- -
- 100%
- +
“Same as usual.” His gruff voice and glum expression rarely softened. “Too many fools in this business. Always looking for new cheaper ways to do things that have worked just fine for decades.” An engineer, he was often irritated by new technologies and methods. He asked her brother about his schoolwork, as usual. He never asked her about her day, which was a plus today since she couldn’t have said anything truthful about it.
“Help Faizal prepare an excellent supper tonight, dear.” Faizal was the cook who came over to make dinner every night. Her father fixed his beady gaze on her. “A friend of mine will be joining us.” He looked her up and down in a way that made her stomach muscles clench.
“That’s great. Is he a friend from work?”
“Not from the firm, no. He’s a supplier. Rivets and nuts.” He squinted at her for a moment. “Wear a color that suits your complexion more.”
She glanced down at the navy blue she’d worn all day. “Why?”
“That blue is rather draining on you. Something brighter would be more attractive.”
Dani stood speechless. This was the first time her father had expressed an opinion on her clothes. Was he planning to set her up with his friend? She wanted to ask but didn’t dare.
She’d assumed he saw her as such a social pariah that it wouldn’t be worth the bother of trying to marry her off again. Maybe he’d grown tired of having her under his roof and hoped to find someone who would take her off his hands. She hurried to her room, wondering if she could find an even less flattering color to wear.
Quasar hadn’t thought she looked washed out in the blue. The way he’d looked at her had made her feel as if she’d been glowing like a spring flower. His daring gaze made her feel desirable—and it made her feel desire. The memory of it made her blood hum.
Alone in her room she let herself dream about him for a moment. What would it be like to accompany him to his brother’s hotel/museum or whatever it was? People had said her ex-husband was good-looking—she’d thought so herself until she grew to understand his true character—but he had nothing on Quasar’s dramatic features and playful charm.
Of course, the man she’d just met was undoubtedly used to women drooling over him. He was probably shocked that she refused his suggestion that they meet again. If she were in America, without traditional rules to consider, would she have said yes?
No. She had to be honest. She wouldn’t have accepted an invitation from a strange man who gave every impression of being a playboy dilettante of the worst kind. Let him go charm someone else into making a fool of herself with him. Dani Hassan wasn’t making any more mistakes in the man department.
Changing into a dark forest-green dress with silver edging, she went back to the kitchen to help the cook prepare a traditional chicken dish with rice and vegetables. She wasn’t sure how the elderly Faizal felt about her assistance—Dani suspected he’d just as soon she butt out and leave him to his business—but joining him in the kitchen gave her an activity to look forward to, when there was precious little to do around the house all day.
She arranged the meal in the dining room, on the carpeted floor, Omani style, with more attention to detail than usual—artfully folded napkins, the prettier glasses—and waited with grim curiosity for her father’s “friend” to arrive. When he finally did, she hung back and waited in her room with headphones on, pretending to listen to music, until her brothers had been introduced and one of them was sent for her. The sight of her prospective beau made her heart sink.
“Daniyah, I’m delighted to introduce you to Mr. Samir Al Kabisi.” He was at least sixty, with thinning gray hair combed over a freckled scalp and a bulbous nose like a misshapen potato. His eyes were yellowish and his teeth crooked as he spoke the traditional greeting.
He didn’t extend his hand, so she bowed her head and attempted a smile. Did her dad seriously consider this man a potential partner for her? He must have a very low opinion of her worth.
On the other hand, maybe she had too high an opinion of herself. She didn’t know this man at all. He could be perfectly nice and here she was judging him entirely on his looks—or lack of them. Wouldn’t a kind and sensible man with a homely appearance be better than a gorgeous and dashing jerk?
She’d prefer the company of a good book.
“Do come in and have some coffee.” She kept her smile fixed while she served the fragrant hot drink in the ornate brass urn they kept for visitors. Her father engaged their guest in riveting conversation about the nuts and rivets industry, and he responded with brief comments in the rasp of a heavy smoker.
Dani wished she could go hide in her room. They stumbled through dinner with innocuous conversation about the city and a recent burst of new construction. After dinner her father leaned forward and pinned her with his gaze. “Mr. Al Kabisi was widowed seven years ago.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Uh-oh. Seemed like her father was finally getting to the point.
“He’s mourned his wife for many years but I’ve persuaded him that perhaps it is time to set the shroud of grief aside.”
Dani swallowed.
“Boys, come out into the garden with me for a few minutes.” Her brothers looked perplexed for a moment, especially Khalid, who probably wanted to go play with his Xbox, but they got with the program and followed her dad out of the room.
Alone in the room with this man more than twice her age, Dani had no idea what to say. He stood and cleared his throat. “I see no shame in a woman divorcing a man who is cruel to her.”
Her heart clenched. He must know her humiliating story. “That’s kind of you.” Now what was she supposed to say? She did see considerable shame in marrying a man old enough to be her father, whom she had less than nothing in common with, out of desperation. And she had no intention of doing so.
