50 Shades of Freed- COMPLETE! all chap page 3-7 13th Feb - Page 4

READ ALL THE CHAPTERS AWESOME !!

Originally posted by: Zainedil

I love their email conversations ...

thanks for the update

Sim

Originally posted by: katmaan

I mean I read of them finally I am commenting I love you updating thus here or else would have missed this book

Originally posted by: -ZaYaholic-

hatts off to update 10 part together.
love all part.
thanks for pm.

Originally posted by: clover1231

READ ALL THE CHAPTERS AWESOME !!

LUKS LIKE THEY R HAVING FIGHT TIME LIKE COPULES !!

I'M VERY CURIOUS TO KNOW WHAT IS THE PROBLEM !!

UPDATEEE FASTTT

UPDSTE FASTTT

Chap11

"Have you now?" I whisper. My mouth goes drier still, my heart pounding in my

chest. Why's he dressed like this? What does it mean? Is he still sulking?

"I have." His voice is kitten soft, but he's smirking as he strolls closer to me.

Holy crap he looks hot"his jeans hanging that way from his hips. Oh no, I'm

not going to be distracted by Mr. Sex-on-Legs. I try to gauge his mood as he

stalks toward me. Angry? Playful? Lustful? Gah! It's impossible to tell.

"I like your jeans," I murmur. He grins a disarming wolfish grin that doesn't

reach his eyes. Shit"he's still mad. He's wearing these to distract me. He halts infront of me, and I'm seared by his intensity. He gazes down, wide unreadable eyes

burning into mine. I swallow.

"I understand you have issues, Mrs. abdullah," he says silkily, and he pulls

something from the back pocket of his jeans. I can't tear my gaze from his, but

hear him unfold a piece of paper. He holds it up, and glancing briefly in its direction, I recognize my e-mail. My gaze returns to his, as his eyes blaze bright with

anger.

"Yes, I have issues," I whisper, feeling breathless. I need distance if we're

going to discuss this. But before I can step back, he leans down and runs his nose

along mine. My eyes flutter to a close as I welcome his unexpected, gentle touch.

"So do I," he whispers against my skin, and I open my eyes at his words. He

straightens and gazes intently at me once more.

"I think I'm familiar with your issues, zain." My voice is wry, and he

narrows his eyes, suppressing the amusement that sparks there momentarily. Are

we going to fight? I take a precautionary step back. I must physically distance myself from him"from his smell, his look, his distracting body in those hot jeans.

He frowns as I move away.

"Why did you fly back from New York?" I whisper. Let's get this over and

done with.

"You know why." His tone carries a warning ring.

"Because I went out with yasmin?"

"Because you went back on your word, and you defied me, putting yourself

at unnecessary risk."

"Went back on my word? Is that how you see it?" I gasp, ignoring the rest of

his sentence.

"Yes."

Holy crap. Talk about overreaction! I start to roll my eyes but stop when he

scowls at me. "zain, I changed my mind," I explain slowly, patiently as if

he's a child. "I'm a woman. We're renowned for it. That's what we do."

He blinks at me as if he doesn't comprehend this.

"If I had thought for one minute that you would cancel your business trip . . ."

Words fail me. I realize I don't know what to say. I am momentarily catapulted

back to the argument over our vows. I never promised to obey you, zain. But

I hold my tongue, because deep down I'm glad he came back. In spite of his fury,

I'm glad he's here in one piece, angry and smoldering in front of me.

"You changed your mind?" He can't hide his contemptuous disbelief.

"Yes."

"And you didn't think to call me?" He glares at me, incredulous, before continuing. "What's more, you left the security detail short here and put Ryan at

risk."

Oh. I hadn't thought about that.

"I should have called, but I didn't want to worry you. If I had, I'm sure you

would have forbidden me to go and I've missed yasmin. I wanted to see her.

Besides, it kept me out of the way when Jack was here. Ryan shouldn't have let

him in." This is so confusing. If Ryan hadn't, Jack would still be at large.

Zain's eyes gleam wildly, then shut, his face tightening as if in pain. Oh,

no. He shakes his head, and before I know it he has folded me in his arms, pulling

me hard against him.

"Oh aliya," he whispers as he tightens his hold on me so that I can barely

breathe. "If something were to happen to you"" His voice is barely a whisper.

"It didn't," I manage to say.

"But it could have. I've died a thousand deaths today thinking about what

might have happened. I was so mad, aliya. Mad at you. Mad at myself. Mad at

everyone. I can't remember being this angry . . . except"" He stops again.

"Except?" I prompt.

"Once in your old apartment. When Leila was there."

Oh. I don't want to think about that.

"You were so cold this morning," I murmur. My voice cracks on the last

word as I remember the hideous feeling of rejection in the shower. His hands

move to the nape of my neck, loosening their grip on me, and I take a deep breath.

He pulls my head back.

"I don't know how to deal with this anger. I don't think I want to hurt you,"

he says, his eyes wide and wary. "This morning, I wanted to punish you, badly

and"" He stops, lost for words I think, or too afraid to say them.

"You were worried you'd hurt me?" I finish his sentence for him, not believing that he'd hurt me for a minute, but relieved, too. A small vicious part of me

feared it was because he didn't want me anymore.

"I didn't trust myself," he says quietly.

"zain , I know you'd never hurt me. Not physically, anyway." I clasp his

head between my hands.

"Do you?" he asks, and there's skepticism in his voice.

"Yes. I knew what you said was an empty, idle threat. I know you're not going to beat the shit out of me."

"I wanted to."

"No you didn't. You just thought you did."

"I don't know if that's true," he murmurs.

"Think about it," I urge, wrapping my arms around him once more and nuzzling his chest through the black T-shirt. "About how you felt when I left. You've

told me often enough what that did to you. How it altered your view of the world,

of me. I know what you've given up for me. Think about how you felt about the

cuff marks on our honeymoon."

He stills, and I know he's processing this information. I tighten my arms

around him, my hands on his back, feeling his taut toned muscles beneath his Tshirt. Gradually, he relaxes as the tension slowly ebbs away.

Is this what's been worrying him? That he'll hurt me? Why do I have more

faith in him than he has in himself? I don't understand, surely we've moved on.

He's normally so strong, so in control, but without that, he's lost. Oh, Fifty, Fifty,

Fifty"I'm sorry. He kisses my hair, I turn my face up to his, and his lips find

mine, searching, taking, giving, begging"for what, I don't know. I just want to

feel his mouth on mine, and I return his kiss passionately.

"You have such faith in me," he whispers after he breaks away.

"I do." He strokes my face with the back of his knuckles and the tip of his

thumb, gazing intently into my eyes. His anger has gone. My Fifty is back from

wherever he's been. It's good to see him. I glance shyly up and smirk.

"Besides," I whisper, "you don't have the paperwork."

His mouth drops open in amused shock, and he clutches me to his chest

again.

"You're right. I don't." He laughs.

We stand in the middle of the great room, locked in our embrace, just holding

each other.

"Come to bed," he whispers, after heaven knows how long.

Oh my . . .

"zain, we need to talk."

"Later," he urges softly.

"zain, please. Talk to me."

He sighs. "About what?"

"You know. You keep me in the dark."

"I want to protect you."

"I'm not a child."

"I am fully aware of that, Mrs. abdullah." He runs his hands down my body and

cups my backside. Flexing his hips, he presses his growing erection into me.

"zain!" I scold. "Talk to me."

He sighs once more with exasperation. "What do you want to know?" His

voice is resigned as he releases me. I baulk"I didn't mean you had to let me go.

Taking my hand, he reaches down to pick up my e-mail from the floor.

"Lots of things," I mutter, as I let him lead me to the couch.

"Sit," he orders. Some things never change, I muse, doing as I'm told. zain sits beside me, and leaning forward, puts his head in his hands.

Oh no. Is this too hard for him? Then he sits up, rakes both hands through his

hair, and turns to me, at once expectant and reconciled to his fate.

"Ask me," he says simply.

Oh. Well, that was easier than I thought. "Why the additional security for

your family?"

"Hyde was a threat to them."

"How do you know?"

"From his computer. It held personal details about me and the rest of my family. Especially usman."

"usman? Why him?"

"I don't know yet. Let's go to bed."

"zain, tell me!"

"Tell you what?"

"You are so . . . exasperating."

"So are you." He glares at me.

"You didn't ramp up the security when you first found out there was information about your family on the computer. So what happened? Why now?"

zain narrows his eyes at me.

"I didn't know he was going to attempt to burn down my building, or"" He

stops. "We thought it was an unwelcome obsession, but you know""he

shrugs""when you're in the public eye, people are interested. It was random

stuff: news reports on me from when I was at Harvard"my rowing, my career.

Reports on usman"following his career, following my mom's career"and to

some extent, harshad and barkat.

How strange.

"You said or," I prompt.

"Or what?"

"You said, attempt to burn down my building, or . . .' like you were going to

say something else."

"Are you hungry?"

What? I frown at him, and my stomach rumbles.

"Did you eat today?" His voice is sterner and his eyes frost.

I'm betrayed by my flush.

"As I thought." His voice is clipped. "You know how I feel about you not

eating. Come," he says. He stands and holds out his hand. "Let me feed you." And

he shifts again . . . this time his voice full of sensual promise.

"Feed me?" I whisper as everything south of my navel liquefies. Hell. This is

such a typically mercurial diversion from what we've been discussing. Is that it?

Is that all I'm getting out of him for now? Leading me over to the kitchen, zai grabs a bar stool and hefts it around to the other side of the island.

"Sit," he says.

"Where's Mrs. Jones?" I ask, noticing her absence for the first time as I perch

on the stool.

"I've given her and Taylor the night off."

Oh.

"Why?"

He gazes at me for a beat, and his arrogant amusement is back. "Because I

can."

"So you're going to cook?" I give him an incredulous smirk.

"Oh, ye of little faith, Mrs. abdullah. Close your eyes."

Wow. I thought we were going to have a full-on fight, and here we are, playing in the kitchen.

"Close them," he orders.

I roll them first, then oblige.

"Hmm. Not good enough," he mutters. I open one eye and see him take a

plum-colored silk scarf out of the back pocket of his jeans. It matches my dress.

Holy cow. I look quizzically at him. When did he get that?

"Close," he orders again. "No peeking."

"You're going to blindfold me?" I mutter, shocked. All of a sudden I'm

breathless.

"Yes."

"zain"" He places a finger upon my lips, silencing me.

I want to talk.

"We'll talk later. I want you to eat now. You said you were hungry." He

lightly kisses my lips. The silk of the scarf is soft against my eyelids as he ties it

securely at the back of my head.

"Can you see?" he asks.

"No," I mutter, figuratively rolling my eyes. He chuckles softly.

"I can tell when you're rolling your eyes, . . . and you know how that makes

me feel."

I purse my lips. "Can we just get this over and done with?" I snap.

"Such impatience, Mrs. abdullah. So eager to talk." His tone is playful.

"Yes!"

"I must feed you first," he says and brushes his lips over my temple, calming

me instantly.

Okay . . . have it your way. I resign myself to my fate and listen to his movements around the kitchen. The fridge door opens, and zain places various

dishes on the countertop behind me. He pads over to the microwave, pops

something in, and turns it on. My curiosity is piqued. I hear the toaster lever drop,

the turn of the control, and the quiet tick of the timer. Hmm"toast?

"Yes. I am eager to talk," I murmur, distracted. An assortment of exotic,

spicy aromas fills the kitchen, and I shift in my chair.

"Be still, aliya," he murmurs, and he's close to me again. "I want you to

behave . . . ," he whispers.

Oh my. My inner goddess freezes, not even blinking.

"And don't bite your lip." Gently he tugs my bottom lip free of my teeth, and

I can't help my smile.

Next, I hear the sharp pop of a cork being drawn from a bottle and the gentle

glug of wine being poured into a glass. Then a moment of silence followed by a

quiet click and the soft hiss of white noise from the surround-sound speakers as

they come to life. A loud twang of a guitar begins a song I don't know. zain

turns the volume down to background level. A man starts to sing, his voice deep,

low, and sexy.

"A drink first, I think," zain whispers, diverting me from the song.

"Head back." I tip my head back. "Further," he prompts.

I oblige, and his lips are on mine. Cool crisp wine flows into my mouth. I

swallow reflexively. Oh my. Memories flood back of not so long ago"me trussed

up on my bed in Vancouver before I graduated with a hot, angry zain not appreciating my e-mail. Hmm . . . have times changed? Not much. Except now I recognize the wine, Christian's favorite"a Sancerre.

"Hmm," I murmur in appreciation.

"You like the wine?" he whispers, his breath warm on my cheek. I'm bathed

in his proximity, his vitality, the heat radiating from his body, even though he

doesn't touch me.

"Yes," I breathe.

"More?"

"I always want more, with you."

I almost hear his grin. It makes me grin, too. "Mrs. abdullah, are you flirting with

me?"

"Yes."

His wedding ring clinks against the glass as he takes another sip of wine.

Now that is a sexy sound. This time he pulls my head right back, cradling me. He

kisses me once more, and greedily I swallow the wine he gives me. He smiles as

he kisses me again.

"Hungry?"

"I think we've already established that, Mr. abdullah."

The troubadour on the iPod is singing about wicked games. Hmm . . . How

apt.

The microwave pings, and zain releases me. I sit upright. The food

smells spicy: garlic, mint, oregano, rosemary, and lamb, I think. The door to the

microwave opens, and the appetizing smell grows stronger.

"Shit! Christ!" zain curses, and a dish clatters onto the countertop.

Oh Fifty! "You okay?"

"Yes!" he snaps, his voice tight. A moment later, he's standing beside me

once more.

"I just burned myself. Here." He eases his index finger into my mouth.

"Maybe you could suck it better."

"Oh." Clasping his hand, I draw his finger slowly from my mouth. "There,

there," I soothe, and leaning forward I blow, cooling his finger, then kiss it gently

twice. He stops breathing. I reinsert it into my mouth and suck gently. He inhales

sharply, and the sound travels straight to my groin. He tastes as delicious as ever,

and I realize that this is his game"the slow seduction of his wife. I thought he

was mad, and now . . . ? This man, my husband, is so confusing. But this is how I

like him. Playful. Fun. Sexy as hell. He's given me some answers, but I'm greedy.

I want more, but I want to play, too. After the anxiety and tension of today, and

the nightmare of last night with Jack, this is a welcome diversion.

"What are you thinking?" zain murmurs, stopping my thoughts in their

tracks as he pulls his finger out of my mouth.

"How mercurial you are."

He stills beside me. "Fifty Shades, baby," he says eventually and plants a

tender kiss at the corner of my mouth.

"My Fifty Shades," I whisper. Grabbing his T-shirt, I pull him back to me.

"Oh no you don't, Mrs. abdullah. No touching . . . not yet." He takes my hand,

pries it off his T-shirt, and kisses each finger in turn.

"Sit up," he commands.

I pout.

"I will spank you if you pout. Now open wide."

Oh shit. I open my mouth, and he pops in a forkful of spicy hot lamb covered

in a cool, minty, yogurt sauce. Mmm. I chew.

"You like?"

"Yes."

He makes an appreciative noise, and I know he's eating and enjoying, too.

"More?"

I nod. He gives me another forkful, and I chew it enthusiastically. He puts the

fork down and he tears . . . bread, I think.

"Open," he orders.

This time it's pita bread and hummus. I realize Mrs. Jones"or maybe even

zain"has been shopping at the delicatessen I discovered about five weeks

ago only two blocks from Escala. I chew gratefully. zain in a playful mood

increases my appetite.

"More?" he asks.

I nod. "More of everything. Please. I'm starving."

I hear his delighted grin. Slowly and patiently he feeds me, occasionally kissing a morsel of food from the corner of my mouth or wiping it off with his fingers. Intermittently, he offers me a sip of wine in his unique way.

"Open wide, then bite," he murmurs. I follow his command. Hmm"one of

my favorites, stuffed vine leaves. Even cold they are delicious, though I prefer

them heated up, but I don't want to risk zain burning himself again. He feeds

it to me slowly, and when I've finished I lick his fingers clean.

"More?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

I shake my head. I'm full.

"Good," he whispers against my ear, "because it's time for my favorite

course. You." He scoops me up in his arms, surprising me so much I squeal.

"Can I take the blindfold off?"

"No."

I almost pout, then remember his threat and think better of it.

"Playroom," he murmurs.

Oh"I don't know if that's a good idea.

"You up for the challenge?" he asks. And because he's used the word challenge, I can't say no.

"Bring it on," I murmur, desire and something that I don't want to name

thrum through my body. He carries me through the door, then up the stairs to the

second floor.

"I think you've lost weight," he mutters disapprovingly. I have? Good. I remember his comment when we arrived back from our honeymoon, and how much

it smarted. Jeez"was that just a week ago?

Outside the playroom, he slides me down his body and sets me on my feet,

but keeps his arm wrapped around my waist. Briskly he unlocks the door.

It always smells the same: polished wood and citrus. It's actually become a

comforting smell. Releasing me, zain turns me around until I'm facing away

from him. He undoes the scarf, and I blink in the soft light. Gently, he pulls the

hairpins from my updo, and my braid falls free. He grasps it and tugs gently so I

have to step back against him.

"I have a plan," he whispers in my ear, sending delicious shivers down my

spine.

"I thought you might," I answer. He kisses me beneath my ear.

"Oh, Mrs. abdullah, I do." His tone is soft, mesmerizing. He tugs my braid to the

side and plants a trail of soft kisses down my throat.

"First we have to get you naked." His voice hums low in his throat and resonates through my body. I want this"whatever he has planned. I want to connect

the way we know how. He turns me around to face him. I glance down at his

jeans, the top button still undone, and I can't help myself. I brush my index finger

around the waistband, avoiding his T-shirt, feeling the hairs of his happy trail

tickle my knuckle. He inhales sharply, and I look up to meet his eyes. I stop at the

unfastened button. His eyes darken to a deeper gray . . . oh my.

"You should keep these on," I whisper.

"I fully intend to, aliya."

And he moves, grabbing me with one hand to the back of my neck and the

other around my backside. He pulls me against him, then his mouth is on mine,

and he's kissing me like his life depends on it.

Whoa!

He walks me backward, our tongues entwined, until I feel the wooden cross

behind me. He leans into me, the contours of his body pressing into mine.

"Let's get rid of this dress," he says, peeling my dress up my thighs, my hips,

my belly . . . deliciously slowly, the material skimming over my skin, skimming

over my breasts.

"Lean forward," he says.

I comply, and he pulls my dress over my head and discards it on the floor,

leaving me in my sandals, panties, and bra. His eyes blaze as he grasps both my

hands and raises them over my head. He blinks once and tilts his head to one side,

and I know he's asking for my permission. What is he going to do to me? I swallow, then nod, and a trace of an admiring, almost proud, smile touches his lips. He

clips my wrists into the leather cuffs on the bar above and produces the scarf once

more.

"Think you've seen enough," he murmurs. He wraps it around my head,

blindfolding me again, and I feel a frisson run through me as all my other senses

heighten; the sound of his soft breathing, my own excited response, the blood

pulsing in my ears, zains scent mixed with the citrus and polish in the

room"all are bought into sharper focus because I can't see. His nose touches

mine.

"I'm going to drive you wild," he whispers. His hands grasp my hips, and he

moves down, removing my panties as his hands glide down my legs. Drive me

wild . . . wow.

"Lift your feet, one at a time." I oblige and he removes first my panties, then

each sandal in turn. Gently grasping my ankle, he tugs my leg gently to the right.

"Step," he says. He cuffs my right ankle to the cross then proceeds to do the

same with my left. I am helpless, spread-eagled on the cross. Standing, zain

steps toward me, and my body is bathed in his warmth once more though he

doesn't touch me. After a moment he grasps my chin, tilts my head up, and kisses

me chastely.

"Some music and toys, I think. You look beautiful like this, Mrs. abdullah. I may

take a moment to admire the view." His voice is soft. Everything clenches deep

inside.

After a moment, maybe two, I hear him pad quietly to the museum chest and

open one of the drawers. The butt drawer? I have no idea. He takes something out

and places it on the top, followed by something else. The speakers spring to life,

and after a moment the strains of a single piano playing a soft, lilting melody fill

the room. It's familiar"Bach, I think"but I don't know what piece it is. Something about the music makes me apprehensive. Perhaps because the music is

too cool, too detached. I frown, trying to grasp why it unsettles me, but zain

grasps my chin, startling me, and tugs gently so that I release my bottom lip. I

smile, trying to reassure myself. Why do feel uneasy? Is it the music?

zain runs his hand from my chin, along my throat, and down my chest to

my breast. Using his thumb he pulls on the cup, freeing my breast from the restraint of my bra. He makes a low, appreciative humming noise in his throat and

kisses my neck. His lips follow the path of his fingers to my breast, kissing and

sucking all the way. His fingers move to my left breast, releasing it from my bra. I

moan as he skates his thumb across my left nipple, and his lips close around my

right, tugging and teasing gently until both nipples are long and hard.

"Ah."

He doesn't stop. With exquisite care, he slowly increases the intensity on

each. I pull fruitlessly against my restraints as sharp pleasure spikes from my

nipples to my groin. I try to squirm but I can hardly move, and it makes the torture

all the more intense.

"zain," I plead.

"I know," he murmurs his voice hoarse. "This is what you make me feel."

What? I groan, and he begins again, subjecting my nipples to his sweet agonizing touch over and over"taking me closer.

"Please," I mewl.

He makes a low primal sound in his throat, then stands, leaving me bereft,

breathless, and squirming against my restraints. He runs his hands down my sides,

one pausing on my hip while the other travels down my belly.

"Let's see how you're doing," he croons softly. Gently, he cups my sex,

brushing his thumb across my c***oris and making me cry out. Slowly, he inserts

one, then two fingers inside me. I groan and thrust my hips forward, eager to meet

his fingers and the palm of his hand.

"Oh, aliya, you're so ready," he says.

