by Laura Wright
Tension built like a rising dam inside her, and she knew she was close. She wanted to curse, wanted to cry. She wanted to stop and start again. But it was no use. And when he reached under her hips, lifted her higher, his rhythm changing, quickening, rising to a frantic pace, she leaped, then fell—sank into the waves and the quakes of pleasure, the heat and all of the beautiful electric pulses.
Zayad ground his hips against hers and called out in a husky male growl as his body quivered and shook. It was an amazing sight.
He dipped his head and kissed her again, a salty, searing kiss that sent another shudder through her. Then he sat up, brought her with him so they were both sitting, facing each other. It was an incredibly intimate gesture, and Mariah felt so connected to this man, she wanted to bury her head in his chest. But he wouldn’t let her. He clearly had something to say.
“You have much passion, Mariah. But it has been buried deep, yes?”
Her throat went tight. “Yes.”
His hands found her face. “You must release it.”
Mariah stilled, not sure of what he was telling her. Was she not passionate enough? Her gaze fell. She felt as if she’d failed again. No wonder her husband had gone with another woman. Maybe she was frigid or something. “Am I a horrible lover?”
“No.” He chuckled, tilted her chin up so she was forced to look at him. “This is not what I mean. You are wonderful. You are a woman filled with heat, with deep thought and a touch so extraordinary it makes me hard as stone.”
“But—”
“There is no but.” Zayad kissed her. “Your body gave like no other. You were wild and wonderful. I want not just the pleasure but the hurt behind your eyes, as well. I must release it. I must make you release it.”
“Why?”
His gaze flickered, and he looked pained suddenly. “I do not know.”
“I really don’t think it can be released, Zayad. Or maybe I just don’t want to show it to anyone ever again.” The intimacy growing a little too tough to handle, she tried to move away from him. But Zayad wasn’t about to let her feel her fear alone, much less let her leave.
“Tell me about this man who has made you question everything and everyone.”
She shook her head. She didn’t talk about him, about what happened, to anyone. Especially not now.
“Tell me,” Zayad insisted.
He held her tightly and carefully, but held her to him until she finally said something. “He was handsome and charming and a great businessman—and one helluva good liar.”
“And why is he no longer your husband?”
“He didn’t want me.” Tears threatened and she wanted to kick herself. “He wanted another woman instead.”
“He was a fool.”
She looked down.
He pulled her to him and lay back down on the soft pillows. “We must pity him. For he made many mistakes and they cost him the most amazing woman in the world.”
Mariah put her head to his chest, feeling emotional and confused. She took a deep breath. “No more of him. Tell me about your homeland. Make me think beautiful thoughts.”
“All right.” He kissed the top of her head. “Ah, Emand. Nowhere in the world is there a better place. Dawn is my time. I love it.” He played with her hair as he spoke. “The sun is just making its entrance. So slowly, you feel as if you have wasted many hours in its presence. Yet you feel no regret for it. The sand of the desert is cool, a dirty brown color, before the sun meets it. Then it turns copper. The gardens are fragrant and lush, the mountains and lakes pure and untouched. The people, though deep in their traditions, are generous and forgiving.”
“Why would you leave such a place? Even for a short time. It sounds like paradise.”
He pulled her to him, held her tightly. “Business can take you away from even the most wondrous of settings.”
Neither one of them spoke after that. They cuddled and stroked until sleep took them both. Mariah went willingly into her dreams. It was the first time in four years she’d slept next to a man.
It was the first time in Zayad’s life that he had slept beside a woman.
He had always appreciated being alone. There was a certain comfort in it, an understanding between himself and his lover that what had transpired between them in bed would not transcend his desire for solitude.
Zayad stood at the balcony window of their suite, watched the black sky being eaten up by the dusk that came an hour or so before dawn.
Last night he had consciously pulled Mariah into his arms and fallen asleep. He had wanted to wake up with her, wanted to make love to her again, wanted her open in both mind and spirit beside him. He wanted to rid her heart and mind of that bastard she had called her husband.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them hoping he would see gardens and beyond, miles and miles of sand. He missed Emand. He felt like a boy for feeling that way, but it could not be helped. After all, he was acting as a child—forgetting why he was here, what he was after, all for the sake of a beautiful and enticing woman.
He heard her get out of bed, heard the rustle of a sheet as she walked. She came to stand beside him and he glanced her way. The washed moonlight illuminated the thin white sheet wrapped around her from breast to foot. Her skin looked soft from sleep. Her blond hair fell about her shoulders. She didn’t say anything, just moved in front of him and splayed her fingers on his chest. He released a breath, and she let her fingers snake downward, over his belly, to the black hair below his navel.
He was hard before she fisted him.
Her eyes on his, she massaged him, stroked him, made him groan with need, then when he was ready to take her, she released him. Slowly she lowered to her knees, thrust his legs apart. His gut tight with anticipation, Zayad gripped the top of the doorway. Mariah cupped his buttocks with one hand and eased him into her mouth with the other.
Zayad nearly howled.
