by Alisha Rai
He heard Leyla and Mason’s low voices as he entered the dining room. They stood with their heads bowed together, talking about something intense. Though he knew he should announce himself, he stood there for a minute looking at them. As he watched, Leyla lifted her hand and rubbed it over her husband’s arm.
He’d behaved badly when he’d discovered his big sister and best friend were falling in love with each other. Part of it had been his natural protectiveness of Leyla, but another part, the part he was still slightly ashamed of, had been a fear of loneliness and separation from the two most important people in his life. It had always been the three of them against the world. Leyla and Mason hadn’t ever intended to exclude him, but when they’d come together, started a life together, it had inevitably happened. Since their wedding day a little over three years ago, he couldn’t help but be aware of a nagging sense of…loneliness.
That’s what made his disappointment with Maira even harsher. He’d never met a woman with whom he’d thought he could find what his sister had. Except Maira.
Stop thinking of her. God, why was it so hard?
Sasha cleared his throat loudly. “Hey, something smells good. What’s for dinner?” He’d meant the words to be a light distraction, but now that he considered it, something did smell good. He sniffed again. Familiar, a blend of spices that tugged at something hidden in his memory.
Leyla beamed at him. “You’ll see. Dinner’s on the table.”
He looked at the empty kitchen table. “It is?”
Leyla gave him a slight push. “The dining table, silly.”
“We’re eating on your dining table? Wow. Is it Thanksgiving?”
“Shut up, smartass. Move.”
He walked into the dining room and sat down at one of the chairs. He took in the barely used table, set with Leyla’s nicest china, and looked over at where she was sitting down across from him. “What’s going on?”
“What? Can’t we have a nice family dinner?”
“This is too nice.”
“You always were a suspicious child. Can’t a girl just be happy to be having her brother over for dinner?”
He opened his mouth to retort something sufficiently smart-alecky when he noticed the slight strain around his sister’s eyes. “Yeah. Sure.”
When Mason spooned up the thick stew and placed the bowl in front of him, Sasha blinked. “Is that khoresht?”
Mason placed a full bowl in front of Leyla, who murmured her thanks. “Yup.”
Sasha leaned in close and inhaled the scent of tomatoes, split peas and onions, mixed with a variety of other spices he couldn’t begin to name. He hadn’t smelled it since he was sixteen. Once a week until she died, his mother had made the stew.
For the first time in days, he was eager to eat something, and he spooned up a bite of lamb and potato. He had to close his eyes when the flavors hit his tongue. Holy crap, it even tasted like his mother’s. He’d been to Persian and Middle Eastern restaurants all his life that hadn’t been able to match that taste. All of a sudden, he was sitting back in his childhood kitchen, watching his mother’s smooth face as she stirred a steaming pot, tendrils of dark hair curling against her cheeks.
He looked at his brother-in-law. “How did you make it taste like hers?”
He didn’t need to elaborate any further. Mason shrugged. “I just tried to remember what I used to see her put in. It wasn’t that tough.”
Mason had practically grown up in their house, but Sasha didn’t think any teenage boy would have been paying attention to what their best friend’s mom was making for dinner. He made a skeptical noise.
“He made four batches yesterday, to get just the right mix,” Leyla said quietly. She gave her husband a look filled with love.
Mason’s high cheekbones reddened and he cleared his throat. “She’s exaggerating.”
Sasha put down his spoon. Leyla and Mason hadn’t even lifted theirs. Leyla’s fingers were fiddling with her fork while Mason played with his glass of water. They had both lost weight, he realized. He swallowed. “Guys, it was just a scratch. I’m fine, really.”
He felt more than a little wretched when his sister’s eyes filled with tears. “It could have been worse. You’ve never been in real danger.”
“This kind of thing is one in a million. You know this town. Hell, the biggest danger I’ve been in before was a rowdy kid or an angry wife beater.”
