by Grace Rawson
Jamie scrolls down on the computer screen. The next picture makes her stop and stare for a full five minutes. It is a picture of Bol standing outside of his home. As she looks over his smiling face and his golden eyes a tear runs down her cheek. Reaching out a hand, she gently strokes his face on the computer screen.
“I shouldn’t have left you.” She whispers. “Why did I leave you?”
In her head she hears his voice telling her to not forget him, but even louder she hears a voice telling her to go back to him. The louder voice is her own, and for the first time in a long time she decides to take its advice. In a few moments she is dressed and ready to go. She gathers up what things are hers and scrawls a hasty note on a piece of paper. Laying the note, her findings, and the equipment that was Larry’s on the table, she takes a final look around the room.
The lobby of the hotel is quiet as she slips out the door and heads up the street. The camp is a couple miles outside of town, but in her mind she can already see the walls.
“I’m coming Bol,” she tells the night as she hitches her bag to a more comfortable position in her hand.
~~~
Larry tries to call Jamie a few times the next morning, but he can’t wake her. He decides that she is probably sleeping in with the phone off the hook, so he goes up to her room and knocks on the door. The door swings open with his first knock. He steps inside and looks around the room, but Jamie is nowhere to be found.
“Jamie? Are you here?” He asks, but then he spots the equipment and stack of papers on the desk. Walking over to the desk he looks at the papers and notices the note on top. A smile breaks across his face as he reads it.
Dear Larry,
You’ve been a great boss and for that I want to thank you so much. I left your equipment on the table. The papers you will find under this note are all of my detailed findings. If you would give them to Professor Charles L. Langston of Boston, Mass. Tell him who they are from and he’ll understand. I hate to leave this way, but during my stay in the Astara camp I met a man. I believe I told you about him. Bol is his name. I fell in love with him Larry. I tried to deny it, but I know in my heart that there is no other for me and I can’t begin to think about living the rest of my life without him. I’m going to live with him, so please don’t try and stop me. Who knows, maybe if Charles writes a few good papers we might see each other again someday.
Jamie Gettner
“I’ll be damned.” Larry puts the note down and rifles through the papers. The words and notations mean little to him, but he is sure that the professor Jamie mentioned in her note will know what how to decipher them. Walking to the window that looks out toward the camp, he smiles. “I hope you’re happy Jamie. I really do.”
~~~
The guard doesn’t protest when Jamie tells him that she is back for more research. The hundred and eighty dollars, all the money that she has in her wallet, doesn’t hurt in his decision. As the gate closes behind her she breathes a sigh of relief. She looks around the square for anyone, but this late at night everyone is either at home or at one of the few drinking establishments.
As she starts across the square in the direction a Bol’s home a deep voice speaks to her from the shadows. She stops in her tracks and a smile spreads across her face. She would know the sound of that voice anywhere.
“Is it really you?”
“It’s really me.”
Bol steps out of the darkness and wraps her in a hug with his powerful arms. Tears stream from her eyes as she hugs him back as tightly as she can.
“I’m not leaving again.” She whispers into his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have ever left.”
“That doesn’t matter now,” he says. “All that matters is that you are here in my arms. Where you belong.”
THE END
Thank you for downloading this book. We have included 5 steamy stories as a way to say “thank you”. Enjoy!
Bonus Story 2 of 6
Rescued by the SEAL
“You brought me home to kill me?”
“Not kill, whore of a daughter. Execute.”
“How could you do that?”
“With a gun.”
Halah Hussein sat in a chair in the kitchen of her parents’ home. She was tied hand and foot. She had the classic look of the Middle East; slender body, black hair and deep, brown eyes. She was twenty-one years old.
Her father, Amil Hussein, looked like a religious zealot. His eyes had a crazed appearance. His body was thin from fasting more than he should. His hands made people think of claws.
