50 Shades of Abdullah- ZaYa FF last 3 chap pg 33&34 COMPLETE - Page 9

It's very quiet. The light is muted. I am comfortable and warm, in this bed. Hmm... I

open my eyes, and for a moment, I'm tranquil and serene, enjoying the strange unfamiliar

surroundings. I have no idea where I am. The headboard behind me is in the shape of

a massive sun. It's oddly familiar. The room is large and airy and plushly furnished in

browns and golds and beige. I have seen it before. Where? My befuddled brain struggles

through its recent visual memories. Holy crap. I'm in the Heathman hotel... in a suite. I

have stood in a room similar to this with Yasmin. This looks bigger. Oh shit. I'm in Zain

Abdullah's suite. How did I get here?

Fractured memories of the previous night come slowly back to haunt me. The drinking, oh no the drinking, the phone call, oh no the phone call, the vomiting, oh no the vomiting. Rehaan and then Zain. Oh no. I cringe inwardly. I don't remember coming here.

I'm wearing my t-shirt, bra, and panties. No socks. No jeans. Holy shit.

I glance at the bedside table. On it is a glass of orange juice and two tablets. Advil.

Control freak that he is, he thinks of everything. I sit up and take the tablets. Actually, I

don't feel that bad, probably much better than I deserve. The orange juice tastes divine.

It's thirst quenching and refreshing. Nothing beats freshly squeezed orange juice for reviving an arid mouth.

There's a knock on the door. My heart leaps into my mouth, and I can't seem to find

my voice. He opens the door anyway and strolls in.

Holy hell, he's been working out. He's in gray sweat pants that hang, in that way, off

his hips and a gray singlet, which is dark with sweat, like his hair. Zain Abdullah's sweat,

the notion does odd things to me. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I feel like a twoyear old, if I close my eyes then I'm not really here.

"Good morning Aliya. How are you feeling?"

Oh no.

"Better than I deserve," I mumble.

I peek up at him. He places a large shopping bag on a chair and grasps each end of the

towel that he has around his neck. He's staring at me, gray eyes dark, and as usual, I have

no idea what he's thinking. He hides his thoughts and feelings so well.

"How did I get here?" My voice is small, contrite.

He comes and sits down on the edge of the bed. He's close enough for me to touch, for

me to smell. Oh my... sweat and body wash and Zain, it's a heady cocktail - so much

better than a margarita, and now I can speak from experience.

"After you passed out, I didn't want to risk the leather upholstery in my car taking you

all the way to your apartment. So I brought you here," he says phlegmatically.

"Did you put me to bed?"

"Yes." His face is impassive.

"Did I throw up again?" My voice is quieter.

"No."

"Did you undress me?" I whisper.

"Yes." He quirks an eyebrow at me as I blush furiously.

"We didn't," I whisper, my mouth drying in mortified horror as I can't complete the

question. I stare at my hands.

"Aliya, you were comatose. Necrophilia is not my thing. I like my women sentient and receptive," he says dryly.

"I'm so sorry."

His mouth lifts slightly in a wry smile.

"It was a very diverting evening. Not one that I'll forget in a while."

Me neither - oh he's laughing at me, the bas***d. I didn't ask him to come and get me.

Somehow I've been made to feel like the villain of the piece.

"You didn't have to track me down with whatever James Bond stuff you're developing

for the highest bidder," I snap at him. He stares at me, surprised, and if I'm not mistaken,

a little wounded.

"Firstly, the technology to track cell phones is available over the Internet. Secondly,

my company does not invest or manufacture any kind of surveillance devices, and thirdly,

if I hadn't come to get you, you'd probably be waking up in the photographer's bed, and

from what I can remember, you weren't overly enthused about him pressing his suit," he

says acidly.

Pressing his suit! I glance up at Zain, he's glaring at me, his gray eyes blazing,

aggrieved. I try to bite my lip, but I fail to repress my laughter.

"Which medieval chronicle did you escape from?" I giggle. "You sound like a courtly

knight."His mood visibly shifts. His eyes soften and his expression warms, and I see a trace of

a smile on his beautifully chiseled lips.

"Aliya, I don't think so. Dark knight maybe." His smile is sardonic, and he shakes

his head. "Did you eat last night?" His tone is accusatory. I shake my head. What major

transgression have I committed now? His jaw clenches, but his face remains impassive.

"You need to eat. That's why you were so ill. Honestly Aliya, it's drinking rule

number one." He runs this hand through his hair, and I know it's because he's exasperated.

"Are you going to continue to scold me?"

"Is that what I'm doing?"

"I think so."

"You're lucky I'm just scolding you."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if you were mine, you wouldn't be able to sit down for a week after the stunt

you pulled yesterday. You didn't eat, you got drunk, you put yourself at risk." He closes his

eyes, dread etched on his lovely face, and he shudders slightly. When he opens his eyes,

he glares at me. "I hate to think what could have happened to you."

I scowl back at him. What is his problem? What's it to him? If I was his... well I'm

not. Though maybe, part of me would like to be. The thought pierces through the irritation

I feel at his high-handed words. I flush at the waywardness of my subconscious - she's doing her happy dance in a bright red hula skirt at the thought of being his.

"I would have been fine. I was with Yasmin."

"And the photographer?" he snaps at me.

Hmm... young Rehaan. I'll need to face him at some point.

"Rehaan just got out of line." I shrug.

"Well the next time he gets out of line, maybe someone should teach him some manners."

"You are quite the disciplinarian," I hiss at him.

"Oh, Aliya, you have no idea." His eyes narrow, and then he grins wickedly. It's

disarming. One minute, I'm confused and angry, the next I'm gazing at his gorgeous smile.

Wow... I am entranced, and it's because his smile is so rare. I quite forget what he's talking about.

"I'm going to have a shower. Unless you'd like to shower first?" He cocks his head

to one side, still grinning. My heartbeat has picked up, and my medulla oblongata has neglected to fire any synapses to make me breathe. His grin widens, and he reaches over and

runs his thumb down my cheek and across my lower lip.

"Breathe, Aliya," he whispers and rises. "Breakfast will be here in fifteen minutes.

You must be famished." He heads into the bathroom and closes the door.

I let out the breath that I've been holding. Why is he so damned attractive? Right

now I want to go and join him in the shower. I have never felt this way about anyone. My

hormones are racing. My skin tingles where his thumb traced over my face and lower lip.

I feel like squirming with a needy, achy... discomfort. I don't understand this reaction.

Hmm... Desire. This is desire. This is what it feels like.