“I know that.” Leyla sniffled. “My brain knows that. My heart is just hurting at the thought of you going back on the beat.”
Sasha stifled a smile. His sister loved cop terminology. “I won’t be going back anywhere ’til I get the all-clear.” Which would take longer than just the time it took to recover from his injury and get the okay from the investigators and psychiatrist. Thanks to the positive press, the captain couldn’t truly reprimand him for his renegade actions, but Sasha’d spoken with the man this morning and been informed it would be best if he took a few extra weeks of his saved-up vacation time. The “to think about what you did” had been left unsaid, but it had been heavily implied.
He reached across the table and squeezed Leyla’s hand. “When I do go back, I need you to not worry. I can handle myself. Even if something like this happens again, I’m still going to be the one who’s standing at the end. Okay?”
Leyla gave him a watery smile. “Okay.”
“In the meantime, you guys need to stop treating me like I’ve returned from the grave.” He thought of Maira. “I’ve about had it with people treating me like I’m someone different.”
Mason cleared his throat and blinked rapidly. He clapped Sasha on the shoulder. “It was just hard on your sister. Bear with her.”
Sasha pursed his lips, happy for the opening. “Just her? Dude, you saying you didn’t slave over a hot stove for me?”
“Ah, hell, you know Leyla can barely boil water. If Ash is going to learn anything about her culinary heritage, it’s going to have to be through me.”
When Leyla tossed a dinner roll at her husband, the tension in the room broke. They settled in to eat, and Sasha was relieved to note some of the wet gleam vanish from his sister’s eyes the more time passed.
Sasha wiped his mouth with a napkin and settled back in his chair, letting out a gusty sigh. “Man. That was some good stuff. I’m glad you’re making my sister such a good wife, Mason.”
Mason topped off their wine and set the empty bottle down. “Ha. You are so damn funny.”
“Seriously, I don’t think she appreciates you enough. Leyla, when was the last time you took this guy out for a night on the town?”
“If it’ll make you feel better, maybe I’ll show him exactly how much I appreciate him once you go home tonight.” She paused. “Was that too vague? I meant in bed.”
He scrunched up his face. Only half the disgust was feigned. The only thing un-sexier than his sister having sex, would be, like…no, there was nothing un-sexier.
Unfortunately, Mason smelled fresh blood. He leaned in, his face glowing with delight. “Yes! Make him hear all the dirty things I do to you. Oh wait, no, I think it’s my turn to be tied up tonight…”
“No!” Sasha clamped his hands over his ears and glared. “Enough. Fine. Truce.”
Mason laughed. Leyla was more dignified, but she gave a slight smirk as she stood and picked up her plate. “Are you finished?”
“Yeah. I can get it.”
“No, sit.”
He was full enough and tired enough to listen. He slumped back in his chair, relaxed for the first time in days.
“Did Maira come by yesterday?”
His sister’s innocent question zapped all of the relaxation out of him. “What?”
“Maira?” Leyla looked through the pass-through of the kitchen as she ran the water over the dishes. “She said she was going to try to stop by.”
He made a noncommittal noise, determined not to let either of them guess anything.
“What?”
“Yes. She
came by.”
The water shut off, and Leyla came back into the room, drying her hands on a towel. A slight frown knit her brows together. “Why did you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
“With that tone.”
“I said four words, Leyla. I didn’t have a tone.”
“Sweetheart, you’re right. I’m pretty sure I heard a tone too.”
“Shut up, Mason.”
“Did something happen?” Leyla asked.
He shrugged and took a sip of his wine. Avoiding their gazes worked for about a second, but then his eyes ping-ponged back to his sister’s stare. “Nothing big.”
“Did you have a fight?”
He snorted before he could stop himself. When Leyla’s eyes narrowed, he realized his tactical error. “It wasn’t exactly a fight.” To fight, you needed to have two people with a difference of opinion. There was no opinion here. He was right, and she had been wrong. Black and white.