He circles his fingers inside me, around and around, while his thumb strokes

my c***oris, back and forth, once more. It's the only point on my body where he's

touching me, and all the tension, all the anxiety of the day, is concentrated on this

one part of my anatomy.

Holy shit . . . it's intense . . . and strange . . . the music . . . I begin to build . . .

zain shifts, his hand still moving against and in me, and I hear a low buzzing

noise.

"What?" I gasp.

"Hush," he soothes, and his lips are on mine, effectively silencing me. I welcome the warmer, more intimate contact, kissing him voraciously. He breaks the

contact and the buzzing noise gets nearer.

"This is a wand, baby. It vibrates."

He holds it against my chest, and it feels like a large ball-like object vibrating

against me. I shiver as it moves across my skin, down between my breasts, across

to first one, then the other nipple, and I'm awash with sensation, tingling everywhere, synapses firing as dark, dark need pools at the base of my belly.

"Ah," I groan while zains fingers continue to move inside me. I'm

close . . . all this stimulation . . . Tilting my head back, I moan loudly and zain stills his fingers. All sensation stops.

"No! zain," I plead, trying to thrust my hips forward for some friction.

"Still, baby," he says while my impending orgasm melts away. He leans forward once more and kisses me.

"Frustrating, isn't it?" he murmurs.

Oh no! Suddenly I understand his game.

"zain, please."

"Hush," he says and kisses me. And he starts to move again"wand, fingers,

thumb"a lethal combination of sensual torture. He shifts so his body brushes

against mine. He's still dressed, and the soft denim of his jeans brushes against

my leg, his erection at my hip. So tantalizingly close. He brings me to the brink

again, my body singing with need, and stops.

"No," I mewl loudly.

He plants soft wet kisses on my shoulder as he withdraws his fingers from

me, and moves the wand down. It oscillates over my stomach, my belly, onto my

sex, against my c***oris. f**k, it's intense.

"Ah!" I cry out, pulling hard on the restraints.

My body is so sensitized I feel I am going to explode, and just as I am, zain stops again.

"zain!" I cry out.

"Frustrating, yes?" he murmurs against my throat. "Just like you. Promising

one thing and then . . ." His voice trails off.

"zain, please!" I beg.

He pushes the wand against me again and again, stopping just at the vital moment each time. Ah!

"Each time I stop, it feels more intense when I start again. Right?"

"Please," I whimper. My nerve endings are screaming for release.

The buzzing stops and zain kisses me. He runs his nose down mine.

"You are the most frustrating woman I have ever met."

No, No, No.

"zain, I never promised to obey you. Please, please""

He moves in front of me, grabs my behind and pushes his hips against me,

making me gasp"his groin rubbing into mine, the buttons of his jeans pressing

into me, barely containing his erection. With one hand he pulls off the blindfold

and grasps my chin, and I blink up into his scorching eyes.

"You drive me crazy," he whispers, flexing his hips against me once, twice,

three times more, causing my body to spark"ready to burn. And again he denies

me. I want him so badly. I need him so badly. I close my eyes and mutter a prayer. I can't help but feel I'm being punished. I'm helpless and he's ruthless. Tears

spring to my eyes. I don't know how far he's going to take this.

"Please," I whisper once more.

But he gazes down at me, implacable. He's just going to continue. For how

long? Can I play this game? No. No. No"I can't do this. I know he's not going to

stop. He's going to continue to torture me. His hand travels down my body once

more. No . . . And the dam bursts"all the apprehension, the anxiety, and the fear

from the last couple of days overwhelming me anew as tears spring to my eyes. I

turn away from him. This is not love. It's revenge.

"Red," I whimper. "Red. Red." The tears course down my face.

He stills. "No!" He gasps, stunned. "Jesus Christ, no."

He moves quickly, unclipping my hands, clasping me around my waist and

leaning down to unclip my ankles, while I put my head in my hands and weep.

"No, no, no. aliya, please. No."

Picking me up, he moves to the bed, sitting down and cradling me in his lap

while I sob inconsolably. I'm overwhelmed . . . my body wound up to breaking

point, my mind a blank, and my emotions scattered to the wind. He reaches behind him, drags the satin sheet off the four-poster bed, and drapes it around me.

The cool sheets feel alien and unwelcome against my sensitized skin. He wraps

his arms around me, hugging me close, rocking me gently backward and forward.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," zain murmurs, his voice raw. He kisses my hair

over and over again. "aliya, forgive me, please."

Turning my face into his neck, I continue to cry, and it's a cathartic release.

So much has happened over the last few days"fires in computer rooms, car

chases, careers planned out for me, s**tty architects, armed lunatics in the apartment, arguments, his anger"and zain has been away. I hate zain going

away . . . I use the corner of the sheet to wipe my nose and gradually become

aware that the clinical tones of Bach are still echoing around the room.

"Please switch the music off." I sniff.

"Yes, of course." zain shifts, not letting me go, and pulls the remote out

of his back pocket. He presses a button and the piano music ceases, to be replaced

by my shuddering breaths. "Better?" he asks.

I nod, my sobs easing. zain wipes my tears away gently with his thumb.

"Not a fan of Bach's Goldberg Variations?" he asks.

"Not that piece."

He gazes down at me, trying and failing to hide the shame in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he says again.

"Why did you do that?" My voice is barely audible as I try to process my

scrambled thoughts and feelings.

He shakes his head sadly and closes his eyes. "I got lost in the moment," he

says unconvincingly.

I frown at him, and he sighs. "aliya, orgasm denial is a standard tool in"You

never"" He stops. I shift in his lap, and he winces.

Oh. I flush. "Sorry," I mutter.

He rolls his eyes, then leans back suddenly, taking me with him, so that we're

both lying on the bed, me in his arms. My bra is uncomfortable, and I adjust it.

"Need a hand?" he asks quietly.

I shake my head. I don't want him to touch my breasts. He shifts so he's

looking down at me, and tentatively raising his hand, he strokes his fingers gently

down my face. Tears pool in my eyes again. How can he be so callous one minute

and so tender the next?

"Please don't cry," he whispers.

I'm dazed and confused by this man. My anger has deserted me in my hour

of need . . . I feel numb. I want to curl up in a ball and withdraw. I blink, trying to

hold back my tears as I gaze into his harrowed eyes. I take a shuddering breath,

my eyes not leaving his. What am I going to do with this controlling man? Learn

to be controlled? I don't think so . . .

"I never what?" I ask

"Do as you're told. You changed your mind; you didn't tell me where you

were. aliya, I was in New York, powerless and livid. If I'd been in Seattle I'd have

brought you home."

"So you are punishing me?"

He swallows, then closes his eyes. He doesn't have to answer, and I know

that punishing me was his exact intention.

"You have to stop doing this," I murmur.

His brow furrows.

"For a start, you only end up feeling shittier about yourself."

He snorts. "That's true," he mutters. "I don't like to see you like this."

"And I don't like feeling like this. You said on the Fair Lady that you hadn't

married a submissive."

"I know. I know." His voice is soft and raw.

"Well stop treating me like one. I'm sorry I didn't call you. I won't be so

selfish again. I know you worry about me."

He gazes at me, scrutinizing me closely, his eyes bleak and anxious. "Okay.

Good," he says eventually. He leans down, but pauses before his lips touch mine,

silently asking if it's allowed. I raise my face to his, and he kisses me tenderly.

"Your lips are always so soft when you've been crying," he murmurs.

"I never promised to obey you, zain," I whisper.

"I know."

"Deal with it, please. For both our sakes. And I will try and be more considerate of your . . . controlling tendencies."

He looks lost and vulnerable, completely at sea.

"I'll try," he murmurs, his voice burning with sincerity.

I sigh, a long shuddering sigh. "Please do. Besides, if I had been here . . ."

"I know," he says and blanches. Lying back, he puts his free arm over his

face. I curl around him and lay my head on his chest. We both lie silent for a few

moments. His hand moves to the end of my braid. He pulls the tie from it, freeing

my hair, and gently, rhythmically combs his fingers through it. This is what this is

really about"his fear . . . his irrational fear for my safety. An image of Jack Hyde

slumped on the floor in my apartment with a Glock comes to mind . . . well,

maybe not so irrational, which reminds me . . .

"What did you mean earlier, when you said or?" I ask.

"Or?"

"Something about Jack."

He peers down at me. "You don't give up, do you?"

I rest my chin on his sternum, enjoying the soothing caress of his fingers in

my hair.

"Give up? Never. Tell me. I don't like being kept in the dark. You seem to

have some overblown idea that I need protecting. You don't even know how to

shoot"I do. Do you think I can't handle whatever it is you won't tell me, zain? I've had your stalker ex-sub pull a gun on me, your pedophile ex-lover harass

me"and don't look at me like that," I snap when he scowls at me. "Your mother

feels the same way about her."

"You talked to my mother about Elena?" zains voice raises a few

octaves.

"Yes, suraiyya and I talked about her."

He gapes at me.

"She's very upset about it. Blames herself."

"I can't believe you spoke to my mother. Shit!" He lies down and puts his

arm over his face again.

"I didn't go into any specifics."

"I should hope not. suraiyya doesn't need all the gory details. Christ, aliya. My

dad, too?"

"No!" I shake my head vehemently. I don't have that kind of relationship

with usman. His comments about the prenup still sting. "Anyway, you're trying

to distract me"again. Jack. What about him?"

zain lifts his arm briefly and gazes at me, his expression unreadable.

Sighing, he puts his arm back over his face.

"Hyde is implicated in Charlie Tango's sabotage. The investigators found a

partial print"just partial, so they couldn't make a match. But then you recognized

Hyde in the server room. He has convictions as a minor in Detroit, and the prints

matched his."

My mind reels as I try to absorb this information. Jack brought down Charlie

Tango? But zain is on a roll. "This morning, a cargo van was found in the

garage here. Hyde was the driver. Yesterday, he delivered some shit to that new

guy who's moved in. The guy we met in the elevator."

"I don't remember his name."

"Me neither." zain says. "But that's how Hyde managed to get into the

building legitimately. He was working for a delivery company""

"And? What's so important about the van?"

zain says nothing.

"zain, tell me."

"The cops found . . . things in the van." He stops again and tightens his hold

around me.

"What things?"

He's quiet for several moments, and I open my mouth to prompt him again,

but he speaks. "A mattress, enough horse tranquilizer to take down a dozen

horses, and a note." His voice has softened to barely a whisper while horror and

revulsion roll off him.

Holy f**k.

"Note?" My voice mirrors his.

"Addressed to me."

"What did it say?"

zain shakes his head, indicating he doesn't know or that he won't divulge its contents.

Oh.

"Hyde came here last night with the intention of kidnapping you." zain

freezes, his face taut with tension. As he says those words, I recall the duct tape,

and a shudder runs through me, though deep down this is not news to me.

"Shit," I mutter.

"Quite," zain says tightly.

I try to remember Jack in the office. Was he always insane? How did he think

he could get away with this? I mean he was pretty creepy, but this unhinged?

"I don't understand why," I murmur. "It doesn't make sense to me."

"I know. The police are digging further, and so is Welch. But we think

Detroit is the connection."

"Detroit?" I gaze at him, confused.

"Yeah. There's something there."

"I still don't understand."

zain lifts his face and gazes at me, his expression unreadable. "aliya, I

was born in Detroit."

Chap12

"I thought you were born here in Seattle," I murmur. My mind races. What does

this have to do with Jack? zain raises the arm covering his face, reaches behind him, and grabs one of the pillows. Placing it under his head, he settles back

and gazes at me with a wary expression. After a moment he shakes his head.

"No. harshad and I were both adopted in Detroit. We moved here shortly after

my adoption. suraiyya wanted to be on the west coast, away from the urban sprawl,

and she got a job at Northwest Hospital. I have very little memory of that time.

barkat was adopted here."

"So Jack is from Detroit?"

"Yes."

Oh . . . "How do you know?"

"I ran a background check when you went to work for him."

Of course he did. "Do you have a manila file on him, too?" I smirk.

zains mouth twists as he hides his amusement. "I think it's pale blue."

His fingers continue to run through my hair. It's soothing.

"What does it say in his file?"

zan blinks. Reaching down he strokes my cheek. "You really want to

know?"

"Is it that bad?"

He shrugs. "I've known worse," he whispers.

No! Is he referring to himself? And the image I have of zain as a small,

dirty, fearful, lost boy comes to mind. I curl around him, holding him tighter,

pulling the sheet over him, and I lay my cheek against his chest.

"What?" he asks, puzzled by my reaction.

"Nothing," I murmur.

"No, no. This works both ways, aliya. What is it?"

I glance up assessing his apprehensive expression. Resting my cheek upon

his chest once more, I decide to tell him. "Sometimes I picture you as a child . . .

before you came to live with the abdullah's."

zain stiffens. "I wasn't talking about me. I don't want your pity,

aliya. That part of my life is done. Gone."

"It's not pity," I whisper, appalled. "It's sympathy and sorrow"sorrow that

anyone could do that to a child." I take a deep steadying breath as my stomach

twists and tears prick my eyes anew. "That part of your life is not done, zain"how can you say that? You live every day with your past. You told me yourself"Fifty Shades, remember?" My voice is barely audible.

zain snorts and runs his free hand through his hair, though he remains silent and tense beneath me.

"I know it's why you feel the need to control me. Keep me safe."

"And yet you choose to defy me," he murmurs baffled, his hand stilling in

my hair.

I frown. Holy cow! Do I do that deliberately? My subconscious removes her

half-moon glasses and chews the end, pursing her lips and nodding. I ignore her.

This is confusing"I'm his wife, not his submissive, not some company he's

acquired. I'm not the crack wh**e who was his mother . . . f**k. The thought is

sickening. Dr. Flynn's words come back to me:

"Just keep doing what you're doing. zain is head over heels . . . It's a

delight to see."

That's it. I'm just doing what I've always done. Isn't that what zain

found attractive in the first place?

Oh, this man is so confusing.

"Dr. Flynn said I should give you the benefit of the doubt. I think I do"I'm

not sure. Perhaps it's my way of bringing you into the here and now"away from

your past," I whisper. "I don't know. I just can't seem to get a handle on how far

you'll overreact."

He's silent for a moment. "f**king Flynn," he mutters to himself.

"He said I should continue to behave the way I've always behaved with you."

"Did he now?" zain says dryly.

Okay. Here goes nothing. "zain, I know you loved your mom, and you

couldn't save her. It wasn't your job to do that. But I'm not her."

He freezes again. "Don't," he whispers.

"No, listen. Please." I raise my head to stare into gray eyes that are paralyzed

with fear. He's holding his breath. Oh, zain . . . My heart constricts. "I'm not

her. I'm much stronger than she was. I have you, and you're so much stronger

now, and I know you love me. I love you, too," I whisper.

His brow creases as if my words were not what he expected. "Do you still

love me?" he asks.

"Of course I do. zain, I will always love you. No matter what you do to

me." Is this the reassurance he wants?

He exhales and closes his eyes, placing his arm over his face again, but hugging me closer, too.

"Don't hide from me." Reaching up, I grasp his hand and pull his arm away

from his face. "You've spent your life hiding. Please don't, not from me."

He looks at me with incredulity and frowns. "Hiding?"

"Yes."

He shifts suddenly, rolling over onto his side and moving me so that I am lying beside him on the bed. He reaches up, smoothes my hair off my face and tucks

it behind my ear.

You asked me earlier today if I hated you. I didn't understand why, and

now"" He stops, staring down at me as if I'm a complete conundrum.

"You still think I hate you?" Now my voice is incredulous.

"No." He shakes his head. "Not now." He looks relieved. "But I need to

know . . . why did you safe word, Aliya?"

I blanch. What can I tell him? That he frightened me. That I didn't know if

he'd stop. That I begged him"and he didn't stop. That I didn't want things to escalate . . . like"like that one time in here. I shudder as I recall him whipping me

with his belt.

I swallow. "Because . . . because you were so angry and distant and . . . cold.

I didn't know how far you'd go."

His expression is unreadable.

"Were you going to let me come?" My voice is barely a whisper, and I feel a

blush steal over my cheeks, but I hold his gaze.

"No," he says eventually.

Holy crap. "That's . . . harsh."

His knuckle gently grazes my cheek. "But effective," he murmurs. He gazes

down at me as if he's trying to see into my soul, his eyes darkening. After an

eternity, he murmurs, "I'm glad you did."

"Really?" I don't understand.

His lips twist in a sad smile. "Yes. I don't want to hurt you. I got carried

away." He reaches down and kisses me. "Lost in the moment." He kisses me

again. "Happens a lot with you."

Oh? And for some bizarre reason the thought pleases me . . . I grin. Why does

that make me happy? He grins, too.

"I don't know why you're grinning, Mrs. abdullah."

"Me neither."

He wraps himself around me and places his head on my chest. We are a

tangle of naked and denim-clad limbs, and satin red sheets. I stroke his back with

one hand and run the fingers of my other hand through his hair. He sighs and relaxes in my arms.

"It means I can trust you . . . to stop me. I never want to hurt you," he murmurs. "I need"" He halts.

"You need what?"

"I need control, Aliya. Like I need you. It's the only way I can function. I can't

let go of it. I can't. I've tried . . . And yet, with you . . ." He shakes his head in

exasperation.

I swallow. This is the heart of our dilemma"his need for control and his

need for me. I refuse to believe these are mutually exclusive.

"I need you, too," I whisper, hugging him tighter. "I'll try, zain. I'll try

to be more considerate."

"I want you to need me," he murmurs.

Holy cow!

"I do!" My voice is impassioned. I need him so much. I love him so much.

"I want to look after you."

"You do. All the time. I missed you so much while you were away."

"You did?" He sounds so surprised.

"Yes, of course. I hate you going away."

I sense his smile. "You could have come with me."

"zain, please. Let's not rehash that argument. I want to work."

He sighs as I work my fingers gently through his hair.

"I love you, aliya."

"I love you, too, zain. I will always love you."

We both lie still in the calm, quiet after our storm. Listening to the steady

beat of his heart, I drift exhausted into sleep.

I wake with a start, disorientated. Where am I? The playroom. The lights are still

on, softly illuminating the bloodred walls. zain moans again, and I realize

this is what woke me.

"No," he groans. He's sprawled out beside me, his head back, his eyes

screwed shut, his face contorted in anguish.

Holy shit. He's having a nightmare.

"No!" he cries out again.

"zain, wake up." I struggle to sit up, kicking off the sheet. Kneeling beside him, I grab his shoulders and shake him as tears spring to my eyes.

"zain, please. Wake up!"

His eyes spring open, gray and wild, his pupils enlarged with fear. He stares

vacantly up at me.

"zain, you're having a nightmare. You're home. You're safe."

He blinks, looks around frantically, and frowns as he takes in our surroundings. Then his eyes are back on mine. "aliya," he breathes, and with no preamble

whatsoever he grabs my face with both hands, pulls me down onto his chest, and

kisses me. Hard. His tongue invades my mouth, and he tastes of desperation and

need. Barely giving me a chance to breathe, he rolls over, his lips locked to mine

so that he's pressing me into the hard mattress of the four-poster. One of his hands

clasps my jaw, the other spreads out on top of my head, keeping me still as his

knee parts my legs and he nestles, still clothed in his jeans, between my thighs.

"Aliya," he gasps as if he can't believe I'm there with him. He gazes down at

me for a split second, allowing me a moment to breathe. Then his lips are on mine

again, plundering my mouth, taking all I have to give. He groans loudly, flexing

his hips into me. His erection sheathed in denim pushes into my soft flesh. Oh . . .

I moan, and all the pent-up sexual tension of earlier erupts, resurfacing with a

vengeance, flushing my system with desire and need. Driven by his demons, he

urgently kisses my face, my eyes, my cheeks, along my jaw.

"I'm here," I whisper, trying to calm him, our heated, panting breath mingling. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, as I grind my pelvis against his in

welcome.

"Oh, Aliya," he pants, his voice rough and low. "I need you."

"Me, too," I whisper urgently, my body desperate for his touch. I want him. I

want him now. I want to heal him. I want to heal me . . . I need this. His hand

reaches down and tugs on the button of his fly, fumbling momentarily, then freeing his erection.

Holy shit. I was asleep less than a minute ago.

He shifts, staring down at me for a split second, suspended above me.

"Yes. Please," I breathe, my voice hoarse and needy.

And in one swift move he buries himself inside me.

"Ah!" I cry out, not from any pain, but from surprise at his alacrity.

He groans, and his lips find mine again as he pushes into me, over and over,

his tongue possessing me, too. He moves frantically, compelled by his fear, his

lust, his desire, his"love? I don't know, but I meet him thrust for thrust, welcoming him.

"Aliya," he growls almost inarticulately, and he comes powerfully, pouring

himself into me, his face strained, his body rigid, before he collapses with his full

weight onto me, panting, and he leaves me hanging . . . again.

Holy shit. This is not my night. My inner goddess is preparing to disembowel

herself. I hold him, drawing in a lungful of air and practically writhing with need

beneath him. He eases out of me and holds me for minutes . . . many minutes. Finally he shakes his head and leans up on his elbows, taking some of his weight. He

gazes down at me as if seeing me for the first time.

"Oh, aliya. Sweet Jesus." He bends and kisses me tenderly.

"You okay?" I breathe, caressing his lovely face. He nods, but he looks

shaken and most definitely stirred. My own lost boy. He frowns and stares intently into my eyes as if finally registering where he is.

"You?" he asks, concern in his voice.

"Um . . ." I wriggle beneath him, and after a moment he smiles, a slow carnal

smile.

"Mrs. abdullah, you have needs," he murmurs. He kisses me swiftly, then scoots

off the bed.

Kneeling on the floor at the end of the bed, he reaches up, grabs me just

above the knees and pulls me toward him so my behind is on the edge of the bed.

"Sit up," he murmurs. I struggle into a sitting position, my hair falling like a

veil around me, down to my breasts. His gray gaze holds mine as he gently pushes

my legs apart as far as they'll go. I lean back on my hands"knowing full well

what he's going to do. But . . . he's just . . . um . . .