I lie back on the soft feather filled pillows. If you were mine.' Oh my - what would I

do to be his? He's the only man who has ever set my blood racing around my body. Yet, he's so antagonizing too; he's difficult, complicated, and confusing. One minute he rebuffs

me, the next he sends me fourteen-thousand-dollar books, then he tracks me like a stalker.

And for all that, I have spent the night in his hotel suite, and I feel safe. Protected. He cares

enough to come and rescue me from some mistakenly perceived danger. He's not a dark

knight at all, but a white knight in shining, dazzling armor - a classic romantic hero - Sir

Gawain or Lancelot.

I scramble out of his bed frantically searching for my jeans. He emerges from the bathroom wet and glistening from the shower, still unshaven, with just a towel around his waist,

and there am I - all bare legs and awkward gawkiness. He's surprised to see me out of bed.

"If you're looking for your jeans, I've sent them to the laundry." His gaze is a dark

obsidian. "They were spattered with your vomit."

"Oh." I flush scarlet. Why oh why does he always catch me on the back foot?

"I sent Taylor out for another pair and some shoes. They're in the bag on the chair."

Clean clothes. What an unexpected bonus.

"Um... I'll have a shower," I mutter. "Thanks." What else can I say? I grab the bag

and dart into the bathroom away from the unnerving proximity of naked Zain. Michelangelo's David has nothing on him.

In the bathroom, it's all hot and steamy from where he's been showering. I strip off

my clothes and quickly clamber into the shower anxious to be under the cleansing stream

of water. It cascades over me, and I hold up my face into the welcoming torrent. I want

Zain Abdullah. I want him badly. Simple fact. For the first time in my life, I want to go

to bed with a man. I want to feel his hands and his mouth on me.

He said he likes his women sentient. He's probably not celibate then. But he's not

made a pass at me, unlike Zubair or Rehaan. I don't understand. Does he want me? He

wouldn't kiss me last week. Am I repellent to him? And yet, I'm here and he brought me

here. I just don't know what his game is? What he's thinking? You've slept in his bed all

night, and he's not touched you Aliya. You do the math. My subconscious has reared her

ugly, snide head. I ignore her.

The water is warm and soothing. Hmm... I could stay under this shower, in his bathroom, forever. I reach for the body-wash and it smells of him. It's a delicious smell. I rub

it all over myself, fantasizing that it's him - him rubbing this heavenly scented soap into

my body, across my breasts, over my stomach, between my thighs with his long fingered

hands. Oh my. My heartbeat picks up again, this feels so... so good.

"Breakfast is here." He knocks on the door, startling me.

"Okay," I stutter as I'm yanked cruelly out of my erotic daydream.

I climb out of the shower and grab two towels. I put my hair in one and wrap it Carmen

Miranda style on my head. Hastily, I dry myself, ignoring the pleasurable feel of the towel

rubbing against my over-sensitized skin.

I inspect the bag of jeans. Not only has Taylor brought me jeans and new Converse,

but a pale blue shirt, socks, and underwear. Oh my. A clean bra and panties - actually to

describe them in such a mundane, utilitarian way does not do them justice. They are an

exquisite design of some fancy European lingerie. All pale blue lace and finery. Wow. I

am in awe and slightly daunted by this underwear. . What's more, they fit perfectly. But of course they do. I flush to think of the Buzz-Cut man in some lingerie store buying this for

me. I wonder what else is in his job description.

I dress quickly. The rest of the clothing is a perfect fit. I brusquely towel-dry my hair

and try desperately to bring it under control. But, as usual, it refuses to cooperate, and my

only option is to restrain it with a hair tie. I shall search in my purse, when I find it. I take

a deep breath. Time to face Mr. Confusing.

I'm relieved to find the bedroom empty. I hunt quickly for my purse - but it's not in

here. Taking another deep breath, I enter the living area of the suite. It's huge. There's an

opulent, plush seating area, all overstuffed couches and soft cushions, an elaborate coffee

table with a stack of large glossy books, a study area with a top-of-the-range Mac, an enormous plasma screen TV on the wall, and Zain is sitting at a dining table on the other

side of the room reading a newspaper. It's the size of a tennis court or something, not that

I play tennis, though I have watched Yasmin a few times. Yasmin!

"Crap, Yasmin," I croak. Zain peers up at me.

"She knows you're here and still alive. I texted Harshad," he says with just a trace of

humor.

Oh no. I remember her fervent dancing of the night before. All her patented moves

used with maximum effect to seduce Zain's brother no less! What's she going to think

about me being here? I've never stayed out before. She's still with Harshad. She's only done

this twice before, and both times I've had to endure the hideous pink PJs for a week from

the fallout. She's going to think I've had a one-night stand too.

Zain stares at me imperiously. He's wearing a white linen shirt, collar and cuffs

undone.

"Sit," he commands, pointing to a place at the table. I make my way across the room

and sit down opposite him as I've been directed. The table is laden with food.

"I didn't know what you liked, so I ordered a selection from the breakfast menu." He

gives me a crooked, apologetic smile.

"That's very profligate of you," I murmur, bewildered by the choice, though I am hungry.

"Yes, it is." He sounds guilty.

I opt for pancakes, maple syrup, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Zain tries to hide a

smile as he returns to his egg white omelet. The food is delicious.

"Tea?" he asks.

"Yes, please."

He passes me a small teapot of hot water and on the saucer is a Twining's English

Breakfast teabag. Jeez, he remembers how I like my tea.

"Your hair's very damp," he scolds.

"I couldn't find the hairdryer," I mutter, embarrassed. Not that I looked.

Zain's mouth presses into a hard line, but he doesn't say anything.

"Thank you for organizing the clothes."

"It's a pleasure, Aliya. That color suits you."

I blush and stare down at my fingers.

"You know, you really should learn to take a compliment." His tone is castigating.

"I should give you some money for these clothes."He glares at me as if I have offended him on some level. I hurry on.

"You've already given me the books, which, of course, I can't accept. But these

clothes, please let me pay you back." I smile tentatively at him.

"Aliya, trust me, I can afford it."

"That's not the point. Why should you buy these for me?"

"Because I can," his eyes flash with a wicked gleam.

"Just because you can doesn't mean that you should," I reply quietly as he arches an

eyebrow at me, his eyes twinkling, and suddenly I feel that we're talking about something

else, but I don't know what it is. Which reminds me...

"Why did you send me the books, Zain?" My voice is soft. He puts down his

cutlery and regards me intently, his gray eyes burning with some unfathomable emotion.

Holy crap - my mouth dries.

