The Sheikh's Illicit Affair Page 8

  “You must have very good designers, then.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  He next led her into a long dining room. This room had more color. The long rug that ran the length of it was a deep, rich brown, almost burgundy. The long table was a darker stained wood, its edge carved to match the intricate designs in the backs of the chairs. Thick curtains hung from several places in the wall. The curtains were all closed and Megan imagined they created some sort of private sitting area. In this room there was not just one chandelier, but three, the largest of which hung over the center of the table. This one looked less like the hanging shards of the chandelier in the first room and more like a giant sculpture of diamonds; as if someone had scooped up several handfuls and pressed them together to form a giant ball, then shaped it into a teardrop shape. She couldn’t help watching it glitter as she walked by. The walls, too, were carefully designed. Several half pillars of twisted gold separated the sections of the room, and finely painted murals stretched from floor to ceiling in four places.

  “Zaakir, this place is just exquisite,” she said, as they walked into the next room.

  He seemed a bit downcast, like he took no joy in being inside the palace. When they had been out in the courtyard, and before that on the jet, he had been energetic and joyful. What could be bothering him now? Megan was here, and she was enjoying his presence, but his dampened mood was bringing her down slightly. Had she done something to upset him? Or was it their almost kiss? If she’d not demanded a tour, would they still be in the courtyard, their lips tangled in another passionate dance?

  He shrugged and waved his hand in the direction of another entryway. “That’s the ballroom,” he murmured, then started to walked away.

  “Wait! I want to see it.”

  He paused and turned to her. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I suppose that’s where the dancing primarily happens.”

  “Yes!” Megan grabbed the Sheikh’s hand and yanked him into the room, hoping to instill some of her enjoyment into him.

  This was the room that created the curved walls she’d seen outside the palace. It was a perfect circle of ornate marble. Here, the floors were more than just ivory and gold; in some places, it was the same ivory and gold of the sitting room, but the floor itself was a giant swirling pattern. Several other colors of marble moved together along the floor, in curves and bends. Golds, pinks, a hint of deep brown as an accent. There were more of the twisted half pillars Megan had seen in the dining room, again used as separators for sitting areas and to highlight the art on the walls. The ceiling was the only feature that could rival the floor. It rose in a gentle dome, squares of large and small frescoes rising to the center circle. The middle was all light, like a glowing ring of stars had been placed at its edges. Someone had painstaking painted a mural of giant star-shaped designs, the rays reaching out until they met the light at the edge of the circle. Megan stood in the center, turning slowly to take in every inch of it.

  Zaakir stood nearer to the door, with a bored expression. Megan pulled her mouth into a half smile and stalked toward him, then past him—the beginning moves of their dance.

  The Sheikh gave her a placating smile and took her into his arms when she passed again. But his passion was missing. He led her through only a few steps then set her gently on her feet and walked away.

  “Of all the rooms in this place, you don’t want to spend time in the ballroom, dancing?” she asked, exasperated.

  “That was the first time I’ve ever danced in there,” he said.

  “What? You haven’t hosted events where there was dancing?”

  “I have, but I’ve never danced. I always believed it was something too intimate to do with just anyone. To be so close and have two bodies touching like that. I always thought it more like a precursor to…” He glanced back at her and sighed. “Would you like to see my favorite room?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  She thought about what he had said. If he’d never wanted to dance with a stranger, why had he selected her to teach him? They hadn’t known each other prior to that. She agreed that the tango especially was rather like a precursor to more intimate things; that’s what made it such a good wedding dance.

  “Zaakir?”

  He stopped to turn to her.

  “Why me?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “How did you find me? Why did you choose me as a dance teacher? You said you didn’t want to dance with just anyone. We didn’t know each other before that first lesson, but you didn’t seem to mind being so close to me.”

  “It’s simple,” he said flatly. “I’m a businessman. I was in need of a service. You are one of the best instructors in Manhattan and you were available. I found your looks acceptable, so I hired you to perform a service. Learning the dance was of primary importance, so I set aside my personal feelings on the matter to take care of the business at hand.”

  “You make it sound so cold and matter-of-fact.”

  “It is.” He gave her a frustrated look. “Megan, I must be this way to survive in business. I cannot let my feelings get in the way of what I set out to accomplish. Perhaps your parents did not follow the same standard, but remaining detached is the only thing that saved me from making poor decisions.”

  She took a step back from him, shocked at his sudden change in tone. What had made him act this way so suddenly?

  “Zaakir…”

  “I’m sorry if you believed me to be otherwise.”

  “I’ve just seen… Well, what I’ve seen of you up to now has not been cold or detached.”

  “So you believe.” He stepped forward. “Come.”

