by Tara Quan
But he hadn’t earned her trust. He’d caught her in a moment of weakness, and when the sun came up, she’d regret letting him have his way. He wanted more than a night of passion—more than a single intimate embrace. Now that he knew what he was fighting for, he refused to win a battle and lose the war.
Lowering his hands, he stepped back. “Where did you put the lights?”
“What…?”
He focused on keeping his tone casual. “There weren’t any on the tree in your living room. I can’t sleep, and I have energy to burn. Let me string them up for you.”
She blinked. “You want to put up Christmas decorations?”
He lied, “I can’t think of anything better to do.”
Chapter 6
“I realize it’s all-you-can-eat, but isn’t three hundred bucks a bit steep for lunch?” Karl scanned his surroundings. The busy restaurant was situated on the twenty-seventh floor of the Burj Al Arab. A six-star luxury hotel in the shape of a sailboat, the beachside high-rise boasted three hundred and sixty degree views of the ocean and its own helipad. Their location public and the security impressive, he allowed himself to relax. Even Riad wasn’t dumb enough to attack them here.
Both the hotel lobby and their current space were covered in Christmas decorations uncommon in most Muslim countries. Dubai’s ruler numbered among the few Middle Eastern leaders who faced the encroaching Western world with excitement rather than fear. All service staff, most of whom were Filipino, wore green pointed shoes, glittering red bow ties, and furry elf hats. He’d heard “Merry Christmas, Ma’am, Sir” more times here than would be expected in the States. Ever since political correctness came into vogue, seasonal greetings had shifted to the secular “Happy Holidays.”
Brennan toyed with her champagne flute. “The per-head includes free-flowing champagne, and this is one of the few places serving whole-roasted turkey.”
“But I have to pay for beer by the pint.”
“Considering it’s the day before Christmas Eve, you should make an exception and drink the bubbly.” She nudged her glass in his direction.
He looked askance at the fizzy gold liquid. “This is one hell of a racket they’ve got going. Only girls like this stuff, and your stomachs don’t fit much food.”
“It’s why we bring men to balance the scales.” She retrieved her beverage and sipped. “Friday Brunch is a Dubai tradition. We were lucky they could squeeze in an extra chair.”
He let the subject drop, though he couldn’t help but calculate the potential cost for a six-person table. With service charge, they’d easily spend two grand. But his sour mood had nothing to do with the price of their meal. Quite a few pairs of male eyes currently feasted on his wife’s lithe body, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. She turned heads in a green square-necked dress that matched her eyes. Her shiny red-soled shoes were the same light tan as her clutch, and the way those high-heels presented her toned legs should be illegal.
Accompanying her in public proved to be one of the most aggravating experiences of his life. “Where is everyone else?”
She patted his hand. The contact sent a heated lance straight to his crotch. His resolution to keep things platonic until he sorted shit out was going to be a bitch to keep. “Fashionably late. I told you there’s no point to being on time.”
Punctuality had been pounded into him since he joined the Air Force Academy. Being in the Middle East wasn’t about to change the habit. “Are they coming soon? I’m starving. You told me to skip breakfast so I can eat my money’s worth.”
With perfect timing, a white-gloved server arrived to present an aggravatingly small portion of food. Self-service seemed lost on this place. The customers milling around the spectator-friendly cooking stations were all of Western origin. White-garbed locals relied on the deferential wait staff, who flitted between their tables and the buffet, removing any need for movement.
“What is this?” He eyed the delivered dish with suspicion. Dollops of minuscule spherical red and black mystery gel rested atop wafer-thin crackers, appearing neither filling nor appetizing.
“Caviar. I thought we could nibble while we wait. The key to making the most out of Friday brunch is going slow. It’s ten, and we don’t have to leave until three-thirty.” She popped a bite into her mouth and closed her eyes. Years of marriage had taught him to treat her food-gasms with skepticism. Her love affair with weird ethnic offerings and erratic taste robbed her reactions of utility. During one of their earlier outings, she’d gushed over a Japanese sweet he later discovered tasted like a mixture of tealeaves and dough.
