“Of course—but that’s a given.”
At first, she truly believed he would leave it there. But then Mansur cleared his throat and continued.
“Pittsburgh is a good city. I don’t explore it as much as I should, but when I manage to get out of my office I find there’s never a lack of something to do.”
Amal gripped her armrests as the plane shuddered against some turbulence. Gritting her teeth, she implored, “Describe it to me, this city of yours.”
Again, she’d expected him to stonewall her. But he shocked her with his reply.
“Skyscrapers that appear to touch the heavens on the streets of Downtown. Bridges and rivers as far as the eye can see. It’s a historic and diverse city full of music, art, sports and soul. And the food...” he said with a small but warm smile. “You’d have to taste it yourself, but I’d say it can’t be beat.”
Amal closed her eyes as the plane swayed violently again. She pictured his city instead, hoping she wouldn’t upchuck the tasty breakfast as her stomach swooped with her rising fear. She wouldn’t have stepped on this jet if she had known how scary it was to be tens of thousands of feet above ground. They were helpless against the turbulent winds and pressure up here.
“Are you all right?” Mansur’s silkily deep voice asked.
“Just a little queasy,” she confessed. It was her first time flying. She hoped he’d cut her some slack if she did wind up vomiting in his ritzy plane.
“Would you like a sick bag?” he asked, concern roughening the timbre of his voice.
“Maybe that’d be a good idea.”
And while he had someone fetch it for her he calmly told her more about his beloved American home. “Moving to Pittsburgh was difficult at first. I’d grown used to studying and living in Boston. But I don’t regret the move now that I’ve called it my home city for nearly a decade.”
“Do you have many friends?” she asked, once a flight attendant had tapped her arm and delivered the sick bag. She opened her eyes and found Mansur studying her.
“Those sacrifices we spoke of...well, I’ve lost some friends along the way.”
His candor humbled her. Very softly, she said, “I was surprised when not many people visited me in the hospital. I’ve learned that not all my friends cared enough to check on me.”
She would’ve hung her head, embarrassed, if Mansur hadn’t spoken up again.
“They weren’t your friends if they weren’t by your side.”
“No, I suppose they weren’t,” she agreed, smiling when he nodded.
He picked up his tablet and began working again as they lapsed into a natural quietness. After some time, he glanced up and announced, “We should be landing soon.”
Amal followed his cue and buckled her seatbelt, renewing her taut grip on the armrests of her chair.
Not too long after, the pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom to inform them of their descent.
Amal practically swallowed her tongue as she felt the plane dip. Lower, lower. Down, down, and down.
They were descending at a pace she began to feel. Soon they’d be on the ground in Addis Ababa. And, as much as this last leg of the flight rattled her, it wasn’t as unnerving as wondering what the Ethiopian capital held in store for her and Mansur.
What else might she learn about the temptingly handsome tycoon who had invited her on this adventure?
That last thought challenged her most of all.
CHAPTER FOUR
“SO, THIS IS ADDIS...” Amal whispered the words to herself.
Alone in the cavernous hotel suite, and astonished at the luxury all around her, she walked through double doors out to the balcony. She soaked in the fresh air, not knowing she’d needed it until that moment. The city noise was nowhere as shatteringly loud when she looked down from her eighteenth-floor view.
She grasped the cool balcony railing, a sudden spell of lightheadedness rocking her. She’d really done it—traveled for the first time, braved flying in Mansur’s jet—and it had been worth testing the boundaries of her strength and the limitations of her fear.
Amal turned her face up and slightly angled it toward an easterly wind. The sweet kiss of cool air was a pleasant change from the heat of day.
The sweltering near-summer temperature in Addis Ababa was similar to that of downtown Hargeisa—where her architectural firm was located and where the beige grainy sands were all she could taste in her mouth some days, so she experienced a smidgen of the terrible drought that sometimes struck.
A shortage of rainfall there decimated smaller and poorer dwellings. And everyone suffered the disaster of extreme heat and crop destruction—from farmers to merchants, beggars to businessmen, some worse than others. It was a time when hospitalization increased. And she’d looked on helplessly, dreaming of her hospital, wondering if its completion and opening would overturn many unnecessary sicknesses and deaths.
Why did she have to hit her head? She’d had the project approved by the corrupt local government at last, but instead of withstanding their continued disapproval of the hospital’s construction she’d bared her throat and they had torn at her jugular. No, at her very heart!
Her amnesia had ruined everything.
Some days she didn’t know how she could ever make peace with her ravaged memory. Those days were beginning to become more and more a staple of her life.
“Don’t cry,” she muttered, feeling a familiar heat lashing at her eyes and the tears falling anyways.
She clung to the guilt of having let down the countless faceless patients who would have benefited from her forgotten hospital. And then she envisioned Mansur, his words to her resounding in her head.
“Do it for your hospital. For Hargeisa, even. For the tens of thousands—no, hundreds of thousands of patients who might be saved.”
Thinking of him was enough to make her wipe at her wet cheeks and blink back any remaining tears. She knew without a doubting bone in her body that if he’d been in her shoes right then, he wouldn’t bother with crying. Mansur possessed the traits she desired for herself. Stout confidence. A healthy ego. Visionary results.
