The Sheikh's Illicit Affair (9 page)

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.

She picked up her bag and was walking toward the security area when a voice rang out behind her.

“Megan! Megan!”

She spun around at the sound of someone frantically calling her name.

There was Zaakir, running toward her at full speed, the look on his face pained and raw. As he got closer, she thought that his eyes, too, looked red and puffy. Maybe he’d been crying as well.

He reached her, out of breath from running. He bent over, putting his hands on his knees, and panted, his words coming out broken. “Please, Megan. Please come back with me.”

She took a step back from him, the tears ready to start again. “I have a plane to catch.”

She turned from him, but he reached out, his hand closing gently around her arm. “Please,” he whispered.

She twisted back to him, struggling to swallow. Tears lay low in her eyes. “I have to go,” she whispered back. “I can’t stay here. We’ve done a horrible thing.”

“No, Megan. Please. Please come with me. I have to tell you something.”

She stared at him for a moment. Could anything he could possibly say change this?

“What is it?”

“Not here. Please, come back to the palace so we can talk.”

“I can’t.” She turned away again and started to walk toward the security line. They were drawing attention now and she didn’t want to make a scene in front of all these people.

“I’m not getting married!” he shouted behind her.

Megan stopped in her tracks. What had he just said? He was going to call off his marriage now? Because of her?

Zaakir’s outburst had made many heads turn and Megan felt eyes on them both. She was already shaking her head as she spun back around.

“You can’t—”

He stepped forward and took her hands in his. “There never was an arranged marriage.”

“What?” She couldn’t have heard him correctly.

“I lied to you. I made it all up. I was interested in your parents. I was hoping to make a deal with them, to expand my oil business, but I couldn’t get a hold of them through any of the usual channels. I thought I could perhaps get to them through you. I had no idea that they no longer talked to you. It’s like I tried to tell you at the palace: I make hard decisions and hurt people for the sake of profit.”

Megan gasped audibly; the revelation was almost too much to take in.

“You asked why I chose you, and the truth is, it was because of your name,” Zaakir continued, his voice full of regret. “I didn’t need tango lessons. I’ve never planned to marry, and I refused to do so many times when my parents tried to force it on me. I’m thirty-one now, and would have been married at twenty if they’d had any say in the matter. But that’s beside the point.

“Megan, I used you to get to your parents for the sake of a business deal. But in doing so, I found something worth far more than oil or money. I found a true treasure. I found you. Your charisma and beauty, your heart and passion—I couldn’t stay away from you. I asked for another lesson because I needed to see you again. I brought you here, hoping to impress you with my riches and fame. But you don’t take much value in these things. I know this, but it was all I had to offer. I am in love with you, Megan. I want you to stay here with me, and be mine.”

Megan stood still, stunned into silence. Her head spun at the news. He’d lied. He loved her? But he’d used her. He wanted her to be his. How could all of these things be true at one time? Her heart was so confused, and she didn’t know what to think or feel. She just knew she had to get away from here. She needed time to think.

She turned and walked towards the baggage screening area.

“Megan, Megan, please!”

He grabbed her arm again and she looked at him, hard. “Take your hand off me,” she said coolly.

The pain in his expression increased, but he dropped his hand to let her go, taking a step back as she walked away.

THIRTEEN

With forced calm, Megan handed over her passport, her boarding pass, and her bag to be searched. She went through the motions of moving through the airport, utterly numb. At her gate, she sat in a hard plastic chair. It was still hours before her plane was due to board. Hours to let her mind reel. She faced a window and stared out at the planes coming and going. Behind her, the world was busy with people. They talked and their devices made noise, the speakers overhead called out for passengers and relayed boarding instructions. She heard none of it.

Her thoughts tried to settle in her mind, but every time she went near them, her heart ached. She felt sick to her stomach. Nothing seemed real anymore, and she didn’t know what to believe. He wasn’t getting married. He wasn’t engaged. He never had been. And he had tried to use her. To get to her parents, of all things. It had all been a lie. A game. In the end, what he had said, what he had warned her of was right. He was heartless.

But, no, she couldn’t believe that. If that were true, he would have stopped talking to her the moment he found out she had virtually no contact with her parents. And the things he’d said. She couldn’t believe that there was nothing more to it. Maybe it had all started as a venture for profit, but it hadn’t stayed that way.