“I own my own business and my house. My three sons live and work in Muscat with their families, so I am all alone here. My income is—”
A desperate need to interrupt his sales pitch overcame her and she rose to her feet. “You’re very kind but I really don’t think—”
He rose, too, with considerable difficulty since they were sitting on the floor. His eyes bulged. “I am still potent.” His fetid breath stung her nostrils. “So have no fear that you will be neglected.”
Her dinner churned in her stomach. “I’m not ready to marry again. It’s too soon. I’m still...recovering.” She’d be in permanent recovery if this were the kind of prospect available to her.
At that exact moment she resolved to throw caution to the wind and take Quasar up on his invitation.
Two
Quasar emerged from the warm water of the pool with chlorine-blurred eyes. Sun shone on the sandstone surfaces of the elegant hotel buildings, and a light breeze ruffled the rows of majestic palm trees.
“Your phone’s ringing,” Celia, his brother Salim’s wife, called from beside the pool, where she was relaxing with Sara, the wife of his brother Elan. They’d just eaten a leisurely poolside breakfast and were planning a day of relaxation on the nearby beach. Quasar was soaking wet and bouncing his three-year-old niece, Hannah, on his shoulders. “I doubt it’s anything important. I’m taking a break from business.”
“Throw me!” Little Hannah could yell surprisingly loud for such a small human.
“I can’t. You can’t swim.” She’d watched him tossing her cousin and was desperate to join in the fun. He ducked down and almost dunked her, then rose up fast, making her scream.
“You’re so good with kids. You should have some.” Sara sipped her nonalcoholic cocktail. She was pregnant with her third child.
“Nonsense. I just need to spend more time with you guys. I think this is the first time we’ve all been together since Salim’s wedding. I’m not going to let that happen again.”
Salim and Celia lived in Salalah, with their children Kira and Basia. This hotel was the headquarters for his chain of luxurious resorts throughout the region. Elan and Sara lived in Nevada, where they ran their thriving fuel exploration business while raising Hannah and their son, Ben. Quasar was usually jetting around cooking up projects and it was rare for them all to make the time to relax. For the last decade he’d been so busy starting businesses and partying hard that he hadn’t had time to get bored. Now he was beginning to think he’d missed out on something. Something big.
He didn’t even have a permanent address right now. He’d sold his L.A. penthouse for a profit too good to refuse, and his worldly goods were in a storage unit near Hollywood. He’d recently bought a farmhouse in the hills near Salalah, but it had needed months of renovation so he’d barely spent any time there.
“It’s ringing again.” Celia peered at his phone, which sat on the table next to her. “Same number. Want me to get it for you?”
“Okay.”
She picked up his phone. “Quasar’s phone. Celia speaking.” Then she frowned. “They hung up.” She lifted a brow. “I hope I didn’t scare off one of your girlfriends.”
He swung his niece around until she shrieked loud enough to pierce his eardrums. “I don’t have any girlfriends.” Then he froze.
Dani.
What if she’d decided to call him, and now a woman answered his phone? “Let’s go dry you off, kid.” He carried his niece to the steps and climbed out, dripping onto the sandstone tiles. He dried his hands on his towel and snatched up his phone.
Celia leaned toward Sara. “I think he does have a girlfriend or two that he’s worried about.”
He didn’t recognize the number, but it looked local. He called it, and listened while it rang.
“Hello?” a shy, thin voice answered.
“This is Quasar. You just called my phone.” He didn’t want to say her name in case it wasn’t her. He’d made that mistake before.
“Hi. It’s Dani.” She hesitated, possibly wondering about the woman who’d answered his phone.
“I’m so glad you called.” He walked along the edge of the pool, away from his sisters-in-law. He could feel their eyes on him. “I was hoping you would. That was my sister-in-law Celia who answered.”
“Oh.” She sounded relieved. “I’d like to go see the museum pieces with you, if you’re still interested.”
“Absolutely. Is this afternoon good?” He didn’t want to wait and take a chance that she’d change her mind.
“Okay.”
“Excellent. If you give me your address, I’ll come pick you up.”
She told him that she preferred to meet him outside the vegetable stalls at the end of the street with the café. Apparently she didn’t want him coming to her house. And she had to be home by four, at the latest. It was all starting to sound intriguingly cloak-and-dagger.
“Sure, I’ll be there at noon.” His blood pumped a little faster at the prospect of seeing her again. He wondered if she’d wear the elegant traditional attire she’d had on yesterday, or something more Western. He was curious about her figure. He could already tell she was slim, but he had no idea about the cut of her hips, the shape of her legs, or the curve of her bosom. There was something to be said for that kind of mystery.
Still, he promised himself that he wasn’t going to make even the slightest hint of a move on her unless she showed signs of strong interest. He was a guest here in Oman and although he didn’t remember too much about the local customs, he knew that toying with a woman’s affections was a total no-no.