She knew all this from observing him in the flesh. And also because she’d scoured the details of him in the one place accessible to her and most of the world: the Internet. The Wi-Fi at the hotel had hooked her phone up to the online sleuthing she’d wanted to do all along.
He’d told her of Pittsburgh on the plane, and he had even hinted at losing some friends to his career success, but Amal yearned to learn more about him. And she shied away from asking him for fear that he’d see her as being nosy.
So she had settled for the Internet, but her search had proved to be fruitless. His professional accomplishments were all she’d been able to find. Barely any mention of his personal life. Oh, there was the occasional shot of him on a charity gala red carpet, or at the podium of some business symposium. But no hint of any slips and cracks in his professional mien. And no suggestion of a woman in his life.
In the end, her efforts to sleuth were stymied by Mansur’s lack of a virtual footprint.
A doorbell chiming indoors placed her firmly in the present. She followed the musical chime to the entrance and opened the door.
Mansur pushed away from leaning on the doorframe. His hair was wet, darker from his shower. Gone was his suit. He wore black slacks and a fitted white T-shirt. His red sneakers were the brightest thing on him.
“May I come in?” he asked, his voice rumbling but polite.
She stepped aside, gesturing wordlessly for his entry. He passed her and led the way to the living area. Claiming a leather armchair with an ornate wood frame, he crossed his ankles and drummed his fingers atop the armrests. There was a lurking frustration in his gaze.
He smothered it as he blinked and said, “I’m sorry I left you alone for as long as I did.”
“It’s fine. You had business to oversee,” she replied.
And he had, by the sounds of it when he’d answered the call that had ultimately pulled him away. He had seen her to her suite and gone next door to his. Knowing the challenges of running and managing a company, she understood why he’d disappeared for a couple hours.
“I hope it wasn’t anything too urgent.”
He stilled his fingers, frowning. “Unfortunately, it was.”
She sat across from him, realizing that it was awkward standing beside the sofa that faced his armchair. It sounded like he had something to say and being seated for it would be nice, especially as her curiosity had weakened her knees.
Softly, she wondered, “Oh? What happened?”
Amal believed she’d nailed a casual tone, but his arched brows knocked her confidence.
“My lawyers discovered a hiccup in my father’s will,” he reported, “and an unforeseen one. I’d hoped I would be lucky and be done quickly here, but my luck’s soured. I’ll be staying on longer.”
“For how long?” she asked.
“I can’t be certain, but longer than I planned for.”
She clasped her hands in her lap, forcing a stillness she didn’t feel into her overly strung body. “It makes you unhappy to stay longer?”
“Yes, it does. I hadn’t scheduled for it. So I’ll have to do some adjusting. That takes time and sometimes—if I’m truly unlucky—it costs money, too.” He lifted a hand and curled his fist under his chin, his elbow perched on the armrest. Cocking his head, he studied her quietly and then asked, “Is the room to your liking?”
She couldn’t complain, if that was what he was wondering. “It’s exquisite. Excessive, but luxurious.” She took a break from looking at him to survey their surrounds. “I’d be lying if I said I was feeling at home. I feel like I shouldn’t be here.”
She felt like an intruder. This glamorous world wasn’t hers, but Mansur’s. Even dressed down, he appeared comfortable with the high-end amenities and furnishings in her suite. Simply put, she didn’t belong.
But that wasn’t what he’d asked. So she continued, “I like it. It’s perfect.”
“But you’re uncomfortable?” he remarked, his brow curving into a brooding frown.
“Not uncomfortable,” she lied.
“We could change hotels.”
His suggestion snatched at her breath. She had to remind herself to breathe when her chest ached and her lungs cried out. She was certain he didn’t care about her beyond their connection through his mother, so she couldn’t make sense of why he was going out of his way to please her.
Maybe he wants to look good for Mama Halima.
She didn’t know what to think, though. Because she didn’t know him. And it felt unfair to judge him prematurely.
“No, I like it here just fine,” she said, realizing he was waiting on her response.
“Good. I made lunch reservations for us at the hotel’s restaurant, but I hadn’t anticipated business interrupting.”
No lunch together, then.
“That’s fine,” she murmured. The kitchen in her suite was stocked with everything she could possibly want. She wouldn’t starve, if that was what he was worried about.
“Instead, I was hoping we could dine here, in your suite.” He pushed his chin off his closed fist, moved his hands back to grip the armrests of his chair. “If that’s all right with you?”
Hearing that he wanted to spend time with her was shocking. She hadn’t imagined he’d stick around with her once they arrived in Addis Ababa. In fact, a part of her had been prepared for him to say as much now. Not tell her that he hoped still to lunch with her despite the change of venue. He looked serious, though. And he was awaiting her reply.
She gulped, her throat rippling. “All right.”
“Good. I’ll order now, then.”
Without a backward glance he walked away from her with his phone pressed to his ear, and her eyes tracked his back as he took the call out on the balcony. His deep, steady voice drifted to where she sat.
