This was how she would protect what mattered most: her heart.
* * *
Manny sensed Amal approaching him from behind. He didn’t know how, exactly, only that the atmosphere had changed around him and he was compelled to turn and face her.
Leaning his back against the balcony railing, he followed her every move as she neared him.
She flicked her eyes down to where his hands grasped the railing. She thinned her lips. “Careful,” she warned, her face contorting with concern.
“Nothing wrong with living a little dangerously,” he said, but he heeded her cautionary look and pushed off from the railing.
He didn’t have a death wish. He was just a little floored at the sight of her. She looked radiant—stunning in a floor-length dress, the colorful vertical stripes of the skirt pairing well with the blouson bodice. She had on a burnt orange cardigan and a pale pink headscarf. She wore makeup, but she’d kept the colors soft and muted. A perfect palette for her outfit.
He couldn’t help wanting the extra support of the balcony railing.
Mansur swallowed with great difficulty, his mouth drying and his heart racing. But more troubling than his reaction was how he’d kept time in her absence. Half an hour she’d been gone, and he’d noted every minute—to his utter distress. This obsession with her was growing to be a dilemma.
If he wasn’t careful he might do something ridiculous.
Like fall in love with her again.
He scowled at the possibility, even as his heart juddered faster in response. The last time his body hadn’t complied with his common sense he’d proposed to her. Seeing how that had turned out, he wasn’t eager to repeat his past mistake of being led astray by his powerful attraction to her.
“I noticed that lunch has arrived,” she said, gesturing to the open balcony doors. She twisted her lips and frowned. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long for me.”
“It just arrived.”
The white lie rolled off his tongue. The truth being that their lunch had been catered shortly after she’d left him. One thing the hotel prided itself on, and what its affluent patrons paid for, was express and high-quality service. And they’d delivered, so he was content. Better yet, they’d left their lunch in several warming trays.
Amal led the way indoors. “It’s a lot,” she commented, her eyes bugging at the numerous plates atop the long dining table. Pulling out a chair for herself, she whipped her head toward him when he grabbed the seat beside her.
Surely, she hadn’t believed he’d seat himself on the opposite end?
She goggled at him and he stared back at her. It didn’t take too long for her to shy away from his direct gaze. She ducked her head and grabbed at a pitcher of iced water. Filling her glass, she hesitated when he held his glass to her. She poured and snuck a glance at him from under her thick black lashes. Her eyes were even more alluring when they were lined with kohl.
He caught himself gawking, but managed to cover his slip-up by gulping at his glass. A good thing, too, because the iced water countered the sparking heat building up in his blood.
“What exactly did you inherit from your father?” Amal asked.
“Farming land,” he replied, aware of how tight his voice had become. He sipped at his water, needing a pause to recollect his cool composure. “Acres of it. All fertile, too, and mostly untouched.”
It would fetch millions with the right buyer, but he hadn’t anticipated the roadblock he faced in claiming the land.
He gritted his teeth and spoke carefully, to avoid revealing the anger simmering below the surface. “There’s a clause I have to fulfill before the deed to the land can be signed over to me.”
A clause that was quickly blooming to be a thorn in his side.
Amal had her mouth full, but covered it to ask, “What’s the clause asking from you?”
Her intrigue was natural. Anyone would’ve asked the same question. Yet hearing it from her made his whole body tighten with the stirrings of panic. He recognized the sharp teeth of anxiousness gnawing away at his insides, pulping him. Skirting the worst of it, he forced a calm he didn’t feel and decided to answer her—because there wasn’t a way around it anymore, and it wasn’t as though he was sharing anything he should fear...sharing parts of himself as he once had with her. This was platonic. Strictly so. A way to pass the time while they enjoyed another meal together.
“The clause,” he began, enunciating carefully around his swell of nerves, “requires me to visit some family here in Addis. My father’s second family.”
Amal lowered her hands over her plate, the fingertips clutching a piece of naan over some garlic hummus slackening and the bread plopping onto her plate forgotten. She blinked several times, opened her mouth, snapped it shut, and then just stared like he’d sprouted an extra head.
So much for keeping it platonic. It was getting personal—and fast.
Because you’re making it personal.
He grudgingly admitted that he was. But it wasn’t news to her. Not really. She’d known about his father’s other family before amnesia had struck and wiped her adult memories—or so she’d told him.
He narrowed his eyes at the lurking doubt. Doubt he snuffed out quickly, because it wouldn’t be like Amal to trick him. She’d always been forthcoming, and he sensed that part of her hadn’t been affected by the amnesia. If she said she didn’t remember, then she didn’t remember.
“I didn’t know,” she said, her tone breathy with shock.
Acknowledging her genuine surprise, Manny replied, “My mother never spoke of it. Your grandmother knew. She was one of the few people who did.”
He paused, wondering if he should tell her everything or keep the past fixed firmly in the dark.
You have nothing to hide; just tell her.
It was true. He didn’t want her rejection making decisions for him. What better way to prove that he’d moved past his love for her than by sharing how they’d come to love each other?
