50 Shades Darker- LAST 4 chaps on pg 13..8th Feb - Page 7

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Chap 9

I cannot contain my jubilation. My subconscious gapes at me open-mouthed"in stunned

silence"and I wear a face-splitting grin as I gaze longingly up into zain's wide, tortured eyes.

His soft sweet confession calls to me on some deep elemental level as if he's seeking

absolution; his three small words are my manna from heaven. Tears prick my eyes once

more. Yes, you do. I know you do.

It's such a liberating realization as if a crushing millstone has been tossed aside. This

beautiful, f**ked-up man, whom I once thought of as my romantic hero"strong, solitary,

mysterious"possesses all these traits, but he's also fragile and alienated and full of selfloathing. My heart swells with joy but also pain for his suffering. And I know in this moment that my heart is big enough for both of us. I hope it's big enough for both of us.

I reach up to clasp his dear, dear, handsome face and kiss him gently, pouring all the

love I feel into this one sweet connection. I want to devour him beneath the hot cascading

water. zain groans and encircles me in his arms, holding me as if I am the air he needs

to breathe.

"Oh, aliya," he whispers hoarsely, "I want you, but not here."

"Yes," I murmur fervently into his mouth.He switches off the shower and takes my hand, leading me out and enfolding me in

my bathrobe. Grabbing a towel, he wraps it around his waist, then takes a smaller one and

begins to gently dry my hair. When he's satisfied, he swathes the towel around my head so

that in the large mirror over the sink I look like I'm wearing a veil. He's standing behind

me and our eyes meet in the mirror, smoldering gray to bright blue, and it gives me an idea.

"Can I reciprocate?" I ask.

He nods, though his brow creases. I reach for another towel from the plethora of fluffy

towels stacked beside the vanity, and standing before him on tiptoe, I start to dry his hair.

He bends forward, making the process easier, and as I catch the occasional glimpse of his

face beneath the towel, I see he's grinning at me like a small boy.

"It's a long time since anyone did this to me. A very long time," he murmurs, but then

frowns. "In fact I don't think anyone's ever dried my hair."

"Surely suraiyya did? Dried your hair when you were young?"

He shakes his head, hampering my progress.

"No. She respected my boundaries from day one, even though it was painful for her. I

was very self-sufficient as a child," he says quietly.

I feel a swift kick in the ribs as I think of a small copper-haired child looking after

himself because no one else cares. The thought is sickeningly sad. But I don't want my

melancholy to hijack this blossoming intimacy.

"Well, I'm honored," I gently tease him.

"That you are, Miss haider. Or maybe it is I who am honored."

"That goes without saying, Mr. abdullah," I respond tartly.

I finish with his hair, reach for another small towel, and move round to stand behind

him. Our eyes meet again in the mirror, and his watchful, questioning look prompts me to

speak.

"Can I try something?"

After a moment, he nods. Warily, and very gently, I run the soft cloth down his left arm,

soaking up the water that has beaded on his skin. Glancing up, I check his expression in the

mirror. He blinks at me, his eyes burning into mine.

I lean forward and kiss his bicep, and his lips part infinitesimally. I dry his other arm

in a similar fashion, trailing kisses around his bicep, and a small smile plays on his lips.

Carefully, I wipe his back beneath the faint lipstick line, which is still visible. I hadn't gotten round to washing his back.

"Whole back," he says quietly, "with the towel." He takes a sharp breath and screws his

eyes closed as I briskly dry him, careful to touch him only with the towel.

He has such an attractive back"broad, sculptured shoulders, all the small muscles

clearly defined. He really looks after himself. The beautiful sight is marred only by his

scars.

With difficulty, I ignore them and suppress my overwhelming urge to kiss each and

every one. When I finish he exhales, and I lean forward and reward him with a kiss on his

shoulder. Putting my arms around him, I dry his stomach. Our eyes meet once more in the

mirror, his expression amused but wary, too.

"Hold this." I hand him a smaller face towel, and he gives me a bemused frown. "Remember in Georgia? You made me touch myself using your hands," I add.His face darkens, but I ignore his reaction and put my arms around him. Gazing at us

both in the mirror"his beauty, his nakedness, and me with my covered hair"we look

almost Biblical, as if from an Old Testament baroque painting.

I reach for his hand, which he willingly entrusts to me, and guide it up to his chest to

dry it, sweeping the towel slowly, awkwardly across his body. Once, twice"then again.

He's completely immobilized, rigid with tension, except for his eyes, which follow my

hand clasped around his.

My subconscious looks on with approval, her normally pursed mouth smiling, and I

am the supreme puppet master. His anxiety ripples off his back in waves, but he maintains

eye contact, though his eyes are darker, more deadly. Showing their secrets maybe.

Is this a place I want to go? Do I want to confront his demons?

"I think you're dry now," I whisper as I drop my hand, gazing into the gray depths of

his eyes in the mirror. His breathing is accelerated, lips parted.

"I need you, aliya," he whispers.

"I need you, too." And as I say the words, I am struck how true they are. I cannot imagine being without zain, ever.

"Let me love you," he says hoarsely.