"You are so f**king beautiful, aliya," he breathes, and I watch his dark haired head dip and plant a trail of kisses up my right thigh, heading north. My

whole body clenches in anticipation. He glances up at me, his eyes darkening

through long lashes.

"Watch," he rasps then his mouth is on me.

Oh my. I cry out as the world is concentrated at the apex of my thighs, and

it's so erotic"f**k"watching him. Watching his tongue against what feels like

the most sensitive part of my body. And he shows no mercy, teasing and taunting,

worshipping me. My body tenses and my arms start to tremble from the strain of

staying upright.

"No . . . ah," I murmur. Gently, he eases one long finger inside me, and I can

bear it no more, collapsing back onto the bed, relishing this mouth and fingers on

and in me. Slowly and gently, he massages that sweet, sweet spot deep inside me.

And that's it"I'm gone. I explode around him, crying out an incoherent rendition

of his name as my intense orgasm arches my back off the bed. I think I see stars

it's such a visceral primal feeling . . . Vaguely I'm aware that he's nuzzling my

belly, giving me soft, sweet kisses. Reaching down, I caress his hair.

"I'm not finished with you yet," he murmurs. And before I've fully come

back to Seattle, Planet Earth, he's reaching for me, grasping my hips and pulling

me off the bed to where's he's kneeling, and into his waiting lap and onto his

waiting erection.

I gasp as he fills me. Holy cow . . .

"Oh, baby," he breathes as he wraps his arms around me and stills, cradling

my head and kissing my face. He flexes his hips, and pleasure spikes hot and hard

from deep within me. He reaches for my behind and lifts me, rocking his groin

upward.

"Ah," I moan, and his lips are on mine again as he slowly, oh so slowly, lifts

and rocks . . . lifts and rocks. I throw my arms around his neck, surrendering to his

gentle rhythm and to wherever he'll take me. I flex my thighs, riding him . . . he

feels so good. Leaning backward, I tilt my head back, my mouth open wide in a

silent expression of my pleasure, reveling in his sweet lovemaking.

"Aliya," he breathes, and he leans down, kissing my throat. Holding me tight,

slowly easing in and out, pushing me . . . higher and higher . . . so exquisitely

timed"a fluid carnal force. Blissful pleasure radiates outward from deep, deep inside me as he holds me so intimately.

"I love you, Aliya," he whispers close to my ear, his voice low and harsh, and

he lifts me again"up, down, up, down. I curl my hands back around his neck into

his hair.

"I love you, too, zain." Opening my eyes, I find he's gazing at me, and

all I see is his love, shining bright and bold in the soft glow of the playroom light,

his nightmare seemingly forgotten. And as I feel my body build toward my release, I realize this is what I wanted"this connection, this demonstration of our

love.

"Come for me, baby," he whispers, his voice low. I screw my eyes shut as my

body tightens at the low sound of his voice, and I come loudly, spiraling into an

intense climax. He stills, his forehead against mine, as he softly whispers my

name, wraps his arms around me, and finds his own release.

He lifts me gently and lays me on the bed. I lie in his arms, wrung out and finally

sated. He nuzzles my neck.

"Better now?" he whispers.

"Hmm."

"Shall we go to bed, or do you want to sleep here?"

"Hmm."

"Mrs. abdullah, talk to me." He sounds amused.

"Hmm."

"Is that the best you can do?"

"Hmm."

"Come. Let me put you to bed. I don't like sleeping here."

Reluctantly, I shift and turn to face him. "Wait," I whisper. He blinks at me,

looking all wide-eyed and innocent, and at the same time thoroughly f**ked and

pleased with himself.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

He nods, smiling smugly like an adolescent boy. "I am now."

"Oh, zain," I scold and gently stroke his lovely face. "I was talking

about your nightmare."

His expression freezes momentarily, then he closes his eyes and tightens his

arms around me, burying his face in my neck.

"Don't," he whispers, his voice hoarse and raw. My heart lurches and twists

once more in my chest, and I clutch him tightly, running my hands down his back

and through his hair.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, alarmed by his reaction. Holy f**k"how can I keep

up with these mood swings? What the hell was his nightmare about? I don't want

to cause him any more pain by making him relive the details. "It's okay," I murmur softly, desperate to bring him back to the playful boy of a moment ago. "It's

okay," I repeat over and over soothingly.

"Let's go to bed," he says quietly after a while, and he pulls away from me,

leaving me empty and aching as he rises from the bed. I scramble after him, keeping the satin sheet wrapped around me, and bend to pick up my clothes.

"Leave those," he says, and before I know it, he scoops me up in his arms. "I

don't want you to trip over this sheet and break your neck." I put my arms around

him marveling that he's recovered his composure, and nuzzle him as he carries

me downstairs to our bedroom.

My eyes spring open. Something is wrong. zain is not in bed, though it's still

dark. Glancing at the radio alarm, I see it's three twenty in the morning. Where's

zain? Then I hear the piano.

Quickly slipping out of bed, I grab my robe and run down the hallway to the

great room. The tune he's playing is so sad"a mournful lament that I've heard

him play before. I pause in the doorway and watch him in a pool of light while the

achingly sorrowful music fills the room. He finishes then starts the piece again.

Why such a plaintive tune? I wrap my arms around myself and listen spellbound

as he plays. But my heart aches. zain, why so sad? Is it because of me? Did I

do this? When he finishes, only to start a third time, I can bear it no longer. He

doesn't look up as I near the piano, but shifts to one side so I can sit beside him on

the piano bench. He continues to play, and I put my head on his shoulder. He

kisses my hair but doesn't stop playing until he's finished the piece. I peek up at

him and he's staring down at me, warily.

"Did I wake you?" he asks.

"Only because you were gone. What's that piece called?"

"It's Chopin. It's one of his preludes in E minor." zain pauses. "It's

called Suffocation . . ."

Reaching over I take his hand. "You're really shaken by all this, aren't you?"

He snorts. "A deranged asshole gets into my apartment to kidnap my wife.

She won't do as she's told. She drives me crazy. She safe words on me." He

closes his eyes briefly, and when he opens them again, they are stark and raw.

"Yeah, I'm pretty shaken up."

I squeeze his hand. "I'm sorry."

He presses his forehead against mine. "I dreamed you were dead," he

whispers.

What?

"Lying on the floor"so cold"and you wouldn't wake up."

Oh, Fifty.

"Hey"it was just a bad dream." Reaching up, I clasp his head in my hands.

His eyes burn into mine and the anguish in them is sobering. "I'm here and I'm

cold without you in the bed. Come back to bed, please." I take his hand and stand,

waiting to see if he'll follow me. Finally he stands, too. He's wearing his pajama

bottoms, and they hang in that way he has, and I want to run my fingers along the

inside of his waistband, but I resist and lead him back to the bedroom.

When I wake he's curled around me, sleeping peacefully. I relax and enjoy his enveloping heat, his skin on my skin. I lie very still, not wanting to disturb him.

Boy, what an evening. I feel like I've been run over by a train"the freight

train that is my husband. Hard to believe that the man lying beside me, looking so

serene and young in his sleep, was so tortured last night . . . and so tortured me

last night. I gaze up at the ceiling, and it occurs to me that I always think of zain as strong and dominating"yet the reality is he's so fragile, my lost boy. And

the irony is that he looks upon me as fragile"and I don't think I am. Compared to

him I'm strong.

But am I strong enough for both of us? Strong enough to do what I'm told

and give him some peace of mind? I sigh. He's not asking that much of me. I flit

through our conversation of last night. Did we decide anything other than to both

try harder? The bottom line is that I love this man, and I need to chart a course for

both of us. One that lets me keep my integrity and independence but still be more

for him. I am his more, and he is mine. I resolve to make a special effort this

weekend not to give him cause for concern.zain stirs and lifts his head off my

chest, looking sleepily at me.

"Good morning, Mr. abdullah." I smile.

"Good morning, Mrs. abdullah. Did you sleep well?" He stretches out beside me.

"Once my husband stopped making that terrible racket on the piano, yes, I

did."

He smiles his shy smile, and I melt. "Terrible racket? I'll be sure to e-mail

Miss Kathie and let her know."

"Miss Kathie?"

"My piano teacher."

I giggle.

"That's a lovely sound," he says. "Shall we have a better day today?"

"Okay," I agree. "What do you want to do?"

"After I have made love to my wife, and she's cooked me breakfast, I'd like

to take her to Aspen."

I gape at him. "Aspen?"

"Yes."

"Aspen, Colorado?"

"The very same. Unless they've moved it. After all, you did pay twenty-four

thousand dollars for the experience."

I grin at him. "That was your money."

"Our money."

"It was your money when I made the bid." I roll my eyes.

"Oh, Mrs. abdullah, you and your eye rolling," he whispers as he runs his hand

up my thigh.

"Won't it take hours to get to Colorado?" I ask to distract him.

"Not by jet," he says silkily as his hand reaches my behind.

Of course, my husband has a jet. How could I forget? His hand continues to

skim up my body, lifting my nightdress as it goes, and soon I've forgotten

everything.

Taylor drives us onto the tarmac at Sea-Tac and around to where the AEH jet is

waiting. It's a gray day in Seattle, but I refuse to let the weather dampen my soaring spirits. zain is in a much better mood. He's excited about something"lit

up like Christmas and twitching like a small boy with a big secret. I wonder what

scheme he's dreamed up. He looks dreamy, all tousled hair, white T-shirt and

black jeans. Not CEO-like at all today. He takes my hand as Taylor glides to a

stop at the foot of the jet steps.

"I have a surprise for you," he murmurs and kisses my knuckles.

I grin at him. "Good surprise?"

"I hope so." He smiles warmly.

Hmm . . . what can it be?

Sawyer leaps out from the front and opens my door. Taylor opens zains

then retrieves our cases from the trunk. Stephan is waiting at the top of the stairs

when we enter the aircraft. I glance into the cockpit and see First Officer Beighley

flipping switches on the imposing instrument panel.

zain and Stephan shake hands. "Good morning, sir." Stephan smiles.

"Thanks for doing this at such short notice." zain grins back at him.

"Our guests here?"

"Yes sir."

Guests? I turn and gasp. yasmin, harshad, barkat, and bilal are all smiling and sitting in the cream-colored leather seats. Wow! I spin around to zain.

"Surprise!" he says.

"How? When? Who?" I mumble inarticulately, trying to contain my delight

and elation.

"You said you didn't see enough of your friends." He shrugs and gives me a

lopsided, apologetic smile.

"Oh, zain, thank you." I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him

hard in front of everyone. He puts his hands on my hips, hooking his thumbs

through the belt loops of my jeans, and deepens the kiss.

Oh my.

"Keep this up and I'll drag you into the bedroom," he murmurs.

"You wouldn't dare," I whisper against his lips.

"Oh, aliya." He grins, shaking his head. He releases me and without further preamble, stoops down, grabs my thighs, and lifts me over his shoulder.

"zain, put me down!" I smack his behind.

I briefly catch Stephan's smile as he turns and heads into the cockpit. Taylor

is standing at the doorway trying to stifle his grin. Ignoring my pleas and my futile struggles, zain strides through the narrow cabin past barkat and bilal who

are facing each other in the single seats, past yasmin and harshad, who is whooping

like a demented gibbon.

"If you'll excuse me," he says to our four guests. "I need to have a word with

my wife in private."

"zain!" I shout. "Put me down!"

"All in good time, baby."

I have a brief view of barkat, yasmin, and harshad laughing. Damn it! This is not

funny, it's embarrassing. bilal gawks at us, mouth open and utterly shocked, as

we disappear into the cabin.

zain closes the cabin door behind him and releases me, letting me slide

down his body slowly, so that I feel every hard sinew and muscle. He gives me

his boyish grin, thoroughly pleased with himself.

"That was quite a show, Mr. abdullah," I murmur, crossing my arms and regarding him with faux indignation.

"That was fun, Mrs. abdullah." And his grin widens. Oh boy. He looks so young.

"Are you going to follow through?" I arch a brow, unsure how I feel about

this. I mean, the others will hear us, for heaven's sake. Suddenly, I feel shy. Glancing anxiously at the bed, I feel a blush steal across my cheeks as I recall our wedding night. We talked so much yesterday, did so much yesterday. I feel as if we

leaped some unknown hurdle"but that's the problem. It's unknown. My eyes

find zains intense but amused gaze, and I'm unable to keep a straight face.

His grin is too infectious.

"I think it might be rude to keep our guests waiting," he says silkily as he

steps toward me. When did he start to care what people think? I step back against

the cabin wall and he imprisons me, the heat from his body holding me in place.

He leans down and runs his nose along mine.

"Good surprise?" he whispers, and there's a hint of anxiety in his voice.

"Oh, zain, fantastic surprise." I run my hands up his chest, curl them

around his neck, and kiss him.

"When did you organize this?" I ask when I pull away from him, stroking his

hair.

"Last night, when I couldn't sleep. I e-mailed harshad and barkat, and here they

are."

"It's very thoughtful. Thank you. I'm sure we'll have a great time."

"I hope so. I thought it would be easier to avoid the press in Aspen than at

home."

The paparazzi! He's right. If we'd stayed in Escala, we'd have been imprisoned. A shiver runs down my spine as I recollect the snapping cameras and

dazzling flashes of the few photographers Taylor sped through this morning.

"Come. We'd better take our seats"Stephan will be taking off shortly." He

offers me his hand and together we walk back into the cabin.

harshad cheers as we enter. "That sure was speedy in-flight service!" he calls

mockingly.

zain ignores him.

"Please be seated, ladies and gentlemen as we'll shortly begin taxiing for

takeoff." Stephan's voice echoes calmly and authoritatively around the cabin. The

brunette woman"um . . . Natalie?"who was on the flight for our wedding night

appears from the galley and gathers up the discarded coffee cups. Natalia . . . Her

name's Natalia.

"Good morning Mr. abdullah, Mrs. abdullah," she says with a purr. Why does she

make me uncomfortable? Maybe it's that she's a brunette. By his own admission,

zain doesn't usually employ brunettes because he finds them attractive. He

gives Natalia a polite smile as he slides in behind the table and sits down facing

harshad and yasmin. I swiftly hug yasmin and barkat and give bilal and harshad a wave

before sitting down and buckling up beside zain. He puts his hand on my

knee and gives it an affectionate squeeze. He seems relaxed and happy even

though we're with company. Idly, I wonder why he can't always be like this"not

controlling at all.

"Hope you packed your hiking boots," he says, his voice warm.

"We're not going skiing?"

"That would be a challenge, in August," he says, amused.

Oh, of course.

"Do you ski, aliya?" harshad interrupts us.

"No."

zain moves his hand from my knee to clasp my hand.

"I'm sure my little brother can teach you." harshad winks at me. "He's pretty

fast on the slopes, too."

And I can't help my blush. When I glance up at zain, he's gazing impassively at harshad, but I think he's trying to suppress his mirth. The plane surges

forward and starts taxiing toward the runway.

Natalia runs through the plane's safety procedures in a clear, ringing voice.

She's dressed in a neat navy short-sleeved shirt and matching pencil skirt. Her

makeup is immaculate"she really is quite pretty. My subconscious raises a

plucked-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life eyebrow at me.

"You okay?" yasmin asks me pointedly. "I mean, following the Hyde

business?"

I nod. I don't want to think or talk about Hyde, but yasmin seems to have other

plans.

"So why did he go postal?" she asks, cutting to the heart of the matter in her

inimitable style. She tosses her hair behind her as she prepares to investigate the

matter.

Eyeing her coolly, zain shrugs. "I fired his ass," he says bluntly.

"Oh? Why?" yasmin tilts her head to one side, and I know she's in full Nancy

Drew mode.

"He made at pass at me," I mutter. I try to kick yasmin's ankle beneath the

table, and miss. Shit!

"When?" yasmin glares at me.

"Ages ago."

"You never told me he made a pass at you!" she splutters.

I shrug, apologetically.

"It can't just be a grudge about that, surely. I mean his reaction is way too extreme," yasmin continues, but now she directs her questions at zain. "Is he

mentally unstable? What about all the information he has on you abdullah's?" Her

grilling zain this way makes my hackles rise, but she's already established I

know nothing so she can't ask me. The thought is annoying.

"We think there's a connection with Detroit," zain says mildly. Too

mildly. Oh no, yasmin, please give it up for now.

"Hyde is from Detroit, too?"

zain nods.

The plane accelerates, and I tighten my grip on zains hand. He glances

at me reassuringly. He knows I hate takeoffs and landings. He squeezes my hand

and his thumb strokes my knuckles, calming me.

"What do you know about him?" harshad asks, oblivious to the fact we are

hurtling down the runway in a small jet about to launch itself into the sky, and

equally oblivious to zains growing exasperation with yasmin. yasmin leans forward, listening attentively.

"This is off the record," zain says directly to her. yasmins mouth sets in a

subtle but thin line. I swallow. Oh shit.

"We know a little about him," zain continues. "His dad died in a brawl

in a bar. His mother drank herself into oblivion. He was in and out of foster

homes as a kid . . . in and out of trouble, too. Mainly boosting cars. Spent time in

juvie. His mom got back on track through some outreach program, and Hyde

turned himself around. Won a scholarship to Princeton."

"Princeton?" yasmins curiosity is piqued.

"Yep. He's a bright boy." zain shrugs.

"Not that bright. He got caught," harshad mutters.

"But surely he can't have pulled this stunt alone?" yasmin asks.

zain stiffens beside me. "We don't know yet." His voice is very quiet.

Holy crap. There could be someone working with him? I turn and gape in horror

at zain. He squeezes my hand once more but doesn't look me in the eye. The

plane lifts smoothly into the air, and I get that horrible sinking feeling in my

stomach.

"How old is he?" I ask zain, leaning close so only he can hear. Much as

I'd like to know what's going on, I don't want to encourage yasmins questions. I

know they're irritating zain, and I'm sure she's on his shit list since

Cocktailgate.

"Thirty-two. Why?"

"Curious, that's all."

zains jaw tightens. "Don't be curious about Hyde. I'm just glad the

f**ker's locked up." It's almost a reprimand, but I choose to ignore his tone.

"Do you think he's working with someone?" The thought that someone else

might be involved makes me sick. It would mean this isn't over.

"I don't know," zain answers, and his jaw tightens once more.

"Maybe someone who has a grudge against you?" I suggest. Holy shit. I hope

it's not the bitch troll. "Like Elena?" I whisper. I realize I've muttered her name

out loud, but only he can hear. I glance anxiously at yasmin, but she's deep in conversation with harshad who looks pissed at her. Hmm.

"You do like to demonize her, don't you?" zain rolls his eyes and shakes

his head in disgust. "She may hold a grudge, but she wouldn't do this kind of

thing." He pins me with a steady gray gaze. "Let's not discuss her. I know she's

not your favorite topic of conversation."

"Have you confronted her?" I whisper, not sure if I really want to know.

"Aliya, I haven't spoken to her since my birthday party. Please, drop it. I don't

want to talk about her." He raises my hand and brushes my knuckles with his lips.

His eyes burn into mine, and I know I shouldn't pursue this line of questioning

right now.

"Get a room," harshad teases. "Oh right"you already have, but you didn't need

it for long." He smirks.

zain glances up and pins harshad with a cool glare. "f**k off, harshad," he

says without malice.

"Dude, just telling you how it is." harshads eyes light up with mirth.

"Like you'd know," zain murmurs sardonically, raising an eyebrow.

harshad grins, enjoying the banter. "You married your first girlfriend." harshad

gestures at me.

Oh shit. Where is this going? I flush.

"Can you blame me?" zain kisses my hand again.

"No." harshad laughs and shakes his head.

I flush, and yasmin slaps harshad's thigh.

"Stop being an ass," she scolds him.

"Listen to your girlfriend," zain says to harshad, grinning, and his earlier

concern seems to have disappeared. My ears pop as we gain altitude, and the tension in the cabin dissipates as the plane levels out. yasmin scowls at harshad. Hmm . . .

is something up between them? I'm not sure.

harshad is right. I snort at the irony. I am"was"zains first girlfriend,

and now I'm his wife. The fifteen and the evil Mrs. Robinson"they don't count.

But then harshad doesn't know about them, and clearly yasmin hasn't told him. I smile

at her, and she gives me a conspiratorial wink. My secrets are safe with yasmin.

"Okay, ladies and gentlemen, we'll be cruising at an altitude of

approximately thirty-two thousand feet, and our estimated flight time is one hour

and fifty-six minutes," Stephan announces. "You are now free to move around the

cabin."

Natalia appears abruptly from the galley.

"May I offer anyone coffee?" she asks.

Shiri I am loving it waiting for update

Chap13

We land smoothly at Sardy Field at 12:25 p.m. (MST). Stephan brings the plane

to a halt a little way from the main terminal, and through the windows I spot a

large VW minivan waiting for us.

"Good landing." zain grins and shakes Stephan's hand as we get ready

to file out of the jet.

"It's all about the density altitude, sir." Stephan smiles back. "Beighley here

is good at math."

zain nods at Stephan's first officer. "You nailed it, Beighley. Smooth

landing.""Thank you, sir." She grins smugly.

"Enjoy your weekend, Mr. abdullah, Mrs. abdullah. We'll see you tomorrow."

Stephan steps aside to let us disembark and taking my hand, zain leads me

down the aircraft steps to where Taylor is waiting by the vehicle.

"Minivan?" says zain in surprise as Taylor slides open the door.

Taylor gives him a tight, contrite smile and a slight shrug.

"Last minute, I know," zain says, immediately placated. Taylor returns

to the plane to retrieve our luggage.

"Want to make out in the back of the van?" zain murmurs to me, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

I giggle. Who is this man, and what has he done with Mr. Unbelievably

Angry of the last couple of days?

"Come on, you two. Get in," barkat says from behind us, oozing impatience beside bilal. We climb in, stagger to the double seat at the back, and sit down. I

snuggle against zain, and he puts his arm around the back of my seat. "Comfortable?" he murmurs as barkat and bilal take the seat in front of us.

"Yes." I smile and he kisses my forehead. And for some unfathomable reason

I feel shy with him today. Why? Last night? Being with company? I can't put my

finger on it.

