The Sheikh’s Forbidden Tryst

by Rayner, Holly

  The spotlight on me was so bright that I couldn’t see anything. Maybe it was better that way.

  “Yes, Khabib is laugh-out-loud funny, impishly mischievous. And yes, you all already know how handsome and charming he is—” approving laughter sounded throughout the crowd, “but what you may not know about this man is how he is courageous in business matters, yet no less courageous in matters of the heart. Khabib is, hands-down, the most caring and compassionate man I have ever had the pleasure of encountering. You can see it in how he treats his family, his friends, and I’ve seen it each and every day with how wonderfully he’s treated me. To say that I’m lucky to have had the time I’ve had with this man would be an understatement. I…”

  Just then, my hand was grasped. I stepped back, only to see Khabib grinning at me. He turned to the crowd.

  “Is stealing the mic at your own birthday celebration a no-no?”

  He received a mixture of cheers and boos, but continued regardless.

  “Give me a break, though. You all have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, how I’ve been pestering this one—” he nudged me with the microphone, “because I don’t know how true all the great things she’s said about me are, but I do know one thing. I care for this woman, this Lucy Morrison, with all my heart and soul. I care for her in a way I never knew was possible and never suspected existed. She woke me up— in every way possible—to the joy in the world, the love, the possibility, both in others and in myself. Lucy Morrison, I love you.”

  As we kissed, a roar of applause and cheers surrounded us. When we separated, I took another step back from the bright light, only to see, at the back, some out-of-place newcomers.

  Dressed in extravagant clothes, they were gazing at us, stupefied. Only when I took a step forward did I realize who they were: Khabib’s parents, and a woman who I could only guess was someone they wanted to introduce as a bride-to-be.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Khabib

  Of all the times to show up…

  “Mother, Father—wait!”

  Yet, as my family and the unfamiliar woman they were with swept away, they didn’t hear me—or chose not to.

  Finally, outside the building, we caught up to them. I grabbed my father’s arm.

  “Father, please.”

  He ripped it away, his whole face almost unrecognizable with rage.

  “Do not speak to me, Son. I have nothing to say to you.”

  “But—”

  He shook his head.

  “Your mother and I brought a most honorable woman from Al-Jembar here to meet you…” He let out a deep sigh. “But it doesn’t matter now. You are a disgrace to this family.”

  “Father, if you would just give me a second to explain.”

  “Explain what? That your debauchery has reached an all-time low? That you have no respect for the country where you were born and raised?”

  I shook my head and grabbed Lucy’s hand.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Lucy is the kindest, most loyal, most honest woman I know.”

  Now, my mother was in my face, her dark brows arched.

  “Is that so?”

  “Mother, what are you…”

  But she was adamant, her face an inch from mine, demanding again, “Is that so?”

  Dumbly, I nodded, and at this, she smiled. A terrible, snarl of a smile that only made it to her eyes as a sardonic glint.

  “If that is so, then why has your ‘most honest woman’ been reporting to us your activities, all this time?”

  Silence.

  I turned to her, my Lucy, expecting to see her own eyes slit in denial, in innocence. But I couldn’t see her eyes from her hung head. I was the one who had to break the silence.

  “Lucy, is this… It can’t be…”

  When she did finally raise her head to meet my gaze, her eyes were so miserable that I had to look away.

  “True.”

  She cleared her throat, though her voice returned as shaky as ever.

  “It’s true.”

  As my whole body slumped, she continued, “But I didn’t have any choice, Khabib. Your father, your brother—they threatened me, said they’d fire me if I didn’t comply. I’m under contract to them, not you.”

  And still, I could say nothing in response. Now, she was grabbing my arm, spouting more words.

  “Please, Khabib, you have to believe me. I’ve wanted to tell you so many times; I was going to. I told your father I was through with it, and he said I’d be free in a week. I couldn’t bear to tell you because…because…”

  My head rose, and my eyes searched her face, the face of a stranger.

  “Because you knew I wouldn’t be able to trust you anymore.”

  My gaze flitted from her to my parents, back to her again. From liars, to liar.

  “And you’re right. I can’t trust you—any of you.”

  She grabbed my arm, but I wrenched it away.

  “Khabib, please.”

  “Get away from me—all of you!”

  My feet pounded on the pavement as my legs took me away, away from the voices that were still shouting, the hands still grasping. I didn’t care. My heartbeat was hammering and it was right—I had to escape, had to get out of there. My car was where I’d left it, the parking lot fuller than when I’d come. No matter.

  I tore out of there, down the road. Pressing my foot into the gas was the only way to quiet the yelling inside my head, the flashing faces of my parents and Lucy all screaming at me to listen. All liars, yelling their lies over each other.

  Now, my car couldn’t go any faster, but I had to. The thoughts were catching up, dogs with gnashing teeth. I needed a drink, more speed, anything to get away from this feeling. I couldn’t take it. I let up on the gas a bit to whip around a corner, barely made it, but didn’t care.