"Yes," I answer, and turning, he hauls me into his arms, his lips seeking mine, beseeching me, worshipping me, cherishing me . . . loving me.

He trails his fingers up and down my spine as we gaze at each other, basking in our postcoital bliss, replete. We lie together, me on my front hugging my pillow, he on his side, and I

am treasuring his tender touch. I know that right now he needs to touch me. I am a balm for

him, a source of solace, and how could I deny him that? I feel exactly the same about him.

"So you can be gentle," I murmur.

"Hmm . . . so it would seem, Miss haider."

I grin. "You weren't particularly the first time we . . . um, did this."

"No?" He smirks. "When, I robbed you of your virtue."

"I don't think you robbed me," I mutter haughtily"Jeez, I'm not a helpless maiden.

"I think my virtue was offered up pretty freely and willingly. I wanted you, too, and if I

remember correctly, I rather enjoyed myself." I smile shyly at him, biting my lip.

"So did I if I recall, Miss haider. We aim to please," he drawls and his face softens,

serious. "And it means you're mine, completely." All trace of humor has vanished as he

gazes at me.

"Yes, I am," I murmur back at him. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Go ahead."

"Your biological father . . . do you know who he was?" This thought has been bugging

me.

His brow creases, and then he shakes his head. "I have no idea. Wasn't the savage who

was her pimp, which is good."

"How do you know?"

"Something my dad . . . something usman said to me."I gaze at my Fifty expectantly, waiting. He smirks at me.

"So hungry for information, aliya," he sighs, shaking his head. "The pimp discovered the crack wh**e's body and phoned it in to the authorities. Took him four days to make

the discovery though. He shut the door when he left . . . left me with her . . . her body." His

eyes cloud at the memory.

I inhale sharply. Poor baby boy"the horror is too grim to contemplate.

"Police interviewed him later. He denied flat out I was anything to do with him, and

usman said he looked nothing like me."

"Do you remember what he did look like?"

"aliya, this isn't a part of my life I revisit very often. Yes, I remember what he

looked like. I'll never forget him." Zain's face darkens and hardens, becoming more

angular, his eyes frosting with anger. "Can we talk about something else?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

He shakes his head. "It's old news, aliya. Not something I want to think about."

"So what's this surprise, then?" I need to change the subject before he goes all Fifty on

me. His expression lightens immediately.

"Can you face going out for some fresh air? I want to show you something."

"Of course."

I marvel how quickly he turns"mercurial as ever. He grins at me with his boyish, carefree, I'm-only-twenty-seven smile, and my heart lurches into my mouth. So it's something

close to his heart, I can tell. He swats me playfully on my behind.

"Get dressed. Jeans will be good. I hope Taylor's packed some for you."

He rises and pulls on his boxer briefs. Oh . . . I could sit here all day, watching him

wander around the room. My inner goddess agrees, swooning as she ogles from her chaise

longue.

"Up," he scolds, bossy as ever. I gaze at him, grinning.

"Just admiring the view."

He rolls his eyes at me.

As we dress, I notice that we move with the synchronization of two people who know

each other well, each watchful and acutely aware of the other, exchanging the occasional

shy smile and sweet touch. And it dawns on me that this is just as new for him as it is for

me.

"Dry your hair," zain orders once we're dressed.

"Domineering as ever." I smirk at him, and he leans down to kiss my hair.

"That's never going to change, baby. I don't want you sick."

I roll my eyes at him, and his mouth twists in amusement.

"My palms still twitch, you know, Miss haider."

"I am glad to hear it, Mr. abdullah. I was beginning to think you were losing your edge,"

I retort.

"I could easily demonstrate that is not the case, should you so wish." zain drags

a large, cream, cable-knit sweater out of his bag and drapes it artfully over his shoulders.

With his white T-shirt and jeans, his artfully rumpled hair, and now this, he looks as if he's

stepped out of the pages of a high-end glossy magazine. No one should look this good. And I don't know if it's the momentary distraction of his

sheer perfect looks or the knowledge that he loves me, but his threat no longer fills me with

dread. This is my Fifty Shades; this is the way he is.

As I reach for the hairdryer, a tangible ray of hope blossoms. We will find a middle

way. We just have to recognize each other's needs and accommodate them. I can do that,

surely?

I gaze at myself in the dresser mirror. I'm wearing the pale blue shirt that Taylor bought

and had packed for me. My hair is a mess, my face flushed, my lips swollen"I touch them,

remembering zain's searing kisses, and I can't help a small smile as I stare. Yes, I do,

he said.

"Where are we going exactly?" I ask as we wait in the lobby for the parking valet.

zain taps the side of his nose and winks at me conspiratorially, looking like he's

desperately trying to contain his glee. Frankly, it's very un-Fifty.

He was like this when we went gliding"perhaps that's what we're doing. I beam back

at him. He stares down his nose at me in that superior way he has with his lopsided grin.

Leaning down, he kisses me gently.

"Do you have any idea how happy you make me feel?" he murmurs.

"Yes . . . I know exactly. Because you do the same for me."

The valet zooms up in zain's car, wearing a face-splitting grin. Jeez, everyone is

so happy today.