Harshad and yasmin join us last as Taylor opens the liftgate to load the luggage.

Five minutes later, we are on our way.

I gaze out the window as we head toward Aspen. The trees are green, but a

whisper of the coming fall is evident here and there in the yellowing tips of the

leaves. The sky is a clear crystal blue, though there are darkening clouds to the

west. All around us in the distance loom the Rockies, the highest peak directly

ahead. They're lush and green, and the highest are capped with snow and look

like a child's drawing of mountains.

We're in the winter playground of the rich and famous. And I own a house

here. I can barely believe it. And from deep within my psyche, the familiar unease

that's always present when I try to wrap my head around zains wealth looms

and taunts me, making me feel guilty. What have I done to deserve this lifestyle?

I've done nothing, nothing except fall in love.

"Have you been to Aspen before, aliya?" bilal turns and asks, dragging me

out of my reverie.

"No, first time. You?"

"yasmin and I used to come here a lot when we were teens. Dad's a keen skier.

Mom less so."

"I'm hoping my husband will teach me how to ski." I glance up at my man.

"Don't bet on it," zain mutters.

"I won't be that bad!"

"You might break your neck." His grin gone.

Oh. I don't want to argue and sour his good mood, so I change the subject.

"How long have you had this place?"

"Nearly two years. It's yours now, too, Mrs. abdullah," he says softly.

"I know," I whisper. But somehow I don't feel the courage of my convictions. Leaning in, I kiss his jaw and nestle once more at his side listening to him

laugh and joke with bilal and harshad. barkat chimes in occasionally, but yasmin is

quiet, and I wonder if she's brooding about Jack Hyde or something else. Then I

remember. Aspen . . . zains house here was redesigned by Gia Matteo and

rebuilt by harshad. I wonder if that's what's preoccupying yasmin. I can't ask her in

front of harshad, given his history with Gia. Does yasmin even know about Gia's connection to the house? I frown wondering what could be bothering her and resolve

to ask her when we're on our own.

We drive through the center of Aspen and my mood brightens as I take in the

town. There are squat buildings of mostly red brick, Swiss-style chalets, and numerous little turn of the century houses painted in fun colors. Plenty of banks and

designer shops, too, betraying the affluence of the local populace. Of course

zain fits in here.

"Why did you choose Aspen?" I ask him.

"What?" He regards me quizzically.

"To buy a place."

"Mom and Dad used to bring us here when we were kids. I learned to ski

here, and I like the place. I hope you do, too"otherwise we'll sell the house and

choose somewhere else."

Simple as that!

He tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. "You look lovely today,"

he murmurs.

My cheeks heat. I'm just wearing my travelling gear: jeans and a T-shirt with

a lightweight navy blue jacket. Damn it. Why does he make me feel shy?

He kisses me, a tender, sweet, loving kiss.

Taylor drives us on out of town, and we start to climb the other side of the

valley, twisting along a mountain road. The higher we go, the more excited I get,

and zain tenses beside me.

"What's wrong?" I ask as we round a bend.

"I hope you like it," he says quietly. "We're here."

Taylor slows and turns through a gateway made of gray, beige, and red

stones. He heads down the driveway and finally pulls up outside the impressive

house. Double fronted with high-pitched roofs and built of dark wood and the

same mixed stone as the gateway. It's stunning"modern and stark, very much

zains style.

"Home," he mouths at me as our guests start piling out of the van.

"Looks good."

"Come. See," he says, an excited, though anxious, gleam in his eyes as if he's

about to show me his science project or something.

barkat runs up the steps to where a woman stands in the doorway. She's tiny

and her raven-colored hair is dusted with gray. barkat flings her arms around her

neck and hugs her tightly.

"Who's that?" I ask as zain helps me out of the van.

"Mrs. Bentley. She lives here with her husband. They look after the place."

Holy cow . . . more staff?

barkat is making introductions"bilal, then yasmin. harshad hugs Mrs. Bentley,

too. As Taylor unloads the van, zain takes my hand and leads me to the front

door.

"Welcome back, Mr. abdullah." Mrs. Bentley smiles.

"Carmella, this is my wife, aliya," zain says proudly. His tongue

caresses my name, making my heart stutter.

"Mrs. abdullah," Mrs. Bentley nods a respectful greeting. I hold out my hand and

we shake. It's no surprise to me that she's much more formal with zain than

the rest of the family.

"I hope you've had a pleasant flight. The weather is supposed to be fine all

weekend, though I'm not sure." She eyes the darkening gray clouds behind us.

"Lunch is ready whenever you want." She smiles again, her dark eyes twinkling,

and I warm to her immediately.

"Here." zain grabs me and lifts me off my feet.

"What are you doing?" I squeal.

"Carrying you over yet another threshold, Mrs. abdullah."

I grin as he carries me into the wide hallway, and after a brief kiss, he sets me

gently down onto the hardwood floor. The interior dcor is stark and reminds me

of the great room at Escala"all white walls, dark wood, and contemporary abstract art. The hallway opens up into a large sitting area where three off-white

leather couches surround a stone fireplace that dominates the room. The only color is from the soft cushions scattered on the couches. barkat grabs bilal's hand and

drags him farther into the house. zain narrows his eyes at their departing figures, his mouth thinning. He shakes his head then turns to me.

yasmin whistles loudly. "Nice place."

I glance around to see harshad helping Taylor with our luggage. I wonder again

if she knows that Gia had a hand in this place.

"Tour?" zain asks me, and whatever was going through his mind about

barkat and bilal has gone. He's radiating excitement"or is it anxiety? It's difficult

to tell.

"Sure." Once again I'm overwhelmed by the wealth. How much did this

place cost? And I have contributed nothing to it. Briefly I'm transported back to

the first time zain took me to Escala. I was overwhelmed then. You got used

to it, my subconscious hisses at me.

zain frowns but takes my hand, leading me through the various rooms.

The state-of-the-art kitchen is all pale marble countertops and black cupboards.

There's an impressive wine cellar, and an expansive den downstairs, complete

with large plasma screen, soft couches . . . and a billiard table. I gape at it and

blush when zain catches me.

"Fancy a game?" he asks, a wicked gleam in his eye. I shake my head, and

his brow furrows once more. Taking my hand again, he leads me up to the first

floor. There are four bedrooms upstairs, each with an en suite bathroom.

The master suite is something else. The bed is huge, bigger than the bed at

home, and faces an enormous picture window looking out over Aspen and toward

the verdant mountains.

"That's Ajax Mountain . . . or Aspen Mountain, if you like," zain says,

eyeing me warily. He's standing in the doorway, his thumbs hooked through the

belt loops on his black jeans.

I nod.

"You're very quiet," he murmurs.

"It's lovely, zain." And suddenly I'm aching to be back at Escala.

In five long strides he's standing in front of me, tugging at my chin, and releasing my lower lip from the grip of my teeth.

"What is it?" he asks, his eyes searching mine.

"You're very rich."

"Yes."

"Sometimes, it just takes me by surprise how wealthy you are."

"We are."

"We are," I mutter automatically.

"Don't stress about this, aliya, please. It's just a house."

"And what did Gia do here, exactly?"

"Gia?" He raises his eyebrows in surprise.

"Yes. She remodeled this place?"

"She did. She designed the den downstairs. harshad did the build." He rakes his

hand through his hair and frowns at me. "Why are we talking about Gia?"

"Did you know she had a fling with harshad?"

zain gazes at me for a moment, gray eyes unreadable. "harshad's f**ked

most of Seattle, Aliya."

I gasp.

"Mainly women, I understand," zain jokes. I think he's amused by my

expression.

"No!"

zain nods. "It's none of my business." He holds his palms up.

"I don't think yasmin knows."

"I'm not sure he broadcasts that information. yasmin seems to be holding her

own."

I'm shocked. Sweet, unassuming, dark haired, brown-eyed harshad? I stare in disbelief.

zain tilts his head to one side, scrutinizing me. "This can't just be about

Gia or harshad's promiscuity."

"I know. I'm sorry. After all that's happened this week, it's just . . ." I shrug,

feeling tearful all of a sudden. zain seems to sag with relief. Pulling me into

his arms, he holds me tightly, his nose in my hair.

"I know. I'm sorry, too. Let's relax and enjoy ourselves, okay? You can stay

here and read, watch god-awful TV, shop, go hiking"fishing even. Whatever you

want to do. And forget what I said about harshad. That was indiscreet of me."

"Goes some way to explain why he's always teasing you," I murmur, nuzzling his chest.

"He really has no idea about my past. I told you, my family assumed I was

gay. Celibate, but gay."

I giggle and begin to relax in his arms. "I thought you were celibate. How

wrong I was." I wrap my arms around him, marveling at the ridiculousness of

zain being gay.

"Mrs. abdullah, are you smirking at me?"

"Maybe a little." I acquiesce. "You know, what I don't understand is why

you have this place?"

"What do you mean?" He kisses my hair.

"You have the boat, which I get, you have the place in New York for business"but why here? It's not like you shared it with anyone."

zain stills and is silent for several beats. "I was waiting for you," he says

softly, his eyes dark gray and luminous.

"That's . . . that's such a lovely thing to say."

"It's true. I didn't know it at the time." He smiles his shy smile.

"I'm glad you waited."

"You are worth waiting for, Mrs. abdullah." He tips my chin up with his finger,

leans down, and kisses me tenderly.

"So are you." I smile. "Though I feel I like I cheated. I didn't have to wait

long for you at all."

He grins. "Am I that much of a prize?"

"zain, you are the state lottery, the cure for cancer, and the three wishes

from Aladdin's lamp all rolled into one."

He raises a brow.

"When will you realize this?" I scold him. "You were a very eligible bachelor. And I don't mean all this." I wave dismissingly at our plush surroundings. "I

mean in here." I place my hand over his heart, and his eyes widen. My confident,

sexy husband has gone, and I'm facing my lost boy. "Believe me, zain,

please," I whisper and clasp his face, pulling his lips to mine. He groans, and I

don't know if it's hearing what I've said or his usual primal response. I claim him,

my lips moving against his, my tongue invading his mouth.

When we're both breathless, he pulls away, eyeing me doubtfully.

"When are you going to get it through your exceptionally thick skull that I

love you?" I ask, exasperated.

He swallows. "One day," he says.

This is progress. I smile and am rewarded with his answering shy smile.

"Come. Let's have some lunch"the others will be wondering where we are.

We can discuss what we all want to do."

"Oh no!" yasmin says suddenly.

All eyes turn to her.

"Look," she says, pointing to the picture window. Outside, rain has started

pouring down. We are sitting around the dark wood table in the kitchen having

consumed an Italian feast of a mixed antipasto, prepared by Mrs. Bentley, and a

bottle or two of Frascati. I'm replete and a little buzzed from the alcohol.

"There goes our hike," harshad mutters, sounding vaguely relieved. yasmin

scowls at him. Something is definitely up with them. They have been relaxed with

all of us but not with each other.

"We could go into town," barkat pipes up. bilal smirks at her.

"Perfect weather for fishing," zain suggests.

"I'll go fish," bilal says.

"Let's split up." barkat claps her hands. "Girls, shopping"boys, outdoor boring

stuff."

I glance at yasmin, who regards barkat indulgently. Fishing or shopping? Jeez,

what a choice.

"aliya, what do you want to do?" zain asks.

"I don't mind," I lie.

yasmin catches my eye and mouths "shopping." Perhaps she wants to talk.

"But I'm more than happy to go shopping." I smile wryly at yasmin and barkat.

zain smirks. He knows I hate shopping.

"I can stay here with you, if you'd like," he murmurs, and something dark unfurls in my belly at his tone.

"No, you go fish," I answer. zain needs boy time.

"Sounds like a plan," yasmin says, rising from the table.

"Taylor will accompany you," zain says, and it's a given"not up for

discussion.

"We don't need babysitting," yasmin retorts bluntly, direct as ever.

I put my hand on yasmins arm. "yasmin, Taylor should come."

She frowns, then shrugs, and for once in her life holds her tongue.

I smile timidly at zain. His expression remains impassive. Oh, I hope

he's not mad at yasmin.

harshad frowns. "I need to pick up a battery for my watch in town." He glances

quickly at yasmin, and I spot his slight blush. She doesn't notice because she is pointedly ignoring him.

"Take the Audi, harshad. When you come back we can go fishing," zain

says.

"Yeah," harshad mutters, but he seems distracted. "Good plan."

"In here." Grabbing my hand, barkat hauls me into a designer boutique that's all

pink silk and faux-French distressed rustic furniture. yasmin follows us while Taylor

waits outside, sheltering under the awning from the rain. Aretha is belting out

"Say A Little Prayer" over the store's hi-fi system. I love this song. I should put it

on zains iPod.

"This will look wonderful on you, aliya." barkat holds up a scrap of silver material. "Here, try it on."

"Um . . . it's a bit short."

"You'll look fantastic in it. zain will love it."

"You think?"

barkat beams at me. "aliya, you have legs to die for, and if we go clubbing tonight""she smiles, sensing an easy kill""you'll look hot for your husband."

I blink at her, slightly shocked. We're going clubbing? I don't do clubbing.

yasmin laughs at my expression. She seems more relaxed now that she's away

from harshad. "We should throw some shapes this evening," she says.

"Go try it on," barkat orders, and reluctantly I head for the changing room.

While I wait for yasmin and barkat to emerge from the dressing room, I stroll to the

shop window and look out, unseeing, across the main street. The soul compilation

continues: Dionne Warwick is singing "Walk On By." Another great song"one

of my mother's favorites. I glance down at The Dress in my hand. Dress is perhaps an overstatement. It's backless and very short, but barkat has declared it a winner, perfect for dancing the night away. Apparently, I need shoes, too, and a large

chunky necklace, which we'll source next. Rolling my eyes, I reflect once more

on how lucky I am to have Caroline Acton, my own personal shopper.

Through the boutique window I'm distracted by the sight of harshad. He has

appeared on the other side of the leafy main street, climbing out of a large Audi.

He dives into a store as if to duck out of the rain. Looks like a jewelry store . . .

maybe he's looking for that watch battery. He emerges a few minutes later and

not alone"with a woman.

f**k! He's talking to Gia! What the hell is she doing here?

As I watch, they hug briefly and she holds her head back, laughing animatedly at something he says. He kisses her cheek then runs to the waiting car. She

turns and heads down the street, and I gape after her. What was that about? I turn

anxiously toward the dressing rooms, but there's still no sign of yasmin or barkat.

I glance at Taylor, where he's waiting outside the store. He catches my eye

then shrugs. He's witnessed harshad's little encounter, too. I blush, embarrassed to

have been caught snooping. Turning back, barkat and yasmin emerge, both of them

laughing. yasmin looks at me quizzically.

"What's wrong, Aliya?" she asks. "You gone cold on the dress? You look sensational in it."

"Um, no."

"Are you okay?" yasmins eyes widen.

"I'm fine. Shall we pay?" I head to the cashier joining barkat who has chosen

two skirts.

"Good afternoon, ma'am." The young sales assistant"who has more gloss

coating her lips than I have ever seen in one place"smiles at me. "That'll be

eight hundred and fifty dollars."

What? For this scrap of material! I blink at her and meekly hand over my

black Amex.

"Mrs. abdullah," Ms. Lip Gloss purrs.

I follow yasmin and barkat in a daze for the next two hours, warring with myself.

Should I tell yasmin? My subconscious firmly shakes her head. Yes, I should tell

her. No, I shouldn't. It could just have been an innocent meeting. Shit. What

should I do?

"Well, do you like the shoes, Aliya?" barkat has her fists on her hips.

"Um . . . yeah, sure."

I end up with a pair of unfeasibly high Manolo Blahniks with straps that look

like they are made from mirrors. They match the dress perfectly and set zain

back just over a thousand dollars. I'm luckier with the long silver chain that yasmin

insists I buy; it's a bargain at eighty-four dollars.

"Getting used to having money?" yasmin asks not unkindly as we walk back to

the car. barkat has skipped ahead.

"You know this isn't me, yasmin. I'm kind of uncomfortable about all this. But

I'm reliably informed it's part of the package." I purse my lips at her, and she puts

her arm around me.

"You'll get used to it, aliya," she says sympathetically. "You'll look great."

"yasmin, how are you and harshad getting along?" I ask.

Her wide blue eyes dart to mine.

Oh no.

She shakes her head. "I don't want to talk about it now." She nods toward

barkat. "But things are"" She doesn't finish her sentence.

This is unlike my tenacious yasmin. Shit. I knew something was up. Do I tell

her what I saw? What did I see? harshad and Miss Well-Groomed-Sexual-Predator

talking, hugging, and that kiss on the cheek. Surely they are just old friends? No, I

won't tell her. Not right now. I give her my I-completely-understand-and-willrespect-your-privacy nod. She reaches for my hand and gives it a grateful

squeeze, and there it is"a swift glimpse of pain and hurt in her eyes that she

quickly stifles with a blink. I feel a sudden surge of protectiveness for my dear

friend. What the hell is Harshad Manwh**e Abdullah playing at?

Once back at the house, yasmin decides we deserve cocktails after our shopping extravaganza and whips up some strawberry daiquiris for us. We curl up on the sitting room couches in front of the blazing log fire.

"harshad has just been a little distant lately," yasmin murmurs, gazing into the

flames. yasmin and I finally have a moment to ourselves as barkat puts away her purchases."Oh?"

"And I think I'm in trouble for getting you into trouble."

"You heard about that?"

"Yes. zain called harshad; harshad called me."

I roll my eyes. Oh, Fifty, Fifty, Fifty.

"I'm sorry. zain is . . . protective. You haven't seen harshad since

cocktailgate?"

"No."

"Oh."

"I really like him, Aliya," she whispers. And for one dreadful minute I think

she's going to cry. This is not like yasmin. Does this mean the return of the pink pajamas? She turns to me.

"I've fallen in love with him. At first I thought it was just the great sex. But

he's charming and kind and warm and funny. I could see us growing old together"you know . . . kids, grandkids"the works."

"Your happily ever after," I whisper.

She nods sadly.

"Maybe you should talk to him. Try to find some alone time here. Find out

what's eating him."

Who's eating him, my subconscious snarls. I slap her down, shocked at the

waywardness of my own thoughts.

"Perhaps you guys could go for a walk tomorrow morning?"

"We'll see."

"yasmin, I hate seeing you like this."

She smiles weakly, and I lean over to hug her. I resolve not to mention Gia,

though I might mention it to the manwh**e himself. How can he mess with my

friend's affections like this?

barkat returns, and we move on to safer territory.

The fire hisses and spits sparks on to the hearth as I feed it the last log. We're almost out of wood. Even though it's summer, the fire is very welcome on this wet

day.

"barkat, do you know where the wood for the fire is kept?" I ask as she sips her

daiquiri.

"I think it's in the garage."

"I'll go find some. It'll give me an opportunity to explore."

The rain has eased off when I venture outside and head to the three-car garage adjoining the house. The side door is unlocked and I enter, switching on the

light to fight the gloom. The fluorescent strips ping noisily to life.

There's a car in the garage, and I realize it's the Audi I saw harshad in this afternoon. There are also two snowmobiles. But what really grabs my attention are

the two trail bikes, both 125cc. Memories of bilal bravely endeavoring to teach

me how to ride last summer flash through my mind. Unconsciously, I rub my arm

where I badly bruised it in a fall.

"You ride?" harshad asks from behind me.

I whirl around. "You're back."

"It would appear so." He grins, and I realize that zain might say the

same thing to me"but without the huge, heart-melting grin. "Well?" he asks.

Manwh**e! "Sort of."

"Do you want a go?"

I snort. "Um, no . . . I don't think zain would be very happy if I did."

"zain's not here." harshad smirks"oh, it's a family trait"and waves his

arm to indicate we're alone. He strolls toward the nearest bike and swings a long

denim-clad leg over the saddle, sitting astride and grabbing the handlebars.

"zain has, um . . . issues about my safety. I shouldn't."

"You always do what he says?" harshad has a wicked sparkle in his brown

eyes, and I see a glimmer of the bad boy . . . the bad boy yasmin has fallen in love

with. The bad boy from Detroit.

"No." I arch an admonishing brow at him. "But I'm trying to put that right.

He has enough to worry about without adding me to the mix. Is he back?"

"I don't know."

"You didn't go fishing?"

harshad shakes his head. "I had some business to deal with in town."

Business! Holy shit"groomed blonde business! I inhale sharply and gape at

him.

"If you don't want to ride, what are you doing in the garage?" harshad is

intrigued.

"I'm looking for wood for the fire."

"There you are. Oh, harshad"you're back." yasmin interrupts us.

"Hey, baby." He smiles broadly.

"Catch anything?"

I scrutinize harshads reaction. "No. I had a few things to take care of in town."

And for one brief moment, I see a flash of uncertainty cross his face.

Oh shit.

"I came out to see what was keeping Aliya." Kate looks at us, confused.

"We were just shooting the breeze," harshad says, and the tension crackles

between them.

We all pause as we hear a car pull up outside. Oh! zains back. Thank

heavens. The garage door opener whirrs loudly into action, startling us all, and the

door slowly lifts to reveal zain and bilal unloading a black flatbed truck.

zain stops when he sees us standing in the garage.

"Garage band?" he asks sardonically as he wanders in, heading straight for

me.

I grin. I am relieved to see him. Beneath his wading jacket, he's wearing the

coveralls I sold him at Claytons.

"Hi," he says looking quizzically at me, ignoring both yasmin and harshad.

"Hi. Nice coveralls."

"Lots of pockets. Very handy for fishing." His voice is soft and seductive, for

my ears only, and when he gazes down at me, his expression is hot.

I flush, and he smiles a huge, no-holds-barred, all-for-me smile.

"You're wet," I murmur.

"It was raining. What are you guys doing in the garage?" Finally he acknowledges that we are not alone.

"aliya came to fetch some wood," harshad smirks. Somehow he manages to

make that sentence sound smutty. "I tried to tempt her to take a ride." He is master of the double entendre.