  Something wasn’t right here. She knew him to be only warm and charming, full of smiles, compliments and wit. She enjoyed their time together so much primarily because he was not the cold and calculating businessman her father often was. When Zaakir had talked of love and family, it had been with full heart. There was nothing contrived in it at all. Why was he trying to push her away now?

  She didn’t appreciate his saying, “Come,” as if she were just another servant, there to obey him. Still, she followed, curious to see what he had called his favorite room. What was it that held his interest enough to be his favorite over all others?

  One other thing was still bothering her.

  “What did you mean that you found my ‘looks acceptable’?”

  He didn’t look back or stop walking, his soft leather shoes tapping gently on the marble. “The photo on your website is a poor representation of real life. You are much more beautiful in person.”

  “Oh.”

  What had the other instructors looked like then? The ones he’d turned down.

  “In fact,” he said. “Had I known you were so beautiful, I might have chosen someone else.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It is inappropriate for me to spend so much time with such a gorgeous woman—dancing, being alone, having drinks in private—while I am a betrothed man.”

  “But—”

  Megan’s mouth hung open. Hadn’t she been saying that from the start? Hadn’t that been the reason she refused to go with him for drinks? He’d been the one who insisted they were just friends. He’d brought her here, on an eleven-hour flight, under the pretense of friendship. Now he was the one saying it was inappropriate? Anger rose up in her, bringing heat to her cheeks. What was she doing here?

  “Then why did you bring me here like this if it’s so inappropriate?” she demanded. “All the times I told you—”

  “Here it is.” He broke into a smile, the first that seemed to be genuine since their moment in the courtyard. “The library.”

  The smile was a momentary distraction from her anger and Megan turned her focus to the room that had made Zaakir so happy all of a sudden.

  She entered a long room with floors of the same ivory and gold marble that ran through most of the palace. On either side of her, lining the walls, were shelves of books that stretched to the h
igh ceiling. They were so high that several golden ladders had been placed on either side, so the top books could be reached. Several sitting areas, edged by long tables, were set at intervals down the length of the room. In one of the sitting areas there was a single lamp, somewhat out of place. It perched over an armchair covered in well-worn brown leather. A small table sat beside it, supporting a small stack of books. Of all the rooms in the palace, this one alone looked lived in.

  Perhaps he saw her looking. “This is where I do my reading.” He gestured toward the chair.

  “Why is nothing in here personal? Don’t you spend a lot of time here?”

  “I do. But none of it matters to me.”

  “Is that why there are no photos? Or are those in another room?”

  “There is a family portrait in the bedroom—each of us received one as a gift when I came of age. It is the only portrait, however. A designer selected the rest of the art.”

  “Why?” Megan walked toward his armchair, letting her fingertips drift over the books’ spines as she passed them.

  “My business is my focus. I have no time for personal relationships or friendships. I avoid those who are not beneficial or profitable for business, and I spend my time in large, hollow rooms with men just as ruthless as I am, tearing things apart and building new things, all in the name of money. This is my life, Megan. You should feel blessed that you know nothing of it.”

  “The man I’ve gotten to know these last few weeks has been capable of far more than merely making business decisions. We talked of love and happiness and how money gives none of it—”

  “Yes,” he said, interrupting her. “Yet you see, I have nothing but money. You have your studio, and your dreams, but I have no time for love or any other sort of happiness.”

  She shook her head and laughed. “That’s not you. Stop this. Why are you saying these things?”

  “Megan.” He turned to face her full on. His hand twitched, like he was going to take hers, then decided not to. “I’ve done horrible things in the name of business. I have lied, cheated, and deceived others to get what I want. If you knew all I had done, you wouldn’t even want to stand in the same room with me. I’ve fooled you into thinking I’m a good man. I’ve tried to change. I want to become the man you believe me to be—the man capable of love. Yet, this is one endeavor in which money cannot help me, and I’m finding I have failed again and again. I have not lived in a way worthy of the love I speak of.”

  Megan reached out and took his hand. “Zaakir, you are worthy of love. Nobody is perfect. And maybe you’ve done things you’re not proud of. We all have. Mine just haven’t been business-related, but I’ve hurt people. I’ve hurt friends and family. At least those you’ve lied to haven’t been the people who love you most in life. I committed my own most heinous acts against my family. I still lie and keep things from them all the time. But I see love in you, and I see what you’re capable of. You’re warm and caring, full of hopes and deep thoughts and deeper pains. You say there is only the pain of loneliness in this country, but I think that is the pain of heartache, just in a different form. It is not the pain of lost love, but the pain of longing for it. You feel this pain because you want to love and be loved. A cold and calculating man does not feel these things. You are everything a woman could want.”