"Great car, sir," he mumbles as he hands over the keys. zain winks and gives him

an obscenely large tip.

I frown at him. Honestly.

As we cruise through the traffic, zain is deep in thought. A young woman's voice

comes over the loudspeakers; it has a beautiful, rich, mellow timbre, and I lose myself in

her sad, soulful voice.

"I need to make a detour. It shouldn't take long," he says absentmindedly, distracting

me from the song.

Oh, why? I'm intrigued to know the surprise. My inner goddess is bouncing about like

a five-year-old.

"Sure," I murmur. Something is amiss. Suddenly, he looks grimly determined.

He pulls into the parking lot of large car dealership, stops the car, and turns to face me,

his expression wary.

"We need to get you a new car," he says. I gape at him.

Now? On a Sunday? What the hell? And this is a Saab dealership.

"Not an Audi?" is, stupidly, the only thing I can think of to say, and bless him, he actually flushes.

Holy cow"zain, embarrassed. This is a first.

"I thought you might like something else," he mutters. He's almost squirming.Oh, please . . . This is too valuable an opportunity not to tease him. I smirk. "A Saab?"

"Yeah. A 9-3. Come."

"What is it with you and foreign cars?"

"The Germans and the Swedes make the safest cars in the world, aliya."

Do they? "I thought you'd already ordered me another Audi A3?"

He gives me a darkly amused look. "I can cancel that. Come." Climbing smoothly out

of the car, he strolls gracefully to my side and opens my door.

"I owe you a graduation present," he says softly and holds his hand out for me.

"zain, you really don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do. Please. Come." His tone says he's not to be trifled with.

I resign myself to my fate. A Saab? Do I want a Saab? I quite like the Audi Submissive

Special. It was very nifty.

Of course, now it's under a ton of white paint . . . I shudder. And she's still out there.

I take zain's hand, and we wander into the showroom.

Troy Turniansky, the salesman, is all over Fifty like a cheap suit. He can smell a sale.

Weirdly his accent sounds mid-Atlantic, maybe British? It's difficult to tell.

"A Saab, sir? Pre-owned?" He rubs his hands with glee.

"New." Zain's lips set into a hard line.

New!

"Did you have a model in mind, sir?" And he's smarmy, too.

"9-3 2.0T Sport Sedan."

"An excellent choice, sir."

"What color, aliya?" zain inclines his head.

"Er . . . black?" I shrug. "You really don't need to do this."

He frowns. "Black's not easily seen at night."

Oh, for heaven's sake. I resist the temptation to roll my eyes. "You have a black car."

He scowls at me.

"Bright canary yellow then." I shrug.

zain makes a face"canary yellow is obviously not his thing.

"What color do you want me to have?" I ask as if he's a small child, which he is in

many ways. The thought is unwelcome"sad and sobering at once.

"Silver or white."

"Silver, then. You know I'll take the Audi," I add, chastened by my thoughts.

Troy pales, sensing he's losing a sale. "Perhaps you'd like the convertible, ma'am?" he

asks, clapping his hands with enthusiasm.

My subconscious is cringing in disgust, mortified by the whole buying-a-car business,

but my inner goddess tackles her to the floor. Convertible? Drool!

zain frowns and peers at me. "Convertible?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

I flush. It's like he has a direct hotline to my inner goddess, which of course, he has. It's

most inconvenient at times. I stare down at my hands.

zain turns to Troy. "What are the safety stats on the convertible?"

Troy, sensing zain's vulnerability, heads in for the kill, reeling off all manner of

statistics.Of course, zain wants me safe. It's a religion with him, and like the zealot he is,

he listens intently to Troy's well-honed patter. Fifty really does care.

Yes. I do. I remember his whispered, choked words from this morning, and a melting

glow spreads like warm honey through my veins. This man"God's gift to women"loves

me.

I find myself grinning goofily at him, and when he glances down at me, he's amused

yet puzzled by my expression. I just want to hug myself, I am so happy.

"Whatever you're high on, I'd like some, Miss haider," he murmurs as Troy heads off

to his computer.

"I'm high on you, Mr. abdullah."

"Really? Well you certainly look intoxicated." He kisses me briefly. "And thank you

for accepting the car. That was easier than last time."

"Well, it's not an Audi A3."

He smirks. "That's not the car for you."

"I liked it."

"Sir, the 9-3? I've located one at our Beverly Hills dealership. We can have it here for

you in a couple of days." Troy glows with triumph.

"Top of the range?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent." zain produces his credit card, or is it Taylor's? The thought is unnerving. I wonder how Taylor is, and if he's located Leila in the apartment. I rub my forehead.

Yes, there's all of zain's baggage, too.

"If you'll come this way, Mr.""Troy glances at the name on the card""abdullah."

zain opens my door, and I climb back into the passenger seat.

"Thank you," I say when he's seated beside me.

He smiles.

"You're most welcome, aliya."

The music starts again as zain starts the engine.

"Who's this?" I ask.

"Eva Cassidy."

"She has a lovely voice."

"She does, she did."

"Oh."