He picked up an AK47 from the kitchen table and shouted, “So shall it be to all harlots! Whores like my daughter, who kept company with unbelievers!” He pointed the weapon at her head and began to squeeze the trigger.
He heard wails of grief from the front room. He stomped in and shouted. “You will stop this at once. My daughter died when she left my home. She is already dead.”
Amil’s wife and the two daughters, who still lived at home, wound down and became silent. Dalal was nineteen years old, and Janay sixteen. His son, Kaseem, stood with arms folded, next to his family. He said, “I tried to tell them, father. They wouldn’t listen.”
“You’re a good son, Kaseem. You make me proud.”
Kaseem smirked at the compliment.
Amil steamed back to the kitchen and, once again, prepared to execute his daughter.
Halah didn’t close her eyes or shrink away. She looked at her father with deep disappointment.
The phone rang. Kaseem answered it then shouted to his father. “Don’t kill her. She has value.”
Amil took the phone from his son and spoke a few words. He put it down. “She lives. Sheikh Abu El Mofty wants her for his own. He will pay us five thousand riyals for her.” He ran back to the kitchen and pointed the rifle at his daughter. “Speak the truth, traitorous daughter. Are you a virgin?”
She nodded. “I am.”
“We are saved.”
Amil made two thousand riyals a year driving an old taxi.
Halah said, “You accuse me of being a harlot yet I am a virgin. You sell me to a man I do not know who will make me a harlot and rejoice. You are not my father.”
Amil slapped Halah twice. “Silence, whore.”
Halah had traveled to the United States a year earlier to escape her abusive father. She studied Foreign Policy at USC. She was a good student, but missed her mother and sisters. She went back home after the other women in her family told her that her father had become quiet and calm.
*****
The Sheikh sent two men to deliver the money to Amil and take possession of Halah.
Amil untied her and had her display herself before them. She held out her arms and turned gracefully in a circle.
One of the men wore a western suit and tie. He had a calm smile. “Very good. Most beautiful,” he said. “Are you are a virgin?”
She said, “Yes. I have never been with a man.”
“That is good. When you live with the Sheikh, you will be required to be in his bed every night. Can you perform well?”
Halah was honest. She realized that she had to please the Sheikh or stay home with her father and die. She told him, “I am truly inexperienced. No man has ever touched me nor made my skin burn with yearning. I will try, but I can’t tell you that I will be able to respond to the Sheikh.”
“We will find out,” said the man. He called for Amil. “Hussein. Come here.”
Amil trotted into the kitchen.
“We know she has an older sister who married a man above her class. We must have Halah witness an act of love between this girl and her husband. We will take her with us. She may ask one of her sisters to go with her.”
Amil interrupted. His voice was the whipped dog to the other man’s lion. “But sir, will this not sully the other daughter? She will see the things that only wives should know, and be worthless for a marriage.”
“We may buy her as well.”
Amil bowed his he
ad. “That is acceptable.”
Halah called her sister, Dalal, into the kitchen.
Dalal shared her sister’s good looks, except that Halah was tall and graceful and Dalal was medium-sized and bouncy. Being the third daughter, she usually escaped her father’s notice. She’d been out with men to clubs and dance halls.
Halah said, “Will you go with me to watch Fadiyah and Jamaal in their bed?”
Dalal smiled. “I will go with you. It should be interesting.”
The man gave Amil an envelope with five thousand Riyals and took the two girls with him. The man made a call on his cell phone. He said, “It’s finished. I’m bringing two women with me right now.” He paused. “Good. Tomorrow night’s celebration will be a success.”
In the car, Halah said, “Do you have a definition of Mr. Right?”
“Yes. I’ll never meet him, but the usual tall, dark, handsome, sweep me off my feet. What’s yours?”
“A man who doesn’t want to kill me, sell me or fuck me. I think my standards have fallen.”