“Do you plan to stay for five whole hours?” While he’d packed plenty of appetite, there were limits to how much time he could spend on a single activity. Then again, watching her eat was becoming an erotic test of self-control, one he might not pass.
She nodded, her eyes wide and bright. “This is a great place to see and be seen. Safe Harbor could benefit from some passive publicity since our specialty is a bit niche. Most of our clients are spoilt rich aristocrats, and they, along with a good portion of the press corps, are more or less all here. The fashion photographer from Time Out snuck a photo of us a minute ago. I have a feeling it’s my new Ferragamo purse she’ll feature, though.”
Give it to his wife to think through the commercial benefits of playing dress up. “Do I even want to ask what the…err…thing cost?” He’d almost called it an ugly useless contraption. Too small to fit anything more than her phone, keys, and a credit card, its lack of a strap forced her to carry it in her hand, which defeated the purpose of its existence.
“Per use—less than a full page spread in a magazine.” She forked a pile of small red eggs onto his plate. “Try some. The restaurant is famous for their caviar selection.”
Taking a bite, he shuddered, having never before tasted such a high concentration of fishiness. “People pay to eat this shit?”
“Not a fan? Don’t worry, there’s bound to be something you’ll like. Ah, there they are.”
She stood and walked around him. A gorgeous leggy redhead met her halfway. The women attracted significant attention as they brushed kisses onto each other’s cheeks. When his wife tried to double-kiss the hazel-eyed blond who stood behind her friend, he avoided the European salutation and enveloped her in a bear hug. In the same moment, a camera’s flash lit the room. Knowing Brennan’s idea of a relaxing day was sipping coffee while reading a book, he wondered how she withstood the constant scrutiny.
Once the couple arrived at their table, Karl stood and extended his hand.
The redhead glared at it as if he held an insect.
“Nulli, Jason—meet my…umm…soon-to-be ex-husband.”
The suited male nudged his date with an elbow. She didn’t move a muscle. Sighing, he reached over and extended his hand. “Dan’s told me a great deal about you, Major. I’m Jason Reynolds, Safe Harbor’s third partner.”
“Karl Reed.” Noticing the personalized cufflinks as their palms met, he asked, “How long ago were you in the Navy?” Knowing the background of most security contractors, and having watched his predatory prowl through the crowd, he’d bet good money the man had been a SEAL.
“Long enough for it not to matter. I’m a boring businessman these days.”
The chick he assumed was named Nulli Something looked back and forth between them before marching over to claim the seat next to Brennan’s. “Dan and Zahra are late as usual, I see.”
Karl’s presence, it seemed, didn’t warrant acknowledgement.
“You know they operate on Desi time.” His wife sat, neither reacting to nor commenting on her friend’s rude behavior.
He clenched his jaw, hard enough his molars made a grinding noise.
Jason remained standing. “Sweetheart, why don’t we scope out the raw bar?”
His grouchy date crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. “I think I’ll wait. Zahra loves oysters.”
“And she just walked in,
” Brennan announced to no one in particular.
Karl turned to watch the progress of a petite Arab woman draped in traditional black. Her skin was a pale cafe au lait. Like most of the Emirates’ younger generation, her jet-black hair was styled high on her head so the shayla headscarf wouldn’t completely cover it. The exposed coiffure was adorned with a gold comb, one encrusted with what he suspected were genuine emeralds and rubies. As she walked, her robe parted to reveal mile-high glossy red stilettos.
When she reached the table, she didn’t look at him quite the way Nulli had. In her eyes, he wasn’t holding an insect—he was one.
“Where’s Dan?” Jason asked as the silence stretched beyond a comfortable timeframe.
Zahra stepped around her girlfriends to stand behind the chair farthest from Karl. “Parking. He’s weird about letting valets touch his baby.” After the ladies exchanged more cheek kisses, they all took their seats.