"She died young."

"Oh."

"Are you hungry? You didn't finish all your breakfast." He glances quickly at me, disapproval outlined on his face.

Uh-oh. "Yes."

"Lunch first, then."zain drives toward the waterfront then heads north along the Alaskan Way. It's

another beautiful day in Seattle. It's been uncharacteristically fine for the last few weeks,

I muse.

zain looks happy and relaxed as we sit back listening to Eva Cassidy's sweet,

soulful voice and cruise down the highway. Have I ever felt this comfortable in his company before? I don't know.

I am less nervous of his moods, confident that he won't punish me, and he seems more

comfortable with me, too. He turns left, following the coast road, and eventually pulls up

in a parking lot opposite a vast marina.

"We'll eat here. I'll open your door," he says in such a way that I know it's not wise to

move, and I watch him move around the car. Will this ever get old?

We stroll arm in arm to the waterfront where the marina stretches out in front of us.

"So many boats," I murmur in wonder. There are hundreds of them in all shapes and

sizes, bobbing up and down on the calm, still waters of the marina. Out on the Sound there

are dozens of sails in the wind, weaving to and fro, enjoying the fine weather. It's a wholesome, outdoorsy sight. The wind has picked up a little, so I pull my jacket around me.

"Cold?" he asks and pulls me tightly against him.

"No, just admiring the view."

"I could stare at it all day. Come, this way."

zain leads me into a large seafront bar and makes his way to the counter. The d-

cor is more New England than West Coast"white-limed walls, pale blue furnishings, and

boating paraphernalia hanging everywhere. It's a bright, cheery place.

"Mr. abdullah!" the barman greets zain warmly. "What can I get you this afternoon?"

"Dante, good afternoon." zain grins as we both slip onto bar stools. "This lovely

lady is Aliya Haider."

"Welcome to SP's Place." Dante gives me a friendly smile. He's black and beautiful,

his dark eyes assessing me and not finding me wanting, it seems. One large diamond stud

winks at me from his ear. I like him immediately.

"What would you like to drink, aliya?"

I glance at zain, who regards me expectantly. Oh, he's going to let me choose.

"I'll have whatever zain's drinking." I smile shyly at

Dante. Fifty's so much better at wine than I am.

"I'm going to have a beer. This is the only bar in Seattle where you can get Adnam's

Explorer."

"A beer?"

"Yes." He grins at me. "Two Explorers, please, Dante."

Dante nods and sets up the beers on the bar.

"They do a delicious seafood chowder here," zain says.

He's asking me.

"Chowder and beer sounds great." I smile at him.

"Two chowders?" Dante asks."Please." zain grins at him.

We talk through our meal, as we never have before. zain is relaxed and calm"he

looks young, happy, and animated despite all that transpired yesterday. He recounts the history of Abdullah Enterprises Holdings, and the more he reveals, the more I sense his passion for

fixing problem companies, his hopes for the technology he's developing, and his dreams

of making land in the third world more productive. I listen enraptured. He's funny, clever,

philanthropic, and beautiful, and he loves me.

In turn, he plagues me with questions about ghulam and my mom, about growing up in the

lush forests of Montesano, and my brief stints in Texas and Vegas. He demands to know my

favorite books and films, and I'm surprised by how much we have in common.

As we talk, it strikes me that he's turned from Hardy's Alec to Angel, debasement to

high ideal in such a short space of time.

It's after two when we finish our meal. zain settles the tab with Dante, who wishes

us a fond farewell.

"This is a great place. Thank you for lunch," I say as zain takes my hand and we

leave the bar.

"We'll come again," he says, and we stroll along the waterfront. "I wanted to show you

something."

"I know . . . and I can't wait to see it, whatever it is."

We wander hand in hand along the marina. It is such a pleasant afternoon. People are out

enjoying their Sunday"walking dogs, admiring the boats, watching their kids run along

the promenade.

As we head down the marina, the boats are getting progressively larger. zain leads

me on to the dock and stops in front of a huge catamaran.

"I thought we'd go sailing this afternoon. This is my boat."

Holy cow. It must be at least forty, maybe fifty feet. Two sleek white hulls, a deck, a

roomy cabin, and towering over them a very tall mast. I know nothing about boats, but I

can tell this one is special.

"Wow . . . ," I murmur in wonder.

"Built by my company," he says proudly and my heart swells. "She's been designed

from the ground up by the very best naval architects in the world and constructed here in

Seattle at my yard. She has hybrid electric drives, asymmetric dagger boards, a squaretopped mainsail""

"Okay . . . you've lost me, zain."

He grins. "She's a great boat."

"She looks mighty fine, Mr. abdullah."

"That she does, Miss haider."

"What's her name?"

He pulls me to the side so I can see her name: The Suraiyya. I'm surprised. "You named

her after your mom?"

"Yes." He cocks his head to one side, quizzical. "Why do you find that strange?"I shrug. I am surprised"he always seems ambivalent in her presence.

"I adore my mom, aliya. Why wouldn't I name a boat after her?"

I flush. "No, it's not that . . . it's just . . ." Shit, how can I put this into words?