She let her fingers dig into his backside as she suckled him deep. Then she drew back and flicked the tip of him with her tongue. Zayad reached behind himself and took her hand, squeezed. He knew it was a sweet, sentimental gesture, but he could not help it. It was how he wanted her.
She pumped him slowly and deeply, and when he felt himself on the brink of release, he uttered a hoarse, “Mariah,” and eased her back and to her feet.
“We will find pleasure together, yes?” he said, his tone gruff.
Her lips wet, her eyes brilliant with desire, she pushed him back against the bed. Zayad grinned, for he knew she was casting aside her fears and taking control, taking what she wanted for the first time in a long time. But that smile quickly waned as she said, “Lift me up, put me on top of you.”
His mind near to exploding, Zayad forgot to think and did as she instructed. “Wrap your legs around me.”
“Yes.”
They were clumsy, awkward, but it didn’t matter. He was sheathed and inside of her in seconds, thrusting furiously as Mariah held on for the ride. Her head fell back and he devoured her neck, his teeth raking down, his tongue smoothing up.
And when he slipped his arm to her waist and she fell farther back, he took her nipple into his mouth, pushed her into release, then followed her, exploding into the predawn air.
“We have photographs, sir.”
Sitting at a small glass table on the balcony of his suite, Zayad took a swallow of orange juice, then switched his cell phone to his other ear. “Are they worthy, Fandal?”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
With a quick glance to the door, Zayad grinned. When Mariah returned, she would be very pleased indeed. On his insistence, she had gone down to the spa to have a manicure and pedicure before they left for home. She had fought him on it, she wanted to stay in bed, make love again. But Zayad had wanted to spoil her in more ways than sexual. If he had his way, they would fly to Los Angeles this very afternoon and he would take her to the finest shops in Beverly Hills—clothing, diamonds, anything she wished.
Many wom
en he had known, including Redet’s mother, would be vastly contented with such a plan, but something told him that Mariah would want nothing more than a lazy day in bed with him, holding him as he kissed her mouth, neck, breasts…. She had once had a man of means and had found it unfulfilling.
The thought made his chest tighten. He was growing contrite. He knew he must tell Mariah the truth—and soon.
“I would like to see one photograph,” he told Fandal.
“I can bring it to you, sir. As you know, we are just two floors down.”
He had almost forgotten. Almost. “No. Fax it to me immediately. Your best one.”
“Of course, sir.”
Zayad gave his aide the room’s fax number, then hung up. He went inside and waited by the phone. In under a minute a photograph ambled through the fax. Zayad had it in his hands in seconds and looked it over thoroughly.
He grinned. His men had done well, and had laid four separate pictures on one sheet of paper. The top two were of the man and woman kissing outside a motel room. One of the bottom ones, though perhaps a bit too voyeuristic, was of the couple making love inside the room. And the last one was of the couple having dinner in a restaurant, very close. Zayad did not want to know how his photographer had gotten these, nor did he care.
Suddenly the door to the suite burst open and Mariah entered.
“The manicurist had some bad Chinese and had to go—” Mariah paused, stared at the paper in Zayad’s hand. “What’s that? Work?”
He shook his head, held out the fax to her. “I told you I would help you. I have a man tailing your client’s ex-husband at all times. These are photographs of him and his lover.”
Brow furrowed, Mariah made a beeline for the fax. She studied it hard from every angle, then looked up. “They’re good—and you’re amazing for going to all the trouble of helping me. Thank you.”
“There is a but, yes?”
She nodded, dropped the fax on the table. “I’m afraid they won’t help my case.”
Eleven
“Why not?”
Mariah gave Zayad a bleak smile. “They only show that he’s messing around now, not that he did before. Sure, it’ll help, showing that he’s lied about seeing someone recently. But it’s his past infidelities—the affair he had while they were married—that’s going to bring around the justice, show him as the liar he is.”
“I see.”
He was clearly disappointed, and the sight filled Mariah with gratification as much as empathy. Never in her life had a man cared this much about her and her pursuits. Zayad Fandal was a great lover and he was an amazing friend. She was lucky to know someone like him.
Though a little cursed, as well.
She went to him, put her arms around him. “You’ve been wonderful. Thank you.”
“I have not found you your answers.”
“You’ve done the best you could.”
“No, but I will.”
“I’ll figure this out.”
“With my further assistance.”
She looked up at him, melted in the heat of his dark gaze. “You’ve done too much already—”
“I will see this through, Mariah.”
“Why is it so important to you?”
“Because it is important to you.”
Her heart squeezed just then, and she let her head fall against his chest. He felt so solid, so strong, his heart beating against her cheek. He made her feel like a woman, feminine and cared for, and she couldn’t deny it any longer—she was in love with him.
Maybe these feelings in such a short time were crazy and stupid, but she didn’t care. She felt alive. Bitterness had gotten her through the pain, but now it was stopping her from not only loving, but living.
A thought snaked into her brain. A thought built on hope. If Zayad had fallen in love with her, too, or was on his way, would he stay?
“There is another reason I wish to help you.”