Zain's face falls, and my heart stills.

"She said no. That you wouldn't like it," harshad says kindly"and innuendofree.

Zain's gray gaze swings back to me. "Did she, now?" he murmurs.

"Listen, I'm all for standing around discussing what Aliya did next, but shall

we go back inside?" yasmin snaps. She stoops down, snatches up two logs, and turns

on her heel, stomping toward the door. Oh shit. yasmin is mad"but I know it's not

at me. harshad sighs and, without a word, follows her out. I gaze after them, but

zain distracts me.

"You can ride a motorcycle?" he asks, his voice laced with disbelief.

"Not very well. bilal taught me."

His eyes frost immediately. "You made the right decision," he says, his voice

much cooler. "The ground's very hard at the moment, and the rain's made it

treacherous and slippery."

"Where do you want the fishing gear?" bilal calls from outside.

"Leave it, bilal"Taylor will take care of it."

"What about the fish?" bilal continues, his voice vaguely taunting.

"You caught a fish?" I ask, surprised.

"Not me. khan did." And zain pouts . . . prettily.

I burst out laughing.

"Mrs. Bentley will deal with that," he calls back. bilal grins and heads into

the house.

"Am I amusing you, Mrs. abdullah?"

"Very much so. You're wet . . . Let me run you a bath."

"As long as you join me." He leans down and kisses me.

I fill the large egg-shaped tub in the en suite bathroom and pour in some expensive bath oil, which starts to foam immediately. The aroma is heavenly . . . jasmine, I think. Back in the bedroom, I start to hang The Dress while the bath fills.

"Did you have a good time?" zain asks as he enters the room. He's just

in a T-shirt and sweat pants, his feet bare. He closes the door behind him.

"Yes," I murmur, drinking him in. I have missed him. Ridiculous"it's only

been what, a few hours?

He cocks his head to one side and gazes at me. "What is it?"

"I was thinking how much I've missed you."

"You sound like you have it bad, Mrs. abdullah."

"I have, Mr. abdullah."

He strolls toward me until he's standing in front of me. "What did you buy?"

he whispers, and I know it's to change the topic of conversation.

"A dress, some shoes, a necklace. I spent a great deal of your money." I

glance up at him, guiltily.

He's amused. "Good," he murmurs and tucks a stray lock of my hair behind

my ear. "And for the billionth time, our money." He tugs my chin, releasing my

lip from my teeth and runs his index finger down the front of my T-shirt, down

my sternum, between my breasts, down my stomach, and over my belly to the

hem.

"You won't be needing this in the bath," he whispers, and gripping the hem

of my T-shirt in both hands, slowly pulls it up. "Lift your arms."

I comply, not taking my eyes off his, and he drops my T-shirt on the floor.

"I thought we were just having a bath." My pulse quickens.

"I want to make you good and dirty first. I've missed you, too." He leans

down and kisses me.

"Shit, the water!" I struggle to sit up, all post-orgasmic and dazed.

zain doesn't release me.

"zain, the bath!" I gaze down at him from my prone position across his

chest.

He laughs. "Relax"it's a wet room." He rolls over and kisses me quickly.

"I'll switch off the faucet."

He climbs gracefully off the bed and strolls into the bathroom. My eyes

greedily follow him all the way. Hmm . . . my husband, naked and soon to be wet.

My inner goddess licks her lips salaciously and gives me her well-f**ked grin. I

bound out of bed.

We sit at opposite ends of the bath, which is very full"so full that whenever we

move, water laps over the side and splashes to the floor. It's very decadent. Even

more decadent is zain washing my feet, massaging the soles, pulling gently

on my toes. He kisses each one and gently bites my little toe.

"Aaah!" I feel it"there, in my groin.

"Like that?" he breathes.

"Hmm," I mumble incoherently.

He starts massaging again. Oh, this feels good. I close my eyes.

"I saw Gia in town," I murmur.

"Really? I think she has a place here," he says dismissively. He's not interested in the slightest.

"She was with harshad."

zain stops massaging. That got his attention. When I open my eyes his

head is inclined to one side, like he doesn't understand.

"What do you mean with harshad?" he asks, perplexed rather than concerned.

I explain what I saw.

"Aliya, they're just friends. I think harshad is pretty stuck on yasmin." He pauses

then adds more quietly. "In fact I know he's pretty stuck on her." And he gives me

his I-have-no-idea-why look.

"yasmin is gorgeous." I bristle, championing my friend.

He snorts. "Still glad it was you that fell into my office." He kisses my big

toe, releases my left foot, and picks up my right before beginning the massage

process again. His fingers are so strong and supple, I relax again. I do not want to

fight about yasmin. I close my eyes and let his fingers work their magic on my feet.

I gape at myself in the full-length mirror, not recognizing the vixen that stares

back at me. yasmin has gone all out and played Barbie with me this evening, styling

my hair and makeup. My hair is full and straight, my eyes ringed with kohl, my

lips scarlet red. I look . . . hot. I'm all legs, especially in the high-heeled Manolos

and my indecently short dress. I need zain to approve, though I have a horrible feeling he won't like so much of my flesh exposed. In view of our entente

cordiale, I decide I should ask him. I pick up my BlackBerry.

From: aliya

Subject: Does My Butt Look Big In This?

Date: August 27, 2011 18:53 MST

To: zain

Mr. Abdullah

I need your sartorial advice.

Yours

Mrs. A x

From: zain

Subject: Peachy

Date: August 27, 2011 18:55 MST

To: aliya

Mrs. abdullah

I seriously doubt it.

But I will come and give your butt a thorough examination just to make sure.

Yours in anticipation

Mr. A x

Zain Abdullah ,

CEO Abdullah Enterprises Holdings and Butt Inspectorate Inc.

As I read his e-mail, the bedroom door opens, and zain freezes on the

threshold. His mouth pops open and his eyes widen.

Holy crap . . . this could go either way.

"Well?" I whisper.

"Aliya, you look . . . Wow."

"You like it?"

"Yes, I guess so." He's a little hoarse. Slowly he steps into the room and

closes the door. He's wearing black jeans and a white shirt, but with a black jacket. He looks divine. He stalks slowly toward me, but as soon as he reaches me, he

puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me around to face the full-length mirror,

while he stands behind me. My gaze finds his in the glass, then he glances down,

fascinated by my naked back. His finger glides down my spine and reaches the

edge of my dress at the small of my back, where pale flesh meets silver cloth.

"This is very revealing," he murmurs.

His hand skims lower, over my backside and down to my naked thigh. He

pauses, gray eyes burning intently into blue. Then slowly he trails his fingers back

up to the hem of my skirt.

Watching his long fingers move lightly, teasingly across my skin, feeling the

tingles they leave in their wake, my mouth forms a perfect O.

"It's not far from here." He touches the hem, then moves his fingers higher.

"To here," he whispers. I gasp as his fingers stroke my sex, moving tantalizingly

over my panties, feeling me, teasing me.

"And your point is?" I whisper.

"My point is . . . it's not far from here""his fingers glide over my panties,

then one is inside, against my soft dampened flesh""to here. And then . . . to

here." He slips a finger inside me.

I gasp and make a soft mewling sound.

"This is mine," he murmurs in my ear. Closing his eyes, he moves his finger

slowly in and out of me. "I don't want anyone else to see this."

My breath stutters, my panting matching the rhythm of his finger. Watching

him in the mirror, doing this . . . it's beyond erotic.

"So be a good girl and don't bend down, and you should be fine."

"You approve?" I whisper.

"No, but I'm not going to stop you wearing it. You look stunning, Aliya."

Abruptly he withdraws his finger, leaving me wanting more, and he moves around

to face me. He places the tip of his invading finger on my lower lip. Instinctively,

I pucker my lips and kiss it, and I'm rewarded with a wicked grin. He puts his finger in his mouth and his expression informs me that I taste good . . . real good. I

flush. Will it always shock me when he does that?

He grasps my hand.

"Come," he orders softly. I want to retort that I was about to, but in light of

what happened in the playroom yesterday, I decide against it.

We are waiting for dessert in a plush, exclusive restaurant in town. It's been a

lively evening so far, and Barkat is determined it should continue and that we must

go clubbing. Right now she's sitting silently for once, hanging on Bilal's every

word as he and Zain talk. Barkat is obviously infatuated with Bilal, and Bilal

is . . . well it's difficult to tell. I don't know if they are just friends or if there's

something more.

Zain seems at ease. He's been talking animatedly with bilal. They obviously bonded over the fly-fishing. They're talking about psychology, mainly.

Ironically, zain sounds the more knowledgeable. I snort softly as I half listen

to their conversation, sadly acknowledging that his expertise is the result of his

experience with so many shrinks.

You're the best therapy. His words, whispered while we were making love

once, echo in my head. Am I? Oh, zain , I hope so.

I glance over at yasmin. She looks beautiful, but then she always does. She and

harshad are less lively. He seems nervous, his jokes a little too loud, and his laugh a

little off. Have they had a fight? What's eating him? Is it that woman? My heart

sinks at the thought that he might hurt my best friend. I glance at the entrance,

half expecting to see Gia calmly saunter her well-groomed ass across the restaurant to us. My mind is playing tricks, I suspect it's the amount of alcohol I've had.

My head is beginning to ache.

Abruptly, harshad startles us all by standing and pulling his chair back so it

scrapes across the tile floor. All eyes turn to him. He gazes down at yasmin for one

moment then drops to one knee beside her.

Oh. My. God.

He reaches for her hand, and silence settles like a blanket over the entire restaurant as everyone stops eating, stops talking, stops walking, and stares.

"My beautiful Yasmin, I love you. Your grace, your beauty, and your fiery spirit

have no equal, and you have captured my heart. Spend your life with me. Marry

me."

Holy shit!

Chap14

The attention of the entire restaurant is trained on Yasmin and Harshad, waiting with

bated breath as one. The anticipation is unbearable. Silence stretches like a taut

rubber band. The atmosphere is oppressive, apprehensive, and yet hopeful.

Yasmin stares blankly at Harshad as he gazes up at her, his eyes wide with longing"fear even. Holy crap, yasmin! Put him out of his misery. Please. Jeez"he

could have asked her privately.

A single tear trickles down her cheek though she remains expressionless.

Shit! yasmin crying? Then she smiles, a slow disbelieving I've-found-Nirvana smile."Yes," she whispers, a breathy, sweet acceptance"not yasmin-like at all. For

one nanosecond there's a pause as the entire restaurant exhales a collective sigh of

relief, and then the noise is deafening. Spontaneous applause, cheering, catcalls,

whooping, and suddenly I have tears rolling down my face, smudging my Barbiemeets-Joan-Jett makeup.

Oblivious to the commotion around them, the two are locked in their own

little world. From his pocket harshad produces a small box, opens it, and presents it

to yasmin. A ring. And from what I can see, an exquisite ring, but I need a closer

look. Is that what he was doing with Gia? Choosing a ring? Shit! Oh, I'm so glad I

didn't tell yasmin.

yasmin looks from the ring to Elliot then throws her arms around his neck. They

kiss, remarkably chaste for them, and the crowd goes wild. harshad stands and acknowledges the approbation with a surprisingly graceful bow then, wearing a

huge self-satisfied grin, sits back down. I can't take my eyes off them. Taking the

ring out of its box, harshad gently slides it onto yasmin's finger, and they kiss once

more.

zain squeezes my hand. I didn't realize I'd been gripping his so tightly. I

release him, a little embarrassed, and he shakes his hand, mouthing, "Ow."

"Sorry. Did you know about this?" I whisper.

Zain smiles, and I know that he did. He summons the waiter. "Two

bottles of the Cristal please. The 2002 if you have it."

I smirk at him.

"What?" he asks.

"Because the 2002 is so much better than the 2003," I tease.

He laughs. "To the discerning palate, aliya."

"You have a very discerning palate, Mr. Abdullah , and singular tastes." I smile.

"That I do, Mrs. Abdullah ." He leans in close. "You taste best," he whispers, and

he kisses a certain spot behind my ear, sending little shivers down my spine. I

blush scarlet and fondly remember his earlier demonstration of the quite literal

shortcomings of my dress.

barkat is the first up to hug yasmin and harshad, and we all take turns congratulating

the happy couple. I clutch yasmin in a fierce hug.

"See? He was just worried about his proposal," I whisper.

"Oh, Aliya." She giggle-sobs.

"yasmin, I am so happy for you. Congratulations."

zain is behind me. He shakes harshads hand, then"surprising both harshad

and me"pulls him into a hug. I can only just catch what he says.

"Way to go, halshad," he murmurs. harshad says nothing, for once stunned into

silence, then cautiously returns his brother's hug.

Halshad?

"Thanks, zain," harshad chokes out.

zain gives yasmin a brief, if awkward, almost arm's-length hug. I know

that zains attitude to yasmin is tolerant, at best, and ambivalent most of the

time, so this is progress. Releasing her, he says so quietly only she and I can hear,

"I hope you are as happy in your marriage as I am in mine."

"Thank you, zain. I hope so, too," she says graciously.

The waiter has returned with the champagne, which he proceeds to open with

an understated flourish.

zain holds his champagne flute aloft.

"To yasmin and my dear older brother, harshad"congratulations."

We all sip, well, I glug. Hmm, Cristal tastes so good, and I'm reminded of the

first time I drank it at zains club and later, our eventful elevator journey to

the first floor.

zain frowns at me. "What are you thinking about?" he whispers.

"The first time I drank this champagne."

His frown becomes more quizzical.

"We were at your club." I prompt.

He grins. "Oh yes. I remember." He winks at me.

"harshad, have you set a date?" barkat pipes up.

harshad gives his sister an exasperated stare. "I've only just asked yasmin, so

we'll get back to you on that, 'kay?"

"Oh, make it a Christmas wedding. That would be so romantic, and you'd

have no trouble remembering your anniversary." barkat claps her hands.

"I'll take that under advisement." harshad smirks at her.

"After the champagne, can we please go clubbing?" barkat turns and gives

zain her biggest, brown-eyed look.

"I think we should ask Harshad and Yasmin what they'd like to do."

As one, we turn expectantly to them. Harshad turns and yasmin turns puce. Her

carnal intent toward her fianc is so clear I nearly spit four-hundred-dollar champagne all over the table.

Zax is the most exclusive nightclub in Aspen"or so says barkat. zain strolls to

the front of the short line with his arm wrapped around my waist and is immediately granted access. I wonder briefly if he owns the place. I glance at my

watch"eleven thirty in the evening, and I'm feeling fuzzy. The two glasses of

champagne and several glasses of Pouilly-Fum during our meal are starting to

have an effect, and I'm grateful zain has his arm around me.

"Mr. abdullah, welcome back," says a very attractive, leggy blonde in black satin, hot pants, matching sleeveless shirt, and a little red bowtie. She smiles broadly,

revealing perfect all-American teeth between scarlet lips that match her bowtie.

"Max will take your coat."

A young man dressed entirely in black, fortunately not satin, smiles as he offers to take my coat. His dark eyes are warm and inviting. I am the only one wearing a coat"zain insisted I take barkats trench coat to cover my behind"so

Max only has to deal with me.

"Nice coat," he says, gazing at me intently.

Beside me zain bristles and fixes Max with a back-off-now glare. He

reddens and quickly hands zain my coat check ticket.

"Let me show you to your table." Miss Satin Hot Pants flutters her eyelashes

at my husband, flicks her long blond hair, and sashays through the entryway. I

tighten my grip around zain, and he gazes down at me questioningly for a

moment, then smirks as we follow Miss Satin Hot Pants into the bar.

The lighting is muted, the walls are black, and the furnishings deep red.

There are booths flanking two sides of the walls and a large U-shaped bar in the

middle. It's busy, given that we're here off-season, but not too crowded with the

well-heeled of Aspen out for a good time on a Saturday night. The dress code is

relaxed, and for the first time I feel a little over . . . um, underdressed. I'm not sure

which. The floor and walls vibrate with the music pulsing from the dance floor

behind the bar, and lights are whirling and flashing on and off. In my heady state,

I idly think it's an epileptic's nightmare.

Satin Hot Pants leads us to a corner booth that's been roped off. It's near the

bar with access to the dance floor. Clearly the best seats in the house.

"There'll be someone along to take your order shortly." She gives us her full

megawatt smile and, with a final flutter of eyelashes at my husband, sashays back

from where she came. barkat is already jigging from foot to foot, itching to get onto

the dance floor, and bilal takes pity on her.

"Champagne?" zain asks as they head off holding hands toward the

dance floor. bilal gives him a thumbs-up and barkat nods enthusiastically.

Yasmin and Harshad sit back on the soft velvet seating, hand in hand. They look so

happy, their features soft and radiant in the glow from the tea lights flickering in

crystal holders on the low table. zain gestures for me to sit, and I scoot in beside yasmin. He takes a seat beside me and anxiously scans the room.

"Show me your ring." I raise my voice over the music. I will be hoarse by the

time we leave. yasmin beams at me and holds up her hand. The ring is exquisite, a

single solitaire in a fine elaborate claw with tiny diamonds on either side. It has a

retro Victorian look to it.

"It's beautiful."

She nods in delight and, reaching over, squeezes harshads thigh. He leans

down and kisses her.

"Get a room," I call out.

Harshad grins.

A young woman with short dark hair and a mischievous smile, wearing regulation, black satin, hot pants, comes to take our order.

"What do you want to drink?" zain asks.

"You're not picking up the tab for this, too," zain grumbles.

"Don't start that shit, harshad," zain says mildly.

Despite the objections of yasmin, harshad and bilal, zain has paid for the

meal we just consumed. He simply waved them aside and would not hear of anyone else paying. I gaze at him lovingly. My Fifty Shades . . . always in control.

harshad opens his mouth to say something but, wisely perhaps, closes it again.

"I'll have a beer," he says.

"yasmin?" Christian asks.

"More champagne, please. The Cristal is delicious. But I'm sure bilal would

prefer a beer." She smiles sweetly"yes, sweetly"at zain. She is incandescent with happiness. I feel it radiating off her, and it's a pleasure to bask in her

joy.

"Aliya?"

"Champagne, please."

"Bottle of Cristal, three Peronis, and a bottle of iced mineral water, six

glasses," he says in his usual authoritative, no-nonsense manner.

It's kinda hot.

"Thank you, sir. Coming right up." Miss Hot Pants Number Two gives him a

gracious smile, but he's spared the fluttering of eyelashes though her cheeks redden a little.

I shake my head in resignation. He's mine, girlfriend.

"What?" he asks me.

"She didn't flutter her eyelashes at you." I smirk.

"Oh. Was she supposed to?" he asks, failing to hide his mirth.

"Women usually do." My tone is ironic.

He grins. "Mrs. abdullah, are you jealous?"

"Not in the slightest." I pout at him. And I realize in that moment that I am

beginning to tolerate women ogling my husband. Almost. Zain clasps my

hand and kisses my knuckles.

"You have nothing to be jealous of, Mrs. abdullah," he murmurs close to my ear,

his breath tickling me.

"I know."

"Good."

The waitress returns, and moments later I'm sipping another glass of

champagne.

"Here." zain hands me a glass of water. "Drink this."

I frown at him and see, rather than hear, his sigh.

"Three glasses of white wine at dinner and two of champagne, after a strawberry daiquiri and two glasses of Frascati at lunchtime. Drink. Now, aliya."

How does he know about the cocktails this afternoon? I scowl at him. But actually he does have a point. Taking the glass of water, I down it in a most unladylike manner to register my protest at being told what to do . . . again. I wipe my

hand across the back of my mouth.

"Good girl," he says, smirking. "You've vomited on me once already. I don't

wish to experience that again in a hurry."

"I don't know what you're complaining about. You got to sleep with me."

He smiles and his eyes soften. "Yeah, I did."

Bilal and barkat are back.

"bilals had enough, for now. Come on, girls. Let's hit the floor. Strike a

pose, throw some shapes, work off the calories from the chocolate mousse."

yasmin stands immediately. "Coming?" she asks harshad.

"Let me watch you," he says. And I have to look away quickly, blushing at

the look he gives her. She grins as I stand.

"I'm going to burn some calories," I say, and leaning down I whisper in

Zain's ear, "You can watch me."

"Don't bend over," he growls.

"Okay." I stand abruptly. Whoa! Head rush, and I clutch zains shoulder

as the room shifts and tilts a little.

"Perhaps you should have some more water," zain murmurs, a warning

clear in his voice.

"I'm fine. These seats are low and my heels are high."

yasmin takes my hand, and taking a deep breath I follow her and barkat, perfectly

poised, onto the dance floor.

The music is pulsing, a techno beat with a thumping bass line. The dance

floor isn't crowded, which means we have some space. The mix is eclectic"young and old alike dancing the night away. I have never been a good dancer.

In fact, it's only since I've been with zain that I dance at all. yasmin hugs me.

"I'm so happy," she shouts over the music, and she starts to dance. Barkat is doing what barkat does, grinning at the pair of us, throwing herself around. Jeez, she's

taking up a lot of room on the dance floor. I glance back toward the table. Our

men are watching us. I start to move. It's a pulsing rhythm. I close my eyes and

surrender to it.

I open my eyes to find the dance floor filling up. yasmin, barkat and I are forced

closer together. And to my surprise I find I'm actually enjoying myself. I begin to

move a little more . . . bravely. yasmin gives me two thumbs up, and I beam back at

her.

I close my eyes. Why did I spend the first twenty years of my life not doing

this? I chose reading over dancing. Jane Austen didn't have great music to move

to and Thomas Hardy . . . jeez, he'd have felt guilty as sin that he wasn't dancing

with his first wife. I giggle at the thought.

It's zain. He has given me this confidence in my body and how I can

move it.

Suddenly, there are two hands on my hips. I grin. zain has joined me. I

wiggle, and his hands move to my behind and squeeze, then back to my hips.

I open my eyes. And barkat is gaping at me in horror. Shit . . . Am I that bad? I

reach down to hold zains hands. They're hairy. f**k! They're not his. I

whirl around, and towering over me is a blond giant with more teeth than is natural and a leering smile to showcase them.

