He stared at her as though she’d started speaking Swahili. If she hadn’t known what he wanted from her, she would have actually believed he’d been blind-sided by her statements. But he’d been brutally honest with her, this time around.
He wanted sex.
One night of it.
And he’d got that.
“I’m glad we had last night,” she said honestly. “I don’t have to wonder any more.” And she walked around him, skirting the lounge and scooping up her bag with one hand.
“To wonder what?” He demanded, moving towards her.
“I don’t know.” She felt a sob in her throat and dug her nails into her palms. She wasn’t going to cry. “I wondered if you were really as great as I’d thought. I wondered if I’d fallen in love with a man or a lie. Now I know.”
“Nothing about us was a lie.”
She made a snort of derision. “Of course it was. Surely you see that?”
She spun on her heel, her stride long as she stalked stalked towards the door.
“Wait.” A single word that rang with authority.
And she did as he said. Perhaps it was his air of command, or a secret hope that he’d say something worth waiting for.
She spun slowly, her heart in her throat. Only to see him scrawling something on the kitchen bench.
He walked towards her with a slow purpose, his hand extending when he was near enough to touch her, paper folded in his grip. A phone number? His address in Kalastan? A way forward? A future?
She took it with a frown and unfurled it.
And sickness filled her.
“A cheque.”
“Take it,” he said thickly. If she wasn’t going to let him back into her life, he could at least make her life better.
Her eyes were watery as they dropped to read the amount. “Two hundred thousand dollars?”
“Take it,” he said again. “Let me help you. I want to…”
Two hundred thousand dollars? After a night in his bed? She was cold, shivering, aching. “Go to hell.”
She spun around, moving quickly down the hallway lined with beautiful art.
“Sarah?”
She didn’t stop this time, so that he had to run to catch her, and at the door, his fingers curled around her wrist. “Stop.”
She bit down on her lip, but tears, surely, actually tears, were not far away. “What?” She didn’t look at him.
“Please, bank the cheque.”
“No way.”
“I want to know you are comfortable. I want you to be happy.”
“You think I could be happy with that? With you believing I would sleep with you for money?” And now she squared her shoulders and met his curious gaze, almost wilting under the strength of his examination. “I came here last night because I wanted to be with you.” She cleared her throat. “I got what I came for.”
He said something in his own tongue; she guessed from the inflection that it was a curse. “Take the money.”
“No.”
“You need it.”
She stared at him with disbelief. “No, I don’t.” And then, with a shake of her head. “Not like this.”
“How else, then?” He thrust his hands onto his hips and stared at her.
“Don’t you get it? You are turning me into a hooker. A woman who has sex for money. That’s not what I am. It’s not what we are – or were. That you would actually think me capable of … of … selling my body …” She let the sentence hang between them, as a filthy pit of disgust. It was demeaning and horrifying, all at once. “I have to go.”
She turned and left, and this time, she had no doubt their relationship truly had run its course.
7
“Oh, come on! Give me a Goddamned break!” Sarah swore, flicking the light switch up and down, staring at the bulb in outrage and disbelief
“That’s a swear, mama.”
Sarah tilted a glance at Lexi, and despair filled her.
She’d only been back from New York a matter of hours. The power had been on in the afternoon; they’d gone to the park. And now the house was pitched into darkness.
“Maybe it’s a blown globe,” she murmured without any true hope, reaching down and grabbing Lexi’s chubby little hand in her own. “Let’s check the lounge, hmm?” She pulled her phone from her pocket and flicked the torch feature, using it to guide Lexi down the corridor and into their small sitting room. She reached a hand around the corner, pushing the switch.
Nothing.
A blanket of darkness and the glow from her phone.
“Well, Lexi,” her voice trembled but she controlled it with effort. “You know what we’re going to have to do tonight?”
“What?” Lexi’s response was quiet, and Sarah knew her daughter well enough to know that tears weren’t far away – for either of them.