"aliya, suraiyya abdullah saved my life. I owe her everything."

I gaze at him, and let the reverence in his softly spoken admission wash over me. It's

obvious to me, for the first time, that he loves his mom. Why then his strange strained ambivalence toward her?

"Do you want to come aboard?" he asks, his eyes bright, excited.

"Yes, please." I smile.

He looks delighted and delightful in one yummy scrumptious package. Grasping my

hand, he strides up the small gangplank and leads me aboard so that we are standing on

deck beneath a rigid canopy.

To one side there's a table and a U-shaped banquette covered in pale blue leather,

which must seat at least eight people. I glance through the sliding doors to the interior of

the cabin and jump, startled when I spy someone there. The tall blond man opens the sliding doors and emerges"all tanned, curly-haired and brown-eyed"wearing a faded pink

short-sleeved polo shirt, shorts, and deck shoes. He must be in his early thirties.

"Mac." zain beams.

"Mr. abdullah! Welcome back." They shake hands.

"aliya, this is Liam McConnell. Liam, my girlfriend, aliya haider."

Girlfriend! My inner goddess performs a quick arabesque. She's still grinning over the

convertible. I have to get used to this"it's not the first time he's said it, but hearing him

say it is still a thrill.

"How do you do?" Liam and I shake hands.

"Call me Mac," he says warmly, and I can't place his accent. "Welcome aboard, Miss

haider

"aliya, please," I mutter, flushing. He has deep brown eyes.

"How's she shaping up, Mac?" zain interjects quickly, and for a moment, I think

he's talking about me.

"She's ready to rock and roll, sir," Mac beams. Oh, the boat, The suraiyya. Silly me.

"Let's get underway, then."

"You going to take her out?"

"Yep." zain flashes Mac a quick wicked grin. "Quick tour, aliya?"

"Yes, please."

I follow him inside the cabin. An L-shaped cream leather sofa is directly in front of us,

and above it, a massive curved window offers a panoramic view of the marina. To the left

is the kitchen area"very well appointed, all pale wood.

"This is the main saloon. Galley beside," zain says, waving his hand in the direction of the kitchen.

He takes my hand and leads me through the main cabin. It's surprisingly spacious. The

floor is the same pale wood. It looks modern and sleek and has a light, airy feel, but it's all

very functional, as if he doesn't spend much time here.

"Bathrooms on either side." zain points to two doors, then opens the small, oddly

shaped door directly in front of us and steps in. We're in a plush bedroom. Oh . . .It has a king-size cabin bed and is all pale blue linen and pale wood like his bedroom

at Escala. zain obviously chooses a theme and sticks to it.

"This is the master cabin." He gazes down at me, gray eyes glowing. "You're the first

girl in here, apart from family," he smirks. "They don't count."

I flush under his heated stare, and my pulse quickens. Really? Another first. He pulls

me into his arms, his fingers tangling in my hair, and kisses me, long and hard. We're both

breathless when he pulls away.

"Might have to christen this bed," he whispers against my mouth.

Oh, at sea!

"But not right now. Come, Mac will be casting off." I ignore the stab of disappointment

as he takes my hand and leads me back through the saloon. He indicates another door.

"Office in there, and at the front here, two more cabins."

"So how many can sleep on board?"

"It's a six-berth cat. I've only ever had the family on board, though. I like to sail alone.

But not when you're here. I need to keep an eye on you."

He delves into a chest and pulls out a bright red lifejacket.

"Here." Putting it over my head, he tightens all the straps, a faint smile playing on his

lips.

"You love strapping me in, don't you?"

"In any form," he says, a wicked grin playing on his lips.

"You are a pervert."

"I know." He raises his eyebrows and his grin broadens.

"My pervert," I whisper.

"Yes, yours."

Once secured, he grabs the sides of the jacket and kisses me. "Always," he breathes,

then releases me before I have a chance to respond.

Always! Holy shit.

"Come." He grabs my hand and leads me outside, up some steps, and onto the upper

deck to a small cockpit that houses a big steering wheel and a raised seat. At the prow of

the boat, Mac is doing something with ropes.

"Is this where you learned all your rope tricks?" I ask zain innocently.

"Clove hitches have come in handy," he says, looking at me appraisingly. "Miss haider,

you sound curious. I like you curious, baby. I'd be more than happy to demonstrate what I

can do with a rope." He smirks at me, and I gaze back impassively as if he's upset me. His

face falls.

"Gotcha." I grin.

His mouth twists and he narrows his eyes. "I may have to deal with you later, but right

now, I've got to drive my boat." He sits at the controls, presses a button, and the engines

roar into life.

Mac comes scooting back down the side of the boat, grinning at me, and jumps down

to the deck below where he starts to unfasten a rope. Maybe he knows some rope tricks,

too. The idea pops unwelcome into my head and I flush. My subconscious glares at me. Mentally I shrug at her and glance at zain"I

blame Fifty. He picks up the receiver and radios the coastguard as Mac calls up that we are

set to go.

Once more, I am dazzled by zains expertise. He's so competent. Is there nothing

that this man can't do? Then I remember his earnest attempt to chop and dice a pepper in

my apartment on Friday. The thought makes me smile.