He’d said he loved her. He had kissed her, hadn’t he? He’d taken her out and spoken of deep things, he’d flown her to his home, all to impress her. She had been impressed not by the wealth on display there, but by how Zaakir seemed not to care about any of it. He seemed so unaffected by money. So which was the real him? The man who wanted to lie to her to get to her oil-dealing parents? Or the man who’d stolen her heart with a dance?

Some things made more sense now, though not many. When he’d tried to change the subject every time she asked about his fiancée, Megan had assumed he was just sad about it, about being forced into something he didn’t want. But really, he was sad about the lie: he was feeling remorse. Maybe he was thinking that he was doing more damage by keeping the lie, and that he would ruin his chances with her. Maybe he was right.

When they’d almost kissed and she’d pulled away, his mood had changed entirely. Would he have told her then if she hadn’t backed away? When he’d started talking about being cold and calculating, she understood now that he was already thinking of how she’d react.

Well, she was angry, but she couldn’t bring herself to hate him. She kept telling herself he’d done awful things to her, but her heart kept defending him. The look in his eyes. He loved her. He was distraught over what he’d done. Was that enough, though? Could she forgive him? Would she ever be able to trust him again?

She could have everything. A husband who loved her, her dream job, and a family. She wouldn’t have to do it on her own. She could have Zaakir’s children and they’d be perfect and gorgeous and loved. They’d be heirs to titles and fortunes. They’d live in a palace, and they’d never want for love because their parents would love them deeply, like neither of them had been loved when they were children. She would have everything she could dream of. And she’d have it with Zaakir. The man who, if she was being honest with herself, she loved back.

Finally, the announcement came over the speaker that her flight was boarding. Megan stood in the line with her bag, then walked to the plane and took her seat. She peered out the window, taking in a final view of Al-Sharrabi.

The plane took off a few minutes later and Megan gazed down at the disappearing sand, imagining Zaakir down there somewhere in his palace. She felt like she was leaving her whole life behind.

The flight back was much longer than when Zaakir had brought her here on his private jet. There were layovers and connecting flights and everything just took longer with the boarding and unloading and the general hassle of airports. Megan walked through the corridors of the airports like a zombie, forcing herself to eat even though she wasn’t hungry. She couldn’t even call Rachel. She wouldn’t know what to say, and she didn’t think she could trust herself not to break down completely.

She tried to sleep during the flights, but sitting up in the small seats of coach didn’t give her much comfort. By the time she got to New York, she felt completely worn out. She changed back into her jeans and T-shirt in the bathroom at JFK Airport, stuffing the flowing dress into her bag.

She walked outside to hail a cab, muttered her apartment address, and paid the cab driver when they arrived. She was glad to see her apartment, but walking the steps up several flights felt like torture. Finally, she saw her door waiting for her. The key didn’t want to cooperate in her hand, but eventually the door swung open. The air in her apartment felt stale, but Megan was too tired to care. She dropped her bag in the living room and went straight to her bed.

It wasn’t the most restful sleep she’d ever had. She kept waking up and replaying moments from the weekend and the last few weeks in her mind. Every moment with Zaakir. All her dreams and hopes for the future, whether it was with him or not. She’d get hot with anger, tears springing to her eyes when she thought of his lies. Then her heart would melt when she thought of the way he held her while they danced, how he kissed her, the look on his face when he desperately proclaimed his love for her. At one point she decided the pain of love was too great and that she’d stay single forever. Then, she woke up again, missing Zaakir so badly that she wanted nothing more than to be back with him in his palace.

When she woke for good, unable to make her eyes close again, she still felt tired. The numbness had returned. She felt lonely and betrayed, but still she wanted him. She hated herself for it. What kind of woman was she if he could deceive her like that and she still wished he’d show up at her door?

She showered and dressed and prepared for her day at the studio. When she packed her bag of dance clothes and had to take out the tan dress, she almost broke down all over again. But she got it hung up, shoved it to the back of her packed closet, and went on with her routine. Hopefully, a day full of students and classes would take her mind off things.

Now that she felt ready to deal with it, Megan turned her phone back on. She didn’t want him calling, or to have the temptation to call him. She hadn’t even been ready to talk to Rachel yet, so there had been no point to having her phone on.

Now she stood in her kitchen, letting her phone buzz and beep as it went through two days’ worth of notifications. Zaakir had called. Rachel had called and texted several times. Even… No. That couldn’t be right. Her mother had called? What was that about?

She read through Rachel’s texts:

“So, how’s it going?”

“Where are the palace pics? Is it amazing?”