"Well, when you were nearly run over by the cyclist - and I was holding you and you

were looking up at me - all kiss me, kiss me, Zain," he pauses and shrugs slightly, "I

felt I owed you an apology and a warning." He runs his hand through his hair. "Aliya,

I'm not a hearts and flowers kind of man, I don't do romance. My tastes are very singular.

You should steer clear from me." He closes his eyes as if in defeat. "There's something

about you, though, and I'm finding it impossible to stay away. But I think you've figured

that out already."

My appetite vanishes. He can't stay away!

"Then don't," I whisper.

He gasps, his eyes wide.

"You don't know what you're saying."

"Enlighten me, then."

We sit gazing at each other, neither of us touching our food.

"You're not celibate then?" I breathe.

Amusement lights up his gray eyes.

"No, Aliya, I'm not celibate." He pauses for this information to sink in, and I flush

scarlet. The mouth-to-brain filter is broken again. I can't believe I've just said that out

loud.

"What are your plans for the next few days?" he asks, his voice low.

"I'm working today, from midday. What is the time?" I panic suddenly.

"It's just after ten, you've plenty of time. What about tomorrow?" He has his elbows

on the table, and his chin is resting on his long steepled fingers.

"Yasmin and I are going to start packing. We're moving to Seattle next weekend, and I'm

working at Clayton's all this week."

"You have a place in Seattle already?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"I can't remember the address. It's in the Pike Market District."

"Not far from me," his lips twitch up in a half smile. "So what are you going to do for

work in Seattle?"

Where is he going with all these questions? The Zain Abdullah Inquisition is almost

as irritating as the Yasmin Khan Inquisition."I've applied for some internships. I'm waiting to hear."

"Have you applied to my company as I suggested?"

I flush... of course not.

"Um... no."

"And what's wrong with my company?"

"Your company or your Company?" I smirk.

He smiles slightly.

"Are you smirking at me, Miss Haider?" He cocks his head to one side, and I think he

looks amused, but it's hard to tell. I flush and glance down at my unfinished breakfast. I

can't look him in the eye when he uses that tone of voice.

"I'd like to bite that lip," he whispers darkly.

Oh my. I am completely unaware that I am chewing my bottom lip. My mouth pops

open as I gasp and swallow at the same time. That has to be the sexiest thing anybody has

ever said to me. My heart beat spikes, and I think I'm panting. Jeez, I'm a quivering, moist

mess, and he hasn't even touched me. I squirm in my seat and meet his dark glare.

"Why don't you?" I challenge quietly.

"Because I'm not going to touch you Aliya - not until I have your written consent

to do so." His lips hint at a smile.

What?

"What does that mean?"

"Exactly what I say." He sighs and shakes his head at me, amused, but exasperated too.

"I need to show you, Aliya. What time do you finish work this evening?"

"About eight."

"Well, we could go to Seattle this evening or next Saturday for dinner at my place, and

I'll acquaint you with the facts then. The choice is yours."

"Why can't you tell me now?" I sound petulant.

"Because I'm enjoying my breakfast and your company. Once you're enlightened, you

probably won't want to see me again."

Holy shit. What does that mean? Does he white-slave small children to some Godforsaken part of the planet? Is he part of some underworld crime syndicate? It would explain why he's so rich. Is he deeply religious? Is he impotent? Surely not, he could prove

that to me right now. Oh my. I flush scarlet thinking about the possibilities. This is getting

me nowhere. I'd like to solve the riddle that is Zain Abdullah sooner rather than later. If it

means that whatever secret he has is so gross that I don't want to know him any more then,

quite frankly, it will be a relief. Don't lie to yourself - my subconscious yells at me- it'll

have to be pretty bloody bad to have you running for the hills.

"Tonight."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Like Eve, you're so quick to eat from the tree of knowledge," he smirks.

"Are you smirking at me, Mr. Abdullah?" I ask sweetly. Pompous ass.

He narrows his eyes at me and picks up his BlackBerry. He presses one number.

"Taylor. I'm going to need Charlie Tango."

Charlie Tango! Who's he?

"From Portland at say twenty-thirty... No, standby at Escala... All night."All night!

"Yes. On call tomorrow morning. I'll pilot from Portland to Seattle."

Pilot?

"Standby pilot from twenty-two-thirty." He puts the phone down. No please or thank

you.

"Do people always do what you tell them?"

"Usually, if they want to keep their jobs," he says, deadpan.

"And if they don't work for you?"

"Oh, I can be very persuasive, Aliya. You should finish your breakfast. And then

I'll drop you home. I'll pick you up at Clayton's at eight when you finish. We'll fly up to

Seattle."

I blink at him rapidly.

"Fly?"

"Yes. I have a helicopter."

I gape at him. I have my second date with Zain oh-so-mysterious Abdullah. From

coffee to helicopter rides. Wow.

"We'll go by helicopter to Seattle?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

He grins wickedly.

"Because I can. Finish your breakfast."

How can I eat now? I'm going to Seattle by helicopter with Zain Abdullah. And he

wants to bite my lip... I squirm at the thought

"Eat," he says more sharply. "Aliya, I have an issue with wasted food... eat."

"I can't eat all this." I gape at what's left on the table.

"Eat what's on your plate. If you'd eaten properly yesterday, you wouldn't be here, and

I wouldn't be declaring my hand so soon." His mouth sets in a grim line. He looks angry.

I frown and return to my now cold food. I'm too excited to eat, Zain. Don't you

understand? My subconscious explains. But I'm too much of a coward to voice these

thoughts aloud, especially when he looks so sullen. Hmm, like a small boy. I find the

thought amusing.

"What's so funny?" he asks. I shake my head, not daring tell him and keep my eyes

on my food. Swallowing my last piece of pancake, I peek up at him. He's eyeing me

speculatively.

"Good girl," he says. "I'll take you home when you've dried your hair. I don't want

you getting ill." There's some kind of unspoken promise in his words. What does he

mean? I leave the table, wondering for a moment if I should ask permission but dismissing

the idea. Sounds like a dangerous precedent to set. I head back to his bedroom. A thought

stops me.

"Where did you sleep last night?" I turn to gaze at him still sitting in the dining room

chair. I can't see any blankets or sheets out here - perhaps he's had them tidied away.

"In my bed," he says simply, his gaze impassive again.

"Oh."

"Yes, it was quite a novelty for me too." He smiles."Not having... sex." There - I said the word. I blush - of course.

"No," he shakes his head and frowns as if recalling something uncomfortable. "Sleeping with someone." He picks up his newspaper and continues to read.