Slowly, zain eases The suraiyya out of her berth and toward the marina entrance. Behind us, a small crowd has gathered on the dockside to watch our departure. Small children

are waving, and I wave back.

zain glances over his shoulder, then pulls me between his legs and points out various dials and gadgets in the cockpit. "Grab the wheel," he orders, bossy as ever, but I do

as I'm told.

"Aye, aye, captain!" I giggle.

Placing his hands snugly over mine, he continues to steer our course out of the marina,

and within a few minutes, we are out on the open sea, slap into the cold blue waters of

Puget Sound. Away from the shelter of the marina's protective wall, the wind is stronger,

and the sea pitches and rolls beneath us.

I can't help but grin, feeling zain's excitement"this is such fun. We make a large

curve until we are heading west toward the Olympic Peninsula, the wind behind us.

"Sail time," zain says, excited. "Here"you take her. Keep her on this course."

What? He grins, reacting to the horror in my face.

"Baby, it's really easy. Hold the wheel and keep your eye on the horizon over the bow.

You'll do great; you always do. When the sails go up, you'll feel the drag. Just hold her

steady. I'll signal like this""he makes a slashing motion across his throat""and you can

cut the engines. This button here." He points to a large black button. "Understand?"

"Yes." I nod frantically, feeling panicky. Jeez"I hadn't expected to do anything!

He kisses me quickly, then he steps off his captain's chair and bounds up to the front of

the boat to join Mac where he starts unfurling sails, untying ropes, and operating winches

and pulleys. They work well together in a team, shouting various nautical terms to each

other, and it's warming to see Fifty interacting with someone else in such a carefree manner.

Perhaps Mac is Fifty's friend. He doesn't seem to have many, as far as I can tell, but

then, I don't have many either. Well, not here in Seattle. The only friend I have is on vacation sunning herself in St. James on the west coast of Barbados.

I have a sudden pang for yasmin. I miss my roommate more than I thought I would when

she left. I hope she changes her mind and comes home with her brother bilal, rather than

prolong her stay with zain's brother harshad.

zain and Mac hoist the mainsail. It fills and billows out as the wind seizes it hungrily, and the boat lurches suddenly, zipping forward. I feel it through the wheel. Whoa!

They get to work on the headsail, and I watch fascinated as it flies up the mast. The

wind catches it, stretching it taut.

"Hold her steady, baby, and cut the engines!" zain cries out to me over the wind,

motioning me to switch off the engines. I can only just hear his voice, but I nod enthusiasti-cally, gazing at the man I love, all windswept, exhilarated, and bracing himself against the

pitch and yaw of the boat.

I press the button, the roar of the engines ceases, and The suraiyya soars toward the

Olympic Peninsula, skimming across the water as if she's flying. I want to yell and scream

and cheer"this has to be one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life"except perhaps the glider, and maybe the Red Room of Pain.

Holy cow, this boat can move! I stand firm, grasping the wheel, fighting the rudder, and

zain is behind me once more, his hands on mine.

"What do you think?" he shouts above the sound of the wind and the sea.

"zain! This is fantastic."

He beams, grinning from ear to ear. "You wait until the spinney's up." He points with

his chin toward Mac, who is unfurling the spinnaker"a sail that's a dark, rich red. It reminds me of the walls in the playroom.

"Interesting color," I shout.

He gives me a wolfish grin and winks. Oh, it's deliberate.

The spinney balloons out"a large, odd elliptical shape"putting The suraiyya in overdrive. Finding her head, she speeds over the Sound.

"Asymmetrical sail. For speed." zain answers my unasked question.

"It's amazing." I can think of nothing better to say. I have the most ridiculous grin on

my face as we whip through the water, heading for the majesty of the Olympic Mountains

and Bainbridge Island. Glancing back, I see Seattle shrinking behind us, Mount Rainier in

the far distance.

I had not really appreciated how beautiful and rugged Seattle's surrounding landscape

is"verdant, lush, and temperate, tall evergreens and cliff faces jutting out here and there.

It has a wild but serene beauty on this glorious sunny afternoon that takes my breath away.

The stillness is stunning compared to our speed as we whip across the water.

"How fast are we going?"

"She's doing 15 knots."

"I have no idea what that means."

"It's about 17 miles an hour."

"Is that all? It feels much faster."

He squeezes my hands, smiling. "You look lovely, aliya. It's good to see some

color in your cheeks . . . and not from blushing. You look like you do in rehaan's photos."

I turn and kiss him.

"You know how to show a girl a good time, Mr. abdullah."

"We aim to please, Miss haider." He scoops my hair out of the way and kisses the back

of my neck, sending delicious tingles down my spine. "I like seeing you happy," he murmurs and tightens his arms around me.

I gaze out over the wide blue water, wondering what I could possibly have done in the

past to have fortune smile and deliver this beautiful man to me.

Yes, you're a lucky bitch, my subconscious snaps. But you have your work cut out with

him. He's not going to want this vanilla crap forever . . . you're going to have to compromise. I glare mentally at her snarky, insolent face and rest my head against zain's chest. But deep down I know my subconscious is right, but I banish the thoughts. I don't

want to spoil my day.

