by C. J. Miller
Laila blew out a frustrated breath.
If Iba refused to leave Qamsar, Laila would lose her mother. If Laila stayed in Qamsar, she would lose Harris. Every scenario ended with her losing someone.
* * *
Mikhail addressed the nation, the broadcast shown on every news channel and streaming live from local websites. He did not reveal his location, and nothing about the background gave away where he could be hiding.
Harris listened, knowing his team in America was also tuned in and analyzing every word he spoke. The Qamsarian government was accusing terrorists of the bombing, though they did not mention any one person or group by name. The bomb was a deliberate and deadly attack, killing over two dozen people and injuring many others. The search for the missing was still underway, and the country’s emergency response team and volunteers were working nonstop.
Mikhail mentioned Qamsar’s intelligence community and their efforts to gather more information to bring those responsible to justice and to prevent future attacks. The emir offered condolences to those who had lost someone in the tragedy and thanks to those who had come together to support the rescue efforts. He asked for vigilance and prayers.
“But it is most important that we not allow fear to prevent us from living our lives,” Mikhail continued, “or from doing the things we love. We are a strong country, an able country, and we won’t be crippled by the cowardly attacks of terrorists. The group or country responsible for this will pay. Because of my belief that we are safe, that the local and national police and protection agencies are doing everything possible to prevent another incident from occurring, my wedding will take place as scheduled. It is time for us to band together and celebrate the richness of our culture, the peaceful people that we are, and Qamsar’s bright, hopeful future.”
Mikhail’s words were ones Harris expected from a leader of a nation. A rallying cry for support to prevent the bombing from turning into a politically decisive disaster or causing panic.
Harris wanted to talk to someone about the speech. He needed a sounding board to see if he had missed something important. He could call Tyler. The CIA was likely running their algorithms and reading for hidden meanings in Mikhail’s words.
Harris didn’t want to talk to Tyler. Reading the messages waiting for him from his team and listening to them tell him that his relationship with Laila was over in a matter of days had zero appeal.
He changed into running clothes and sneakers, and left the compound on foot. Doubling back several times, he made sure he wasn’t followed. Part of him wanted to run until he was physically exhausted. He needed to excise the emotions that had been taking their toll on him. Working with the CIA, staying undercover, living with his lies, dealing with the secrets and playing by the CIA’s rules grated on his sense of integrity and who he was. The events of the week were piling on top of him, crushing him, making it hard to breathe. Blotting out the images from the bombing was impossible. The victims of that terrible day and the prisoners from the jails haunted him. Thinking about losing Laila was destroying him.
He hadn’t felt this low in a very long time. Not even when Cassie had betrayed him had he wrestled with these demons. Her betrayal had brought on white-hot anger. What he faced now was more complex.
Asking for help had never been his strong suit, but if he didn’t reach out to the people he loved, he would go berserk. He needed someone to ground him.
He dialed his parent’s secure line. His mother answered on the first ring. “Harris.” She sounded relieved.
“Hey, Mom,” he said. He didn’t hide the exhaustion. The hurt. The weakness. He couldn’t.
“Are you okay? What’s happened?” she asked.
His mother had a sixth sense about her sons. She knew when they were in trouble. “I’m still undercover.”
His family understood he couldn’t talk about his work. He’d told them about joining the joint task force with the CIA and that he’d be OCONUS.
“I know you can’t say much, but I’ve had calls into every contact I have in the agency about you. I heard you were fine, but a mother needs to hear it from her son’s mouth.”
Harris let out a soft laugh. “I’m fine, Mom.” He was hurting, but he would get through this. Reaching out to his family was helping.
“I hear the stress in your voice. Is it a woman?” she asked.
Perceptive. “Partially.”
“What’s the other part?” she asked.
“This isn’t the job I expected,” Harris said.
Her mother sighed. “It rarely is. Operating within the rules isn’t easy. Most can’t or don’t want to for long.”
He had newfound respect for his mother for working as a CIA operative for so long. “I wanted this to...” He didn’t know how to finish the statement.
“Advance your career. You told us. But, Harris, what was wrong with what you were doing? You’re good at being a special agent. Why do you need the change?”
“Something wasn’t right.” He had been struggling with feeling as if something was missing for too long.
“I don’t like to tell you boys what to do. I don’t give advice when it’s not wanted. But I have to say this. You work too much. Working more or somewhere else or for someone else won’t fill the emptiness or the loneliness. You need a personal life which brings me back to my first question. Who is she?”
“I met her here.” No need to explain here was the mission.
“Is she who you’re investigating?”
No. That would have brought a different set of problems. “She’s on my side. But she’ll be gone when this is over.”
“Then don’t let her get away.”
“I might not have a choice.”
His mother laughed. “There’s always a choice. Hold on a minute. Brady and Reilly are here. They want to talk to you. Let me switch to speaker-phone.”
After reassuring his family he was physically okay, Reilly jumped in. “It’s a woman. Who is she?”
“I can’t say,” Harris said.
“Intriguing,” Brady said.
“Speaking of, where are your wives?” Harris asked.