His words vibrated against her cheek, their content sending spirals of nerves through her belly. Was he about to tell her how he felt? What he wanted? Or was this an admission of something outside of them?
“I also do this for Redet.”
Her belly clenched. “Your son.” Of course. Of course he couldn’t stay. He had a child in his country. A child he loved above all others. And if he even contemplated leaving his son to be with her, he’d be no better than the jerks she fought against in court.
Irony sucked.
There was no way this could work, she realized, her heart plummeting into her shoes. Her life was here, and his life was in Emand.
Zayad stroked her hair. “This man you battle, this man who cheats and lies on the woman he is bound to, does not deserve his child.”
Anger and disgust filled his tone. Two emotions Mariah felt, as well. But she detected more than anger. There was a thread of disappointment, maybe even fear, in his voice. She didn’t know his history, what he and his family had been through. She couldn’t help but wonder if it played a part in those hidden threads of emotion. Or if what she was hearing was just his feelings regarding Redet and his mother.
She tilted her head, stared up at him. So handsome, so chiseled—such the look of the warrior about him. He made her weak with desire, yet his conviction and spirit made her admire him so much.
“Kiss me?” she said.
Fire lit his eyes, and he bent and covered her mouth with his own. All thought of anything but love evaporated into the gentle morning breeze floating in from the suite’s French doors.
There were ten messages on the answering machine when they got home at noon, and Mariah knew she was in big trouble. All but three were from Jane.
There were several “This actress is making me insane and I need to vent,” a few “Where the hell are you?” and one “Call me back or I swear I’m going to call the police.”
After changing her clothes and telling Zayad she’d see him later, Mariah picked up the phone. She paused before dialing, a little shocked at herself. She hadn’t told Jane where she was going and what she was doing. She’d completely forgotten her soul sister, her mind totally focused on Zayad. After allowing a man to rule her thoughts and actions for many wasted years, she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that.
“I could kill you right now,” Jane barked, sounding far more relieved than angry.
Opting for a lighter mood, Mariah teased, “If only you weren’t a hundred miles a way.”
“Right.” She took a breath. “So, how’s the ankle?”
“Much better,” Mariah said. “Listen, sis, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was going. It was just so spur-of-the-moment, ya know?”
“No, because you haven’t done anything spur-of-the-moment in I don’t know how long. Especially with a guy.”
“This guy,” she almost sighed, “as difficult as it is for me to admit, makes me forget my name, my responsibilities, my—”
“Mind?” Jane asked, her mild irritation morphing into an affectionate chuckle.
“Yes, actually.”
“I can’t believe you’ve fallen for our neighbor.” Jane snorted. “It’s so Peyton Place.”
“He’s not going to be our neighbor for very much longer.”
“What do you mean? Where’s he going?”
“Back to his country.” The words felt like sandpaper on her tongue.
“What? He’s leaving you after all this.”
Mariah took a breath. For the four years that she and Jane had been roommates, she’d always thought that Jane was the one who had done the influencing—her great food, her positive attitude. Some of that stuff had actually rubbed off on Mariah—or the hope that it would have rubbed off, especially the cooking part. But the truth was, Mariah and her negative, supposedly realistic, views on life and love had rubbed off on Jane, and now she was spouting that fear-based crud back at Mariah.
Irony really did suck.
Mariah didn’t want to be the poster girl for sad women anymore.
She’d tasted love again, and even though it might not last, it was spicy and addicting and she wanted more, no matter what the consequences.
“Jane, the thing is, he has a son. He can’t stay here because he wants to be close to him. You know how I feel about that.”
Silence ate up a moment or two. “Sure. Jeez, of course I do. What about going with him?”
“He’s never mentioned it, and I’m not going there.”
“Why not?”
“I won’t push him. That’ll only make me look desperate and make him feel cornered.”
“But maybe he needs—” Jane never finished her sentence as a shrill shout from the other end of the phone had her cursing.
“I gotta go, M,” Jane said. “Cameron Reynolds calls. I’ll see you in a couple of days, ’kay?”
“’Kay.”
“And don’t do anything you’ll regret.” She laughed, then stopped. “Wait. What am I saying? Go for it. Hang from the chandeliers, order up some whipped cream and kinky toys. You of all people deserve it.”
Mariah was still laughing as she hung up. She wasn’t into kinky, but a few more nights like last night would be fabulous.
She walked over to the window and looked out over the backyard to the little house where her man of the moment was working out.
When they had been in the suite, it had been all romance all the time. But now they were home. Would things be different? Awkward? After all, he wasn’t caring for her anymore—the invalid Mariah, that is. No, now they were lovers, friends, sharing each other.
She pushed away from the window and went to her computer, switched it on. When emotions ran high, she looked to her work for focus and perspective. Sure, she had a love affair going on, but her client was counting on her for help.
She had to win this case. And though the pictures Zayad’s friend had taken might not help her win it, perhaps there was something in there that might help or get her thinking.
She snatched up the fax Zayad had tossed on the counter next to her mail, and settled into a chair to study it.