*****
The Navy built the headquarters of SEAL Team 13 in a compound in Fujairah in Saudi Arabia. The third squad of the fourth platoon consisted of six men; a sniper/scout, an explosives expert, two riflemen and a communications specialist. The communications specialist, Tom Walters, stayed at base and managed the use of drones, air strikes and intra-squad communications. The sixth man, Lieutenant James Hostel, ran everything as Commanding Officer. He was a solid, bulky man who seldom smiled.
The squad’s youngest member carried the name of John Steele. His parents hadn’t thought of the effect of giving a super hero’s name to a small baby.
John didn’t look like a super hero. He was just under six feet and weighed 220 pounds. He spoke Farsi and went undercover occasionally. Infiltrators have to pass through a crowd without attracting notice. He’d cut his body fat down to less than ten percent. Muscle takes up less room than fat. Two hundred and twenty pounds on a stocky frame could pass for the body of a normal man if he wore loose clothing and remembered to move slowly. He had brown eyes and dark hair and a face that caused sighs among the women who saw it. He occupied the sniper/scout position in the squad.
The most visible member of the squad was Henry Tilman, nicknamed ‘Nitro’. Nitro couldn’t move through a crowd without being noticed. He stood six feet eight inches tall and weighed two hundred and sixty pounds. Tattoos and scars covered his body. Unless he remembered to smile, his expression could make babies cry from a distance of a hundred yards. He got the nickname from his specialty in explosives.
All of the enlisted men in the squad were between 23 and 25 years of age.
Lt. Hostel saw John Steele walk past and called him into the office. He said, “How are you doing?”
“It’s alright sir, as long as I keep busy.”
“The death of a fiancée is tough to get over. Have you started looking at girls yet?”
“No sir. I know I should but it doesn’t work. Everything reminds me of her.”
Out in the ready room, Nitro read a letter. His face was pale. His shoulders sank more and more. John sat down next to him. He said, “Nitro, are you alright?”
Nitro grunted, pensively. That grunt, if it had been translated from guy-speak, would have meant, “No, I’m not alright. The woman I loved just dumped me. It’s ripped me apart. I’m bleeding all over the floor.”
Lt. Hostel called everyone into the briefing room. “We’ve got work to do. One of the CIA’s assets is in danger in Saudi Arabia. Her name is Halah Hussein.” Lt. Hostel sat at a computer in front of tables and chairs with room for five men. Each seat had a computer in front of it. As he talked, Lt. Hostel brought up images for the men to see. When Halah’s face appeared on the screen, he said, “The CIA recruited Miss Hussein when she was a student at USC. Her father is active in Al Qaeda. She recently returned to her home for a visit. We’ve gotten good intelligence that her return home was due to a ruse carried out by her father. He considers her soiled by her association with the West and plans on killing her. As of yesterday, she was still alive. John will infiltrate to make sure she’s at home. The rest will go in during the early morning hours and extract her. It is vital that we keep casualties to a bare minimum. She can be a good asset as long as she doesn’t resent us for killing some member of her family. We leave in two hours.”
*****
Dalal, Halah and the man in the suit representing the Sheikh took seats on hard wooden chairs in a large closet in a suite in the Riyadh Hilton. The man said, “We sent a letter telling Fadiyah and Jamaal that they’d won a night in a luxury suite in the Hilton. They were last reported as being in a good mood.”
They sat on chairs behind a sheet of black gauze in a large closet in the bedroom. They couldn’t be seen from the room, but they could see everything in the room. The man allowed them to remove their veils in order to see the scene better.
The man in the suit got a phone call and stepped outside to take it. Halah turned to Dalal. “I can’t believe this. My life depends on doing something I haven’t done with skills I don’t have.”
“I’m sorry. It’s not the ideal life for a woman. Here’s a hint. Try to get inside our sister’s emotions. If you can’t get excited, you’ll have to pretend. Do lots of deep breathing and rub your neck and arms. You shouldn’t have to do that. You’ll be alright.”
The man in the suit came back and took a chair to the side of Dalal and Halah.