What in heaven's name does that mean? He's never slept with anyone? He's a virgin? Somehow I doubt that. I stand staring at him in disbelief. He is the most mystifying

person I've ever met. And it dawns on me that I have slept with Zain Abdullah, and I kick

myself - what would I have given to be conscious to watch him sleep. See him vulnerable.

Somehow, I find that hard to imagine. Well, allegedly all will be revealed tonight.

In his bedroom, I hunt through a chest of drawers and find the hair dryer. Using my

fingers, I dry my hair the best I can. When I've finished, I head into the bathroom. I want

to clean my teeth. I eye Zain's toothbrush. It would be like having him in my mouth.

Hmm... Glancing guiltily over my shoulder at the door, I feel the bristles on the toothbrush.

They are damp. He must have used it already. Grabbing it quickly, I squirt toothpaste on

it and brush my teeth in double quick time. I feel so naughty. It's such a thrill.

Grabbing my t-shirt, bra, and panties from yesterday, I put them in the shopping bag

that Taylor brought and head back to the living area to hunt for my bag and jacket. Deep

joy, there is a hair tie in my bag. Zain is watching me as I tie my hair into a ponytail,

his expression unreadable. I feel his eyes follow me as I sit down and wait for him to finish.

He's on his BlackBerry talking to someone.

"They want two?... How much will that cost?... Okay, and what safety measures do we

have in place?... And they'll go via Suez?... How safe is Ben Sudan?... And when do they

arrive in Darfur?... Okay, let's do it. Keep me abreast of progress." He hangs up.

"Ready to go?"

I nod. I wonder what his conversation was about. He slips on a navy pinstriped jacket,

picks up his car keys, and heads for the door.

"After you, Miss Haider," he murmurs, opening the door for me. He looks so casually

elegant.

I pause, fractionally too long, drinking in the sight of him. And to think I slept with

him last night and, after all the tequila and the throwing up, he's still here. What's more, he

wants to take me to Seattle. Why me? I don't understand it. I head out the door recalling

his words - There's something about you - Well the feeling is entirely mutual Mr. Abdullah,

and I aim to find out what it is.

We walk in silence down the corridor toward the elevator. As we wait, I peek up at

him through my lashes, and he looks out of the corner of his eyes down at me. I smile, and

his lips twitch.

The elevator arrives, and we step in. We're alone. Suddenly, for some inexplicable reason, possibly our proximity in such an enclosed space, the atmosphere between us

changes, charging with an electric, exhilarating anticipation. My breathing alters as my

heart races. His head turns fractionally toward me, his eyes darkest slate. I bite my lip.

"Oh, f**k the paperwork," he growls. He lunges at me, pushing me against the wall

of the elevator. Before I know it, he's got both of my hands in one of his in a vice-like grip

above my head, and he's pinning me to the wall using his hips. Holy shit. His other hand

grabs my ponytail and yanks down, bringing my face up, and his lips are on mine. It's

only just not painful. I moan into his mouth, giving his tongue an opening. He takes full advantage, his tongue expertly exploring my mouth. I have never been kissed like this.

My tongue tentatively strokes his and joins his in a slow erotic dance that's all about touch

and sensation, all bump and grind. He brings his hand up to grasp my chin and holds me

in place. I am helpless, my hands pinned, my face held, and his hips restraining me. . I feel

his erection against my belly. Oh my... He wants me. Zain Abdullah, Greek god, wants

me, and I want him, here... now, in the elevator.

"You. Are. So. Sweet," he murmurs, each word a staccato.

The elevator stops, the doors open, and he pushes away from me in the blink of an eye,

leaving me hanging. Three men in business suits look at both of us and smirk as they climb

on board. My heart rate is through the roof, I feel like I've run an uphill race. I want to

lean over and grasp my knees... but that's just too obvious.

I glance up at him. He looks so cool and calm, like he's been doing the Seattle Times

crossword. How unfair. Is he totally unaffected by my presence? He glances at me out

of the corner of his eye, and he gently blows out a deep breath. Oh, he's affected all right

- and my very small inner goddess sways in a gentle victorious samba. The businessmen

exit on the second floor. We have one more floor to travel.

"You've brushed your teeth," he says, staring at me.

"I used your toothbrush," I breathe.

His lips quirk up in a half smile.

"Oh, Aliya Haider, what am I going to do with you?"

The doors open at the first floor, and he takes my hand and pulls me out.

"What is it about elevators?" he mutters, more to himself than to me as he strides

across the lobby. I struggle to keep pace with him because my wits have been thoroughly,

royally, scattered all over the floor and walls of elevator three in the Heathman Hotel.

Chapter 6

Zain opens the passenger door to the black Audi SUV, and I clamber in. It's a beast of

a car. He hasn't mentioned the outburst of passion that exploded in the elevator. Should

I? Should we talk about it or pretend that it didn't happen? It hardly seems real, my first

proper no-holds-barred kiss. As time ticks on, I assign it mythical, Arthurian legend, Lost

City of Atlantis status. It never happened, it never existed. Perhaps I imagined it all. No.

I touch my lips, swollen from his kiss. It definitely happened. I am a changed woman. I

want this man, desperately, and he wanted me.

I glance at him. Zain is his usual polite, slightly distant self.

How confusing.

He starts the engine and reverses out of his space in the parking lot. He switches on the

MP3 player. The car interior is filled with the sweetest, most magical music of two women

singing. Oh wow... all my senses are in disarray, so this is doubly affecting. It sends delicious shivers up my spine. Zain pulls out on to SW Park Avenue, and he drives with

easy, lazy confidence.

"What are we listening to?"

"It's the Flower Duet by Delibes, from the opera Lakm. Do you like it?"

"Zain, it's wonderful.""It is, isn't it?" he grins, glancing at me. And for a fleeting moment, he seems his age;

young, carefree, and heart-stoppingly beautiful. Is this the key to him? Music? I sit and

listen to the angelic voices, teasing and seducing me.

"Can I hear that again?"

"Of course." Zain pushes a button, and the music is caressing me once more. It's

a gentle, slow, sweet, and sure assault on my aural senses.

"You like classical music?" I ask, hoping for a rare insight into his personal preferences.

"My taste is eclectic, Aliya, everything from Thomas Tallis to the Kings of Leon.

It depends on my mood. You?"

"Me too. Though I don't know who Thomas Tallis is."

He turns and gazes at me briefly before his eyes are back on the road.

"I'll play it for you sometime. He's a sixteenth century British composer. Tudor,

church choral music." Zain grins at me. "Sounds very esoteric, I know, but it's also

magical, Aliya."