Brennan gestured toward him. “Karl, this is Sheikha Zahra. Zahra, my—”
“I know. You had pictures of him at your place in D.C. I burned them all, remember?”
Champagne spurting, Jason erupted in a fit of coughs.
Ignoring him, the sheikha angled her head to the right as if to make it clear the male side of the table didn’t warrant her attention. “Can he afford this lunch, or are you picking up his tab?”
Karl happened to earn a decent salary and had spent next to none of it over the years. He could, if necessary, pay for everyone’s meals and not feel the effect. The comment didn’t sting. It irritated.
“I can chip in,” Nulli offered. “There’s no need to let him burden you more than he already has. Ouch! What the—”
Jason slapped his palms on the table. “Who wants sushi?”
The redhead and brunette shifted their chairs, pointing their shoulders at both men. Their ability to synchronize without verbal cues boggled the mind.
Brennan beamed her friends a strained smile. “So this is why you two insisted I bring him to brunch? I appreciate the solidarity, but it isn’t necessary. Let’s enjoy the food. He’s only staying until Christmas…”
Zahra’s glanced in his direction for a split second before reverting her gaze. “Why? So he can ruin another one?”
That particular comment did sting—more so because his wife made no response.
Perhaps bolstered by the newly arrived sidekick, Nulli upped her game. “Why don’t you come and stay at our place this weekend? Jason can watch over you, and Dan can protect the other guy.”
Karl settled in his seat and contemplated the possibility of acquiring earplugs. One of the waiters could probably get him a pair. After all, wasn’t the place a hotel?
Zahra pouted. “Why does Dan have to do anything? I don’t mind him getting in the way of flying bullets, but it’s usually for a good cause, or in exchange for a mountain of cash. Neither description fits.” She lifted her chin. “There’s an American Air Force base somewhere around here. Since he’s all about serving king and country, no matter what the cost, they can do the protecting. He’ll be perfectly safe waiting this out in a tent in the middle of the desert.”
“It’s just country. There’s no king.” Karl corrected.
Though the only reaction he got from the brunette was a light furrow between her brows, the redhead twisted her neck and glared daggers at him. “I’d forgotten there are people out there dumb enough to abandon their loved ones for the sake of an abstract concept.”
Since he’d finally managed to make the woman acknowledge his existence, he took it as a win.
Jason chose this moment to wave over a waiter. “We need champagne. Bring a bottle.”
“Are you sure?” Brennan asked. “Nulli’s a lightweight, and Zahra doesn’t drink in public.”
The blond’s head bobbed in Karl’s direction. “It’s not for them. It’s for him. If I know my fiancée, she’s revving up.”
“Oh my gosh. Congratulations!” Brennan’s squeal hurt his ears. Karl wasn’t certain if she was genuinely happy for her friend or grateful for the diversion. Realizing what the other man had done, Karl sent him a grateful smile.
The distraction worked. Nulli turned to scowl at her date. “His usage of the term is premature.”
Her protest came too late. Zahra was already reaching over to grab the redhead’s left wrist. “Ah, you’re wearing the ring. I’ve been waiting to see this puppy for five months. Nice clarity, and a good size too.” She smiled at Jason. “I approve.”
“You have no idea how much I value your opinion.” To his credit, the man kept a straight face.
The sheikha didn’t acknowledge his sarcasm. “It should. I’m planning your wedding. There’s this gorgeous ancient fort in Pakistan—”
“Absolutely out of the question,” he snapped.
“I said this is all premature,” Nulli growled. “There’s no set date. I’m not his fiancée. I’m testing the ring out to see how it looks on my finger.” She wiggled her hand. “We’ll decide where this goes in a year or two.”
Her future groom rolled his eyes, not seeming too concerned. As the women gushed over the diamond, their animosity toward the male gender forgotten for the moment, Karl fingered the chain around his neck. Under his T-shirt, the plain gold band he’d used to marry Brennan burned a hole his chest. Six years ago, he’d been too practical to pour his savings into a piece of jewelry. Observing her delight, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d cheated his wife out of a much-deserved romantic gesture.