They heard Fadiyah and Jamaal before they came into the bedroom. Fadiyah’s voice carried irritation and worry. “I know it will fail. It has failed for the last twelve attempts. Why should it work this time?”
Jamaal answered in a reasonable voice, “It doesn’t hurt to try, does it? We have this beautiful suite all to ourselves. No neighbors making noise. No children out on the street who might hear us. It’s perfect.”
Fadiyah stamped her foot. “It’s the same thing every time. All the pressure’s on me, and I’ve failed twelve times in the past. I hate this.” She burst into tears. Jamaal took her into his arms and held her close. She nuzzled against his chest. “You’re a good man, Jamaal. Very patient and loving.”
“It’s my pleasure. I value you. However, you have too many clothes on.”
Fadiyah sniffed and burrowed into his chest. “Hold me a little longer. I’ll be alright.”
Jamaal brought her closer and listened to her sniff and felt her tremble. After a few minutes, she was better.
He said, “Are you ready.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“If we don’t try, we’ll never succeed. And you’re still wearing too many clothes.”
Fadiyah removed her veil, revealing her face, and smiled. “And so it begins.”
Jamaal Hussein was a distant member of the royal family. As such he could court and marry Fadiyah without Amil Hussein’s consent. Amil wanted to deny consent. He had wanted money for his daughter. He didn’t have the courage to bring it up.
Jamaal’s striking good looks made him quite a catch before he got married. His traditional Saudi robes hid wide shoulders and a muscular chest. He’d gone to school in England and been introduced to rugby. It gave him the muscles to move like a prowling tiger.
Fadiyah put her hands on his cheeks and kissed him. “Shall we make love as graceful and caring human beings or will you take me as a slave girl owned by a prince?”
“Do you want to be touched with delicacy or thrown around, given no choices and taken with almost violent brutality?”
“Before I make a decision, take my clothes off for me. I always like the way you do that.”
“Certainly.”
Dalal leaned over to Halah and whispered, “Which would you like?”
She whispered back, “That’s the problem. I have no idea. What about you?”
“The slave girl and the prince. It gives me a chance to be vulnerable and yielding, and I’d have more control of the man.”
Jamaal removed Fa
diyah’s niqab, and kissed her neck. She smiled and tilted her head to the side.
Under the niqab, Fadiyah wore a blouse and skirt. Jamaal pulled her blouse from her skirt, slipped it down her arms and dropped it on a chair. She wore only a lace bra under her blouse. He came around to her front and kissed her again.
He lifted her breasts with his hands. “You’re so beautiful.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you like me.”
In the closet, Halah whispered, “He’s very good at this.”
“I know. He’s handsome too.”
Halah looked with speculation at Fadiyah. “Pretty bra.”
“Victoria’s Secret.”
“Am I supposed to be feeling something yet?”
“No, wait until Fadiyah does. Don’t worry, you’ll do it naturally.”
Jamaal pulled her into his arms and kissed her with passion. She responded happily.
While he kissed her, he unhooked her bra. When the kiss ended and she stepped back, her bra stayed in his hands. She looked down in mock surprise. “Why look, my boobies are out in the air for anyone to see.”
He looked irritated, which was what she knew would happen. “Don’t use that ugly word to describe your wonderful breasts.”
She said, contritely, “You are right, my master. My body is yours and should be treated with respect.”
Jamaal raised one eyebrow and said, in English, “Damn straight, little lady.” He like old John Wayne movies.
Halah mumbled, “She can be a proper Arabian wife when she wants to. I like that.”
Dalal muttered, “She has a lovely body. He’s a lucky man.”
*****
Jamaal sat down on the bed. Fadiyah joined him, standing between his knees. He slid his hands up her legs under her skirt. She trembled. “You’re making me shake. I’m afraid of what you will do to me. I wanted a nice, kind prince, not a brutal man who would use me roughly for his own satisfaction.”