“Oh, Sasha. What did you say to her? Did you hurt her?”
That his sister was taking Maira’s side irritated him to no end. Never mind the fact she had no idea what, if anything, had even happened. “No, I didn’t hurt her.” He paused when the image of her sad face popped into his mind. That hadn’t been hurt. Surely that had just been mortification. And well-deserved, right?
“She’s so sweet…”
“Are you kidding me? She came on to me, Leyla. There, now you know.” He shook his head in disgust and drained the rest of the wineglass. He wanted more, his throat suddenly dry, the ache in his chest growing. “She’s no different from everyone else who’s suddenly wanting to be my best friend.” She’d been the only one who’d tempted him toward accepting the offer though.
Leyla closed her eyes. “Oh my God.”
Well, that was better. “I know, right?”
“Mason, I think I hear the baby. Can you please go check on her?”
Since he knew Mason would easily run through fire naked to keep his daughter from so much as whimpering, Sasha was surprised when the other man shook his head resolutely. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Please.”
“No. Leyla, my E.R. is full, and I can’t let you put your brother back there.”
Leyla turned back to Sasha slowly. Fire snapped in her eyes. “You idiot. That woman has been crazy about you since she met you. She finally works up the courage to do something about it, and, being the stubborn, blind fool that you are, I bet you blew up and did something insane, didn’t you?”
Sasha blinked at her, unable to process more than a few of those rambling words at a time. “Crazy about me?” He tried to laugh and looked at Mason for support.
His best friend shook his head sadly. “Dude, I was the one who noticed it first. She’s got it bad.”
“Who are you, Dr. Phil?”
“Nah. I just know unrequited love when I see it.”
His stomach churned. “She does not love me.”
“Lust then.” Mason shrugged. “Whatever.”
“You’re both crazy.”
Leyla huffed a breath. “No, we’re both normal. You’re the idiot. If you’ve hurt that woman, so help me God, I will shoot you in the other leg.”
Since he knew it probably wasn’t an empty threat on Leyla’s part, he winced and attempted to defend himself. “You think it’s just coincidence that she suddenly decided now was the time to act on this long-standing desire?”
“Hmm, I don’t know.” Leyla held up her hand and ticked off the points on her fingers. “Is it a coincidence that Mason decided yesterday he needed to figure out how to make your favorite meal? Is it a coincidence that for your first time over since you got out of the hospital, I pulled out my wedding china? This is just a wild guess, but maybe she was so relieved you were okay and freaked out that you’d actually gotten hurt in the line of duty, she decided it was time to bite the bullet and work up her courage to lay her heart on the line.” Her scowl was utterly black. “Of course, I may be completely wrong, and she really is just a hero groupie.”
His stomach hurt. Before he could respond, a thin cry interrupted them. Leyla’s mouth tightened, and he felt like something that had been scraped off the bottom of her shoe. “Excuse me.” She swept out of the room.
He and Mason sat in silence, the slight murmur of Leyla’s soothing voice carrying from the baby’s room. “Are you certain?” he asked, unsure of what else to say.
Mason rubbed his temples. “I came in to check on you before they transferred you out of emergency. You were laying there, unconscious from whatever they’d given you. Maira was standing next to your bed crying. Her hands were shaking, man. She kept trying to clasp them together, but they were knocking like an alcoholic coming off a bender. I’ve seen that woman stitch up ripped-open heads and stabilize pregnant women who have been stabbed without batting an eye.”
Crying? Her hands had been shaking?
The scent of lavender, soft kisses on his face…
That had been real. Oh God. All of it. Sasha swallowed. Maira was the most calm, collected woman he knew. He couldn’t imagine what it would take to rattle her.
Sash, God, I love you so much.
Nausea punched him in the stomach as the words replayed in stereo. Too genuine, too leaden with fear and…and caring to be fake. He’d bet his soul she’d said those words. Said them while he was laying in a stupor, not knowing he would hear them and bury them away in his subconscious.