An hour later, we are anchored in a small, secluded cove off Bainbridge Island. Mac has

gone ashore in the inflatable"for what, I don't know"but I have my suspicions because

as soon as Mac starts the outboard engine, zain grabs my hand and practically drags

me into his cabin, a man with a mission.

Now he stands before me, exuding his intoxicating sensuality as his deft fingers make

quick work of the straps on my lifejacket. He tosses it to one side and gazes intently down

at me, eyes dark, dilated.

I'm already lost and he's barely touched me. He raises his hand to my face, and his

fingers move down my chin, the column of my throat, my sternum, searing me with his

touch, to the first button of my blue blouse.

"I want to see you," he breathes and dexterously undoes the button. Bending, he plants

a soft kiss on my parted lips. I am panting and eager, aroused by the potent combination of

his captivating beauty, his raw sexuality in the confines of this cabin, and the gentle sway

of the boat. He stands back.

"Strip for me," he whispers, eyes burning.

Oh my. I'm only too happy to comply. Not taking my eyes off his, I slowly undo each

button, savoring his scorching gaze. Oh, this is heady stuff. I can see his desire"it's evident on his face . . . and elsewhere.

I let my shirt fall to the floor and reach for the button on my jeans.

"Stop," he orders. "Sit."

I sit down on the edge of the bed, and in one fluid movement he's on his knees in front

of me, undoing the laces of first one and then the other sneaker, pulling each off, followed

by my socks. He picks up my left foot and raising it, plants a soft kiss on the pad of my big

toe, then grazes his teeth against it.

"Ah!" I moan as I feel the effect in my groin. He stands in one smooth move, holds his

hand out to me, and pulls me up off the bed.

"Continue," he says and stands back to watch me.

I ease the zipper of my jeans down and hook my thumbs in the waistband as I sashay

then slide the denim down my legs. A soft smile plays on his lips, but his eyes remain dark.

And I don't know if it's because he made love to me this morning, and I mean really

made love to me, gently, sweetly, or if it was his impassioned declaration"yes . . . I do"

but I don't feel embarrassed at all. I want to be sexy for this man. He deserves sexy"he

makes me feel sexy.

Okay, it's new to me, but I'm learning under his expert tutelage. And then again, so

much is new to him, too. It balances the seesaw between us, a little, I think.

I am wearing some of my new underwear"a white lacy thong and matching bra"a

designer brand with a price tag to match. I step out of my jeans and stand there for him in

the lingerie he's paid for, but I no longer feel cheap. I feel his. Reaching behind I unhook my bra, sliding the straps down my arms, and drop it on top

of my blouse. Slowly, I slip my panties off, letting them fall to my ankles, and step out of

them, surprised by my grace.

Standing before him, I am naked and unashamed, and I know it's because he loves

me. I no longer have to hide. He says nothing, just gazes at me. All I see is his desire, his

adoration even, and something else, the depth of his need"the depth of his love for me.

He reaches down, lifts the hem of his cream-colored sweater, and pulls it over his head,

followed by his T-shirt, revealing his chest, never taking his bold gray eyes off mine. His

shoes and socks follow before he grasps the button of his jeans.

Reaching over, I whisper, "Let me."

His lips purse briefly into an ooh shape, and he smiles. "Be my guest."

I step toward him, slip my fearless fingers inside the waistband of his jeans, and tug so

he's forced to take a step closer to me. He gasps involuntarily at my unexpected audacity

then smiles down at me. I undo the button, but before I unzip him I let my fingers wander,

tracing his erection through the soft denim. He flexes his hips into my palm and closes his

eyes briefly, relishing my touch.

"You're getting so bold, aliya, so brave," he whispers and clasps my face with both

hands, bending to kiss me deeply.

I put my hands on his hips"half on his cool skin and half on the low-slung waistband

of his jeans. "So are you," I murmur against his lips as my thumbs rub slow circles on his

skin, and he smiles.

"Getting there."

I move my hands to the front of his jeans and pull down the zipper. My intrepid fingers

move through his pubic hair to his erection, and I grasp him tightly.

He makes a low sound in his throat, his sweet breath washing over me, and he kisses

me again, lovingly. As my hand moves over him, around him, stroking him, squeezing him

tightly, he puts his arms around me, his right hand flat against the middle of my back and

his fingers spread. His left hand is in my hair, holding me to his mouth.

"Oh, I want you so much, baby," he breathes, and steps back suddenly to remove his

jeans and boxers in one swift, agile move. He is a fine, fine sight in or out of clothes, every

single inch of him.

He is perfect. His beauty desecrated only by his scars, I think sadly. And they run so

much deeper than his skin.

"What's wrong, aliya?" he murmurs and gently strokes my cheek with his knuckles.

"Nothing. Love me, now."

He pulls me into his arms, kissing me, twisting his hands into my hair. Our tongues

entwined, he walks me backward to the bed and gently lowers me onto it, following me

down so that he's lying by my side.