“Dad’s showing them how to grill steak properly. He says they have a chance of actually getting it right, unlike his sons. You know how he gets about steak. But don’t change the subject.”
Harris smiled. A genuine smile. His father loved his steak and treated cooking it like a fine art.
“Are you in love with her?” Reilly asked.
His brothers never spoke like that. Being married had made them more open to talking about love and relationships.
“Don’t make this a gossip session,” Harris said.
“I’m going to answer for him with a yes,” Brady said. “In which case, whatever the problem is, whatever you think stands in the way, get rid of it.”
“It’s not that simple,” Harris said. Ignore the CIA and their rules? Quit his job?
“Never is,” Brady said. “Anyone worth having is worth working for. Don’t let someone you love get away because you’re worried about your job. You’ll find another job if it comes to that.”
Harris was surprised to hear his brother’s suggestion. Brady had defined himself by his career and had lost the woman he loved because of it. It hadn’t been easy for him to get his life back on track.
“It’s not just the job. She doesn’t know,” Harris said. Laila was unaware of his feelings for her.
“Tell her,” Brady said.
“She might not feel the same,” Harris said.
Reilly groaned. “Dude. Man up.”
“I don’t know how to tell her,” Harris said.
“Try using words,” Reilly said.
This from his brothers who, up until a few years ago, were as unlucky in love as Harris. “Easy for you to say. You lucked out.”
“Not luck. Skills,” Brady said.
The brothers laughed and Harris wished he was with his family at his parents’ place, Laila by his side. He
wished he could bring her home to meet them, put his arm around her and call her his wife.
Wife. Flaming perfect. A few minutes ago, he wasn’t sure what he felt. Five minutes into a phone call with his family, he was facing the fact that he was in love and wanted to marry her.
“This woman has it all,” Harris said.
“Then she’s too good for you,” Reilly teased. “But seriously, don’t forget you’re a Truman. You have a lot to offer, too.”
Harris expected more ribbing. “What if I can’t make it work?”
“Unacceptable thinking,” Brady said. “Make it work. If it’s your job, quit. If you or she are into something bad, go off the grid for a while. Do whatever you need to do. You’ve got an entire team here to back you up. Whatever you need, we’ll be there. When it all works out, Mom can stop worrying about her oldest son and instead focus on being a grandmom.”
“A grandmom? Susan’s pregnant?” Harris asked.
“She sure is,” Brady said, his voice bursting with pride.
A picture of the life he wanted formed crystal clear in his mind. He and Laila with a family of their own, hanging out with his brothers and their wives, his parents and his future niece or nephew. Holidays, weekends, vacations. A family man.
He’d been trying to squeeze more from his career to fill the emptiness he’d been feeling. He couldn’t get what he needed from it, not from more working hours and not from taking more cases.
He needed Laila to complete what was missing in his life.
* * *
Laila stood in the hot shower, letting the water beat down on her. Her mother hadn’t agreed to come with her to America. Despite knowing she would face a difficult life in Qamsar, she wanted to stay. Her mother had said she would think about Laila’s offer, but Laila knew her mother. Iba wouldn’t leave. Why had she believed it would be easy to convince her? What about Saafir? Would he stay in Qamsar?
Laila would start over in America alone. Staying in Qamsar was too dangerous. It would come out that Harris was not Harris Kuhn, heir to a German shipping fortune, and her deception would be discovered. If Harris connected Al-Adel to Mikhail and Mikhail was jailed, Mikhail’s supporters would make it too dangerous for her to stay. If the country turned on her family in anger, they would all be killed.
She could claim ignorance. Pretend Harris had duped her. But she didn’t want to lose him in her life. And yet when the truth came out, Laila knew her family wouldn’t support her relationship with a man they believed to be a liar.
It came down to that choice. She would lose Harris or lose her family.
She wiped at the tears of sadness that pooled in her eyes. Before she’d agreed to help Harris, she hadn’t considered her feelings for him would grow to this depth or that her mother would decline to leave Qamsar.
Laila couldn’t put her finger on the precise moment she had fallen in love with Harris, but talking to her mother had clarified her feelings.
Love. Unending, unyielding, inconvenient love.
A light tap on her bathroom door had her jumping. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me.”
Harris! “Just a minute.”
“You sound funny. Are you okay?”
Her throat was tight with emotion. “I’m okay. I need a couple of minutes.” Laila checked her hair for soap, gave it another rinse and grabbed her robe from the hook in the bathroom. She wrapped it around her body and used a towel to dry her hair.
When she left the bathroom, Harris was sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together.
His eyes narrowed when he saw her. “What’s the matter? I can see it in your face. Something’s happened.”
Laila sat on the bed next to him. Her emotions were raw. “I talked to my mom about leaving Qamsar and coming with us, that is, with me, to America for a visit. She doesn’t want to come. She wants to stay here and support Mikhail. When I pressed her, she said she would think about it, but I don’t think she’ll leave. She believes she has an obligation.”
Harris’s eyes darkened with concern. “She might change her mind.”