The media attention hadn’t prompted her to make a conquest out of him. That emotion, that vibrating intensity, couldn’t possibly be faked.
While he’d been tentatively considering a possible romantic relationship with her, she’d fallen in love with him.
He could barely speak. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Mason snorted. “Yeah, that’s right. Do you like Maira, check yes or no. Come on. You’re almost thirty, you’re old enough to go after what you want.” He hesitated. “Though now that I think about it, maybe I should have talked to her. She’s so professional and mature, I forget how young she is. I’ve never seen her with a man. In fact, other than you, the only men she seems really comfortable with are the ones who are married. I can’t imagine she’s had a ton of experience.”
Sasha rubbed his hand over his mouth. “I fucked up.”
“Yeah.”
He closed his eyes briefly. After checking to make sure his sister was still gone, he leaned in close. “No, I really fucked up. She stripped her shirt off. I accused her of just wanting me because of the cameras, made out with her a little on my dining table, acted like an asshole and watched as she ran out.”
“Oh.”
“I fucked up.”
“Indeed.” They were silent. Mason fiddled with his napkin. “So…do you like Maira?”
“I’ve always liked her. I was thinking lately…” Sasha paused awkwardly, since he wasn’t really good at talking about his personal life, not even to his best friend, “…maybe it might be something more.”
“More? More as in, you-like-having-lunch-with-her more, or more as in you’d-die-if-you-never-saw-her-again more?”
He stared at his friend. Never see her again?
Never talk to her about a problem, never hear her laugh, never ever have any contact with her? Every fiber in his being rejected that scenario. “I…I can’t not see her again. I just can’t.”
Mason brightened. “Okay. This is good, awesome.”
“Good?” Nothing was good about this situation. Nothing.
“Well, it would really suck if you were disgusted at the thought of kissing her or something. I think it’s pretty clear what you have to do.”
“What?”
“Tell her that you fucked up, that she’s a goddess among women, and you didn’t mean anything that you said.”
“And if that doesn’t work out?”
Mason frowned at him. “It’ll work.”
Sasha thought of the courage it must have taken Maira—re
served, shy Maira—to strip her shirt off for him in the bright daylight of his kitchen. He thought of the things he’d said and her shamed, heartbroken face as she’d run out. Misery coiled inside of him. “And if it doesn’t?”
Mason sighed. “Then lock her in a room, get down on your knees, and don’t get up until she’s ready to listen to you beg.”
It was definitely easier to think about begging for forgiveness than it was to actually get up the gumption to go do it.
Sasha sat in his truck and stared at Maira’s little gingerbread house. The windows were all dark. And why wouldn’t they be, he thought with a grimace. It was almost eleven. If she wasn’t at work, she was tucked safely away in bed.
Of course, thoughts of her in bed led quickly to thoughts of him in her bed. He shifted. Nice thoughts. Very nice indeed.
A tinge of shame made him shake the image away. He didn’t have the right to think of her like that right now. Focus.
He considered her dark house. He couldn’t very well just go marching up to her door and apologize. And he couldn’t call her and do it over the phone.
Actually, you could do either of those things. Sasha reluctantly conceded that. If he wanted to salve his conscience or just wanted to put her at ease enough that she’d let them go back to being friends, he would have no problem picking up his cell and phoning his apology in.
He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. He didn’t want that. He was greedy. He wanted more.
Maybe, just maybe, Maira was the only woman he’d ever really considered getting serious about because Maira was the only woman for him.
Oh yeah, you think?
He winced. No one had ever called him brilliant. Particularly where women were concerned.
Just go home. If it were you who had been humiliated like this, would you forgive? Maira wasn’t him, though. She had a huge heart under that no-nonsense exterior. She loved him.
Sasha’s lips firmed. She loved him. It was unthinkable that they wouldn’t sort this out. Hell, he wasn’t about to take something like this laying down. He’d win her back.