He presses a button, and the Kings of Leon start singing. Hmm... this I know. Sex on

Fire. How appropriate. The music is interrupted by the sound of a cell phone ringing over

the MP3 speakers. Zain hits a button on the steering wheel.

"Mr. Abdullah, it's Welch here. I have the information you require." A rasping, disembodied voice comes over the speakers.

"Good. Email it to me. Anything to add?"

"No sir."

He presses the button, then the call ceases and the music is back. No goodbye or

thanks. I'm so glad that I never seriously entertained the thought of working for him. I

shudder at the very idea. He's just too controlling and cold with his employees. The music

cuts off again for the phone.

"Abdullah."

"The NDA has been emailed to you, Mr. Abdullah." A woman's voice.

"Good. That's all, Andrea."

"Good day, sir."

Zain hangs up by pressing a button on the steering wheel. The music is on very

briefly when the phone rings again. Holy hell, is this his life, constant nagging phone calls?

"Abdullah," he snaps.

"Hi, Zain, d'you get laid?"

"Hello, Harshad - I'm on speaker phone, and I'm not alone in the car," Zain sighs.

"Who's with you?"

Zain rolls his eyes.

"Aliya Haider."

"Hi, Aliya!"

"Hello, Harshad."

"Heard a lot about you," Harshad murmurs huskily. Zain frowns.

"Don't believe a word Yasmin says."Harshad laughs.

"I'm dropping Aliya off now." Zain emphasizes my name. "Shall I pick you

up?"

"Sure."

"See you shortly." Zain hangs up, and the music is back.

We are almost at my apartment. It's not taken long.

"Aliya," he muses. I scowl at him, but he ignores my expression. "What happened

in the elevator - it won't happen again, well, not unless it's premeditated."

He pulls up outside my duplex. I belatedly realize he's not asked me where I live - yet

he knows. But then he sent the books, of course he knows where I live. What able, cellphone-tracking, helicopter owning, stalker wouldn't.

Why won't he kiss me again? I pout at the thought. I don't understand. Honestly,

his surname should be Cryptic, not Abdullah. He climbs out of the car, walking with easy,

long-legged grace round to my side to open the door, ever the gentleman - except perhaps

in rare, precious moments in elevators. I flush at the memory of his mouth on mine, and

the thought that I'd been unable to touch him enters my mind. I wanted to run my fingers

through his decadent, untidy hair, but I'd been unable to move my hands. I am retrospectively frustrated.

"I liked what happened in the elevator," I murmur as I climb out of the car. I'm not sure

if I hear an audible gasp, but I choose to ignore it and head up the steps to the front door.

Yasmin and Harshad are sitting at our dining table. The fourteen-thousand-dollar books

have disappeared. Thank heavens. I have plans for them. She has the most un-Yasmin ridiculous grin on her face, and she looks mussed up in a sexy kind of way. Zain follows me

into the living area, and in spite of her I've-been-having-a-good-time-all-night grin, Yasmin

eyes him suspiciously.

"Hi Aliya." She leaps up to hug me, then holds me at arm's length so she can examine

me. She frowns and turns to Zain.

"Good morning, Zain," she says, and her tone is a little hostile.

"Miss Khan," he says in his stiff formal way.

"Zain, her name is Yasmin," Harshad grumbles.

"Yasmin." Zain gives her a polite nod and glares at Harshad who grins and rises to hug

me too.

"Hi, Aliya," he smiles, his blue eyes twinkling, and I like him immediately. He's obviously nothing like Zain, but then they're adopted brothers.

"Hi, Harshad," I smile at him, and I'm aware that I'm biting my lip.

"Harshad, we'd better go." Zain says mildly.

"Sure." He turns to Yasmin and pulls her into his arms and gives her a long lingering kiss.

Jeez... get a room. I stare at my feet, embarrassed. I glance up at Zain, and he's

watching me intently. I narrow my eyes at him. Why can't you kiss me like that? Harshad continues to kiss Kate, sweeping her off her feet and dipping her in a dramatic hold so that

her hair touches the ground as he kisses her hard.

"Laters, baby," he grins.

Yasmin just melts. I've never seen her melt before - the words comely and compliant

come to mind. Compliant Yasmin, boy, Harshad must be good. Zain rolls his eyes and

stares down at me, his expression unreadable, although maybe he's mildly amused. He

tucks a stray strand of my hair that has worked its way free from my ponytail behind my

ear. My breath hitches at the contact, and I lean my head slightly into his fingers. His eyes

soften, and he runs his thumb across my lower lip. My blood sears in my veins. And all

too quickly, his touch is gone.

"Laters, baby," he murmurs, and I have to laugh because it's so unlike him. But even

though I know he's being irreverent, the endearment tugs at something deep inside me.

"I'll pick you up at eight." He turns to leave, opening the front door and stepping out

on to the porch. Harshad follows him to the car but turns and blows Yasmin another kiss, and I

feel an unwelcome pang of jealousy.

"So, did you?" Yasmin asks as we watch them climb into the car and drive off, the burning

curiosity evident in her voice.

"No," I snap irritably, hoping that will halt the questions. We head back into the apartment. "You obviously did, though." I can't contain my envy. Yasmin always manages to

ensnare men. She is irresistible, beautiful, sexy, funny, forward... all the things that I'm

not. But her answering grin is infectious.

"And I'm seeing him again this evening." She claps her hands and jumps up and down

like a small child. She cannot contain her excitement and happiness, and I can't help but

feel happy for her. A happy Yasmin... this is going to be interesting.

"Zain's is taking me to Seattle this evening."

"Seattle?"

"Yes."

"Maybe you will then?"

"Oh, I hope so."

"You like him then?"

"Yes."

"Like him enough to... ?"

"Yes."

She raises her eyebrows.

"Wow. Aliya Haider, finally falling for a man, and it's Zain Abdullah - hot, sexy billionaire."

"Oh yeah - it's all about the money." I smirk, and we both fall into a fit of giggles.

"Is that a new blouse?" she asks, and I let her have all the unexciting details about my

night.

"Has he kissed you yet?" she asks as she makes coffee.

I blush.

"Once."

"Once!" she scoffs.

I nod, rather shame faced. "He's very reserved."

She frowns.

"That's odd."

"I don't think odd covers it really," I murmur.

"We need to make sure you're simply irresistible for this evening," she says with determination.

Oh no... this sounds like it will be time consuming, humiliating, and painful.

"I have to be at work in an hour."