He runs his nose along my jawline as my hands move to his hair.

"Do you have any idea how exquisite your scent is, Aliya? It's irresistible."

His words do what they always do"flame my blood, quicken my pulse"and he trails

his nose down my throat, across my breasts, kissing me reverentially as he does.

"You are so beautiful," he murmurs, as he takes one of my nipples in his mouth and

softly suckles.I moan as my body bows off the bed.

"Let me hear you, baby."

His hand trails down to my waist, and I glory in the feel of his touch, skin to skin"his

hungry mouth at my breasts and his skilled long fingers caressing and stroking me, cherishing me. Moving over my hips, over my behind, and down my leg to my knee, and all this

time he's kissing and sucking my breasts"oh my.

Grasping my knee, he suddenly hitches my leg up, curling it over his hips, making me

gasp, and I feel rather than see his responding grin against my skin. He rolls over so that I

am astride him and hands me a foil packet.

I shift back, taking him in my hands, and I just can't resist him in all his glory. I bend

and kiss him, taking him in my mouth, swirling my tongue around him, then sucking hard.

He groans and flexes his hips so that he's deeper in my mouth.

Mmm . . . he tastes good. I want him inside me. I sit up and gaze at him; he's breathless,

mouth open, watching me intently.

Hurriedly I tear open the condom and unroll it over him. He holds out his hands for

me. I take one and with my other hand, position myself over him, then slowly claim him

as mine.

He groans low in his throat, closing his eyes.

The feel of him in me . . . stretching . . . filling me"I moan softly"it's divine. He places

his hands on my hips and moves me up, down, and pushes into me. Oh . . . it's so good.

"Oh, baby," he whispers, and suddenly he sits up so we're nose to nose, and the sensation is extraordinary"so full. I gasp, grabbing his upper arms as he clasps my head in his

hands and gazes into my eyes"his intense and gray, burning with desire.

"Oh, aliya. What you make me feel," he murmurs and kisses me passionately with fervent ardor. I kiss him back, dizzy with the delicious feeling of him buried deep inside me.

"Oh, I love you," I murmur. He groans as if pained to hear my whispered words and

rolls over, taking me with him without breaking our precious contact, so that I'm lying

beneath him. I wrap my legs around his waist.

He stares down at me with adoring wonder, and I am sure I mirror his expression as I

reach up to caress his beautiful face. Very slowly, he starts to move, closing his eyes as he

does and moaning softly.

The gentle sway of the boat and the peace and quiet tranquility of the cabin are broken

only by our mingled breaths as he moves slowly in and out of me, so controlled and so

good"it's heavenly. He puts his arm over my head, his hand on my hair, and he caresses

my face with the other as he bends to kiss me.

I'm cocooned by him, as he loves me, slowly moving in and out, savoring me. I touch

him"sticking to the boundaries"his arms, his hair, his lower back, his beautiful behind"

and my breathing accelerates as his steady rhythm pushes me higher and higher. He's kissing my mouth, my chin, my jaw, then nibbling my ear. I can hear his staccato breaths with

each gentle thrust of his body.

My body starts to quiver. Oh . . . This feeling that I now know so well . . . I am close . . .

Oh . . .

"That's right, baby . . . give it up for me . . . Please . . . aliya," he murmurs and his words

are my undoing."zain," I call out, and he groans as we both come together.

Originally posted by: clover1231

I'M REALLY SORRY 4 NOT BCOMMENTING 4 THIS MANY DAYS AS MY MOM IS NT ALLOWING MORE ACCESS TO GADGETS AS MY EXAMS R GOING ON 4 NXT 2 MONTHS BUT I'M COMING ONLINE THROUGH TAB WHICH HAVE PROBLEMS WITH SIGN IN ID AND FINAALY THROUGH LAPTOP I COULD

FISRST OF ALL MANYYY MAANYYY HAPPPY WISHES AND BLESSINGS BE GRANTED ON U

CONGRATZ ON UR ENGAGEMENT I'M REALLY HAAAPPY 4 U 😛

KEEP WRITING IT I KEEP READING IT CONTINOUSLY WITH OUT A BEAT

I REALLY LUV IT

KEEP WRITING IT PLZZ

AND ONCE AGAIN MAAANY MAANYY HAPPY WISHES 4 U R ENAGAGEMENT 😛😊

Originally posted by: Zainedil

great update

Mrs.Robinson ...one nasty women

Zaya version is so good

Sim

Originally posted by: preeharsharora

oh gosh d more i read d more i get addicted i love dis zin he is so mysterious dere is so much to discover abt him everytym i see a new part of zain life dats interesting n aliya reaction to it dats cute ..keep writing i throughly enjoy it ..kudos to u

Originally posted by: katmaan

Ahh finally he says it ...god it is intigruing me I mean so much suspense so much pain ...

And it's hot too

Originally posted by: -ZaYaholic-

love it.aliya finally take zain back from his pain eventually.
he almost confess his feeling for her.can't wait for next part.

I really loved zains character it had so many layers on it ... Beautiful n he was so lavish n still at ease with her
Nice read
Sim

It was beautiful ...and hot