  Zaakir looked at her with such an expression of longing that it made her throat catch. He stepped closer to her, put one hand at her back while holding her other, as if they were about to begin a dance. He moved forward slowly, asking his permission with his eyes. She couldn’t move. Desire burned in her chest and she closed her eyes. The thing she had desired more than anything was about to happen and she could not back away from it. Not now.

  Zaakir leaned in and pressed his mouth against Megan’s. At first, he merely touched his lips to hers. Perhaps a test to see if she would pull away. When she didn’t, he increased the pressure, his lips moving hungrily against hers. His arms tightened and Megan leaned her whole body into him. Heat flared between them, running from head to toe like a current sparked for the first time. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and she offered hers in return, allowing this intimate touch, hidden behind closed lips.

  His touch, his kiss, was like a dream. But it was not hers to enjoy. Megan broke away suddenly and stared at him, wild-eyed and horrified at what she’d done.

  “No, Zaakir. You’re—you’re— I shouldn’t have.”

  Megan dashed out of the room. In the hall, she paused to think. Left or right? There were so many halls and rooms in this place. She darted left and broke into a full run as the tears freed themselves from her eyes. The rooms and halls passed in a blur as she neared the front of the palace. Someone had set her bag by the door, having collected it from the plane, she supposed. She snatched it by the handle and didn’t stop running until her feet hit the sand outside. She nearly fell as the ground beneath her shifted from hard marble to sand that gave as she stepped.

  The road wasn’t far, and she ran the best she could through the sand, dust and heat sticking to her and drying the streams of tears almost as quickly as they fell. When her feet hit pavement and she could run again, she took off at her fastest pace. She glanced back only once at the palace. Zaakir stood in the doorway, watching her.

  She ran until she could no longer breathe. In the heat and wearing garments heavier than she was used to, she stopped, panting, wishing she had something to drink.

  Her mind whirled with wild thoughts, as the emotions running through her body made her chest ache. How she wanted to go back, to keep kissing him, to be his forever. Why had he toyed with her like that? Didn’t he know she wanted him? Not just his body, but all of him. His heart and soul, his mind, and his love. She wanted to be the one marrying him. She wanted to be his wife and to dance the tango with him and make love to him and have his children. Here or in New York, she didn’t care. She didn’t need the palace or a penthouse. She wanted nothing more than the man she’d met in her studio, the man who’d said he felt like the lonely rose at their table. She wanted to take his loneliness from him forever.

  Had he not sensed desire in her? And what of his own? He must want her, too, to have kissed her like that. Why didn’t he end his engagement if his feelings were really so strong? And when they’d danced, he’d held her so close, like he treasured her. Remembering those moments made the ache in her chest sharper, and fresh tears ran down her face. She forced her feet to continue on, with no idea where they were headed. She knew so little of this country.

  It was a busy road, and dozens of cars passed her without one so much as slowing down. Eventually a taxi approached and Megan held out her arm like the practiced New Yorker she was. To her relief the cab slowed to a stop. He pulled over to the curb and rolled down the window closest to her.

  “Will you take American dollars?” she asked, leaning in the passenger side window.

  The cab driver looked her over and nodded curtly. “Yes, this is acceptable.”

  She tore open the door and tossed in her bag before sliding into the backseat. “Please take me to the closest airport.”

  TWELVE

  The tears continued to stream down Megan’s face. The cab driver gave her several questioning looks, but said nothing. How badly she wished she could call Rachel. But she was not about to sit in the back of this cab and confess to her infidelity in front of this stranger. She’d have to wait until she got back to New York for that.

  They arrived at the airport and Megan used the cash from Zaakir’s lesson, which she’d had in her dance bag, to pay the cab driver and give him a large tip. Hopefully that would make up for her crying in his cab and would show her appreciation that he accepted her American dollars.

  Inside the airport, she waited in line, desperately hoping she had enough money to buy a one-way ticket back to the States.

  “Where would you like to fly to?” the man at the ticket desk asked in a flat, bored voice.

  “New York City.”

 
; Just the thought of her city, her home, brought some small amount of comfort. Everything she loved most in the world was there, waiting for her return. There was nothing for her here.

  The man typed into his computer and gave her a price and a departure time, several hours from now.

  “Is that the first available flight?” she asked earnestly.

  “It is.”

  “Do you take American dollars?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll take it.” She slid her money across the counter.

  A few moments later, the man handed her a boarding pass and looked beyond her to the next customer. Megan left the counter and stood to look at the large signs hanging overhead. Her tears had stopped for now, but she blinked at the words on the sign through stinging eyes. She had to search for the English on the sign and when she found it, she finally saw where to go through security.