She was crushed by his rationale. Of course, he was speaking and acting from a place of reason. And, as scary as the thought of taking the helicopter was, she had to be reasonable. In a car, their rescuer would have to drive three hours out of Addis Ababa and another three back, and by then it would be plenty dark. This way they’d be back at their hotel before the sun switched hemispheres.
“Coming?” Mansur held out a hand to her after he’d slid off the car hood.
Amal grasped it, and with his assistance soon had her feet on ground. But he didn’t release her readily, walking hand in hand with her to greet their unorthodox rescuer.
He’s a millionaire! I guess he’s not above displays of wealth and power.
Amal discovered she wasn’t upset by the outcome. And her fear didn’t feel so sharp as they neared the chopper. She looked down to their connected hands as Mansur took the lead, and realized it was because she had him with her. He wouldn’t hurt her. It didn’t matter that she didn’t fully remember him, or that he wasn’t committed to calling her a friend. Not even her worry that his mother was controlling his strings could blind her to the fact that she knew he would see to her safety.
It wasn’t like Mama Halima had told him to take Amal’s hand.
He was doing this all on his own whim.
Smiling, she glanced up to the helicopter just as the door opened and a sharply suited man launched himself out.
Amal couldn’t help but lean into Mansur, squeezing his hand and catching his attention. He slowed, and then leaned down to hear her accusation. “Is that your friend?” she asked.
He smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “That’s him.”
She gawped, recalling her jealousy and how it had been focused on a fictitious woman she’d believed to be his friend. Not a woman after all. She wondered why he hadn’t corrected her—and then she realized he’d been enjoying himself at her expense.
“Y-You didn’t correct me,” she stammered.
“I guess I didn’t.”
Swatting his arm when he laughed, she grumbled with heated cheeks, “You should have told me.”
“I’m sorry.” He squeezed her hand back. “Forgive me?”
Before she had the chance to reply, having already forgiven him, Amal noticed that they had been joined by their valiant rescuer—who was most definitely not a woman. The man hurried to them, a headset firmly on his head and his hands holding two extra pairs.
Following Mansur’s lead, she accepted a headset and adjusted it over her ears, putting the microphone near to her mouth. She jumped when the stranger’s voice came booming through the headphones, with very little background interference.
“I didn’t think I’d ever need to save you, Manny.”
His brusque laugh cracked like thunder through her headset.
“And deprive myself of the chance to see you pilot that thing? Never.”
Mansur clasped the other man’s hand. They drew in for a hug, clapped each other on the back and pulled apart, leaving nothing but her introduction.
“Amal,” Mansur said, his voice caressing her name, and his touch landing on the small of her back, unwinding tendrils of heat through her blood, “meet my friend Hakeem Ahmet, owner of the hotel we’re staying at. We worked together when my firm built it.”
That was news! Amal hadn’t known he’d had a hand in building their hotel. Now she was wondering if they’d ever spoken of that over the phone, and if she’d forgotten. Stifling the urge to question him, she smiled at Hakeem and accepted the hand he offered her.
Once the introductions were complete, Hakeem jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the helicopter. “Ready to hit the skies?”
“Ready?” Mansur asked her, his voice humming through her ears and stroking secret parts of her—her heart included.
She couldn’t find her voice, so she bobbed her head more energetically than she’d ever believed she would, considering how deathly afraid she was of riding in a helicopter.
But then Mansur pulled her close and said, “I got you.”
She looked long and deep into his eyes, believing he did have her.
And she had him for now.
For how long, though?
CHAPTER EIGHT
THEY’D NEVER MADE it to Addis Ababa.
On Mansur’s orders, Hakeem had flown them to the nearby Harar Meda Airport, also the main base of the Ethiopian Air Force. A little unnerved, and plenty confused, there Amal had learned of Mansur’s plan for the two of them. He’d had a car ready to drive them to nearby Bishoftu—a breathtaking resort town with not two, but five crater lakes highlighting the forest-rich valleys.
She couldn’t get enough of the town’s natural beauty, its charming stone buildings and the friendly, welcoming faces of the townspeople. The mellow air influenced the other tourists as well, and she didn’t encounter any of the pushy sort while exploring the resort with Mansur. Carved into the valley, the town’s roads and smaller corridors wound up and down, giving her legs plenty of exercise.
Never had she felt so revitalized. Where Addis Ababa had enlivened her, Bishoftu cleansed her soul and gave it a hearty scrub that left her feeling lighter in spirit and pleasanter in mood.
Now, three restful nights and days later, Amal mewled and gave a yawn of contentment. She stretched her body over the chaise longue on the sun-drenched balcony of her room. The luxury hotel Mansur had chosen for their stay looked out over one of the crater lakes. Her room faced the textured green bowl of a valley and its glassy lake water. Bright white patches of sunlight mirrored off the lake’s serene surface as the sun climbed higher in the sky, a testament to another peaceful day in this paradise of a town.
Amal burrowed deeper into her cushioned seat, not wanting to move anytime soon. And, with no concrete itinerary for the day, she could probably get away with it...
