The Sheikh's Illicit Affair (2 page)

“Take my hand.” She held out her right hand and he took it, holding it gently. “Now, every move we make, we move together, like you are pushing and pulling me with your actions. You step forward with your left leg as I step back with my right.”

The Sheikh slid his leg forward and Megan moved accordingly. He moved with grace and an elegance that took many dancers years to learn.

“Now, move your right leg to the side.”

He did, and she mirrored his actions with her left foot. As they moved closer, he put his hand at the small of her back, drawing her in.

“And now slide in your left leg.” He did, and Megan slid her right leg. “Okay, now let’s try all the steps together.”

Megan went to the stereo, found her tango playlist, and hit play. She turned to face him as the music began, then stalked across the room toward him.

When she was within reach, he took her hand and pulled her close for the next part of the move. Not only had the Sheikh remembered every move, each step was perfectly timed and expertly executed. When the sequence was complete, he stepped back.

“Are you sure you haven’t had lessons before?” she asked, one eyebrow cocked inquisitively.

“This is my first time.”

“Perhaps you’re a natural, then. Your movements are so smooth; more like someone who’s been practicing for years.”

The Sheikh held up his hands and grinned. “This is my first time, I promise.”

Over the next half hour, Megan took her new student through several more sequences. Each time, Zaakir picked up the steps with ease, leading her through them as if they’d been doing the tango together for weeks instead of less than an hour. Most men had trouble leading at first; they had to know the moves themselves, after all. But not Zaakir. His natural finesse and confidence made him an effortless leader. He was almost too easy to teach. Megan thought he likely could have picked up the moves simply by watching online tutorials at home. She was glad he hadn’t, though, or she never would have gotten to feel his strength as he guided her. Whoever the Sheikh was marrying, she thought to herself, was a lucky woman.

By the end of the hour, they were both glistening with a light sweat.

“Please, help yourself to the refreshments,” Megan said, gesturing to the water and snacks she’d set out for thirty. She turned off the music and used a towel to dab her forehead.

The Sheikh poured two waters and crossed the room to bring her one.

“Thank you,” she said, and drank it quickly.

“How many more classes do you think I’ll need before I’m ready for my wedding day?” Zaakir asked.

“Well, you picked up everything so quickly tonight that I think one more lesson should be plenty. Even if you don’t have time for that, I think you’ll be fine with what you learned tonight.”

“I think I would like one more class—just to make sure. Are you available tomorrow night?”

“Yes, tomorrow night would be fine.”

The Sheikh grinned, looking relieved. “Eight o’clock again?”

Megan nodded. “Only this time, I’ll plan for one instead of thirty.”

“Yes. Sorry about that—”

“You were right, though,” Megan interrupted. “I probably would have turned down a private lesson after the day I had. I’m glad I didn’t, though.” She smiled warmly at him, forgetting for a moment that he was there to learn a dance for his wedding.

“And I’m glad you didn’t turn me down.” He smiled back. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

Zaakir retrieved his jacket from the table and reached into an interior pocket. He pulled out several bills, folded them, and handed them to her. “For tonight. Thank you, Megan, for your time and expertise.”

She took the money and watched as he turned and walked out. From the door of her studio, Megan could just make out the street where he climbed into the backseat of a waiting car. No sooner had Zaakir shut the door, the sleek black limousine pulled away from the curb and sped off into the night.

Megan counted the bills in her hand. The Sheikh hadn’t paid for a one-on-one lesson. In fact, he hadn’t even given her what was the cost of a class of thirty. The amount she held in her hand was enough for a class of one hundred students, more than three times their agreed amount.
He must not have realized how much he’s given me
, she thought. Even if he intended this as payment for the following evening as well, it was still far too much, and she’d have to give some of it back.

She counted out the fee they had agreed upon, then added to it the price for a private tango lesson. She set aside the remainder and tucked it into an envelope once she was back in her office, thinking she’d return it to him and explain her fees the following night. She put the envelope and her earnings for the two classes into her safe box and locked it in the safe.

