Sheikh's Ex-Girlfriend (Khayyam Sheikh Series #1) (3 page)

“I will call her,” he said finally. “I will speak with her, but if she wants nothing to do with me, that will be it. I love her too much to harass her.”

Marid quirked an eyebrow at him. “So, you love her still?”

Nasim looked at him, and Marid shivered. On the other sheikh's face was a lifetime of sleepless nights and recriminations.

 “Of course I do. I always have. I always will.”

***

She hadn't exactly been lying when she cut herself away from Marid. There were things she wanted to get to, but when she got home, she couldn't concentrate on them at all. Instead, she paced her apartment, checked her email a dozen times and finally gave in and called her sister.

“H'lo?”

“Emmaline? Are you good to talk?”

“Ella? Is everything okay?”

There was a hint of panic in Emmaline's voice, and counting backwards, Ella realized that she had likely startled her sister out of a dead sleep. It was barely seven in the morning in New York.

“Oh, god, I'm sorry. Yes, everything's fine, except … well …”

“It's Nasim,” Emmaline said, already sounding more awake. “Did you run into him?”

“No, not really …” Tersely, she outlined her meeting with Marid to Emmaline, noticing that her sister seemed more than a little interested by the other sheikh. When she finished, however, Emmaline spoke right away.

“Well, I could have told you that this was what was going to happen,” she said. “Now you have to decide what to do about it.”

“I don't know, that's why I called you,” she admitted. “It's … it's like I thought I was over all of it, you know? And suddenly there's Marid, and now he's talking about Nasim … and oh god, his brothers died and now he's the sheikh? What has that got to be like for him?”

Emmaline's snort told her how little she cared to hear about Nasim's brothers after their treatment of Ella.

“This may be one of those things that stay the same even as they change,” Emmaline said slowly. “I mean, his brother was the sheikh before, and he was the one who couldn't stand you. Maybe there's something about the position that makes you want to keep the bloodlines pure or something?”

Ella shrugged helplessly, but she flinched away from the image of the horrible words that had poured out of Azim's mouth now spewing from Nasim. The thought of him saying those words to her made her shiver, made her sick.

“I don't know … I just don't know.”

“Ella … do you want to see him again?”

From thousands of miles away, her sister's words made her freeze. When it was put that baldly, when there was nothing else standing between her and that reality, the answer was clear, painfully clear.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Very badly.”

Emmaline sighed. Ella knew her sister very well, and she knew that if they had been together, she would have leaned against Emmaline's body, wanting comfort and care. Instead, they were far away, and so she had to settle for this.

“The heart wants what it wants,” Emmaline said finally. “Even if it was five years ago, your heart never let him go, not really. So I think I'm going to tell you what you need to hear, and that's that you should see him.”

“Emmaline—”

“I'm not done yet. You should see him, but, honey, please take care of your heart. The last time you saw him, he wasn't looking after it, you know? You have to be willing to protect yourself.”

Ella promised her that she would, and then she hung up to let her sister get a little more sleep. As she went about her work, she thought about her sister's words, and she found herself shaking her head. She knew that Emmaline meant well, but taking care of her heart? How could she do that when it had belonged for so long to Nasim?

She felt bruised all over, as if there was something sitting on the center of her chest and cutting off her air. Slowly though, as she forced herself to work, she began to breathe.

Five years had passed. Five years was long enough for people to grow, to change, perhaps even to marry. Simply because Marid had seen her today didn't mean that anything was necessarily going to happen. It might simply be a little piece of gossip that he passed on to a man who had nearly forgotten her.

She told herself that nothing was going to happen, and she had so thoroughly convinced herself of it that the next day, when a courier came to her door with a message for her, she was quite shocked.

The man was dressed in a neat gray uniform, certainly not an office courier, and when he handed her his missive, he told her that he would wait for her reply. He seemed slightly taken aback when she invited him into her office for the tea that she kept on the pot and some cookies, but at least then she could read the letter in private. She recognized the handwriting right away, and when she saw that it was Nasim's, her heart started to beat faster.

 My dear Ella,

I have been made aware that you are currently in Dalal, and though I understand that it is your work that brings you to my country, I still felt my heart jump when I realized you were so close. We left things on bad terms five years ago, and for that, all I can do is offer you a million apologies. Perhaps you would be so kind as to take at least one of them in person?

Tonight, I would like to see you for dinner, and this time, I promise that there will be no abuse and no recriminations. There will only be the two of us. If you will tell me you are coming, I can send for you in a car at seven?

Yours,

Sheikh Nasim Bakkal

Ella reread the message and then she read it one more time. Her head buzzed like a beehive with what she had read. This was the moment.

Somehow, insanely, she had the urge to throw the letter away and pretend she had never seen it. The last time she had seen this man, it had brought her such pain. She had never understood that level of pain before, and the idea of going through something like it again terrified her.

Then Ella took a deep breath. She was braver than that, and above all, she was curious. If she was being perfectly honest with herself, it was more than curiosity, but at the moment, curiosity was what she could handle labeling it.

She came back out to the office, smiling at the uniformed courier.

“Tell him I say yes,” she said decisively.

***

The hour leading up to seven was murder. She had finished her work, she had talked with Emmaline, who had been cautious but not horrified at the idea, and she had gone over her meager wardrobe. She had meant to find more clothes when she landed in Dalal, but there had been so much to take up her time and her attention.

She wished that she had the time to pick up something more traditional, but in the end, she settled for a bottle-green sundress that fit snugly to her lean curves and that billowed out like the sea around her hips. Jeweled hair clips held her short hair back from her face, and between them and her low heels, she had basically exhausted her options for looking elegant.