What she wanted to do was dive into her journal and get her morning writing in. She’d begun writing again, journaling her thoughts. In particular she had taken to writing outside, where she could enjoy the resort’s scenic vista.
Amal was reading over her daily entry when sleep blanketed her. The air held just the right temperature, and the mix of the warm embrace of sunlight and the cool passes of a breeze lulled her. Her lids drooped closed. The journal in her hands listed toward her face—and the thwap of the book smacking her forehead jerked her awake.
She scrambled up in the seat as a low, heart-racing chuckle rumbling from behind her rivaled the dull pain where the journal had made contact with her face. She burned with a blush, feeling its searing heat doubled by the golden-white sunrays beaming over the balcony patio.
She had company—and she knew exactly who it was.
Without turning, she said, “I didn’t hear you knock.”
“You gave me your extra key,” he said.
And she had—a couple days earlier. She had a key to his room, as well. Mansur had suggested the trade.
“In case we lock ourselves out. Keeping keys in separate rooms could come in handy then,” he’d said, his reasoning perfectly sound as usual.
Mansur stepped into her line of vision. He had drinks in his hands—one she presumed was hers. Ah. So that was why he’d come to her. Now she thought about it, bathing in the sun had left her with a scratchy dryness in her throat. His drinks were well-timed.
“I suppose I can forgive you for not knocking,” she sassed, with a grin.
She accepted the glass from his hand and gulped half the chilled mango juice.
Noticing he was watching her, she lowered her glass and tipped her head to the side. “What is it?” she asked. Because he had a look in his eyes that said he had something to tell her.
“I thought we could walk by the lake again,” he said, though she had the sense that wasn’t what he wanted to say at all.
They’d walked all over t
he resort, acquainting themselves with most of Bishoftu. But Amal liked their walks by Lake Hora the best.
“I’d like to visit the flamingos.” The avian wildlife at Lake Hora was plentiful along the sloping footpath edging the green valley. “I can take more pictures for Mama Halima and everyone back at my firm. They’d like to see Bishoftu.”
He bobbed his head. Staring down at his glass, he took a hasty sip and then traced his finger along the rim, looking more lost with each passing heartbeat. Finally, he said, “I’m thinking of heading back to Addis.”
“You’ve made a decision?” she asked, drawing her legs around, feeling her bare feet kissing the natural stone tiling of the balcony.
He sat close, on the other chaise longue. His dark curly head lifted up at her movement.
Amal had to remember what it was like to breathe normally when his brooding eyes focused on her. She found her voice, though, and continued her train of thought. “Are you going to meet your family, then?”
“Not my family, really—but, yes.”
She ignored what he’d said, but respected his unspoken wish and didn’t mention them as being his “family” when she spoke next. “Is that why you’re leaving? You’ve called them and made plans to meet?”
“No, not yet.” He scowled down at his drink, grumbling, “I should leave, though—before I change my mind.”
Amal was at a loss for words. She knew the depth of anguish this decision had wrought in him. Had sensed it without him telling her and giving her a play-by-play of his turmoil. And he deserved her outpouring of silent sympathy. Yet a part of her questioned why he insisted on holding this grudge of his. His father was gone.
He had three half-sisters—he’d told her himself, after reading the full report from the private investigators. Knowing that she probably wouldn’t have turned out anywhere near as decent without her own brothers, Amal couldn’t fully grasp why he was repelling this opportunity to connect with this extended family of his. Because they were his family—whether he liked it or not.
Despite not wanting to affect his decision-making, Amal heard herself saying, “It’ll be that much harder on you if you go in with that chip on your shoulder.” She spoke softly, gently, hoping he wouldn’t take her advice and twist malice into it. She really was only advising him from the heart.
Mansur understood that she, too, hadn’t had the best of relationships with her father. In fact, Amal didn’t have much of a relationship with him at all. It hadn’t stopped her from trying. And she was fighting the natural pull toward hatred. She didn’t want to hold grudges. It only pushed people away.
She wished he could see that. That it did more damage than good in the long run.
“Give them a chance first, and then judge the experience,” she said with a heavy heart.
He was silent for so long she worried she’d overstepped. But then he raised his head and curled his lips into a ghost of a smile. A shadow of one, really. It disappeared as soon as she saw it.
“I’ll try. No promises.” But then he screwed his brows together and said, “I’m not going there to make friends, Amal. I’ll be doing this for the inheritance.”
“Why do you think your father even put that clause in his will?” She’d thought of asking that question many times since learning about his inheritance.
“To torture me?” he guessed. Shrugging, he shook his head and set his glass of mango juice on the ground. There was a new pair of flashy, expensive-looking kicks on his feet. “I’ve considered it long and hard, and I have yet to think up a good reason.”
“Have you tried putting yourself in his shoes?”
Mansur frowned anew. “I didn’t know him, Amal. Wouldn’t even begin to understand his sadistic thinking.” His eyes narrowed and his jaw hardened, his face chiseled with his rising annoyance.
Seeing that he’d like to change the subject matter, and hoping to lighten the mood, Amal rounded back to his departure. “When are you leaving for Addis Ababa?”
“This evening.”