“What’s Dan really doing?” he murmured to Jason, needing a distraction from the sudden pang of nostalgia. At their wedding, which had been in the basement office of an aging attorney, she’d worn jeans and a white sweatshirt, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. No bride could have been more beautiful.
“Cross-referencing the photos our surveillance detection team captured of the two men who tailed you here.” A full glass of champagne slid his way. “You were right. Riad al Hussein hasn’t moved on to a different target. Intercepted chatter suggests they’re planning something, but we don’t think they’ll make a move until tomorrow.”
* * * *
“Could you ease off a bit?” Brennan followed Zahra into the cheese room and shut the door. The somewhat neglected temperature-controlled area seemed an ideal place to have a private conversation. With countless delicacies on offer, fermented dairy was the last thing on people’s minds. “You’ve been taking jabs at him for an hour. I got your point loud and clear in the first two minutes.”
“My message is for him, not you.” Her friend bent down to examine the Gruyère.
Brennan cut off a tiny piece and tried it. With stomach real estate in high demand, pickiness became a necessity. “I’m pretty sure he got it too. He’s been very patient, and you’ve been very…”
“Bitchy?” The sheikha was practically bubbling with pride. “How did I do? I started writing my lines ever since Dan called and told me your ex showed up. I even asked for help coming up with mean things to say.”
The problem with having Zahra and Dan as close friends were skewed loyalties. They’d known each other since Zahra turned three. If one of them learned something, the other would find out in a matter of hours. “Most of those comments came courtesy of your stepmothers, I assume?”
“Jocelyn and Ekaterina are pros. Mom was useless. She’s better at scheming, and we’re not at that stage yet. But if he doesn’t scram by Christmas, I’ll dig through her brain. She’ll figure out something epic.” Zahra didn’t need to watch primetime soap operas. With her illustrious father housing four wives under the same roof, she lived one.
“How much more material could you possibly have left?”
“Don’t worry. I brought my notebook. All I need to do is pop into the ladies room and freshen my memory every hour or so.”
Mitigating conflict proved exhausting, and her opponent had limitless reserves of energy. Needing fuel, Brennan helped herself to a piece of fresh fig topped with
a slice of Camembert. “Please don’t tax your brain on my account. I understand why you’re doing this, and—”
“Do you?” Her friend’s dark head whipped around. “Do you really?”
The fierce expression made her falter. “Because you saw how I was after the break-up?”
“Nope.” Those kohl-lined eyes narrowed to slits. “I saw how you were before you called it quits.”
They stared at each other until memory forced Brennan to look away. Cheese could be engrossing if she put her mind to it. “I remember what my marriage was like. Trust me, I don’t plan on hitting rewind.”
Zahra jabbed her French-manicured forefinger into Brennan’s chest. “I don’t trust you. Not when it comes him.”
“Give me a little credit. I walked out, didn’t I?”
“Not exactly. You were hit by a car, ended up in the hospital, and didn’t have anyone to help you get around. I jetted across the ocean to hover by your bedside. I packed up your stuff. I left your wedding band on his kitchen counter. You, didn’t do jack.”
Brennan lifted her forefinger to her lips. “Shh…You’re yelling…”
Her friend began counting off on her hand. Never a good sign. “You were in the hospital, recovering from a concussion for two whole months, and he didn’t show up to visit a single time. He never even bothered to pick up the phone.”
“He might not have gotten—”
Two fingers wagged in the air. “I flew you here and drove you to physical therapy for three months after that. Not once did he show his face. Not even over a webcam.”
It shouldn’t still hurt, but her throat nonetheless closed up. “I don’t think he knew…”
A dainty ring finger joined the set. “After you cried your eyeballs out because you gave up on waiting for him to show,” Zahra slapped her hand into the center of Brennan’s chest, “You swore to me kalaas. You were done. It was over. Al-ḥamdu lillāh, because I was about to ask my brother to give you a brain scan.”