“You knew, too,” he said. “I told you a couple of years back.”
“You came to Hargeisa?” She frowned, her brow wrinkling with consternation. “I don’t remember.”
“No, I didn’t come home until my father passed.”
Back then he hadn’t had time to visit over the summers between school years. All the money he’d saved from working part-time had gone into his livelihood. The full-ride college scholarship hadn’t covered all his living costs, and plane tickets hadn’t been cheap.
“We used to speak on the phone. And sometimes, when our timing was right, we’d video-chat.”
Amal’s face was transformed, her smile changing the gloomy cloud of unease hanging over her. “We did?” she breathed.
Manny tensed his muscles, felt his body locking into its usual defensive mode. Her small but sunny smile wouldn’t undo him. Not that he didn’t enjoy the memory of their conversations...
What he hadn’t told her was that some days he hadn’t been able to bear going without hearing her voice. That if he hadn’t been obliged to work he would have given anything to talk to her for a little longer. Many times his need for Amal had nearly driven him to drop his life in the States and return to the life he’d once had in Hargeisa. It would have been simpler, true. But he wouldn’t care so long as he could be close to Amal.
But that’s changed. You’ve changed, he reminded himself.
“I don’t remember that either,” she said, her smile vanishing as her lips trembled. The gloom came thundering back, enveloping her. She looked the portrait of sadness. “I—I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. It wasn’t like you wanted to forget.”
Manny pushed his plate away. He’d barely touched anything on it. The fava bean dish, so similar to Somali ful, looked unappetizing suddenly, and he knew his diminished appetite had more to do with his
sour mood than the quality of the meal. Full of misery, he couldn’t stomach anything else.
Noticing Amal hadn’t made progress in her meal either roused his sympathy for her. They’d both be eating if he hadn’t gone into the territory of their past. He’d ruined their lunch.
He’d promised his mother he’d look out for Amal, and he was doing a shabby job of it.
“I should be the one asking for forgiveness,” he said. “I shouldn’t have brought up my troubles.”
The inheritance and the disruptive clause requiring Manny to meet with his father’s second wife and children was his problem—not Amal’s.
She shook her head sharply, right after he spoke. “I’m glad you told me,” she said, her face filled with more concern. “What are you going to do? About the clause.”
“If I want the land, I’ll have to meet them.”
“Will you?” she asked.
He shrugged, feeling no better after it. “I haven’t decided,” he confessed, his voice gruff with indecision. And, anyways, there was one more roadblock... “If I choose to meet my half-siblings and stepmother, I’ll have to hire a private investigator first.”
“You don’t know where they live?”
Amal had connected the dots on her own. Her eyes doubling in size told him enough about how she felt. She was shocked that he didn’t know where they resided. Of course she would be! Amal cared for her family, and even though it was down to only her two brothers and her father, she likely couldn’t imagine not knowing their whereabouts. For her, the idea of family being strangers was perturbing.
He narrowed his eyes, seeing what he already knew written across her face. “I’ve never met them.”
He’d told her once before, but saying it a second time was far harder. When he’d shared his family secret with her the first time it had been after they’d re-established their friendship. By that point they’d spoken often and, on his part, he’d felt the beginnings of love for her.
Sharing the pain of coming second to his father had felt natural. He had known Amal wouldn’t judge him. And she hadn’t—even when she’d attempted to get him to reach out to his father and mend the broken father-son bond. She had never forced his hand. Never pushed her unwavering value of family onto him. With her, he had trusted that his thoughts and heart were safe.
At least he had thought she understood.
He set his jaw, mulling over her later rejection, tripping on the flaring hurt it still inflamed in him. She hadn’t been able to accept his indifference toward his father’s death. And he hadn’t been willing to settle on ending his grudge without the promise of her love.
None of that mattered now. He wouldn’t commit the same mistake again. He couldn’t chance his sanity a second time.
“A private investigator would help me track them down.”
Manny pushed himself up to stand, compelled to change position. He couldn’t sit there under the microscope of her discerning gaze. Amal had a knack of bringing to light the secrets in him. And he didn’t want to regret telling her something he wasn’t prepared to share.
“I’ll hire an investigative firm. Then it’ll be a matter of what I do when they’re found. I’m not sure I want to meet them—especially after all this time. We’ve lived separate lives.” And why ruin the unspoken arrangement they had? “I’ll have to consider my choice very carefully,” he said.
Amal swiped her fingertips over a napkin and shifted in her seat to fully face him. “Does your mother know?”
“She doesn’t,” he answered, adding, “And I’d prefer you didn’t tell her.”
“I won’t,” she promised.
He nodded. “I appreciate your discretion.” Looking at the sumptuous feast before them, he said, “It’s safe to say I wasn’t as hungry as I thought I was. I’ll head out and leave you to finish your lunch.”
Amal parted her lips, looking for all the world like she had something to say to him, but then she closed her luscious mouth and bobbed her head.
With her silent permission, Manny strode away from her. He didn’t stop to look back, just focused on reaching his suite next door and being far away from Amal’s catastrophic influence on his emotions.