At least now she’d have enough to pay for the ballet costumes for this summer’s recital, Megan thought. It was a huge order—her biggest expense of the year, aside from the rental of the building for the recital—and it was a difficult payment to make. When the time came to pay the hire charges for the building, the year’s tuition would be paid in full and all of the tickets for the event would be purchased, but the costumes had to be ordered far in advance, and most parents were still making payments on the fees. The payment tonight put her ahead of schedule.

Megan glanced over her stack of bills, checked her bank account, and sighed in relief. For her first year owning a studio, she’d done well for herself. Much better than her parents expected she ever would. She hadn’t taken the more secure path of law or medicine—a decision they still hadn’t let her live down—but had instead chosen to follow her deepest passion and chase her dream. Now, coming to the close of only the first year, Megan’s dance studio had become one of the largest single-teacher studios in the neighborhood. Soon, she’d be looking at hiring additional teachers, and in a few years, she’d have to move to a larger space. Maybe then her parents would see that her lifelong love of dance hadn’t merely been a frivolous hobby, as they’d called it. It wasn’t going to be easy, but she was going to make it.

TWO

“You are not going to believe what happened last night,” Megan said to Rachel.

They were sitting at a small wrought-iron table at their favorite café, a bistro with a tiny garden out back; a sanctuary away from the crowded Manhattan streets. Rachel sipped her coffee and bit into her turkey wrap as she waited for her friend to go into detail.

“After working all day,” Megan continued, “I get this email asking me to stay late to take a class of thirty, so of course, I accept. Only thing is, the time for the class comes and goes. Then one guy shows up. One.”

“Oh wait. Let me guess,” Rachel said, putting down her wrap so she could illustrate her point with her hands. “And he just happens to be the most gorgeous man in the world who can dance like he’s taken lessons for years and, oh yeah, who just so happens to be rich.” She sighed and took a long sip of her coffee.

“Well…” Megan took a bite of her salad, crunching the walnuts and savoring the chicken and crisp greens as she considered how to answer. “Actually, you were pretty much dead on, there.”

Rachel’s mouth hung open as she shook her head and grinned. “No. Way.”

“He was gorgeous, and he picked up the moves very, very fast. You forgot the part about him having a sexy accent, though. Oh, and based on the way he was dressed and the fact that he paid enough for a hundred students without batting an eyelid, I’d guess he probably is loaded.” She let out a wistful sigh. “He could be my dream man.”

“Except…?” Rachel leaned forward.

“Except the reason he came for a lesson was so he could be ready for his wedding in a few weeks’ time.”

Rachel’s hands flew into the air. “Of course. That’s how it always goes. Meet the perfect man, then sure enough, find out that some lucky woman figured out he was perfect long before you even met him.”

Megan smiled ruefully as her gaze drifted to the next table; the couple sitting there seemed to be hopelessly in love. They gazed longingly into each other’s eyes, hands reaching across the table to clasp together. Was it so wrong for her to want that? To want someone to look at her like she was the most beautiful woman in the world? To spend hours talking and sharing ideas and passions. To love and be loved.

“I’m giving him another lesson tonight,” Megan said.

Rachel nodded. “Hey, if you can’t have him for the rest of your life, might as well have him for another night.”

“I guess.” Megan sighed again. “You’re so lucky.”

“Thanks for the reminder. Sometimes I don’t feel it.” Rachel rubbed her back and twisted in a stretch, letting her hand fall to her round stomach. “This baby is going to kill me if she doesn’t get out soon.”

“Maybe I should have a baby. Do it on my own…”

Rachel reached over and covered Megan’s hand with hers. “If anyone could pull it off, it would be you, Meg. I can see you with a little girl in a pink tutu, sitting in the corner of your studio, playing with dolls while the nanny watches to make sure she doesn’t interfere with her mommy’s teaching. Yup. That could totally work.”

“There are lots of single parents these days, right?”

“Yeah. I don’t know how they do it, but they do. I’d be freaking out if I didn’t have Matt to talk me down, but you’re not like me. You wouldn’t need a man.”