  As the next corner came, I slammed my foot down on the gas, no slowing down—not again, not ever. I couldn’t slow down; I was a fool to try.

  And, as I went barreling around the corner I wouldn’t make, as everything went black, finally, I felt at peace.

  Chapter Twenty

  Lucy

  As soon as Khabib left, I made my exit. The last people I wanted to face right now were his parents, with their loathing stares locked on me. Although, Ra’id, as I walked away, didn’t fail to call out to me.

  “And Lucy?”

  I turned to see him glaring at me as intensely as ever.

  “You’re fired.”

  I stared at him a minute, but he was already turning away, heading with his wife and the woman to their car. Now, I was alone, just how I deserved to be.

  I stood by the curb for a few minutes, letting the tears fall, far enough away from the party to not be seen and yet close enough to hear the fun I was missing. The joy I would never have again. Not without Khabib, no.

  My last hope for happiness had come and gone with him. He had taken me out of my shell and, now that he was gone, I was stuck in my same old despair, for good. As I deserved to be. I had betrayed the man I loved, time and again, and now, I had paid the price. And, more than that, I had betrayed myself. How many times had I ignored the inner voice screaming at me to tell the truth?

  Every wiping away of tears just inspired a new storm of them. If I had done the right thing, if I had told Khabib the truth, who knew where I’d be now. Really, time and again, Khabib had proven himself kinder and more understanding than I could’ve hoped. He probably would have been just as understanding when I confessed the truth to him, too.

  Who knew—maybe right now, we’d be back in there, in that hall with all Khabib’s friends and family, dancing the night away, an official couple for the first time.

  Finally, the only thing to do was call a taxi. It took its time coming, though I hardly minded. The driver wasn’t talkative, which suited me just fine. He zipped along street after street, going the long way—maybe on purpose—but it wasn’t like I cared much, anyway.

  As we pulle
d up into my driveway, my phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, is this Lucy Morrison?”

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “My name is Magda, and I’m a paramedic at the Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. A Mr. Khabib bin Samara was involved in a car accident a few minutes ago. His parents didn’t answer the call, so as his personal assistant, you were next in line as his emergency contact.”

  “Oh my God, what happened?”

  “We’re not sure, as Khabib is now unconscious. What I can tell you is that he was in a single-car accident, where his car collided with a tree, and that he is now in an ambulance on his way to the hospital.”

  “Okay, thank you for informing me. I’ll be right there.”

  As soon as I hung up, I remembered. Was I really going to speed right over there, when I was probably the last person Khabib wanted to see right now, or ever again? Wouldn’t it be better to somehow get in touch with Khabib’s parents, one of his friends, or just about anyone else?

  The pounding of my heart gave me the answer. I didn’t have a choice; I had to make sure he was all right—if not for him, then for myself.

  Resolute, I addressed the cabbie.

  “Turn around. We have to go to Cedars-Sinai Hospital, and make it quick.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Lucy

  The hospital was a massive complex, with several sky-high towers—none of which indicated where I was supposed to go. Mercifully, when I wandered into the first tower, a kindly grey-haired receptionist informed me that I was actually in the right building, and just had to go up a few floors. Before I left, she gave me a kind-smiled warning.

  “Just so that you’re aware, Mr. Khabib may not be in a stable enough state to see you.”

  I nodded, then hurried away before she could see the tears forming in my eyes. If anything had happened to Khabib, I’d never be able to forgive myself. Once I got to the right floor, the nurse looked surprised to see me.

  “We have no indication of his state, since he’s only just arrived. You can go to Room 5A, but if there are personnel inside, you will have to come back.”

  So, I hurried down a hallway of florescent blinding lights, to the door of 5A, which was at the end. Inside, there appeared to be no people, so I knocked.

  A bald man in nurse scrubs answered.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m here to see a Khabib bin Samara. Is he okay?”

  “I don’t know about okay, but he’s awake,” came the honeyed voice from over the man’s shoulder.

  I looked beyond the nurse, and there he was. Khabib, sitting up, looking sleepy, as if he’d just taken a nap—but otherwise unharmed. At the sight of me, his face darkened.

  I turned to the nurse.

  “Can you give us a minute?”

  He nodded, then walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  I advanced a step towards Khabib, then stopped when I saw how expressionless his face looked. I gazed hopelessly at that closed-off face, the same face I had seen so happy, so open—that very vulnerable face I would probably never see again.

  “Just let me explain. Let me explain, tell you everything—and then, if you never want to see me again, then you don’t have to.”

  He said nothing, and I continued.

  “What I told you was true. When Mahir came with his demand for me to spy on you—on my first day, no less—he threatened to fire me if I didn’t agree or if I told you. I felt like I had no choice. My mom…I told you what a bad state she’s been in. I needed the money and the job to care for her, desperately. You have no idea how long it took me to get even the receptionist position at your company. If I’d quit then, with a two-year gap in my résumé and no recent references, it would have been even harder getting any future jobs than the first time around.