"I can work with that timeframe. Come on." Yasmin grabs my hand and takes me into

her bedroom.

The day drags at Clayton's even though we're busy. We've hit the summer season, so I

have to spend two hours restocking the shelves once the shop is closed. It's mindless work,

and it gives me too much time to think. I've not really had a chance all day.

Under Yasmin's tireless and frankly intrusive instruction, my legs and underarms are

shaved to perfection, my eyebrows plucked, and I am buffed all over. It has been a most

unpleasant experience. But she assures me that this is what men expect these days. What

else will he expect? I have to convince Yasmin that this is what I want to do. For some

strange reason, she doesn't trust him, maybe because he's so stiff and formal. She says she

can't put her finger on it, but I have promised to text her when I arrive in Seattle. I haven't

told her about the helicopter, she'd freak.

I also have the Rehaan issue. He's left three messages and seven missed calls on my cell.

He's also called home twice. Yasmin has been very vague as to where I am. He'll know she's

covering for me. Yasmin doesn't do vague. But I have decided to let him stew. I'm still too

angry with him.

Zain mentioned some kind of written paperwork, and I don't know if he was joking or if I'm going to have to sign something. It's so frustrating trying to guess. And on

top of all the angst, I can barely contain my excitement or my nerves. Tonight's the night!

After all this time, am I ready for this? My inner goddess glares at me, tapping her small

foot impatiently. She's been ready for this for years, and she's ready for anything with

Zain Abdullah, but I still don't understand what he sees in me... mousey Aliya Haider - it

makes no sense.

He is punctual, of course, and waiting for me when I leave Clayton's. He climbs out

of the back of the Audi to open the door and smiles warmly at me.

"Good evening, Miss Haider," he says.

"Mr. Abdullah." I nod politely to him as I climb into the backseat of the car. Taylor is sitting in the driver's seat.

"Hello, Taylor," I say.

"Good evening, Miss Haider," his voice is polite and professional. Zain climbs in

the other side and clasps my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze that I feel all the way though

my body.

"How was work?" he asks.

"Very long," I reply, and my voice is husky, too low, and full of need."Yes, it's been a long day for me too." His tone is serious.

"What did you do?" I manage.

"I went hiking with Harshad." His thumb strokes my knuckles, back and forth, and my

heart skips a beat as my breathing accelerates. How does he do this to me? He's only

touching a very small area of my body, and the hormones are flying.

The drive to the heliport is short and, before I know it, we arrive. I wonder where the

fabled helicopter might be. We're in a built-up area of the city and even I know helicopters

need space to take off and land. Taylor parks, climbs out, and opens my car door. Zain

is beside me in an instant and takes my hand again.

"Ready?" he asks. I nod and want to say for anything, but I can't articulate the words

as I'm too nervous, too excited.

"Taylor." He nods curtly at his driver, and we head into the building, straight to a set

of elevators. Elevator! The memory of our kiss this morning comes back to haunt me.

I have thought of nothing else all day. Daydreaming at the register at Clayton's. Twice

Mr. Clayton had to shout my name to bring me back to Earth. To say I've been distracted

would be the understatement of the year. Zain glances down at me, a slight smile on

his lips. Ha! He's thinking about it too.

"It's only three floors," he says dryly, his gray eyes dancing with amusement. He's

telepathic surely. It's spooky.

I try to keep my face impassive as we enter the elevator. The doors close, and it's there,

the weird electrical attraction crackling between us, enslaving me. I close my eyes in a

vain attempt to ignore it. He tightens his grip on my hand, and five seconds later the doors

open on to the roof of the building. And there it is, a white helicopter with the name Abdullah

Enterprises Holdings Inc. written in blue with the company logo on the side. Surely this is

misuse of Company property.

He leads me to a small office where an old timer sits behind the desk.

"Here's your flight plan, Mr. Abdullah. All external checks are done. It's ready and waiting

sir. You're free to go."

"Thank you, Joe." Zain smiles warmly at him.

Oh. Someone deserving of the polite treatment from Zain, perhaps he's not an

employee. I stare at the old guy in awe.

"Let's go," Zain says, and we make our way toward the helicopter. When we're

up close, it's much bigger than I thought. I expected it to be a roadster version for two,

but it has at least seven seats. Zain opens the door and directs me to one of the seats

at the very front.

"Sit - don't touch anything," he orders as he clambers in behind me.

He shuts the door with a slam. I'm glad that the area is floodlit, otherwise I'd find it

difficult to see inside the small cockpit. I sit down in my allotted seat, and he crouches

beside me to strap me into the harness. It's a four-point harness with all the straps connecting to one central buckle. He tightens both of the upper straps, so I can hardly move.

He's so close and intent on what he's doing. If I could only lean forward, my nose would

be in his hair. He smells, clean, fresh, heavenly, but I'm fastened securely into my seat and

effectively immobile. He glances up and smiles, like he's enjoying his usual private joke, his gray eyes heated. He's so tantalizingly close. I hold my breath as he pulls at one of the

upper straps.

"You're secure, no escaping," he whispers, his eyes are scorching. "Breathe, Aliya," he adds softly. Reaching up, he caresses my cheek, running his long fingers down to

my chin which he grasps between his thumb and forefinger. He leans forward and plants

a brief, chaste kiss on my lips, leaving me reeling, my insides clenching at the thrilling,

unexpected touch of his lips.

"I like this harness," he whispers.

What?

He sits down beside me and buckles himself into his seat, then begins a protracted procedure of checking gauges and flipping switches and buttons from the mind-boggling array

of dials and lights and switches in front of me. Little lights wink and flash from various

dials, and the whole of the instrument panel lights up.

"Put your cans on," he says, pointing to a set of headphones in front of me. I pop them

on, and the rotor blades start. They are deafening. He puts his headphones on and continues flipping various switches.

"I'm just going through all the pre-flight checks." Zain's disembodied voice is in

my ears through the headphones. I turn and grin at him.

"Do you know what you are doing?" I ask. He turns and smiles at me.

"I've been a fully qualified pilot for four years, Aliya, you're safe with me." He

gives me a wolfish grin. "Well, while we're flying," he adds and winks at me.

Winking... Zain!

"Are you ready?"

I nod wide eyed.

"Okay, tower. PDX this is Charlie Tango Golf - Golf Echo Hotel, cleared for take-off.

Please confirm, over."

"Charlie Tango - you are clear. PDX to call, proceed to one four thousand, heading

zero one zero, over. "

"Roger tower, Charlie Tango set, over and out. Here we go," he adds to me, and the

helicopter rises slowly and smoothly into the air.