"Get your hands off me!" I scream over the pounding music, apoplectic with

rage.

"Come on, sugar, it's just some fun." He smiles, holding his apelike hands

up, his blue eyes gleaming under the pulsing ultraviolet lights.

Before I know what I'm doing, I slap him hard across the face.

Ow! Shit . . . my hand. It stings. "Get away from me!" I shout. He gazes down

at me, cupping his red cheek. I thrust my uninjured hand in front of his face,

spreading my fingers to show him my rings.

"I'm married, you asshole!"

He shrugs rather arrogantly and gives me a halfhearted, apologetic smile.

I glance around frantically. barkat is at my right, glaring at Blond Giant. yasmin is

lost in the moment doing her thing. zain is not at the table. Oh, I hope he's

gone to the restroom. I step back into a front I know well. Oh shit. zain puts

his arm around my waist and moves me to his side.

"Keep your f**king hands off my wife," he says. He's not shouting, but

somehow he can be heard over the music.

Holy shit!

"She can take care of herself," Blond Giant shouts. His hand moves from his

cheek where I've slapped him, and zain hits him. It's like I'm watching it in

slow motion. A perfectly timed punch to the chin that moves at such speed, but

with so little wasted energy, Blond Giant doesn't see it coming. He crumples to

the floor like the scumbag he is.

f**k.

"zain , no!" I gasp in panic, standing in front of him to hold him back.

Shit, he'll kill him. "I already hit him," I shout over the music. zain doesn't

look at me. He's glaring at my assailant with a malevolence I've not seen before

flaring in his eyes. Well, maybe once before after Jack Hyde made a pass at me.

The other dancers move outward like a ripple in a pond, clearing space

around us, keeping a safe distance. Blond Giant scrambles to his feet as harshad

joins us.

Oh no! yasmin is with me, gaping at all of us. harshad grasps zain's arm as

bilal appears, too.

"Take it easy, okay? Didn't mean any harm." Blond Giant holds his hands up

in defeat, beating a hasty retreat. zains eyes follow him off the dance floor.

He does not look at me.

The song changes from the explicit lyrics of "Sexy Bitch" to a pulsing techno

dance number where a woman sings with an impassioned voice. harshad looks down

at me, then across at zain, and releasing zain, pulls yasmin into a dance. I

put my arms around zains neck until he finally makes eye contact, his eyes

still blazing"primal and feral. A glimpse of a brawling adolescent. Holy shit.

He scrutinizes my face. "Are you okay?" he asks finally.

"Yes." I rub my palm, trying to dispel the sting, and bring my hands down to

his chest. My hand is throbbing. I have never slapped anyone before. What possessed me? Touching me wasn't the worst crime against humanity. Was it?

Yet deep down I know why I hit him. It's because I instinctively knew how

zain would react seeing some stranger pawing me. I knew he'd lose his

precious self-control. And the thought that some stupid nobody could derail my

husband, my love, well, it makes me mad. Really mad.

"Do you want to sit down?" zain asks over the pulsing beat.

Oh, come back to me, please.

"No. Dance with me."

He looks at me impassively, saying nothing.

Touch me . . . the woman sings.

"Dance with me." He's still mad. "Dance. zain, please." I take his hands.

zain glares after the guy, but I start to move against him, weaving myself

around him.

The throng of dancers has circled us once more, although there's now a twofoot exclusion zone around us.

"You hit him?" zain asks, standing stock-still. I take his fisted hands.

"Of course I did. I thought it was you, but his hands were hairier. Please

dance with me."

As zain gazes at me, the fire in his eyes slowly changes, evolves into

something else, something darker, something hotter. Suddenly, he grabs my wrists

and pulls me flush against him, pinning my hands behind my back.

"You wanna dance? Let's dance," he growls close to my ear, and as he rolls

his hips around into me, I can do nothing but follow, his hands holding mine

against my backside.

Oh . . . zain can move, really move. He keeps me close, not letting me

go, but his hands gradually relax on mine, freeing me. My hands creep around, up

his arms, feeling his bunched muscles through his jacket, up to his shoulders. He

presses me against him, and I follow his moves as he slowly, sensually dances

with me in time to the pulsing beat of the club music.

The moment he grabs my hand and spins me first one way, then the other, I

know he's back with me. I grin. He grins.

We dance together and it's liberating"fun. His anger forgotten, or suppressed, he whirls me around with consummate skill in our small space on the

dance floor, never letting go. He makes me graceful, that's his skill. He makes me

sexy, because that's what he is. He makes me feel loved, because in spite of his

fifty shades, he has a wealth of love to give. Watching him now, enjoying himself . . . one could be forgiven for thinking he doesn't have a care in the world.

But I know his love is clouded with issues of overprotectiveness and control, but

it doesn't make me love him any less.

I am breathless when the song morphs to another.

"Can we sit?" I gasp.

"Sure." He leads me off the dance floor.

"You've made me rather hot and sweaty," I whisper as we return to the table.

He pulls me into his arms. "I like you hot and sweaty. Though I prefer to

make you hot and sweaty in private," he purrs, and a lascivious smile tugs at his

lips.

As I sit, it's as if the incident on the dance floor never happened. I'm vaguely

surprised we haven't been thrown out. I glance around the bar. No one is looking

at us, and I can't see Blond Giant. Maybe he left, or maybe he's been thrown out.

yasmin and harshad are being indecent on the dance floor, bilal and barkat less so. I

take another sip of champagne.

"Here." zain puts another glass of water before me and regards me intently. His expression is expectant"drink it. Drink it now.

I do as I'm told. Besides, I'm thirsty.

He lifts a bottle of Peroni from the ice bucket on the table and takes a long

drink.

"What if there had been press here?" I ask.

zain knows immediately that I'm referring to him knocking Blond Giant

on his ass.

"I have expensive lawyers," he says coolly, all at once arrogance personified.

I frown at him. "But you're not above the law, zain. I did have the situation under control."

His eyes frost. "No one touches what's mine," he says with chilling finality,

as if I'm missing the obvious.

Oh . . . I take another sip of my champagne. All of a sudden I feel overwhelmed. The music is loud, pounding, my head and feet are aching, and I feel

woozy.He grasps my hand. "Come, let's go. I want to get you home," he says.

yasmin and harshad join us.

"You going?" yasmin asks and her voice is hopeful.

"Yes," zain says.

"Good, we'll come with you."

As we wait at the coat check for zain to retrieve my trench coat, yasmin quizzes

me.

"What happened with that guy on the dance floor?"

"He was feeling me up."

"I opened my eyes and you'd hit him."

I shrug. "Well, I knew zain would go thermonuclear, and that could potentially ruin your evening." I haven't really processed how I feel about zains behavior. I was worried that it would be worse.

"Our evening," she clarifies. "He is rather hot-headed, isn't he?" yasmin adds

dryly, staring at zain as he collects my coat.

I snort and smile. "You could say that."

"I think you handle him well."

"Handle?" I frown. Do I handle zain?

"Here." zain holds my coat open for me so that I can put it on.

"Wake up, aliya." zain is shaking me gently. We've arrived back at the house.

Reluctantly I open my eyes and stagger from the minivan. yasmin and harshad have

disappeared, and Taylor is standing patiently beside the vehicle.

"Do I need to carry you?" zain asks.

I shake my head.

"I'll fetch Miss Abdullah and Mr. Khan," Taylor says.

zain nods then leads me to the front door. My feet are throbbing, and I

stumble after him. At the front door he bends down, grasps my ankle, and gently

pries off first one shoe, then the other. Oh, the relief. He straightens and gazes

down at me, holding my Manolos.

"Better?" he asks, amused.

I nod.

"I had delightful visions of these around my ears," he murmurs, staring down

wistfully at my shoes. He shakes his head and, taking my hand once more, leads

me through the darkened house, and up the stairs to our bedroom.

"You're wrecked, aren't you?" he says softly, staring down at me.

I nod. He starts to unbuckle the belt on my trench coat.

"I'll do it," I mutter, making a halfhearted attempt to brush him off.

"Let me."

I sigh. I had no idea I was this tired.

"It's the altitude. You're not used to it. And the drinking, of course." He

smirks, divests me of my coat, and throws it on one of the bedroom chairs. Taking

my hand, he leads me into the bathroom. Why are we going in here?

"Sit," he says.

I sit on the chair and close my eyes. I hear him as he messes around with

bottles on the vanity unit. I am too tired to open my eyes to find out what he's doing. A moment later he tips my head back, and I open my eyes in surprise.

"Eyes closed," zain says. Holy crap, he's holding a cotton ball! Gently,

he wipes it over my right eye. I sit stunned as he methodically removes my

makeup.

"Ah. There's the woman I married," he says after a few wipes.

"You don't like makeup?"

"I like it well enough, but I prefer what's beneath it." He kisses my forehead.

"Here. Take these." He puts some Advil into my palm and hands me a glass of

water.

I look and pout.

"Take them," he orders.

I roll my eyes, but do as I'm told.

"Good. Do you need a private moment?" he asks sardonically.

I snort. "So coy, Mr. abdullah. Yes, I need to pee."

He laughs. "You expect me to leave?"

I giggle. "You want to stay?"

He cocks his head to one side, his expression amused.

"You are one kinky son of a bitch. Out. I don't want you to watch me pee.

That's a step too far." I stand and wave him out of the bathroom.

When I emerge from the bathroom, he's changed into his pajama bottoms.

Hmm . . . zain in PJs. Mesmerized, I gaze at his abdomen, his muscles, his

happy trail. It's distracting. He strides over to me.

"Enjoying the view?" he asks wryly.

"Always."

"I think you're slightly drunk, Mrs. abdullah."

"I think, for once, I have to agree with you, Mr. abdullah."

"Let me help you out of what little there is of this dress. It really should come

with a health warning." He turns me around and undoes the single button at the

neck.

"You were so mad," I murmur.

"Yes. I was."

"At me?"

"No. Not at you." He kisses my shoulder. "For once."

I smile. Not mad at me. This is progress. "Makes a nice change."

"Yes. It does." He kisses my other shoulder then tugs my dress down over

my backside and onto the floor. He removes my panties at the same time, leaving

me naked. Reaching up, he takes my hand.

"Step," he commands, and I step out of the dress, holding his hand for

balance.

He stands and tosses my dress and panties onto the chair with barkat's trench

coat.

"Arms up," he says softly. He slips his T-shirt over me and pulls it down,

covering me up. I am ready for bed.

He pulls me into his arms and kisses me, my minty breath mingling with his.

"As much as I'd love to bury myself in you, Mrs. abdullah"you've had too

much to drink, you're at nearly eight thousand feet, and you didn't sleep well last

night. Come. Get into bed." He pulls back the duvet and I climb in. He covers me

up and kisses my forehead once more.

"Close your eyes. When I come back to bed, I'll expect you to be asleep." It's

a threat, a command . . . it's zain.

"Don't go," I plead.

"I have some calls to make, aliya."

"It's Saturday. It's late. Please."

He runs his hands through his hair. "Aliya, if I come to bed with you now, you

won't get any rest. Sleep." He's adamant. I close my eyes and his lips brush my

forehead once more.

"Goodnight, baby," he breathes.

Images of the day flash through my mind . . . zain hauling me over his

shoulder in the plane. His anxiety as to whether or not I'd like the house. Making

love this afternoon. The bath. His reaction to my dress. Decking Blond Giant"my palm tingles at the memory. And then zain putting me to bed.

Who would have thought? I grin widely, the word progress running around

my brain as I drift.

Chap15

I am too warm. zain warm. His head is on my shoulder, and he's breathing

softly on my neck while he sleeps, his legs threaded through mine, his arm around

my waist. I linger on the edge of consciousness, aware that if I wake fully I'll

wake him, too, and he doesn't sleep enough. Hazily my mind wanders through the

events of yesterday evening. I drank too much"boy did I drink too much. I'm

amazed zain let me. I smile as I remember him putting me to bed. That was

sweet, real sweet, and unexpected. I conduct a quick mental inventory of how I'm

feeling. Stomach? Fine. Head? Surprisingly, fine, but fuzzy. My palm is still redfrom last night. Sheesh. Idly I think about zains palms when he's spanked

me. I squirm and he wakes.

"What's wrong?" Sleepy gray eyes search mine.

"Nothing. Good morning." I run the fingers of my uninjured hand through his

hair.

"Mrs. abdullah, you look lovely this morning," he says, kissing my cheek, and I

light up from within.

"Thank you for taking care of me last night."

"I like taking care of you. It's what I want to do," he says quietly, but his

eyes betray him as triumph flares in their gray depths. It's like he's won the

World Series or the Super Bowl.

Oh, my Fifty.

"You make me feel cherished."

"That's because you are," he murmurs and my heart clenches.

He clasps my hand and I wince. He releases me immediately, alarmed. "The

punch?" he asks. His eyes frost as he scrutinizes mine, and his voice is laced with

sudden anger.

"I slapped him. I didn't punch him."

"That f**ker!"

I thought we'd dealt with this last night.

"I can't bear that he touched you."

"He didn't hurt me, he was just inappropriate. zain, I'm okay. My

hand's a little red, that's all. Surely you know what that's like?" I smirk, and his

expression changes to one of amused surprise.

"Why, Mrs. abdullah, I am very familiar with that." His lips twist in amusement.

"I could reacquaint myself with that feeling this minute, should you so wish."

"Oh, stow your twitching palm, Mr. abdullah." I stroke his face with my injured

hand, my fingers caressing his sideburn. Gently I tug the little hairs. It distracts

him, and he takes my hand and plants a tender kiss in my palm. Miraculously, the

pain disappears.

"Why didn't you tell me this hurt last night?"

"Um . . . I didn't really feel it last night. It's okay now."

His eyes soften and his mouth twists. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than I deserve."

"That's quite a right arm you have there, Mrs. abdullah."

"You'd do well to remember that, Mr. abdullah."

"Oh really?" He rolls suddenly so that he's fully on top of me, pressing me

into the mattress, holding my wrists above my head. He gazes down at me.

"I'd fight you any day, Mrs. abdullah. In fact, subduing you in bed is a fantasy of

mine." He kisses my throat.

What?

"I thought you subdued me all the time." I gasp as he nibbles my earlobe.

"Hmm . . . but I'd like some resistance," he murmurs, his nose skirting my

jaw.

Resistance? I still. He stops, releasing my hands, and leans up on his elbows.

"You want me to fight you? Here?" I whisper, trying to contain my surprise.

Okay"my shock. He nods, his eyes hooded but wary as he gauges my reaction.

"Now?"

He shrugs, and I see the idea flit through his mind. He gives me his shy smile

and nods again, slowly.

Oh my . . . He's tense, lying on top of me, and his growing erection is digging

tantalizingly into my soft, willing flesh, distracting me. What's this about? Brawling? Fantasy? Will he hurt me? My inner goddess shakes her head"Never. She's

got her karate suit on, and she's limbering up. Claude would be pleased.

"Is this what you meant about coming to bed angry?"

He nods once more, his eyes still wary.

Hmm . . . my Fifty wants to rumble.

"Don't bite your lip," he warns.

Compliantly, I release my lip. "I think you have me at a disadvantage, Mr.

abdullah." I bat my lashes and squirm provocatively beneath him. This could be fun.

"Disadvantage?"

"Surely you've already got me where you want me?"

He smirks and presses his groin into mine once more.

"Good point well made, Mrs. abdullah," he whispers and quickly kisses my lips.

Abruptly he shifts and takes me with him, rolling over so I'm straddling him. I

grab his hands, pinning them to the side of his head, and ignore the protesting

ache from my hand. My hair falls in a chestnut veil around us, and I move my

head so that the strands tickle his face. He jerks his face away but doesn't try to

stop me.

"So, you want to play rough?" I ask, skimming my crotch over his.

His mouth opens and he inhales sharply.

"Yes." He hisses, and I release him.

"Wait." I reach over for the glass of water beside the bed. Zain must

have left it here. It's cool and sparkling"too cool to have been sitting here for

long"and I wonder when he came to bed.

As I take a long draught, zain trails his fingers in small circles up my

thighs, leaving tingling skin in their wake before he cups and squeezes my naked

behind. Hmm.

Taking a leaf from his impressive repertoire, I lean forward and kiss him,

pouring clear cool water into his mouth.

He drinks. "Very tasty, Mrs. abdullah," he murmurs, sporting a boyish and playful grin.

After placing the glass back on the bedside table, I remove his hands from my

backside and pin them by his head once more.

"So I'm supposed to be unwilling?" I smirk.

"Yes."

"I'm not much of an actress."

He grins. "Try."

I lean down and kiss him chastely. "Okay, I'll play," I whisper, trailing my

teeth along his jaw, feeling his prickly stubble beneath my teeth and my tongue.

zain makes a low, sexy sound in his throat and moves, tossing me onto

the bed beside him. I cry out in surprise, then he's on top of me, and I start to

struggle as he makes a grab for my hands. Roughly, I place my hands on his chest,

pushing with all my might, trying to move him, while he endeavors to pry my legs

apart with his knee.

I continue pushing at his chest"Jeez he's heavy"but he doesn't flinch,

doesn't freeze as he once might have. He's enjoying this! He attempts to grab my

wrists, and finally captures one, despite my valiant attempts to twist it free. It's

my sore hand, so I surrender it to him, but grab his hair with my other hand and

pull hard.

"Ah!" He yanks his head free and gazes down at me, his eyes wild and

carnal.

"Savage," he whispers, his voice laced with salacious delight.

In response to this one whispered word, my libido explodes, and I stop acting. Again I struggle in vain to wrest my hand out of his hold. At the same time I

try to hook my ankles together, and attempt to buck him off me. He's too heavy.

Gah! It's frustrating and hot.

With a groan, zain captures my other hand. He holds both my wrists in

his left hand, and his right travels leisurely"insolently, almost"down my body,

fondling and feeling as it goes, tweaking my nipple on the way.

I yelp in response, pleasure spiking short, sharp, and hot from my nipple to

my groin. I make another fruitless attempt to buck him off, but he's just too on

me.

When he tries to kiss me I jerk my head to the side so he can't. Promptly his

insolent hand moves from the hem of my T-shirt up to my chin, holding me in

place as he runs his teeth along my jaw, mirroring what I did to him earlier.

"Oh, baby, fight me," he murmurs.

I twist and writhe, trying to free myself from his merciless hold, but it's

hopeless. He's much stronger than me. He's gently biting at my lower lip as his

tongue tries to invade my mouth. And I realize I don't want to resist him. I want

him"now, like I always do. I stop fighting and fervently return his kiss. I don't

care that I haven't brushed my teeth. I don't care that we're supposed to be playing some game. Desire, hot and hard, surges through my bloodstream, and I'm

lost. Unhooking my ankles, I wrap my legs around his hips and use my heels to

push his pajamas down over his behind.

"Aliya," he breathes, and he kisses me everywhere. And we're no longer

wrestling, but all hands and tongues and touch and taste, quick and urgent.

"Skin," he murmurs hoarsely, his breathing labored. He drags me up and tugs

off my T-shirt in one swift move.

"You," I whisper while I'm upright, because it's all I can think of to say. I

seize the front his pajamas and yank them down, freeing his erection. I grab and

squeeze him. He's hard. The air whistles through his teeth as he inhales sharply,

and I revel in his response.

"f**k," he murmurs. He leans back, lifting my thighs, tipping me down onto

the bed as I pull and squeeze him tightly, running my hand up and down him.

Feeling a bead of moisture on his tip, I swirl it around with my thumb. As he

lowers me to the mattress, I slip my thumb in my mouth to taste him while his

hands travel up my body, caressing my hips, my stomach, my breasts.

"Taste good?" he asks as he hovers over me, eyes blazing.

"Yes. Here." I push my thumb into his mouth, and he sucks and bites the pad.

I groan, grasp his head, and pull him down to me so I can kiss him. Wrapping my

legs around him, I push his pajamas off his legs with my feet, then cradle him

with my legs around his waist. His lips trail from across my jaw to my chin, nipping softly.

"You're so beautiful." He dips his head lower to the base of my throat. "Such

beautiful skin." His breath is soft as his lips glide down to my breasts.

What? I am panting, confused"wanting, now waiting. I thought this was going to be quick.

"zain." I hear the quiet plea in my voice and reach down, fisting my

hands in his hair.

"Hush," he whispers and circles my nipple with his tongue before pulling it

into his mouth and tugging hard.

"Ah!" I moan and squirm, tilting my pelvis up to tempt him. He grins against

my skin and turns his attention to my other breast.

"Impatient, Mrs. abdullah?" He then sucks hard on my nipple. I tug his hair. He

groans and peers up. "I'll restrain you," he warns.

"Take me," I beg.

"All in good time," he murmurs against my skin. His hand travels down at an

infuriatingly slow speed to my hip as he worships my nipple with his mouth. I

moan loudly, my breath short and shallow, and I try once more to entice him into

me, rocking against him. He's thick and heavy and close, but he's taking his own

sweet leisurely time with me.

f**k this. I struggle and twist, determined to buck him off me again.

"What the""

Grabbing my hands, zain pins them down on the bed, my arms spread

wide, and rests his full bodyweight on me, completely subduing me. I am breathless, wild.

"You wanted resistance," I say, panting. He rears up over me and gazes

down, his hands still locked around my wrists. I place my heels under his behind

and push. He doesn't move. Gah!

"You don't want to play nice?" he asks astonished, his eyes alight with

excitement.

"I just want you to make love to me, zain." Could he be any more obtuse? First we're fighting and wrestling then he's all tender and sweet. It's confusing. I'm in bed with Mr. Mercurial.

"Please." I press my heels against his backside once more. Burning gray eyes

search mine. Oh, what is he thinking? He looks momentarily bewildered and confused. He releases my hands and sits back on his heels, pulling me into his lap.

"Okay, Mrs. abdullah, we'll do this your way." He lifts me up and slowly lowers

me on to him so I'm straddling him.