  “I protested at first, but it was no use. Your family was adamant that either I agree, or get out. So, I agreed. I chose myself and my mom over you. But, when I agreed to what I did, I didn’t really know you. All I knew was the careless womanizer I’d seen plastered all over the tabloids, the one who partied all night, every night. So, part of me thought your parents had a point, that while their version of “looking out for you” was more intrusive than most, they almost had a right to do so. I knew it was wrong, but I rationalized it to myself, that a steadying influence on you wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

  In spite of myself, I smiled.

  “Well, you saw how well that went. Instead of calming you down, the opposite happened: you drew me into your fun-loving ways. Mainly because, for you, it wasn’t what the tabloids or your parents or even I had thought it was for. Sure, it was a kind of escape, but it was more than that. You had fun for its own sake, to enjoy the night, to let it take you where it would. It was that exciting, irreverent spirit that drew me in. Until I was lying to your parents, and lying to myself, too, of my feelings for you and how strong they were.

  “And, all the while, you kept surprising me. Little by little, you revealed more of yourself, and I could hardly believe how different your true self was from the picture the tabloids had painted—of the sociopath womanizer, of the callous party animal. And, little by little, I saw that you had not come to the nightlife as a jaded man exerting his will, no, these late nights and swirl of drinks, girls and fun had done to you what it had done to many—it had drawn you in and swallowed you, made you forget what it was to really feel, to be vulnerable.

  “I tried to resist it, Khabib; I’ve had a crush on you from the start, but I tried to resist it. I had every good reason in the book: you were a notorious womanizer, you’re my boss, and your parents would never accept me even if you did. And yet, every time I spoke to you, all that fell away. The only thing that was left, for me, was the incredible man who spoke to me the kind of way I couldn’t speak to anyone. A sort of flowing dialogue, a hooking up of brains that was so natural, it was scary.

  “And then, you kissed me, and it was like an electric current went through my body. That night, the night of the launch, every time you touched me, I knew. There would be no more resisting. And even now, even as I know I don’t deserve you, and never did, even as I stand here pleading for what I know will never be, I still have to try.

  “Because that’s the thing with you, Khabib, I have to try. As hopeless as it is, as pointless as this all is, I have to try. Because you’ve been nothing short of a life changer, an absolute miracle to me. And I would be more of a fool than I’ve been already to let that slip away without telling you that I love you with all my heart, and will as long as I live.”

  Silence. It stretched long, confirming my worst fears. That I was an idiot to have thought this was ever going to work, to have said anything at all. Khabib’s face was as expressionless as ever—my words were useless, water under the bridge. When Khabib spoke, his voice was low.

  “Lucy…when you leave, don’t come back. I never want to see you again.”

  I flinched, as if I’d been struck. In a way, I had. When I searched his face, it was still as expressionless as ever, as certain, as set. I turned and walked to the door.

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  At his voice, I turned around to see him eyeing me amusedly.

  “You actually bought that—after all that you just said, after all the time we’ve spent together, all the heart-to-heart conversations?”

  The smile forming on my face couldn’t quite rise, not yet. Not until he said what he did next.

  “Lucy Morrison. Get your sexy, blond butt over here and let me kiss you.”

  And once I was there, he was kissing me, as good as the first time. Better, even, because this time I knew that he loved me, just as much as I did him. And now, nothing would keep us apart.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Khabib

  This wasn’t going to go well. As soon as I stepped foot in the restaurant, I knew. My parents were sitting in the far corner, hard to see in front of the low-lit, olive-toned walls, but
still visible. They didn’t see me, not yet. They were with my brother, who was just about the last person I wanted to see right now.

  Worse still, they were with her, the woman they’d brought to my birthday party.

  In front of the host stand now, I paused. Sure, I had known that when my father had finally agreed to talk to me that our meeting wasn’t going be exactly smooth-running, but I hadn’t thought he’d make it a family affair. Or bring some woman he was trying to foist on me.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  It was a hostess, her hair slicked-back, smiling a discreet smile. I shook my head.

  “No, I…”

  I walked out of restaurant. I couldn’t do this. No, not now, not with my family all gathered like a firing squad ready to take me down. What they were going to say, what they’d come here for was obvious; so why even bother making my case?

  The answer stopped me in my tracks: Lucy. Lucy was why this was worth it, why I had to try—as doomed as it seemed.

  Going back inside, I glided past the same hostess without a word. Although the room was beautiful, with tasteful hardwood pillars and floors and its expected classy clientele, I hardly noticed. All I could see was the family at the back, with the beautiful woman, all waiting for me.

  When they saw me, my father stood up and smiled as if the last time we’d spoken he hadn’t called me a disgrace.

  “Khabib.”

  After we embraced, he held me in place so he could give me a good visual inspection.

  “You look well.”

  I nodded.

  “Yes, the crash wasn’t bad. Lucy came right away.”

  An awkward silence, then my father sat down and gestured at the only empty seat.

  “Sit down; we were just talking about you.”

  The seat was, of course, right beside the woman they had brought last time. No sooner had my butt hit the seat than had my mother clasped my arm.