“Wow, you guys must be busy… or are you BUSY? ;)”

“Okay, feeling a bit neglected here.”

“Hey, are you okay? It’s been over a day. I thought you were going to let me know that you got there okay.”

“Trying not to worry…”

“Okay. Worried. Please just call back or text or something!”

The last one had been sent earlier that morning.

Megan? Please tell me you’re alive? You were supposed to be back by now. I’m coming by the studio.

Megan had to stop and wipe away tears. How she loved her best friend. She responded with:

Then you better bring bagels and coffee because I have a LOT to tell you.

Before she had even got her phone back in her pocket, Rachel had responded.

Oh, thank God. I was going nuts! Walking out the door now. Be there soon!

Megan took her time walking over to her studio. She breathed in the smell of New York, enjoyed the crazy, noisy bustle of the city. And most of all, the complete lack of sand. Pavements and grass and red and brown brick buildings. Metal warehouses covered in rust. Apartments defaced with spray-painted murals. Cars zooming by, people shouting, the smell of hot vendor food. None of this was anything like Al-Sharrabi. Though, that also meant there was no Zaakir. Megan’s heart stung for a second until her studio came into view.

She unlocked the door and turned on the lights, but left the sign set to “Closed.” She had just set down her bag in her office when she heard the door open.

“Megs?”

“In here!”

Rachel entered the office, bigger than she’d been last week and looking ready to burst. She held a bag of bagels in one hand, and a cardboard tray with two coffee cups tucked in it in the other. She set down the food and drinks and hugged Megan as tightly as she could around her stomach.

“I’m so glad you waited to have the baby until I came back,” Megan said gratefully.

“Of course. I can’t do it without you! Now tell, me why you look like you’ve been to hell and back.” Rachel let her arms fall and pulled up the extra chair.

Megan sat, too. She twisted one of the cups out of its holder and took a small sip of the piping hot coffee.

“I think I have been to hell and back,” she said. “Where do I even start?”

“What happened when you got there?”

“We danced.” Megan ran through the whole almost-kissing thing, then the palace tour.

“The library sounds like something out of
Beauty and the Beast
,” Rachel said wistfully.

“Looked like it, too.” Megan wrapped her hands around her cup, letting the heat of the coffee warm them through. She’d need it to get through the next part. “Then, the best and worst part. We kissed.”

Rachel actually gasped. “What! Was it magical?”

“Of course. He’s an amazing kisser.”

“Swoon. So, why was it the worst? Did someone see you or something? Oh my God, did his fiancée find out?”

“No, actually. I freaked out and took off.”

She explained about running from the palace, hailing the cab and going to the airport.

“So then,” Megan said, chewing another bite of her bagel. “I hear someone call my name and there he is. He looked like a total mess.” She paused to let out a heavy sigh. Her lip quivered and she blinked back tears.

Rachel put her hand on her knee and rubbed gently. “It’s okay, honey. Just let it out.”

“He’s been lying to me this whole time!” Megan cried, breaking into outright sobs.

Rachel looked surprised. “How so?”

“There is no fiancée. There is no wedding. He was using me to get to my parents to try and make some business deal.”

Rachel sat back and stared at her friend. “Are you freaking kidding me?”

“And. He told me he loves me.”

Rachel’s hands hit her thighs with a loud slap after she tossed them into the air. “What!”

Megan shook her head. “What a mess. So, obviously I didn’t stay there like he wanted me to. I got on a plane and came home and have basically just been trying to sleep since then.”

“This is just nuts.”

“I know.”

“What are you going to do?”

Megan wiped her eyes. “Whatever you tell me to do. I think I’m incapable of making this decision.”

“Oh gee, thanks.” Rachel forced a humorless chuckle and took a bite of her bagel. “Well, okay. Let’s break this down. So, first, he was never really cheating or acting shady with you because he never actually had an arranged marriage coming. That’s good. He lied about why he was coming for lessons and that’s bad, but not major. He called you in the first place to use you to get to your parents. That’s major. Though, like you said, he did stick around long after he knew you didn’t talk to them and that they had no money, so he kinda redeemed himself there. And you could argue that once he met you, his desire for wanting to use you faded. Or that’s what it seems like at least. Then he flies you to his palace for a magical weekend of dancing and glorious kissing. All good. Really good. Except that he’s still dragging out the wedding thing, so he willingly acted like he was cheating on her or whatever, which is kinda bad. But he chased after you to stop you from leaving, to confess the truth, and to tell you he loves you. That’s kind of epically romantic.”