She buzzed with giddy energy when he returned, sitting up straighter and widening her eyes as his stare locked onto her. Her belly cramped in a pleasant way when he offered her a small smile.
“I just realized that I ordered for us without asking if you’d like something specifically,” he rumbled, adding, “I hope that’s okay?”
“I trust you,” she said, face flushed.
He stared quietly at her, and then he dipped his chin, his smile gone and his face impassive. “I hope your trust isn’t misplaced.”
She didn’t know what to make of that.
Taking his seat once more, Mansur hooked his ankle over his knee and leaned into the high-back armchair. There was an intent gleam in his eyes and she felt sweat forming along her brow under her headscarf. She swore her scar from the worksite accident sparked at the pressure of his stare.
“What is it?” she croaked softly. Worry had slurped the warmth from her belly.
“About going to the hospital...” he said, and his words sank her spirits. “I was wondering how you’d like to proceed. You did, after all, come here for a second opinion. I wouldn’t want my schedule to throw your plans.”
“Throw?” she echoed.
“Disrupt,” he amended. His jaw set more firmly, he continued, “I’ll be tied up after lunch. But I was going to suggest you confirm an appointment with the surgeon.”
“Surgeon?” That would be the second time she’d parroted him in the span of a minute, if not less. Flushing from embarrassment, she stammered, “I—I don’t understand. What surgeon?”
She dug crescents into her palms with her nails. It was just all too much. Mansur was talking a mile a minute, it felt like, and she couldn’t keep up. And she hadn’t ever thought they’d be discussing her medical plans for the amnesia—and so frankly.
“I have a connection with one of the premier hospitals in Addis. The neurotrauma surgeon there, awaiting your approval for a consult, is at the top of her game. She’s renowned in her field.” He blinked languidly, dropping his ankle from his knee and shrugging. “But if you feel like I’ve overstepped by contacting the doctor, stop me at any time.”
He couldn’t hide the hard shift of his jaw under his short beard. Yet he kept his emotion from leaking onto his face. With no tells to direct her, Amal had to rely on him once again. Because the offer of a consultation with a surgeon whom Mansur had pulled strings to tie down couldn’t be passed up.
But before she accepted, there was one thing she needed to know. “When did you call the hospital?”
“Not too long ago,” he answered, no hesitation in his tone.
“Before you were speaking to your lawyers?”
“After. I had time, and I wanted to ensure that at least one of us finishes what we came to accomplish in Addis Ababa.” He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees now, his dark eyes probing her. “If you’re not comfortable accepting the offer, please know you won’t be hurting my feelings. You must do what’s best for you, Amal.”
She could’ve sighed with pleasure at the way his resonant voice spoke her name. It was hard to predict what she’d feel next with Mansur. And she’d be lying if she claimed she wasn’t daunted by his mastery of her emotions.
She couldn’t lean on him forever, though. Despite what he’d told her about being set back in his inheritance, eventually he’d head home to America. He would be gone, and she’d be alone again. She could only fully rely on herself. Not that it didn’t warm her heart that he’d gone out of his way to help her. She just had to be careful.
With that last thought in mind, she steeled her spine and opened her mouth. “No, I’m happy that you did. I’d like to accept.”
He held his phone out to her, saying, “I have the hospital programmed as nine. They’ll wan
t your explicit approval to book you in for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” she squeaked in surprise.
“It’s either that or a few months down the road. The doctor’s schedule is filled well in advance.” He shrugged again, his piercing eyes slicing through her. “It’s your choice, ultimately.”
She bit her lip, staring down at his phone, her hand crushing it in a death grip. Finally, she sighed and tapped nine. She didn’t wait long on the line before Reception answered and she confirmed her appointment. Swiping to cancel the call, Amal glanced up to find his eyes on her. She’d felt them appraising her the whole while.
Once more, a skitter of pleasure skated up her spine. She resisted trembling in front of him, even as her body flushed under her layers of clothing. Suddenly the controlled temperature which had been perfect in the suite felt stiflingly hot. She adjusted her headscarf and watched his eyes tracking her every movement. Hawkish was his gaze, and she had the distinct sense that he knew exactly why she was becoming hot and bothered.
He was attractive. And she was letting her emotions get tangled up in her appreciation of his good looks.
Silly, she chided.
Passing his phone to him, and ignoring how his fingers brushed along hers, Amal said, “I should get freshened up before lunch.”
She excused herself, and Mansur let her leave without a word on his part. She sagged against the closed door of the bathroom, flattening a hand to her chest. Her thundering heart felt as though it would leap out of her chest and into her awaiting palm.
“Stop it,” she whispered to herself.
There was no point in working herself into a feverish state over someone who would never see her in the same light. The chances of Mansur feeling the same desire was slim to nil. She had to keep her head on her shoulders. Fantasizing about him would only muddle her feelings when he departed for America. And that was an eventuality she couldn’t overlook.
Mansur’s life wasn’t in Somaliland anymore. He belonged elsewhere, and she was a guest in his world for but a moment. She needed to accept that, swallow the bitter pill that it was, and move on.
Harlequin Romance September 2021 Box Set Page 53