"Ah!" This is it. This is what I want. This is what I need. Curling my arms

around his neck, I twist my fingers in his hair, glorying in the feeling of him inside me. I start to move. Taking control, taking him at my pace, at my speed. He

moans, and his lips find mine, and we're lost.

I trail my fingers through the hair on zains chest. He lies on his back, still

and quiet beside me as we both catch our breath. His hand thrums rhythmically

down my back.

"You're quiet," I whisper and kiss his shoulder. He turns and looks at me, his

expression giving nothing away. "That was fun." Shit, is something wrong?

"You confound me, Mrs. abdullah."

"Confound you?"

He shifts so that we're face to face. "Yes. You. Calling the shots. It's . . .

different."

"Good different or bad different?" I trail a finger over his lips. His brow furrows, as if he doesn't quite understand the question. Absentmindedly, he kisses

my finger.

"Good different," he says, but he doesn't sound convinced.

"You've never indulged this little fantasy before?" I blush as I say it. Do I

really want to know any more about my husband's colorful . . . um, kaleidoscopic

sex life before me? My subconscious eyes me warily over her tortoiseshell halfmoon specs. Do you really want to go there?

"No, aliya. You can touch me." It's a simple explanation that speaks

volumes. Of course, the fifteen couldn't.

"Mrs. Robinson could touch you." I murmur the words before my brain registers what I've said. Shit. Why did I mention her?

He stills. His eyes widen with his oh-no-where's-she-going-with-this expression. "That was different," he whispers.

Suddenly I want to know. "Good different or bad different?"

He gazes at me. Doubt and possibly pain flit across his face, and fleetingly he

looks like a man drowning.

"Bad, I think." His words are barely audible.

Holy shit!

"I thought you liked it."

"I did. At the time."

"Not now?"

He gazes at me, eyes wide, then slowly shakes his head.

Oh my . . . "Oh, zain ." I'm overwhelmed by the feelings that swamp me.

My lost boy. I launch myself at him and kiss his face, his throat, his chest, his

little round scars. He groans, pulls me to him, and kisses me passionately. And

very slowly, and tenderly, at his pace, he makes love to me once more.

"Aliya Tyson. Punching above your weight!" bilal applauds as I head into the kitchen for breakfast. He's sitting with barkat, and yasmin at the breakfast bar while Mrs.

Bentley cooks waffles. zain is nowhere to be seen.

"Good morning, Mrs. abdullah." Mrs. Bentley smiles. "What would you like for

breakfast?"

"Good Morning. Whatever's going, thank you. Where's zain?"

"Outside." yasmin gestures with her head toward the backyard. I wander over to

the window that looks out over the yard and the mountains beyond. It's a clear,

powder-blue summer day, and my beautiful husband is about twenty feet away in

deep discussion with some guy.

"That's Mr. Bentley he's talking to," calls barkat from the breakfast bar. I turn

to look at her, distracted by her sulky tone. She looks venomously at bilal. Oh

dear. I wonder once more what's going on between them. Frowning, I turn my attention back to my husband and Mr. Bentley.

Mrs. Bentley's husband is fair-haired, dark eyed and wiry, dressed in work

pants and an Aspen Fire Department T-shirt. zain is dressed in his black

jeans and T-shirt. As the two men amble across the lawn toward the house lost in

their conversation, zain casually bends to pick up what looks like a bamboo

cane that must have been blown over or discarded in the flowerbed. Pausing,

zain absentmindedly holds out the cane at arm's length as if weighing it carefully and swipes it through the air, just once.

Oh . . .

Mr. Bentley appears to see nothing odd in his behavior. They continue their

discussion, nearer to the house this time, then pause once more, and zain repeats the gesture. The tip of the cane hits the ground. Glancing up, zain sees

me standing at the window. Suddenly I feel as if I'm spying on him. He stops. I

give him an embarrassed wave then turn and walk back to the breakfast bar.

"What were you doing?" asks yasmin.

"Just watching zain."

"You have got it bad." She snorts.

"And you don't, oh soon-to-be sister-in-law?" I reply, grinning and trying to

bury the disquieting visual of zain wielding a cane. I am startled when yasmin

leaps up and hugs me.

"Sister!" she exclaims, and it's hard not to be swept up in her joy.

"Hey, sleepyhead." zain wakes me. "We're about to land. Buckle up."

I fumble sleepily for my seat belt, but zain fastens it for me. He kisses my

forehead before settling back into his seat. I lean my head on his shoulder again

and close my eyes.

An impossibly long hike and a picnic lunch on top of a spectacular mountain

have exhausted me. The rest of our party is quiet, too"even barkat. She looks despondent, as she has all day. I wonder how her campaign with bilal is going. I

don't even know where they slept last night. My eyes catch hers, and I give a

small are-you-okay smile. She gives me a brief sad smile in return and goes back

to her book. I peek up at zain through my lashes. He's working on a contract

or something, reading it through and annotating the margins. But he seems relaxed. harshad is snoring softly beside Kate.

I have yet to corner harshad and quiz him about Gia, but it's been impossible to

pry him away from yasmin. Zain isn't interested enough to ask, which is irritating, but I haven't pressed him. We've been enjoying ourselves too much. Harshad

rests his hand possessively on yasmins knee. She looks radiant, and to think that

only yesterday afternoon she was so unsure of him. What did zain call him?

Halshad . Perhaps that's a family nickname? It was sweet, better than manwh**e.

Abruptly, harshad opens his eyes and gazes straight at me. I blush, caught staring.

He grins. "I sure love your blush, Aliya," he teases, stretching. yasmin gives me

her self-satisfied, cat-ate-the-canary smile.

Officer Beighley announces our approach to Sea-Tac, and zain clasps

my hand.

"How was your weekend, Mrs. abdullah?" zain asks once we're in the Audi

heading back to Escala. Taylor and Ryan are up front.

"Good, thank you." I smile, feeling shy all of a sudden.

"We can go anytime. Take anyone you wish to take."

"We should take ghulam. He'd like the fishing."

"That's a good idea."

"How was it for you?" I ask.

"Good," he says after a moment, surprised by my question, I think. "Real

good."

"You seemed to relax."

He shrugs. "I knew you were safe."

I frown. "zain, I'm safe most of the time. I've told you before, you'll

keel over at forty if you keep up this level of anxiety. And I want to grow old and

gray with you." I grasp his hand. He looks at me as if he can't comprehend what

I'm saying. He gently kisses my knuckles and changes the subject.

"How's your hand?"

"It's better, thank you."

He smiles. "Very good, Mrs. Abdullah . You ready to face Gia again?"

Oh crap. I'd forgotten we were seeing her this evening to go over the final

plans. I roll my eyes. "I might want to keep you out of the way, keep you safe." I

smirk.

"Protecting me?" zain is laughing at me.

"As ever, Mr. abdullah. From all sexual predators," I whisper.

Zain is brushing his teeth when I crawl into bed. Tomorrow we go back to

reality"back to work, the paparazzi, and to Jack in custody but with the possibility that he has an accomplice. Hmm . . . zain was vague about that. Does he

know? And if he did know, would he tell me? I sigh. Getting information out of

zain is like pulling teeth, and we've had such a lovely weekend. Do I want to

ruin the feel-good moment by trying to drag the information out of him?

It's been a revelation to see him out of his normal environment, outside this

apartment, relaxed and happy with his family. I wonder vaguely if it's because

we're here in this apartment with all its memories and associations that he gets

wound up. Maybe we should move.

I snort. We are moving"we're having a huge house refurbished on the coast.

Gia's plans are complete and approved, and harshads team starts building next

week. I chuckle as I recall Gia's shocked expression when I told her that I'd seen

her in Aspen. Turns out it was nothing but co-incidence. She'd camped out at her

holiday place to work solely on our plans. For one awful moment I'd thought

she'd had a hand in choosing the ring, but apparently not. But I still don't trust

Gia. I want to hear the same story from harshad. At least she kept her distance from

zain this time.

I look out at the night sky. I will miss this view. This panoramic vista . . .

Seattle at our feet, so full of possibilities, yet so far removed. Maybe that's zains problem"he's been too isolated from real life for too long, thanks to his

self-imposed exile. Yet with his family around him, he is less controlling, less

anxious"freer, happier. I wonder what Flynn would make of all that. Holy crap!

Maybe that's the answer. Maybe he needs his own family. I shake my head in

denial"we're too young, too new to all this. zain strides into the room, looking his usual gorgeous but pensive self.

"Everything okay?" I askHe nods distractedly as he climbs into bed.

"I'm not looking forward to going back to reality," I murmur.

"No?"

I shake my head and caress his lovely face. "I had a wonderful weekend.

Thank you."

He smiles softly. "You're my reality, aliya," he murmurs and kisses me.

"Do you miss it?"

"Miss what?" he asks, perplexed.

"You know. The caning . . . and stuff," I whisper, embarrassed.

He stares at me, his gaze impassive. Then doubt crosses his face, his whereis-she-going-with-this look.

"No aliya, I don't." His voice is steady and quiet. He caresses my cheek.

"Dr. Flynn said something to me when you left, something that's stayed with me.

He said I couldn't be that way if you weren't so inclined. It was a revelation." He

stops, and frowns. "I didn't know any other way, aliya. Now I do. It's been

educational."

"Me, educate you?" I scoff.

His eyes soften. "Do you miss it?" he asks.

Oh! "I don't want you to hurt me, but I like to play, zain. You know

that. If you wanted to do something . . ." I shrug, gazing at him.

"Something?"

"You know, with a flogger or your crop"" I stop, blushing.

He raises his brow, surprised. "Well . . . we'll see. Right now, I'd like some

good old-fashioned vanilla." His thumb skirts my bottom lip, and he kisses me

once more.

From: aliya

Subject: Good Morning

Date: August 29, 2011 09:14

To: zain

Mr. Abdullah

I just wanted to tell you that I love you.

That is all.

Yours Always

A x

Aliya Abdullah

Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: zain

Subject: Banishing Monday Blues

Date: August 29, 2011 09:18

To: aliya

Mrs. abdullah

What gratifying words to hear from one's wife (errant or not) on a Monday morning.

Let me assure you that I feel exactly the same way.

Sorry about the dinner this evening. I hope it won't be too tedious for you.

Zain xxx

Oh yes. The American Shipbuilding Association dinner. I roll my eyes . . .

More stuffed shirts. zain really does take me to the most fascinating

functions.

From: aliya

Subject: Ships that pass in the night

Date: August 29, 2011 09:26

To: zain

Dear Mr. abdullah

I am sure you can think of a way to spice up the dinner . . .

Yours in anticipation

Mrs. A. x

Aliya (non-errant) Abdullah

Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: zain

Subject: Variety is the Spice of Life

Date: August 29, 2011 09:35

To: aliya

Mrs. abdullah

I have a few ideas . . .

Zain xx

CEO, Abdullah Enterprises Holdings Now Impatient for the ASA Dinner Inc.

All the muscles in my belly clench. Hmm . . . I wonder what he'll dream up.

Hannah knocks on the door, interrupting my reverie.

"Ready to go through your schedule for this week, aliya?"

"Sure. Sit." I smile, recovering my equilibrium, and minimize my e-mail program. "I've had to move a couple of appointments. Mr. Fox next week and Dr.""

My phone rings, interrupting her. It's Roach. He asks me up to his office.

"Can we pick this up in twenty minutes?"

"Of course."

From: zain

Subject: Last night

Date: August 30, 2011 09:24

To: aliya

Was . . . fun.

Who would have thought the ASA annual dinner could be so stimulating?

As ever, you never disappoint, Mrs. abdullah.

I love you.

Zain xx

In awe, CEO, Abdullah Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From: aliya

Subject: I love a good ball game . . .

Date: August 30, 2011 09:33

To: zain

Dear Mr. abdullah

I have missed the silver balls.

You never disappoint.

That is all.

Aliya xxx

Commissioning Editor, SIP

Hannah taps on my door, interrupting my erotic thoughts of the previous

evening. zains hands . . . his mouth.

"Come in."

"aliya, Mr. Roach's PA just called. He'd like you to attend a meeting this

morning. It means I have to move some of your appointments again. Is that okay."

His tongue.

"Sure. Yes," I mutter trying to halt my wayward thoughts. She grins and

ducks out of my office . . . leaving me with my delicious memory of last night.

From: zain

Subject: Hyde

Date: September 1, 2011 15:24

To: aliya

Aliya

For your information, Hyde has been refused bail and remanded in custody. He's

charged with attempted kidnap and arson. As yet no date has been set for the trial.

Zain

CEO, Abdullah Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From: Aliya

Subject: Hyde

Date: September 1, 2011 15:53

To: zain

That's good news.

Does this mean you'll lighten up on security?

I really don't see eye to eye with Prescott.

Aliya xxx

Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: zain

Subject: Hyde

Date: September 1, 2011 15:59

To: aliya

No. Security will remain in place. No arguments.

What's wrong with Prescott? If you don't like her, we'll replace her.

Zain xxx

CEO, Abdullah Enterprises Holdings Inc.

I scowl at his high-handed e-mail. Prescott isn't that bad.

From: aliya

Subject: Keep your hair on!

Date: September 1, 2011 16:03

To: zain

I was just asking (rolls eyes). And I'll think about Prescott.

Stow that twitchy palm!

Aliya xx

Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: zain

Subject: Don't tempt me.

Date: September 1, 2011 16:11

To: aliya

I can assure you, Mrs. abdullah, that my hair is very firmly attached"has this not been

demonstrated often enough by your good self?

My palm, however, is twitching.

I might do something about that tonight.

x

zain

Not bald yet CEO, abdullah Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From: aliya

Subject: Squirm

Date: September 1, 2011 16:20

To: zain

Promises, promises . . .

Now stop pestering me. I am trying to work; I have an impromptu meeting with an

author. Will try not to be distracted by thoughts of you during the meeting.

A x

Aliya

Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: aliya

Subject: Sailing & Soaring & Spanking

Date: September 5, 2011 09:18

To: zain

Husband

You sure know how to show a girl a good time.

I shall of course be expecting this kind of treatment every weekend.

You are spoiling me. I love it.

Your wife

xox

Aliya Abdullah

Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: zain

Subject: My Life's Mission . . .

Date: September 5, 2011 09:25

To: aliya

Is to spoil you, Mrs. abdullah.

And keep you safe because I love you.

Zain xxx

Smitten CEO, Abdullah Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Oh my. Could he be any more romantic?

From: aliya

Subject: My Life's Mission . . .

Date: September 5, 2011 09:33

To: zain

Is to let you"because I love you, too.

Now stop being so sappy.

You are making me cry.

Aliya xxx

Equally Smitten Commissioning Editor, SIP

The following day, I gaze at the calendar on my desk. Only five days until

September 10"my birthday. I know we are driving out to the house to see how

harshad and his crew are progressing. Hmm . . . I wonder if zain has any other

plans? I smile at the thought. Hannah taps on my door.

"Come in."

Prescott is hovering outside. Odd . . .

"Hi, aliya," says Hannah. "There's a Leila Williams here to see you? She says

it's personal."

"Leila Williams? I don't know a . . ." My mouth goes dry, and Hannah's eyes

widen at my expression.

Leila? f**k. What does she want?

Chap16

"Do you want me to send her away?" Hannah asks, alarmed at my expression.

"Um, no. Where is she?"

"In reception. She's not alone. She's accompanied by another young

woman."

Oh!

"And Miss Prescott wants to talk to you," Hannah adds.

I'm sure she does. "Send her in."

Hannah stands aside, and Prescott enters my office. She's on a mission, bristling with professional efficiency."Give me a moment, Hannah. Prescott, take a seat."

Hannah closes the door, leaving Prescott and me alone.

"Mrs. abdullah, Leila Williams is on your proscribed list of visitors."

"What?" I have a proscribed list?

"On our watch list, ma'am. Taylor and Welch have been quite specific about

not letting her come into contact with you."

I frown, not understanding. "Is she dangerous?"

"I can't say, ma'am."

"Why do I even know that she's here?"

Prescott swallows and for a moment looks awkward. "I was on a restroom

break. She came in, spoke directly to Claire, and Claire called Hannah."

"Oh. I see." I realize that even Prescott has to pee, and I laugh. "Oh dear."

"Yes ma'am." Prescott gives me an embarrassed grin, and it's the first time

I've seen a chink in her armor. She has a lovely smile.

"I need to talk to Claire about protocol, again," she says, her tone weary.

"Sure. Does Taylor know she's here?" I cross my fingers unconsciously, hoping she hasn't told zain.

"I left a brief voice message for him."

Oh. "Then I only have a short time. I'd like to know what she wants."

Prescott gazes at me for a moment. "I must advise against it, ma'am."

"She's here to see me for a reason."

"I'm supposed to prevent that, ma'am." Her voice is soft but resigned.

"I really want to hear what she has to say." My tone is more forceful than I

intend.

Prescott stifles her sigh. "I'd like to search them both before you do."

"Okay. Can you do that?"

"I'm here to protect you, Mrs. abdullah, so yes, I can. I'd also like to stay with

you while you talk."

"Okay." I'll grant her this concession. Besides, last time I met Leila, she was

armed. "Go ahead."

Prescott rises.

"Hannah," I call.

Hannah opens the door too quickly. She must have been hovering outside.

"Can you check to see if the meeting room is free, please?"

"I already have, and it's good to go."

"Prescott, can you search them in there? Is it private enough?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'll be there in five minutes, then. Hannah, show Leila Williams and

whomever she's with into the meeting room."

"Will do." Hannah looks anxiously from Prescott to me. "Shall I cancel your

next meeting? It's at four, but it's across town."

"Yes," I murmur, distracted. Hannah nods then leaves.

What the hell does Leila want? I don't think she's here to do me any harm.

She didn't in the past when she had the opportunity. zain is going to go nuts.

My subconscious purses her lips, primly crosses her legs, and nods. I need to tell

him that I am doing this. I type a quick e-mail, then pause, checking the time. I

feel a momentary pang of regret. We've been getting along so well since Aspen. I

press send.

From: aliya

Subject: Visitors

Date: September 6, 2011 15:27

To: zain

Zain

Leila is here to see me. I will see her with Prescott.

I'll use my newly acquired slapping skills with my now healed hand, should I need

to.

Try, and I mean try, not to worry.

I am a big girl.

Will call once we've spoken.

A x

Aliya Abdullah

Commissioning Editor, SIP

Hurriedly, I hide my BlackBerry in my desk drawer. I stand, smoothing my

gray pencil skirt over my hips, pinch my cheeks to give them some color, and

undo the next button on my gray silk blouse. Okay, I'm ready. After taking a deep

breath, I head out of my office to meet the infamous Leila ignoring "Your Love is

King" humming gently from inside my desk.

Leila looks much better. More than better"she's very attractive. There's a

rosy bloom to her cheeks, and her brown eyes are bright, her hair clean and shiny.

She's dressed in a pale pink blouse and white pants. She stands as soon as I enter

the meeting room, as does her friend"another dark-haired young woman with

soft brown eyes, the color of brandy. Prescott hovers in the corner, not taking her

eyes off Leila.

"Mrs. abdullah, thank you so much for seeing me." Leila's voice is soft but clear.

"Um . . . Sorry about the security," I mutter because I cannot think what else

to say. I wave a hand distractedly at Prescott.

"This is my friend, Susi."

"Hi." I nod at Susi. She looks like Leila. She looks like me. Oh, no. Another

one.

"Yes," Leila says, as if reading my thoughts. "Susi knows Mr. abdullah, too."

What the hell am I supposed to say to that? I give her a polite smile.

"Please, sit," I murmur.

There's a knock on the door. It's Hannah. I motion her in, knowing full well

why she's disturbing us.

"Sorry to interrupt, aliya. I have Mr. abdullah on the line?"

"Tell him I'm busy."

"He was quite insistent," she says fearfully.

"I am sure he was. Would you apologize to him, and say I'll call him back

very shortly?"

Hannah hesitates.

"Hannah, please."

She nods and scurries out of the room. I turn back to the two women sitting in

front of me. They are both staring at me in awe. It's uncomfortable.

"What can I do for you?" I ask.

Susi speaks. "I know this is all kinds of weird, but I wanted to meet you, too.

The woman who captured zain""

I hold up my hand, stopping her in mid-sentence. I do not want to hear this.

"Um . . . I get the picture," I mutter.

"We call ourselves the sub club." She grins at me, her eyes shining with

mirth.

Oh my God.

Leila gasps and gapes at Susi, at once amused and appalled. Susi winces. I

suspect Leila's kicked her under the table.

What the hell am I supposed to say to that? I glance nervously at Prescott,

who remains impassive, her eyes never leaving Leila.

Susi seems to remember herself. She blushes, then nods and stands. "I'll wait

in reception. This is Lulu's show." I can tell she's embarrassed.

Lulu?

"You'll be okay?" she asks Leila, who smiles up at her. Susi gives me a

large, open, genuine smile and exits the room.

Susi and zain . . . it's not a thought I wish to dwell on. Prescott takes her

phone out of her pocket and answers it. I didn't hear it ring.

"Mr. abdullah," she says. Leila and I turn to look at her. Prescott closes her eyes

as if in pain.

"Yes, sir," she says, stepping forward, and hands me the phone.

I roll my eyes. "zain," I murmur, trying to contain my exasperation. I

stand and stride briskly out of the room.

"What the f**k are you playing at?" he shouts. He's seething.

"Don't shout at me."

"What do you mean don't shout at you?" he shouts, louder this time. "I gave

specific instructions which you have completely disregarded"again. Hell, aliya, I

am f**king furious."

"When you are calmer, we will talk about this."

"Don't you hang up on me," he hisses.

"Good-bye, zain." I hang up and switch off Prescott's phone.

Holy shit. I don't have long with Leila. Taking a deep breath, I reenter the

meeting room. Both Leila and Prescott look up at me expectantly, and I hand

Prescott her phone.

"Where were we?" I ask Leila as I sit back down opposite her. Her eyes

widen slightly.

Yes. Apparently, I handle him, I want to say to her. But I don't think she

wants to hear that.

Leila fiddles nervously with the ends of her hair. "First, I wanted to apologize," she says softly.