“We’re going to camp in our own home! What do you think of that?”
“Camp?” She was dubious, but a little further from crying. “What do you mean?”
“I’m going to light some candles and we’ll eat whatever we can out of the fridge,” Sarah thanked the heavens that she hadn’t done a big grocery shop recently. There were only some eggs, cheese and milk that she could think of. A few carrots which would surely survive without power. “And we’ll sleep out here on the sofa. It’ll be such fun!”
“Can I bring my toys down from my room?”
“Yeah! Of course! I’ll tell you what. Come with me while I get out the candles.”
Lexi’s little head bobbed up and down in agreement so Sarah scooped down and picked her up, hugging her tight, knowing the gesture was more to give herself comfort than Lexi, who seemed to have accepted their predicament with aplomb.
Perhaps a hangover from having grown up in a trailer in one of the most cyclone-sieged areas of the country, Sarah was always well-stocked for disasters. She pulled out two boxes of unopened candles and began to stuff them into jars, six or seven apiece, so that when they were lit, each one emitted a decent glow. Paired with a couple of upright torch lights and the lounge was almost cosy.
“See how fun this is?” She asked, smiling brightly, all the while inwardly fuming over how the hell this had happened.
“Yeah.” Lexi shrugged. “Can we go get my stuff.”
Sarah nodded. “Why don’t you have a bath and I’ll set up down here.”
“Oh. No.” She shook her head. “You’ll stay with me, won’t you?” The fear was obvious in the little girl’s question.
“Of course.” Sarah’s smile hid a tumult of emotions. “I have a call to make anyway.”
She scooped up two of the make-shift candle-lights, one each hand. “Grab a torch, honey.”
She kept her fingers crossed that there’d be enough hot water in the tank to run at least a shallow bath for Lexi. Tears sparkled in her eyes and she was glad beyond bearing that Lexi couldn’t see her properly. Similarly, the relief on her features when the relief of warm water burst from the taps. Thank heavens for small mercies.
She turned her back from the bath as Lexi climbed in, sitting on top of the closed toilet and scrolling through her dialled numbers.
There was the electric company. She’d spoken to them only days earlier to arrange deferred payment. They’d told her it would be fine. She pressed the number and sat, waiting for it to connect. She was put immediately on hold and all the while, she watched the battery of her phone slowly dying.
“Damn it,” she muttered, after twenty minutes of waiting, and Lexi’s patience was obviously wearing thin with floating in the tub.
“Don’t swear, mama!” She said again, as though Sarah had let fly the string of satisfying curses that were slamming through her mind.
“Sorry.” Her phone buzzed against her ear and she pulled it away a little to see the screen.
It was a message from an unknown number. Curiously, she pressed into it.
You should still be here.
Her heart hammered as though he’d walke
d into the room. And though none of this was his fault, she felt a strong burst of anger for the hardships she was trying to navigate. The cheque she’d torn up sat accusingly at the front of her mind. Why had she been so damned proud? That money could have fixed everything.
But she would always have known he’d bought her.
And that would have killed her.
More than this? More than bathing her daughter by candlelight, with no idea of when she’d be able to get the power re-connected? Oh, Lord, and what kind of fees there’d be?
Panic swirled in her gut and it took every ounce of Sarah’s inner-strength not to give in to the tears that were moist on her lashes.
“I’m cold.”
Sarah startled, focussing her gaze on Lexi. She reached forward and dangled her hand in the water. It was tepid. “Okay, honey. Wash your bod and pull the plug. You’re done.”
“Thank goodness. I am so ready to get out.”
Sarah smothered a smile at the sweet turn of phrase.
The hold music cut off abruptly and Sarah held her breath, expecting to be put through to an operator. But instead, her phone made an empty dial tone. She’d been cut off? What the hell? And spending half an hour on hold had drained a heap of her battery.
It doesn’t feel like this is over.
