once, it was difficult to get attention at the reception. Guests were coming in, shaking the rain off their clothes, a tour group had mistakenly arrived at Riad Dubois instead of their hotel, and the general manager was trying to have conversations on two telephones.

  “Yes?” he said, finally looking up at us before turning to Joshua with an expression of recognition on his face. "I remember you. You brought us, Louise. Can I help?"

  We explained our predicament, and the general manager confirmed there was no message from Brad. With a quick gesture for us to wait there, he disappeared in search of Gilbert, the Riad’s owner. Once again, I was the focus of attention while I told the story of the previous night once again, describing the man who had attacked me and agreeing to talk to the police about it. The looks of worry on the men’s faces as they spoke added to the tension.

  “You may find the police less than helpful,” Gilbert warned us before putting through a call to the station, “but we shall persist nevertheless.”

  Louise had joined us by now. “Could he possibly have gone in search of your attacker? Remember how angry he was last night?”

  The thought had struck me as well, and fear was holding my stomach in a tight vice. He had said he would track him down, but that had been in a moment of anger, he couldn’t have meant that? Or could he?

  I was meant to be on a date, not searching for Brad or worrying about that evil man. The face of my attacker as he made his threat to Brad swam before my eyes. Brad hadn’t understood his words, but I had. Why hadn’t I told Brad, let him know how dangerous this man was?

  I was sobbing again when my father arrived.

  “Simone, what has happened? We heard somebody is missing. Why are you crying? Do you know the person?”

  Joshua filled him in on what had been happening.

  “And this is the young man your mother was talking about
?”

  I nodded while I sniffled into my tissue.

  "I see. Will, the police do anything to help?"

  “Unlikely,” Gilbert answered, “they just don’t have the resources here.”

  “OK,” my father, a frown between his eyes, patted Joshua on the shoulder. “I’ll be in my room. If there are any developments, please let me know.”

  After giving me a brief hug, he left. Head down, studying the floor as he walked; he headed for the staircase. At least he had come to make sure I was OK, unlike my mother, who had not made an appearance while all of this was going on. She must have heard that something had befallen the tattooed young man she disliked so much.

  ***

  The police came and went, taking statements and leaving us with very little hope they could launch a successful search for Brad. Looking at Joshua’s worried face, I realized there would be very little sleep for any of us that night. Louise, seeing our reluctance to go to bed, ushered us into a private sitting room, brought us refreshments assured us we would be called if there were any developments during the night. Settling on the couch beside the father of the man I had hoped to be spending the night with, I stared at the flickers of moonlight glinting through the gauzy curtains and wondered if Brad could see it too. If not, I didn’t think life would be worth living.

  Towards dawn, when we had finally fallen asleep, we were woken by the door being pushed open. I cast off the fuzzy cloud of dreams to see Louise standing there.

  Chapter 6

  Simone

  Joshua had jumped to his feet beside me.

  “It’s OK,” Louise spread her hands out in front of her. "He's been found. He is safe, in hospital, but safe."

  Joshua, tears pouring down his face, steadied me as I swayed. “Is he hurt?” he gasped.