Portland disappears in front us as we head into US airspace, though my stomach remains firmly in Oregon. Whoa! All the bright lights shrink until they are twinkling sweetly

below us. It's like looking out from inside a fish bowl. Once we're higher, there really is

nothing to see. It's pitch black, not even the moon to shed any light on our journey. How

can he see where we're going?

"Eerie isn't it?" Zain's voice is in my ears.

"How do you know you're going the right way?"

"Here." He points his long index finger at one of the gauges, and it shows an electronic

compass. "This is an EC135 Eurocopter. One of the safest in its class. It's equipped for

night flight." He glances and grins at me.

"There's a helipad on top of the building I live in. That's where we're heading."

Of course there's a helipad where he lives. I am so out of my league here. His face

is softly illuminated by the lights on the instrument panel. He's concentrating hard, and

he's continually glancing at the various dials in front of him. I drink in his features from beneath my lashes. He has a beautiful profile. Straight nose, square jawed - I'd like to

run my tongue along his jaw. He hasn't shaved, and his stubble makes the prospect doubly

tempting. Hmm... I'd like to feel how rough it is beneath my tongue, my fingers, against

my face.

"When you fly at night, you fly blind. You have to trust the instrumentation," he interrupts my erotic reverie.

"How long will the flight be?" I manage breathlessly. I wasn't thinking about sex at

all, no, no way.

"Less than an hour, the wind is in our favor."

Hmm, less than an hour to Seattle... that's not bad going, no wonder we're flying.

I have less than an hour before the big reveal. All the muscles clench deep in my belly.

I have a serious case of butterflies. They are flourishing in my stomach. Holy shit, what

has he got in store for me?

"You okay, Aliya?"

"Yes." My answer is short, clipped, squeezed out through my nerves.

I think he smiles, but it's difficult to tell in the darkness. Zain flicks yet another

switch.

"PDX this is Charlie Tango now at one four thousand, over." He exchanges information with air traffic control. It all sounds very professional to me. I think we're moving

from Portland's air space to Seattle International Airport's.

"Understood Sea-Tac, standing by over and out."

"Look, over there." He points to a small pin-point of light in the far distance. "That's

Seattle."

"Do you always impress women this way? Come and fly in my helicopter?" I ask,

genuinely interested.

"I've never bought a girl up here, Aliya. It's another first for me." His voice is

quiet, serious.

Oh, that was an unexpected answer. Another first? Oh the sleeping thing, perhaps?

"Are you impressed?"

"I'm awed, Zain."

He smiles.

"Awed?" And for a brief moment, he's his age again.

I nod.

"You're just so... competent."

"Why, thank you, Miss Haider," he says politely. I think he's pleased, but I'm not sure.

We ride into the dark night in silence for a while. The bright spot that is Seattle is

slowly getting bigger.

"Sea-Tac tower to Charlie Tango. Flight plan to Escala in place. Please proceed. And

standby. Over."

"This is Charlie Tango, understood Sea-Tac. Standing by, over and out."

"You obviously enjoy this," I murmur.

"What?" He glances at me. He looks quizzical in the half-light of the instruments.

"Flying," I reply."It requires control and concentration... how could I not love it? Though, my favorite

is soaring."

"Soaring?"

"Yes. Gliding to the layperson. Gliders and helicopters - I fly them both."

"Oh." Expensive hobbies. I remember him telling me during the interview. I like reading and occasionally going to the movies. I am out of my depth here.

"Charlie Tango come in please, over." The disembodied voice of air traffic control

interrupts my reverie. Zain answers, sounding in control and confident.

Seattle is getting closer. We are on the very outskirts now. Wow! It looks absolutely

stunning. Seattle at night, from the sky...

"Looks good, doesn't it?" Zain murmurs.

I nod enthusiastically. It looks otherworldly - unreal - and I feel like I'm on a giant

film set, Rehaan's favorite film maybe, Bladerunner.' The memory of Rehaan's attempted kiss

haunts me. I'm beginning to feel a bit cruel not calling him back. He can wait until tomorrow... surely.

"We'll be there in a few minutes," Zain mutters, and suddenly my blood is pounding in my ears as my heartbeat accelerates and adrenaline spikes through my system. He

starts talking to air traffic control again, but I am no longer listening. Oh my... I think I'm

going to faint. My fate is in his hands.

We are now flying amongst the buildings, and up ahead I can see a tall skyscraper with

a helipad on top. The word Escala is painted in white on top of the building. It's getting

nearer and nearer, bigger and bigger... like my anxiety. God, I hope I don't let him down.

He'll find me lacking in some way. I wish I'd listened to Yasmin and borrowed one of her

dresses, but I like my black jeans, and I'm wearing a soft mint green shirt and Yasmin's black

jacket. I look smart enough. I grip the edge of my seat tighter and tighter. I can do this. I

can do this. I chant this mantra as the skyscraper looms below us.

The helicopter slows and hovers, and Zain sets it down on the helipad on top of the

building. My heart is in my mouth. I can't decide if it's from nervous anticipation, relief

that we've arrived alive, or fear that I will fail in some way. He switches the ignition off

and the rotor blades slow and quiet until all I hear is the sound of my own erratic breathing.

Zain takes his headphones off, and reaches across and pulls mine off too.

"We're here," he says softly.

His look is so intense, half in shadow and half in the bright white light from the landing lights. Dark knight and white knight, it's a fitting metaphor for Zain. He looks

strained. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are tight. He unfastens his seatbelt and reaches

over to unbuckle mine. His face is inches from mine.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. You know that don't you?" His

tone is so earnest, desperate even, his gray eyes impassioned. He takes me by surprise.

"I'd never do anything I didn't want to do, Zain." And as I say the words, I don't

quite feel their conviction because at this moment in time - I'd probably do anything for

this man seated beside me. But this does the trick. He's mollified.

He eyes me warily for a moment and somehow, even though he's so tall, he manages

to ease his way gracefully to the door of the helicopter and open it. He jumps out, waiting

for me to follow, and takes my hand as I clamber down on to the helipad. It's very windy on top of the building, and I'm nervous about the fact that I'm standing at least thirty stories

high in an unenclosed space. Zain wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me tightly

against him.

"Come," he shouts above the noise of the wind. He drags me over to an elevator shaft

and, after tapping a number into a keypad, the doors open. It's warm inside and all mirrored glass. I can see Zain to infinity everywhere I look, and the wonderful thing is,

he's holding me to infinity too. Zain taps another code into the keypad, then the doors

close and the elevator descends.