Sarah ground her teeth together. She didn’t need Syed distracting her. Nor did she want him reminding her of what she could have been doing, and how she could have been living.
It is. She sent the message without thinking, and grabbed Lexi’s towel, holding it wide for the little girl to step into.
Her phone buzzed in her hand. She ignored it, wrapping the towel around Lexi. “Okay, let’s get what we need from your room.”
After Lexi was dressed, Sarah grabbed the gifts Syed had sent, and Lexi’s favourite bear, and carried them downstairs, Lexi hot on her heels, then ran back up and retrieved the candles. It was only once Lexi had feasted on some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and fallen asleep that Sarah remembered her phone.
She lifted it up and stared at the screen. There were two messages from Syed.
I’d like to see you again.
And then, twenty minutes later, he’d written, I think you’d like it, too.
She slammed her phone down angrily. The problem was that he was right. She would like it.
Almost as much as she’d like to have the electricity back on and not be counting every damned penny.
“How can you not feel sorry for them?” Sarah stared across the table in disbelief, her fingers curled around the ice cold glass of beer. Beneath the table, she crossed her legs, her spare hand curling over her knee in an idle gesture that showed she was listening intently. After the week she’d had, this accidental catch-up was proving to be just what she’d needed. She’d turned up for a shift at Larry’s only to realise she’d got her dates mixed up and that she wasn’t rostered on. “I’d keep you on, kid, but we’re already over-staffed for the crowd we’ve got.”
“It’s not that.” Dave shook his head, his mop of blonde hair flopping over his shoulder. He’d come to the bar straight from work; his lumber jack shirt was pushed up the elbows, revealing tanned, muscled forearms, and he smelled faintly of the pine forests he spent his days felling. “I just don’t see why it’s our problem, necessarily.”
Sarah reached across the table, grabbing his chin firmly, to tilt his head towards the TV in the corner of the bar. “Look at her.” The refugee on screen was a mother, perhaps in her early thirties, and her face was lined with the kind of grief most people will never comprehend. She held a baby on her hip, and the subtitles running across the bottom of the screen explained, in words that did little to adequately give insight into her loss, that her five-year-old daughter had drowned at sea, during the crossing. “Isn’t her suffering something you want to shoulder?”
Dave curled his fingers over Sarah’s, loosening her grip from his face and lowering her hand to the table. He held it between them, his bright blue eyes locking to hers. “I’m sorry for what she’s goin’ through. Of course I am. But we start letting everyone in and suddenly we’re not us anymore.”
“That’s absurd. You think our identity is so fragile?”
“No.” His fingers were stroking her hand. She didn’t notice. She didn’t notice much anymore; not when it came to physical contact. Syed had blown her out of the water; her body now responded only to him. Thoughts of him, dreams of him. That was it.
It had been five days.
Had she expected him to follow her?
To find her?
To chase her?
He’d got what he’d wanted. Apart from those few text messages the day she got back to Iron Oaks, he’d been silent.
And could she blame him?
She’d been horrifyingly easy, and now she could only regret the eagerness with which she’d tumbled back into his bed. Dave was quiet, his eyes intent on Sarah’s.
Shoot.
He’d asked a question and she had no idea what.
“Do you want another drink?” He prompted, eyeing her beer. It had a couple of sips left, but his had been empty a while.
Maybe the drink had been a mistake, after all.
Sitting in a booth with a guy she considered to be a friend, who’d made it obvious he wanted more; a guy who was actually a pretty fantastic prospect for Mr. Right was one hundred thousand kinds of wrong.
Because she felt nothing for him.
“Ummm,” she bit down on her lip, wondering if she should call it a night instead.
“Come on. One more drink. I’ll even let you try to regain your honour at pool.”
“Oh, regain my honour, huh?” She laughed. “I’m pretty sure I’m up about a tonne of games.”
“Not how I see it.” He winked, tilting his head forward in a gesture that was sweetly old-fashioned. “You go set us up. I’ll be right over.”