“No.” Megan looked over at the couple again. “But I want one. I want the cute little family and the married life. I just don’t know if I want to wait until I have that before I have a child. What if I don’t find someone until it’s too late?”

“Women have babies in their thirties and forties all the time, you know.”

“I know. And it’s not that I wouldn’t do that, but I’m already just two years from thirty. If I haven’t found my husband by now, why should I think I’ll find someone in the next few years?”

“Well,” Rachel said, taking another sip of her coffee. “You never know when magic will strike. You could meet him today. Or tomorrow. Or maybe your dreamy dancer guy will wake up and realize you’re the love of his life.”

Megan laughed. “Oh sure, right. After one dance lesson.”

“Never know. Maybe his fiancée will get hit by a bus.”

“Rachel!”

“What? I’m not saying you’d be driving it or anything. If fate wants it to be, it shall be.”

“Fate hates me,” Megan said, shoving the last forkful of salad into her mouth.

***

A few minutes later, after quickly downing an espresso, Megan put down enough bills to pay for lunch for them both, waving away Rachel’s protests and insisting her friend could pay next time they got together. She wasn’t ready to leave Rachel’s company, but she had to get back to her studio for her next class. She missed her best friend desperately. They’d met when they had dance classes together in high school, and as they’d grown up and moved onto college, they had always kept in touch, seeing each other whenever they could. Rachel had moved to New York a few years before Megan, and her being here had been one of the biggest draws of choosing the city for her studio.

In the early days of Megan’s studio, Rachel had come to many of the classes there, sometimes acting as an assistant. Now she was nearing the end of her pregnancy, she’d decided to take a break from dancing for the time being, and Megan only saw her when they had lunch together. Soon, Megan thought, Rachel would have a baby and would slip into mommy world, becoming one more frantic parent running around her studio.

The worst part was, Megan wanted to be one of those parents. What Rachel had said, about her having a little girl in a pink tutu, had touched on a deep yearning that existed within her. Megan could see her daughter there, her hair tight in a bun, playing with a doll. She could see her ballet shoes coming loose and her learning her first plié.

Megan strolled down the sidewalk, casually eyeing the people she passed. All these people in New York. Was there anyone that would be right for her? And where was he?

Zaakir came to her mind. She wouldn’t mind someone like him. Handsome, classy. She didn’t particularly need the money part, though. She’d seen too much of what it did, and how it corrupted people. Having someone with less money, but stronger morals was much preferred over money and conceit. This was why none of the rich boys her parents tried to set her up with had stuck. They were more into themselves than anything else. They just wanted a prize to put on their arms and someone to sleep with when they were bored. They had everything else—money to travel and to buy whatever they wanted and to do anything they desired. There wasn’t much left for a relationship to fulfill.

Maybe those boys were different now. Maybe they’d grown into upright businessmen, running companies across the world and going home to their wives and children who they loved. But she wasn’t sorry. She still wanted no part of the society life with the dinners and the expectations and the gossip. She much preferred the skimpy vegetable diets of dancers, and the chiffon and ribbons and leotards of the dance world.

Back at the entrance to her studio, Megan unlocked the door and flipped the lights back on. She took down the “Out for Lunch” sign and headed into her office. There were still several more minutes to kill before her next class, so she got on her computer and paid a few bills, then she opened a fresh internet tab.

The logo and empty search bar sat before her, waiting. All she had to do was type. With a deep breath, Megan slowly typed the words “sperm bank New York.”

Megan stared at the photos that popped up, all happy families and smiling children. Could she really do it, though? Choose the father of her child by his height and hair color? Have a baby all on her own? Her parents would never approve. They might even disown her over it, regardless of the fact that she would be giving them a grandchild. The hassle of the gossip and controversy around her decision would outweigh any desire to know their grandchild.

The start time for her next class was approaching. Megan clicked off the website and closed her browser, staring for a moment at the image that formed the background of her computer screen: a group of small girls in their leotards, with her at the center. The first class she had ever taken. Maybe having these kids as “her children” was enough, she thought. Even if it was only for a few hours a week.

Well, Megan thought, she didn’t have to do anything about it today. Right now, all she had to do was get ready for her next class.