Moments later, we're in an all-white foyer. In the middle is a round, dark wood table,

and on it is an unbelievably huge bunch of white flowers. On the walls there are paintings,

everywhere. He opens two double doors, and the white theme continues through the wide

corridor and directly opposite where a palatial room opens up. It's the main living area,

double height. Huge is too small a word for it. The far wall is glass and leads on to a balcony that overlooks Seattle.

To the right is an imposing U' shaped sofa that could sit ten adults comfortably. It faces a state-of-the-art stainless steel - or maybe platinum for all I know - modern fireplace.

The fire is lit and flaming gently. On the left beside us, by the entryway, is the kitchen area.

All white with dark wood worktops and a large breakfast bar which seats six.

Near the kitchen area, in front of the glass wall, is a dining table surrounded by sixteen

chairs. And tucked in the corner is a full size, shiny black grand piano. Oh yes... he probably plays the piano too. There is art of all shapes and sizes on all the walls. In fact, this

apartment looks more like a gallery than a place to live.

"Can I take your jacket?" Zain asks. I shake my head. I'm still cold from the wind

on the helipad.

"Would you like a drink?" he asks. I blink at him. After last night! Is he trying to be

funny? For one second, I think about asking for a margarita - but I don't have the nerve.

"I'm going to have a glass of white wine, would you like to join me?"

"Yes, please," I murmur.

I am standing in this enormous room feeling out of place. I walk over to the glass wall,

and I realize that the lower half of the wall opens concertina-style on to the balcony. Seattle is lit up and lively in the background. I walk back to the kitchen area - it takes a few

seconds, it's so far from the glass wall - and Zain is opening a bottle of wine. He's

removed his jacket.

"Pouilly Fum okay with you?"

"I know nothing about wine, Zain. I'm sure it will be fine." My voice is soft and

hesitant. My heart is thumping. I want to run. This is seriously rich. Seriously over-thetop Bill Gates style wealthy. What am I doing here? You know very well what you're doing

here - my subconscious sneers at me. Yes, I want to be in Zain Abdullah's bed.

"Here." He hands me a glass of wine. Even the glasses are rich... heavy, contemporary, crystal. I take a sip, and the wine is light, crisp, and delicious.

"You're very quiet, and you're not even blushing. In fact - I think this is the palest I've

ever seen you, Aliya," he murmurs. "Are you hungry?"

I shake my head. Not for food.

"It's a very big place you have here.""Big?"

"Big."

"It's big," he agrees, and his eyes glow with amusement. I take another sip of wine.

"Do you play?" I point my chin at the piano.

"Yes."

"Well?"

"Yes."

"Of course you do. Is there anything you can't do well?"

"Yes... a few things." He takes a sip of his wine. He doesn't take his eyes off me. I feel

them following me as I turn and glance around this vast room. Room is the wrong word.

It's not a room - it's a mission statement.

"Do you want to sit?"

I nod, and he takes my hand and leads me to the large off-white couch. As I sit, I'm

struck by the fact that I feel like Tess Durbeyfield looking at the new house that belongs to

the notorious Alec D'Urberville. The thought makes me smile.

"What's so amusing?" He sits down beside me, turning to face me. He rests his head

on his right hand, his elbow propped on the back of the couch.

"Why did you give me Tess of the D'Urbervilles specifically?" I ask. Zain stares

at me for a moment. I think he's surprised by my question.

"Well, you said you liked Thomas Hardy."

"Is that the only reason?" Even I can hear the disappointment in my voice. His mouth

presses into a hard line.

"It seemed appropriate. I could hold you to some impossibly high ideal like Angel

Clare or debase you completely like Alec D'Urberville," he murmurs, and his gray eyes

flash dark and dangerous.

"If there are only two choices, I'll take the debasement." I whisper, gazing at him. My

subconscious is staring at me in awe. He gasps.

"Aliya, stop biting your lip, please. It's very distracting. You don't know what

you're saying."

"That's why I'm here."

He frowns.

"Yes. Would you excuse me a moment?" He disappears through a wide doorway on

the far side of the room. He's gone for a couple of minutes and returns with a document.

"This is a non-disclosure agreement." He shrugs and has the grace to look a little embarrassed. "My lawyer insists on it." He hands it to me. I'm completely bemused. "If

you're going for option two, debasement, you'll need to sign this."

"And if I don't want to sign anything?"

"Then it's Angel Clare high ideals, well, for most of the book anyway."

"What does this agreement mean?"

"It means you cannot disclose anything about us. Anything, to anyone."

I stare at him in disbelief. Holy shit. It's bad, really bad, and now I'm very curious to

know.

"Okay. I'll sign."

He hands me a pen."Aren't you even going to read it?"

"No."

He frowns.

"Aliya, you should always read anything you sign," he admonishes me.

"Zain, what you fail to understand is that I wouldn't talk about us to anyone,

anyway. Even Yasmin. So it's immaterial whether I sign an agreement or not. If it means so

much to you, or your lawyer... whom you obviously talk to, then fine. I'll sign."

He gazes down at me, and he nods gravely.

"Fair point well made, Miss Haider."

I lavishly sign on the dotted line of both copies and hand one back to him. Folding the

other, I place it my purse and take a large swig of my wine. I'm sounding so much braver

than I'm actually feeling.

"Does this mean you're going to make love to me tonight, Zain?" Holy shit. Did

I just say that? His mouth drops open slightly, but he recovers quickly.

"No, Aliya it doesn't. Firstly, I don't make love. I f**k... hard. Secondly, there's

a lot more paperwork to do, and thirdly, you don't yet know what you're in for. You could

still run for the hills. Come, I want to show you my playroom."

My mouth drops open. F**k hard! Holy shit, that sounds so... hot. But why are we

looking at a playroom? I am mystified.

"You want to play on your Xbox?" I ask. He laughs, loudly.

"No, Aliya, no Xbox, no Playstation. Come." He stands, holding out his hand. I let

him lead me back out to the corridor. On the right of the double doors, where we came in,

another door leads to a staircase. We go up to the second floor and turn right. Producing a

key from his pocket, he unlocks yet another door and takes a deep breath.

"You can leave anytime. The helicopter is on stand-by to take you whenever you want

to go, you can stay the night and go home in the morning. It's fine whatever you decide."

"Just open the damn door, Zain."

He opens the door and stands back to let me in. I gaze at him once more. I so want to

know what's in here. Taking a deep breath I walk in.

And it feels like I've time-traveled back to the sixteenth century and the Spanish Inquisition.

Holy f**k.