The car, a black Rolls Royce, came for her at precisely seven o’clock, and as it carried her through the dim streets of Dalal, she told herself again that she knew what she was doing. Nasim had been her lover five years ago, but that time was dead and gone. Now they were meeting again, and they would be … perhaps they would simply be acquaintances, or maybe even be friends. She could use more friends as she made her way in Dalal.

That resolve lasted until the car pulled up the driveway at the family estate. The house was exactly as she remembered, even the air, brisk with a hint of coldness, was the same. Against her will, she found herself taken back to that dark day when she realized that Nasim's affection did not go so far as to shelter her from the disapproval of his brothers.

She could feel her nerve start to shake even as the chauffeur handed her out of the car. She was on the verge of saying that she didn't want to do this after all and that she wanted to be taken back to the Old Quarter.

Before the words could fall from her mouth, however, there was a movement at the top of the stairs leading up to the door, and suddenly Nasim was there.

She had thought in the years since their breakup that she had imagined how handsome he was. He had always looked like a movie star to her, and here she realized that her memory had been accurate. However, he was not unchanged. He carried himself with almost military posture now, his face more firm, and his eyes even sharper.

 I knew a boy, but this is a man,
she thought, and then he was standing in front of her. If she thought that he was going to be awkward with her, she was wrong; he took her hand in both of his, bowing his head over it to brush his lips across her knuckles.

“Good evening, Ella,” he said, and that voice was exactly as she remembered. It still sent chills up her spine, and it still took her breath away.

“Hello, Nasim,” she said, and before she could allow herself to get swept away in the tide of memories that were overwhelming her, she spoke again.

“Or perhaps I should call you Sheikh? I … Marid told me …”

Nasim shook his head.

“No, I will not have that from you,” he said. “For you, it should always be Nasim.”

There was something in his gaze that she couldn't read, something intense. She somehow felt as if he was telling her something important just then, something about himself, about how he felt about her or perhaps about the two of them together.

“Nasim, then,” she said, and she could feel the pieces of her heart, broken five years ago, start to ache at the seams.

 She looped her hand through his arm as if they had seen each other merely days, not years, ago, and he led her into the house. They were silent, but she felt again as if she had walked into a place of great beauty and great history.

It is not a place for me, but it is quite beautiful.
Somehow, that made it easier. She knew that she was not staying, and so she could enjoy the small palace for what it was and its ancestral beauty.

He took her not to the formal dining room but instead to a small and intimate chamber that was set for two. He held her chair for her and then took his place at the table. She expected him to speak then, but he only leaned back in his chair, gazing at her with those dark eyes that she remembered so well.

“You're staring,” she said softly.

“You're worth staring at,” he responded immediately. “Do you know how many times I have drawn you in my mind? Now I see you before me, and I realize that my imagination is beggared by your truth.”

Ella felt herself flush with embarrassment. At least, she told herself that it was embarrassment, not pleasure at his words.

“No,” she said softly.

“No?”

“I don't want to hear that,” she said. Her voice was tremulous at first, but it grew stronger. “I … I can't take that from you, Nasim, not now. I didn't come here to rekindle our old flame … I came to … to …”

“Yes?”

His words were gentle, encouraging, and in a flash, she realized that in many ways, she was dealing with a different man. The Nasim she had known was passionate, yes, but he was also impatient. He would have demanded her answer, argued with her, fought her. It was exciting, but it was also exhausting. This man, while remaining entirely in control with the world in his hand, was content to merely wait and to listen to her speak.

“What did you come for, Ella?”

She surprised them both by laying her small hand in his. After a shocked moment, he squeezed it gently. There was electricity there, something thrumming and powerful, but for the moment, they both ignored it.

“I came here to see a man who was once very important to me,” she said softly. “I came to see you, and to see what had become of you. I came to learn about you, and perhaps to rest my curiosity a bit. I came for … a friend.”

If he was disappointed by her words, he did not show it. Instead, he squeezed her hand one more time before releasing it.

“I have been sheikh for almost four years,” he said. “I find that despite the position and the privileges, one thing that I will never have enough of is friends. I would be honored if you were mine, Ella.”

She smiled at his sincere words. There was no hint of dishonesty or disappointment in them. Instead, she could only feel a deep sincerity and affection for her, and she in turn warmed up to him.

“Thank you,” she said. “That is … that is what is best.”

The servants came out with the first course of the meal, and the serious moment passed. They spoke instead of other things, gentler things, and more amusing things. She told him about her time as a literary agent in New York, about her sister, about her life since leaving Dalal all those years ago. When she questioned him, he told her about his new duties and responsibilities. He answered honestly and fluidly, but she sensed a hesitation there that felt almost rusty. It was as if he was not used to speaking in such a personal manner, but surely that was wrong? He was the Sheikh of Dalal, and of course that meant that there were plenty of people for him to talk to.

Before she could quite understand what had happened, they had finished five courses, and it was almost ten in the evening.

“I would love to keep talking with you, but I need to get up early in the morning,” she said reluctantly.

“I have duties as well,” he replied. “But at least I may show you to the door?”

Walking through the ancient halls on his arm, she felt a deep spring of well-being flow inside of her. There was nothing terrible here, no heartbreak, no fear. Instead there was only a man that she both knew very well and was just meeting for the first time tonight. It felt good, and better yet, she had not found herself mooning after him like a love-struck girl.

They were nearly to the door when her foot found the edge of one of the rugs. She sought to correct herself, but instead, in the middle of the word she was trying to say, she went sprawling.

She knew that she was going to hit the ground, and she was braced for it, but instead, suddenly there were powerful arms around her, halting her fall as if she had pitched purposefully into his arms. Suddenly, she was pulled up on her feet again, as safe as if she had never fallen. She looked up into his eyes, surprise on her lips. They were standing so close, her breasts pressed against his chest, his arms still holding her tightly.