Laila rubbed her temples. “She has a life here. Friends. Family. Her home. Her position as the emir’s mother puts her in the spotlight. She worries leaving would raise too many questions and throw doubt over Mikhail’s rule. If Mikhail’s ties to the Holy Light Brotherhood are made public, he’ll have more doubts and questions than he can handle. She didn’t even seem that bothered about the idea of marrying a terrorist. She accepts it as her fate.”
Harris wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “Do you want to stay here with her?”
If she stayed, if she denied that she’d known Harris was an American spy, she would live in fear that the truth would be uncovered and she would have to live the lie every day for the rest of her life. If she stayed, she would never see or speak to Harris again. “I can’t. It will come out that I assisted you. Those who support my brother and Al-Adel will mark me as a target for revenge. Those who don’t will want to see my family jailed or dead.”
Harris’s breath brushed against her hair. “I know this is hard. We’ll find a way to work it out.”
How? Laila wanted her mother happy and safe. She wanted to be happy and safe. Those weren’t both possible. “My mother kept saying she wants me to be happy. She thinks I’m in love with you.” Laila laughed, though it sounded forced even to her. It was a test. How would he respond to the idea?
Harris’s arm tightened around her. “What did you tell her?”
“I told her what I could. I kept our cover. I didn’t risk our mission.” She turned her head to gauge his reaction.
“I meant, what did you tell her about being in love with me?” Harris asked, his voice tight, his intelligent eyes watching her.
A pointed, direct question. One she didn’t want to answer. “I told her I had feelings for you.” In so many words. She felt the tip of her ears burning. Could he sense the omission or read into her words? Was the truth plain on her face? She wished she knew how he felt about her.
Emotion clouded his eyes. “It’s good that you do, because I have feelings for you. Actually, I have more than feelings. I’ve fallen in love with you, Laila. We have a lot to face in the future, but I want to face it together.” He slid to the floor, kneeling in front of her. “I talked to my family today. I had to call them. I had so much in my head. I finally got it. I know what I need. I know what’s been missing from my life.” He met her gaze and held it. “I need you. You’re what’s missing.”
Laila watched him, her heart beating fast. Love and desire swelled inside her. He had spoken to his family about her. He’d let her into his circle of trust. Nothing could have meant more to her.
“Saafir stopped by to see me. He gave me a ring that belonged to your great-great-grandmother. It’s simple and elegant, like you. I want you to accept it along with my promise that when I can, I will buy you a ring fit for a princess. I will do and give you everything I can to make you happy. I want you to be my wife.” He withdrew a gold ring from his pocket.
Her eyes filled with happy tears and emotion tightened her throat. She hadn’t expected this from Harris. Her great-great-grandmother’s ring. Her mother had worn it before marrying her father. The gesture was more important than the ring. “I don’t need another ring. I just need you.”
He slipped the ring on her finger over her henna art, and she launched herself into his arms. She clung to him, exchanging long, slow, deep kisses. The more she kissed him, the more she wanted him. She hoped the kiss communicated what she felt: love, hope, excitement, tenderness.
“What about the future? What if we can’t be together in America?” she asked, running her index finger down the side of his face.
“We’ll be together. We’ll find a way,” Harris said. “It won’t be easy. I know I’m not who you thought you’d marry.” His arms looped around her waist, holding her against him, while he buried his face i
n her hair.
“Maybe not. I think you’re better for me. My parents wanted me to be happy, and with you, I am. I won’t believe there’s anything wrong with that.”
He tilted his head back to look at her. “You should have everything you want and every happiness,” Harris said. His voice poured over her, hot and thick.
A tremor shook her. “Every happiness? You know what makes me happy? You. I want you in my life. In my heart. This ring means I am yours. It also means that you are mine.”
His eyes flickered with provocation. A moment later, his lips again found hers, and she sank into the kiss. His breath tickled her neck, and she held his head in her hands. The magnitude of what they were doing wasn’t lost on her. She had waited for the right man, and though he didn’t come courtesy of an arranged marriage, she had found him.
She turned her body over to him and let him take the lead. He stood, setting her lightly on her feet, and drew back the bed sheets. Taking her hand, he led her to the bed. She sat, and he lifted her legs, running his hand along each calf as he moved them on top of the mattress. Heat blossomed where his hands stroked her bare skin.
He joined her on the bed. With unpracticed fingers, she unbuttoned his shirt. He slid out of it and peeled off his white T-shirt. She had her first look at his bare torso. Running her hands over the hard planes of his broad shoulders, masculine chest and pumped biceps, sharp pleasure seared her with longing.
He delivered another passionate kiss that left her breathless and needy. He unzipped his pants, slid them down his legs and tossed them to the floor. Off with his socks, and he was naked.
He moved over her, and Laila drank in the sight of him as he held himself over her. His iron biceps, his hard, taut stomach, his lean waist and oh... The evidence of his arousal was undeniable.
Fixing her gaze on him, she reclined into the mountain of pillows at the head of the bed. She touched his light hair, forking her fingers through it.
He unknotted the belt at her waist and opened her robe, taking time to run his hands over every inch of exposed skin. His lips followed in their wake, and the slowness and the care made her feel unspeakably precious. Skin to skin, nothing between them, her senses felt on fire and arousal scented the air.