“One game,” she lifted a finger, relaxing for the first time in days. The power company had promised she’d be reconnected by Monday. She’d paid down some of the credit card. From the depths of despair, things were looking up, even without Syed and his ridiculously offensive offer of money.
“Sure.” Then he leaned forward, his large frame bearing down towards hers. “Until I whip you, and then you’ll be beggin’ me for a rematch.”
His closeness made her swallow. Not out of desire or need, so much as guilt.
She had to put an end to his hopes that they’d ever be more than friends. She smiled weakly and nodded, watching him walk towards the bar before shaking her head and standing.
Mistake or not, being out on a Saturday night was actually incredibly liberating. With Lexi sleeping over at a friend’s, and the unexpected night off, she had a rare slice of free time and Dave was a pretty good companion. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, though.
“Racked us up?” He grinned as he sauntered over, a tray balanced in the palm of his hands.
Sarah’s eyes dropped to it suspiciously. “Shots?”
“Beer too,” he pointed out with a wink, balancing the tray on a nearby bar stool. “To chase.”
“God, I haven’t done shots since I was fifteen and made myself sick on tequila.”
“Well, you’re in luck. This here is the finest whisky in town.”
She sent him a sceptical look. “I work here. I happen to know the ‘finest’ whisky is not all that fine.”
He laughed, his head tossed back in mirth, his body reverberating with amusement. And it was a nice body. Strong. Tanned. Lean. But she felt nothing when she looked at him, except a sort of abstract admiration. “You chicken?”
“Chicken?” She arched a brow and reached for a shot glass. “Definitely not.”
She tipped the glass against her lips, instantly hating the smell, then threw it back in one quick movement. Dave watched with undisguised admiration.
It was the complete opposite to the feelings coursing through Syed Al’Eba. On the other side of the bar,
where he’d spent the past ten minutes, he had to dig his hands deep into the pockets of his dark jeans to stop from wrapping his fingers around the neck of the man who was getting Sarah wasted and ogling her like a just-whipped gelati at the markets. In tiny denim cut offs and a white t-shirt that showed even her petite curves to perfection, Syed could certainly understand why the blonde guy was looking at her as though he wanted to lick her all over.
Her laugh reached Syed, even in the crowded bar. Watching her was making him want to pound something with his fist, but looking away wasn’t an option.
Sarah bent over the pool table, the cue in her hand, her eyes trained on the balls in the middle.
“You tryin’ to throw me off my game?” Dave muttered from behind her and she turned around, her blonde hair fluffing about her face as she sent him a look of mocking amusement.
She straightened, setting the cue down on the edge of the table and walking towards him. “We’re friends,” she said, the whisky heavy on her breath. “Don’t you go staring at my legs while we’re playing pool, because that’ll just get confusing.”
“Well, don’t have such starable legs.”
“Starable? That’s not really a word,” she grinned, poking him in the chest and turning back to the pool table.
The alcohol had gone straight to her head. “I don’t think I’m going to win tonight,” she said, cracking the cue across the table and breaking the triangle. She sunk two balls straight away, and winked at Dave. “But I could be wrong.”
“Hey, it’s win win for me. You just keep bending over, baby…”
Sarah frowned. That was too far. Even in her slightly foggy state, she knew she needed to get a grip of things. “Uh oh.” Her enormous blue eyes, almost green in the dim light of the bar, linked to his. “I think we need to talk.”
“Uh oh is right.” He walked towards her, grabbing their beers as he passed and holding one out to her. Though she’d had more than enough to drink, she sipped it to wipe the whisky flavour from her mouth.
“I know we have this kind of flirty thing we do,” she said quietly, dropping her gaze to the floor. There were big splotches of spilled drinks, and they were sticky underfoot. “But I really do just think of you as a friend, you know.”
Marrying for his Royal Heir & The Terms of Their Affair (Clare Connelly Pairs Book 7) Page 8