CHAPTER FIVE
“YOU LOOK READY to run.”
Manny made the observation the next day, after watching Amal discreetly. She had been distant at breakfast...aloof during the car ride to the hospital. Now she looked as washed-out as the walls in the large private room they’d been immediately escorted to once he had given her name. Ashen with fear of the unknown and unexpected.
He knew it because he’d seen himself appear just as leery before. Right after she’d rejected his proposal. He hadn’t been able to trust anyone. The distrust had extended to all his choices. For weeks he’d questioned the simplest decisions that had once been easy. Working out of his home had been his only option until he’d been able to look at himself without wanting to punch out a mirror.
He still didn’t know what angered him most: the fact that he had acted so pathetically following Amal’s rejection, or that he’d allowed himself to love so fiercely at all. Because he had loved her. So very much. Enough to go against his characteristic behavior and buy a crazy expensive diamond that had been nowhere near her worth to him.
She’d done that to him.
Only her.
Now, seeing her close her eyes, breathe shallowly and generally appear distressed, galvanized him into action. He switched seats, sealing the space between them. Nudging her with his leg rewarded him with her eyes opening and her attention falling on him. She even gasped lightly, taken aback. Clearly she hadn’t expected him to make direct contact, to be as near to her as he was now.
“Did you hear me?” he asked, surprising himself as he pushed his face closer to hers. “Take deeper, fuller breaths. It’ll help.”
She did as he advised. Soon her breathing had evened out and a rosiness had returned to her complexion. If he could get her to maintain this improvement when the doctor arrived they’d be solid.
“Remember to ask questions,” he said.
Her thigh was close enough for him to imagine her body’s sweet warmth. His arms weighed heavily with the desire to hold her. Comfort her with contact. Very personal contact. The kind of contact he couldn’t allow himself to indulge in respectfully.
Clearing his throat lightly, he suggested, “Squeeze any information you believe to be helpful from this opportunity. Grasp it for what it could be worth.”
“I don’t think the doctor will be telling me anything new.”
“Then you’ll walk away with a peace of mind and zero regrets.”
She gifted him a small smile. “I guess I have no choice but to see it through...”
The pitch of her voice at the end was a last-ditch effort to leave the five-hundred-dollars-a-night hospital room before the doctor joined them. But Manny saw it—he saw her—and acknowledged her unspoken fear of disappointment.
“You always have choices, Amal.” Her name rolled off his tongue, gruff with his fascination for her. “If you want to leave, I won’t stop you.”
“Even if this visit might be good for me?”
He shoved his nerves down with a forced swallow. “Yes,” he said at last, “because having a choice is your fundamental right. If I didn’t give you that—if you felt like you’d been brought here and held against your own will—you’d never forgive me for it. Perhaps even resent me for it.”
“I wouldn’t...” she demurred.
“You would.”
He held firm to that conviction, remembering how, given the choice to be with him, she’d spurned his love instead. Somewhere, that Amal was locked away in the woman before him. For all he knew she was prowling beneath the surface of amnesia, lurking ever closer and ready to strike him at his weakest and most unsuspecting moment.
O
ne day I’ll let my guard down...
And that was the possibility that froze his muscles and cooled the sizzling desire in him to a manageable, albeit uncomfortable state. He had to be careful. One slip and he’d be kissing goodbye to what he viewed her amnesia as: a get-out-of-jail-free card. To be more specific, a chance to dodge the awkward debrief they should have had after his marriage proposal and her rejection.
It had been like this yesterday, too. Right after he’d enlightened her about his father’s second family. He’d been edgy around her. Nervous that she’d recall her rejection of him and push him away again. Make him feel he wasn’t worthy of her. Not that he felt he was, but he’d hoped he wasn’t a lost cause to her either.
In a twisted way, he found himself aligning Amal with his father. Like his father, she seemed to have judged him as beneath her. He’d come second in affection to his father and, similarly, Amal didn’t see him as worth her love. She hadn’t desired to bind herself to him. And yet, despite the fierce bitterness in him, he couldn’t bring himself to hate her. Not the way he hated his father.
Amal shifting beside him planted him in the present once more.
“I believe you’d talk to me and successfully convince me to stay. Just like you talked me into coming to Addis Ababa,” she said.
Amal’s oud perfume grew stronger when she leaned into him. The sweet balsamic notes of her choice of fragrance curled under his nose. She was close enough for him to count the few and nearly imperceptible brown freckles sprinkling her cheeks.
She touched his forearm and the muscles under her lightly pressing fingertips bunched and flexed. Manny reacted defensively, isolating the parts of him that were most affected and shutting them down as best he could. In short, he transformed himself into a living statue. He breathed, but he felt as minimally as possible, and he fought back against the sensual attack.
She licked her lips, whether consciously or not he didn’t know, but he couldn’t stop ogling her slickly glossed mouth. Her dusky pink lips screamed sweet innocence to him as much as they made him want to lean in and satisfy his darkly obsessive pining.
Harlequin Romance September 2021 Box Set Page 54