Oh . . .

She glances up and registers my surprise. "Yes," she says quickly. "And to

thank you for not pressing charges. You know"for your car and in your

apartment."

"I know you weren't . . . um, well," I murmur, reeling. I hadn't expected an

apology.

"No, I wasn't."

"You're feeling better now?" I ask gently.

"Much. Thank you."

"Does your doctor know you're here?"

She shakes her head.

Oh.

She looks suitably guilty. "I know I'll have to deal with the fallout for this

later. But I had to get some things, and I wanted to see Susi, and you, and . . . Mr.

abdullah."

"You want to see zain?" My stomach free-falls to the floor. That's why

she's here.

"Yes. I wanted to ask you if that would be okay."

Holy f**k. I gape at her, and I want to tell her that it's not okay. I don't want

her anywhere near my husband. Why is she here? To assess the opposition? To

unsettle me? Or perhaps she needs this as some sort of closure?

"Leila." I flounder, exasperated. "It's not up to me, it's up to zain.

You'll need to ask him. He doesn't need my permission. He's a grown man . . .

most of the time."

She gazes at me for a fraction of a beat as if surprised by my reaction then

laughs softly, nervously twiddling the end of her hair.

"He's repeatedly refused all my requests to see him," she says quietly.

Oh shit. I'm in more trouble than I thought.

"Why is it so important for you to see him?" I ask gently.

"To thank him. I'd be rotting in a stinking prison psychiatric facility if it

wasn't for him. I know that." She glances down and runs her finger along the edge

of the table. "I suffered a serious psychotic episode, and without Mr. abdullah and

John"Dr. Flynn . . ." She shrugs and gazes at me once more, her face full of

gratitude.

Once again I'm speechless. What does she expect me to say? Surely she

should be saying these things to zain, not me.

"And for art school. I can't thank him enough for that."

I knew it! zain is funding her classes. I remain expressionless, tentatively

exploring my feelings for this woman now that she's confirmed my suspicions

about zains generosity. To my surprise, I feel no ill will toward her. It's a

revelation, and I'm glad she's better. Now, hopefully, she can move on with her

life and out of ours.

"Are you missing classes right now?" I ask, because I'm interested.

"Only two. I head home tomorrow."

Oh good. "What are your plans, while you're here?"

"Pick up my belongings from Susi, return to Hamden. Continue painting and

learning. Mr. abdullah already has a couple of my paintings."

What the hell! My stomach plunges into the basement once more. Are they

hanging in my living room? I bridle at the thought.

"What sort of painting do you do?"

"Abstracts, mainly."

"I see." My mind flits through the now-familiar paintings in the great room.

Two by his ex-sub . . . possibly. Jeez.

"Mrs. abdullah, can I speak frankly?" she asks, completely oblivious to my warring emotions.

"By all means," I mutter, glancing at Prescott, who looks like she's relaxed a

little. Leila leans forward as if to impart a long-held secret.

"I loved Geoff, my boyfriend who died earlier this year." Her voice drops to

a sad whisper.

Holy shit, she's getting personal.

"I'm so sorry," I mutter automatically, but she continues as if she hasn't

heard me.

"I loved my husband . . . and one other," she murmurs.

"My husband." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

"Yes." She mouths the word.

This is not news to me. When she lifts her brown eyes to mine, they are wide

with conflicting emotions, and the overriding one seems to be apprehension . . . of

my reaction, perhaps? But my overwhelming response to this poor young woman

is compassion. Mentally I run through all the classical literature I can think of that

deals with unrequited love. Swallowing hard, I clutch the moral high ground.

"I know. He's very easy to love," I whisper.

Her wide eyes widen further in surprise, and she smiles. "Yes. He is"was."

She corrects herself quickly and blushes. Then she giggles so sweetly that I can't

help myself. I giggle, too. Yes, zain abdullah makes us giggly. My subconscious

rolls her eyes at me in despair and goes back to reading her dog-eared copy of

Jane Eyre. I glance at my watch. Deep down I know zain will be here soon.

"You'll get your chance to see Christian."

"I thought I would. I know how protective he can be." She smiles.

So this is her scheme. She's very shrewd. Or manipulative, whispers my subconscious. "This is why you're here to see me?"

"Yes."

"I see." And zain is playing right into her hands. Reluctantly, I have to

acknowledge that she knows him well.

"He seemed very happy. With you," she says.

What? "How would you know?"

"From when I was in the apartment." She adds cautiously.

Oh hell . . . how could I forget that?

"Were you there often?"

"No. But he was very different with you."

Do I want to hear this? A shudder runs through me. My scalp prickles as I recall my fear when she was the unseen shadow in our apartment.

"You know it's against the law. Trespassing."

She nods, gazing down at the table. She runs a fingernail along the edge. "It

was only a few times, and I was lucky not to get caught. Again, I need to thank

Mr. abdullah for that. He could have had me thrown in jail."

"I don't think he'd do that," I murmur.

Suddenly there is a flurry of activity outside the meeting room, and instinctively I know that zain is in the building. A moment later he bursts through

the door, and before he closes it, I catch Taylor's eye as he stands patiently outside. Taylor's mouth is set in a grim line, and he doesn't return my tight smile. Oh

hell, even he's mad at me.

zains burning gray gaze pins first me then Leila to our chairs. His demeanor is quietly determined, but I know better, and I suspect Leila does, too. The

menacing cool glint in his eyes reveals the truth"he's emanating rage, though he

hides it well. In his gray suit, with his dark tie loosened and the top button of his

white shirt undone, he looks at once businesslike and casual . . . and hot. His hair

is in disarray"no doubt because he's been running his hands through it in

exasperation.

Leila looks nervously down at the edge of the table, running her index finger

along the edge again as zain looks from me to her and then to Prescott.

"You," he says to Prescott in a soft tone. "You're fired. Get out now."

I blanch. Oh no"this isn't fair.

"zain"" I make to stand up.

He holds his index finger up at me in warning. "Don't," he says. His voice so

ominously quiet that I'm immediately silenced and rooted to my seat. Bowing her

head, Prescott walks briskly out of the room to join Taylor. zain shuts the

door behind her and walks to the edge of the table. Crap! Crap! Crap! That was

my fault. zain stands opposite Leila, and placing both hands on the wooden

surface, he leans forward.

"What the f**k are you doing here?" he growls at her.

"zain!" I gasp. He ignores me.

"Well?" he demands.

Leila peeks up at him through long lashes, her eyes wide, her face ashen, her

rosy glow gone.

"I wanted to see you, and you wouldn't let me," she whispers.

"So you came here to harass my wife?" His voice is quiet. Too quiet.

Leila looks down at the table again.

He stands, glowering at her. "Leila, if you come anywhere near my wife

again, I will cut off all support. Doctors, art school, medical insurance"all of

it"gone. Do you understand?"

"zain"" I try again. But he silences me with a chilling look. Why is he

being so unreasonable? My compassion for this sad woman blooms.

"Yes," she says, her voice just audible.

"What's Susannah doing in reception?"

"She came with me."

He runs a hand through his hair, glaring at her.

"zain, please," I beg him. "Leila just wants to say thank you. That's all."

He ignores me, concentrating his wrath on Leila. "Did you stay with Susannah while you were sick?"

"Yes."

"Did she know what you were doing while you were staying with her?"

"No. She was away on vacation."

He strokes his index finger over his lower lip. "Why do you need to see me?

You know you should send any requests through Flynn. Do you need something?"

His tone has softened, maybe by a fraction.

Leila runs her finger along the edge of the table again.

Stop bullying her, zain!

"I had to know." And for the first time she looks up directly at him.

"Had to know what?" he snaps.

"That you're okay."

He gapes at her. "That I'm okay?" he scoffs, disbelieving.

"Yes."

"I'm fine. There, question answered. Now Taylor will run you to Sea-Tac so

you can go back to the East Coast. And if you take one step west of the Mississippi, it's all gone. Understand?"

Holy f**k . . . zain! I gape at him. What the f**k is eating him? He cannot confine her to one side of the country.

"Yes. I understand," Leila says quietly.

"Good." zains tone is more conciliatory.

"It might not be convenient for Leila to go back now. She has plans," I object, outraged on her behalf.

zain glares at me. "aliya," he warns, his voice icy, "this does not

concern you."

I scowl at him. Of course it concerns me. She's in my office. There must be

more to this than I know. He's not being rational.

Fifty Shades, my subconscious hisses at me.

"Leila came to see me, not you," I murmur petulantly.

Leila turns to me, her eyes impossibly wide.

"I had my instructions, Mrs. abdullah. I disobeyed them." She glances nervously

at my husband, then back at me.

"This is the zain abdullah I know," she says, her tone sad and wistful. zain frowns at her, while all the breath evaporates from my lungs. I can't breathe.

Was zain like this with her all the time? Was he like this with me, at first? I

find it hard to remember. Giving me a forlorn smile, Leila rises from the table.

"I'd like to stay until tomorrow. My flight is at noon," she says quietly to

zain.

"I'll have someone collect you at ten to take you to the airport."

"Thank you."

"You're at Susannah's?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

I glare at zain. He can't dictate to her like this . . . and how does he

know where Susannah lives?

"Good-bye, Mrs. abdullah. Thank you for seeing me."

I stand and hold out my hand. She takes it gratefully and we shake.

"Um . . . good-bye. Good luck," I mutter, because I'm not sure what the protocol is for saying farewell to my husband's ex-submissive.

She nods and turns to him. "Good-bye, zain."

zains eyes soften a little. "Good-bye, Leila." His is voice low. "Dr.

Flynn, remember."

"Yes, Sir."

He opens the door to usher her out, but she halts in front of him and looks up.

He stills, watching her warily.

"I'm glad you're happy. You deserve to be," she says and leaves before he

can reply. He frowns after her, then nods to Taylor, who follows Leila toward the

reception area. Closing the door, zain gazes uncertainly at me.

"Don't even think about being angry with me," I hiss. "Call Claude Bastille

and kick the shit out of him or go see Flynn."

His mouth drops open; he's so surprised by my outburst, and his brow

creases once more.

"You promised you wouldn't do this." Now his tone is accusatory.

"Do what?"

"Defy me."

"No I didn't. I said I'd be more considerate. I told you she was here. I had

Prescott search her, and your other little friend, too. Prescott was with me the entire time. Now you've fired the poor woman, when she was only doing what I

asked. I told you not to worry, yet here you are. I don't remember receiving your

papal bull decreeing that I couldn't see Leila. I didn't know that my visitors were

subject to a proscribed list." My voice rises with indignation as I warm to my

cause. zain regards me, his expression unreadable. After a moment his mouth

twists.

"Papal bull?" he says, amused, and he visibly relaxes. I wasn't aiming to

lighten our conversation, yet here he is smirking at me, and that makes me madder. The exchange between him and his ex was painful to witness. How could he

be so cold with her?

"What?" he asks, exasperated, as my face remains resolutely straight.

"You. Why were you so callous toward her?"

He sighs and shifts, stepping toward me and perching on the table.

"aliya," he says as if to a child. "You don't understand. Leila, Susannah"all of them"they were a pleasant, diverting pastime. But that's all. You are

the center of my universe. And the last time you two were in a room together, she

had you at gunpoint. I don't want her anywhere near you."

"But, zain, she was ill."

"I know that, and I know she's better now, but I'm not giving her the benefit

of the doubt anymore. What she did was unforgivable."

"But you've just played right into her hands. She wanted to see you again,

and she knew you'd come running if she came to see me."

zain shrugs as if he doesn't care. "I don't want you tainted with my old

life."

What?

"zain . . . you are who you are because of your old life, your new life,

whatever. What touches you, touches me. I accepted that when I agreed to marry

you, because I love you."

He stills. I know he finds it hard to hear this.

"She didn't hurt me. She loves you, too."

"I don't give a f**k."

I gape at him, shocked. And I'm shocked that he still has the capacity to

shock me. This is the zain abdullah I know. Leila's words rattle around my head.

His reaction to her was so cold, so much at odds with the man I've come to know

and love. I frown, recalling the remorse he felt when she had her breakdown,

when he thought he might in some way be responsible for her pain. I swallow, remembering, too, that he bathed her. My stomach twists painfully at the thought,

and bile rises in my throat. How can he say he doesn't care about her? He did

back then. What's changed? Sometimes, like now, I just don't understand him. He

operates on a level far, far removed from mine.

"Why are you championing her cause all of a sudden?" he asks, mystified

and irritable.

"Look, zain, I don't think Leila and I will be swapping recipes and knitting patterns anytime soon. But I didn't think you'd be so heartless to her."

His eyes frost. "I told you once, I don't have a heart," he mutters.

I roll my eyes"oh, now he is being adolescent.

"That's just not true, zain. You're being ridiculous. You do care about

her. You wouldn't be paying for art classes and the rest of that stuff if you didn't."

Suddenly, it's my lifetime ambition to make him realize this. It's painstakingly obvious that he cares. Why does he deny it? It's like his feelings for his birth

mother. Oh shit"of course. His feelings for Leila and his other submissives are

tangled up with his feelings for his mother. I like to whip little brown-haired girls

like you because you all look like the crack wh**e. No wonder he's so mad. I sigh

and shake my head. Paging Dr. Flynn, please. How can he not see this?

My heart swells for him momentarily. My lost boy . . . Why is it so hard for

him to get back in touch with the humanity, the compassion he showed Leila

when she had her breakdown?

He glares at me, his eyes glittering with anger. "This discussion is over. Let's

go home."

I glance at my watch. It's four twenty-three. I have work to do. "It's too

early," I mutter.

"Home," he insists.

"zain." My voice is weary. "I'm tired of having the same argument with

you."

He frowns as if he doesn't understand.

"You know," I elucidate, "I do something you don't like, and you think of

some way to get back at me. Usually involving some of your kinky f**kery,

which is either mind-blowing or cruel." I shrug, resigned. This is exhausting and

confusing.

"Mind-blowing?" he asks.

What?

"Usually, yes."

"What was mind-blowing?" he asks, his eyes now shimmering with amused

sensual curiosity. And I know he's trying to distract me.

Crap! I do not want to discuss this in SIP's meeting room. My subconscious

examines her finely manicured nails with disdain. Shouldn't have brought the

subject up, then.

"You know." I blush, irritated with both him and myself.

"I can guess," he whispers.

Holy crap. I'm trying to castigate him and he's confounding me. "zain,

I""

"I like to please you." He delicately traces his thumb over my bottom lip.

"You do," I acknowledge, my voice a whisper.

"I know," he says softly. He leans forward and whispers in my ear, "It's the

one thing I do know." Oh, he smells good. He leans back and gazes down at me,

his lips curled in an arrogant, I-so-own-you smile.

Pursing my lips, I strive to appear unaffected by his touch. He is so artful at

diverting me from anything painful, or anything he doesn't want to address. And

you let him, my subconscious pipes up unhelpfully, gazing over her copy of Jane

Eyre.

"What was mind-blowing, aliya?" he prompts, a wicked gleam in his

eye.

"You want the list?" I ask.

"There's a list?" He's pleased.

Oh, this man is exhausting. "Well, the handcuffs," I mumble, my mind catapulted back to our honeymoon.

He furrows his brow and grasps my hand, tracing the pulse point on my wrist

with his thumb.

"I don't want to mark you."

Oh . . .

His lips curl in a slow carnal smile. "Come home." His tone is seductive.

"I have work to do."

"Home," he says, more insistent.

We gaze at each other, molten gray into bewildered blue, testing each other,

testing our boundaries and our wills. I search his eyes for some understanding,

trying to fathom how this man can go from raging control freak to seductive lover

in one breath. His eyes grow larger and darker, his intention clear. Softly, he

caresses my cheek.

"We could stay here." His is voice low and husky.

Oh no. My inner goddess gazes longingly down at the wooden table. No. No.

No. Not in the office. "zain, I don't want to have sex here. Your mistress has

just been in this room."

"She was never my mistress," he growls, his mouth flattening into a grim

line.

"That's just semantics, zain."

He frowns, his expression puzzled. The seductive lover has gone. "Don't

overthink this, aliya. She's history," he says dismissively.

I sigh . . . maybe he's right. I just want him to admit to himself that he cares

for her. A chill grips my heart. Oh no. This is why it's important to me. Suppose I

do something unforgivable. Suppose I don't conform. Will I be history, too? If he

can turn like this, when he was so concerned and upset when Leila was ill . . .

could he turn against me? I gasp, recalling the fragments of a dream: gilt mirrors

and the sound of his heels clicking on the marbled floor as he leaves me standing

alone in opulent splendor.

"No . . ." The words are out of my mouth in whispered horror before I can

stop them.

"Yes," he says, and grasping my chin, he leans down and plants a tender kiss

on my lips.

"Oh, zain, you scare me sometimes." I grasp his head in my hands, twist

my fingers into his hair, and pull his lips to mine. He stills for a moment as his

arms fold around me.

"Why?"

"You could turn away from her so easily . . ."

He frowns. "And you think I might turn away from you, aliya? Why the hell

would you think that? What's brought this on?"

"Nothing. Kiss me. Take me home," I plead. And as his lips touch mine, I am

lost.

"Oh please," I beg, as zain blows gently on my sex.

"All in good time," he murmurs.

I pull on my restraints and groan loudly in protest from his carnal assault. I'm

trussed up in soft leather cuffs, each elbow bound to each knee, and zains

head bobs and weaves between my legs, his masterful tongue teasing me, relentless. I open my eyes and gaze unseeing at our bedroom ceiling bathed in the soft

late afternoon light. His tongue moves round and round, swirling and curling over

and around the center of my universe. I want to straighten my legs and struggle in

a vain attempt to control the pleasure. But I can't. My fingers fist in his hair and I

tug hard to fight his sublime torture.

"Don't come," he murmurs in warning against me, his soft breath on my

warm, wet flesh as he resists my fingers. "I will spank you if you come."

I moan.

"Control, Aliya. It's all about control." His tongue renews its erotic incursion.

Oh, he knows what he's doing. I am helpless to resist or stop my slavish reaction, and I try"really try"but my body detonates under his merciless ministrations, and his tongue doesn't stop as he wrings every last ounce of debilitating

pleasure from me.

"Oh, Aliya," he scolds. "You came." His voice is soft with his triumphant reprimand. He flips me onto my front, and I shakily support myself on my forearms.

He smacks me hard on my behind.

"Ah!" I cry out.

"Control," he admonishes, and grabbing my hips he thrusts himself into me. I

cry out again, my flesh still quivering from the aftershocks of my orgasm. He

stills while deep inside me and, leaning over, unclips first one, then the second

cuff. He wraps his arm around me and pulls me into his lap, his front to my back,

and his hand curls beneath my chin around my throat. I revel in the feeling of

fullness.

"Move," he orders.

I moan and rise up and down on his lap.

"Faster," he whispers.

And I move faster and faster. He groans and his hand tips my head back as he

nibbles my neck. His other hand travels leisurely across my body, from my hip,

down to my sex, down to my c***oris . . . still sensitive from his earlier lavish attention. I whimper as his fingers close around me, teasing me once more.

"Yes, aliya," he rasps softly in my ear. "You are mine. Only you."

"Yes," I breathe as my body tightens again, closing around him, cradling him

in the most intimate way.

"Come for me," he demands.

And I let go, my body obediently following his command. He holds me still

as my climax rips through me and I call out his name.

"Oh, aliya, I love you," he groans and follows my lead as he bucks into me,

finding his own release.

He kisses my shoulder and smoothes my hair from my face. "Does that make the

list, Mrs. abdullah?" he murmurs. I am lying, barely conscious, flat on my belly on

our bed. zain gently kneads my backside. He's propped up beside me on one

elbow.

"Hmm."

"Is that a yes?"

"Hmm." I smile.

He grins and kisses me again, and reluctantly I roll on my side to face him.

"Well?" he asks.

"Yes. It makes the list. But it's a long list."

His face nearly splits in two, and he leans forward to kiss me gently. "Good.

Shall we have dinner?" His eyes glow with love and humor.

I nod. I am famished. I reach over to gently pull the little hairs on his chest. "I

want you to tell me something," I whisper.

"What?"

"Don't get mad."

"What is it, aliya?"

"You do care."

His eyes widen, and all trace of his good humor vanishes.

"I want you to admit that you care. Because the zain I know and love

would care."

He stills, his eyes not leaving mine, and I'm witness to his internal struggle as

if he's about to make the judgment of Solomon. He opens his mouth to say

something then closes it again as some fleeting emotion crosses his face . . . pain,

maybe.

Say it, I will him.

"Yes. Yes, I care. Happy?" His voice is barely a whisper.

Oh, thank f**k for that. It's a relief. "Yes. Very."

He frowns. "I can't believe I'm talking to you now, here in our bed, about""

I put my finger to his lips. "We're not. Let's eat. I'm hungry."

He sighs and shakes his head. "You beguile and bewilder me, Mrs. abdullah."

"Good." I lean up and kiss him.

From: aliya

Subject: The List

Date: September 9, 2011 09:33

To: zain

That's definitely at the top.

:D

A x

Aliya abdullah

Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: zain

Subject: Tell Me Something New

Date: September 9, 2011 09:42

To: aliya

You've said that for the last three days.

Make your mind up.Or . . . we could try something else.

;)

Zain xxx

CEO, Enjoying this Game, Abdullah Enterprises Holdings Inc.

I grin at my screen. The last few evenings have been . . . entertaining. We have relaxed again, Leila's brief interruption forgotten. I haven't quite worked up the

courage to ask if any of her paintings hang on the walls"and frankly, I don't

really care. My BlackBerry buzzes and I answer, expecting zain.

"Aliya?"

"Yes?"

"Aliya, honey. It's rehaan Senior."

"Mr. khan! Hi!" My scalp prickles. What does rehaans dad want with

me?

"Honey, I'm sorry to call you at work. It's ghulam." His voice falters.

"What is it? What's happened?" My heart leaps into my throat.

"ghulams been in an accident."

Oh, no. Daddy. I stop breathing.

"He's in the hospital. You'd better get here quick.