“We’ll be able to sneak in one more lakeside walk,” she said, happy they’d be making the trip back. She figured it was about time. They couldn’t hide out here forever.
Mansur had had their luggage delivered from Addis Ababa hours after they’d arrived in Bishoftu that first day, but they had unfinished business back in the capital—the both of them. She had to figure out whether she wanted to accept psychotherapy at the hospital, and Mansur had to see his family.
Amal gulped down the rest of her mango juice and, gripping the journal on her lap, beamed. “Okay, I’m ready for our last day in Bishoftu if you are.”
“Amal, I’ll be going back by myself.”
Taken aback by his comment, she blurted, “What? No... I have to go back to Addis, too.”
“Yes, but there’s no rush for you to head back.” He spread out his hands, his tone imploring. “You can stay here. Enjoy the town and the flamingoes and the lakes, and all the services the resort offers.”
Amal shot up, her journal clutched to her pounding chest and her hand grasping her empty glass tightly. She couldn’t believe her ears! Was he truly planning on leaving her behind?
“Let me explain...”
Mansur stood slowly, sighing and raking his fingers through his curls before swiping his palm over his beard. A nervous energy clamored off him. It made her jumpy, too.
“I didn’t bring you to Ethiopia to be bogged down by my problems. I want you to stay here and relax, make the most of your time away from Hargeisa. Treat it as a vacation. Stay, Amal.”
“I won’t,” she snapped, furious suddenly that he’d expect her to want to remain here all alone. Abandoned, she thought sourly.
He couldn’t possibly imagine she’d be happy to stay on in Bishoftu without him. After she’d spent every day with him. She wouldn’t be able to look at the resort or walk through the town without thinking of him. A punishment—that was what it would be.
“I want to come with you,” she said, and stiffened her lip for an argument.
“Why?” Mansur asked, sounding ragged with fatigue.
Amal thought quickly on her feet. “You were with me at the hospital. I’d like to return the favor.”
“That... You don’t need to do that,” he said.
“I do—because I don’t like feeling as though I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” he stressed, baring some teeth now. Exasperation drew creases around his eyes and frown lines along his forehead.
“Why? Because you’ve done your mother a favor by helping me? By remaining at my side while I’m away from her?” Amal pouted, frustration pouring out of her. She’d had her doubts, and he hadn’t quelled them entirely, and now that incertitude directed her outpouring of emotion. “You can block me from joining you to see your family, but I’m coming to Addis Ababa with you. You can’t refuse me that.”
“They’re not my family,” he said quietly, his scowl making a reappearance. But then he jerked a nod and relented. “All right, we’re going back to Addis together. Now, can we take that walk before we find something new to argue about?”
She didn’t think he was joking. If they remained like this they probably would find a new topic to squabble over. Maybe the fact that he was adamant in not accepting his father’s second family. Amal didn’t want that. She hadn’t liked raising her voice, and Mansur looked troubled by it, too.
“Do you still want to take that walk with me?” he asked.
She did. Nodding, she said, “It sounds better than fighting.”
He managed a smile and turned for the balcony door. “A truce, then?”
“A truce,” she agreed happily, trailing him.
* * *
Amal had expected a walk around the lake, but Mansur had something extra planned.
“A boat?”
She took the hand he offered her when she crested a ditch and climbed down to his level on the thin strip of beach. He didn’t pull his hand away and, like he had with the helicopter, guided her over to the boat awaiting them.
A skinny young man stood in the boat, long paddles in his hands.
“I thought this last visit should be the most memorable.” Mansur guided her to the lakeshore, his eyes hidden by his shades but a smile twitching over his lips. “I promise it won’t be as nerve-racking as the plane and the helicopter.”
“Speak for yourself,” she muttered, queasiness rippling through her at the sight of the murky lake water. It had looked so serene from afar. But knowing she’d be riding a boat over it had changed her pleasant view of it. Gulping, she said, “I don’t know how to swim.”
Mansur gestured to the orange float vests on the beach. “That’s what the life jackets are for. And I’ll jump in and rescue you if you do take a dip in the lake.”
He gave her hand a comforting squeeze, and she tightened her fingers on his and peered up. “Promise?” she asked.
He released her hand, stooped to grab a life jacket and opened it out to her. “Promise.”
Satisfied with his vow, Amal turned her back to him and had his help slipping on the life jacket. A flutter of attraction pulsed through her when his hands brushed her arms. It didn’t last long because he had to get his own life jacket. She watched as he strapped himself into the vest and shrugged out of his sneakers.
Catching her raised brows, he explained, “They’re worth enough that I’d rather not hunt for another limited pair.”
“Should I leave mine, too?” She wiggled a wedge sandal at him, and burned hotter with desire when his eyes lingered on her feet.
She swore his voice had gotten thicker when he said, “Yeah, probably... Just to be safe.”
Shoes off, they walked barefoot into the lake and he helped her up the boat’s in-built staircase. Once they were inside, the boat operator pushed them from the shallow, grounding waters of the shore to the deeper bowl of the lake.
Harlequin Romance September 2021 Box Set Page 59