Unfortunately that didn’t dampen his enthusiasm one bit.
“Did I hear you say that you’re meeting someone this afternoon?” Sara asked. She was smoothing sunblock on her arm. “I thought we were doing a barbecue on the beach.”
“Something came up.” He tried not to reveal his excitement.
His willowy sister-in-law Celia tilted her head. “Is she very beautiful?”
“How do you know it’s not a dull business meeting?” He rubbed himself with the towel.
“The look in your eyes.” She smiled, but raised one of her slender brows, too. “Those dangerous blue eyes where a woman is likely to drown in passion.”
“I suspect most women are better swimmers than you think.” He swatted six-year-old Ben with a towel as he ran by. “And as it happens I’m taking her to see the restored oasis that you created.” Celia had first come to Oman as the landscape designer for the project. “She’s a historian specializing in this region so I think she’ll be interested in the artifacts you found.”
“I bet she will. Something tells me you don’t want to turn this into a family expedition where we all meet her.”
He smiled. “Not yet. I only just met her myself. I don’t want to scare her off.”
“Very sensible. Though maybe she should be a little scared. The press coverage from your latest shenanigans hasn’t even died down yet. Laura was creating a stir on Twitter this morning talking about her broken heart.”
Ouch. Meeting Dani had shoved his most recent girlfriend out of his mind. Unfortunately she was still in a lot of other people’s minds since she was a well-known actress with a talent for self-promotion. “I promise I didn’t really break her heart. She broke it all by herself. She’s one of those people who are in love with an impossible ideal of love. I don’t think anyone could make her happy.”
“In love with love?” Celia laughed.
Sara wandered over and sat down next to Celia on one of the elegant cushioned chaises that surrounded the pool. The shade of a nearby palm tree kept the sun off her face as she settled in. “Who’s in love?”
“Everyone’s in love with Quasar. It’s very trying for him.”
Sara shrugged and pulled off her T-shirt to reveal a turquoise bikini. “Not me. I’m still in love with Elan.”
Quasar draped his towel over the back of a chair and flexed his shoulders until they cracked. “And so you should be. He’s much more reliable than me.” His stolid, workaholic brother had hired Sara as his secretary and was suitably appalled when he fell in love with her.
“Nor me. I still love Salim.” Celia said it while looking at her husband, his oldest brother, who, incongruously dressed in a dark gray pinstripe suit, had just walked up to her and kissed her on the cheek.
Quasar watched in mock amazement. “We can tell. I never would have thought I’d see the mighty Salim indulge in public displays of affection.”
“The right woman can transform any one of us. Most likely when we least expect it.” Salim spoke with the quiet assurance of a prophet, his arms draped around his beautiful wife’s neck. “Even you.”
Quasar laughed. “Don’t be so sure.”
“He has a date this afternoon,” Celia said into her husband’s ear.
Salim straightened up. “Tell me she’s kidding.”
“It’s nothing to worry about. We both spoke English so we struck up a conversation.”
“Where?” Salim’s dark, penetrating eyes narrowed. Quasar drew himself taller under their accusing stare.
“A local bookshop.”
Salim stared at him while Elan jogged up, looking muscular and athletic as usual. “Quasar is the only man I know who can go out to buy a book and come back with a woman. Even in Oman.”
“I hardly came back with her in my pocket. She was interesting, that’s all. I have no intention of indulging in anything but conversation with her.”
Elan laughed. “I’m sure you’ve said that before.”
“Have a little faith in me.” Quasar grabbed Kira, Salim and Celia’s oldest, around the waist and swung her up onto his shoulders. “Kira has faith in me, don’t you?”
“What’s faith?” Kira lisped both words, looking confused.
“When you believe in something without having actual proof.”
Kira stared at him for a moment. “Like a fairy.”
“Yes. Like a fairy.”
Kira pushed her lip out. “I don’t believe in fairies.”
Quasar couldn’t help laughing as he set her down. “Thanks for nothing.”
Salim crossed his arms, looking sensible and invincible as ever in his suit. “Well said, Kira. An Al Mansur prefers some empirical evidence.” His stern features softened. “Would you like to come help Daddy in the office? I have some papers that need coloring in.”
“Yes please!”
Quasar stared after Salim and Kira, shaking his head, as his über-serious older brother walked off, hand in hand with the little girl he hadn’t even known existed until she was two.
“I’ve never seen Salim so happy. Nor you, Elan.”
“We’ve shared our secrets, brother. It’s all about finding the right woman.”
“And managing not to fire her or drive her away.” Sara winked.
Quasar thought for a moment. “There’s a theme here. You and Celia were both working for my brothers. Maybe I need to hire someone,” he teased.
Sara cocked her head. “And get her pregnant by mistake. Don’t forget that happened to both of us, as well.”
“At least that’s one thing I can’t be accused of.”
“Yet,” said Celia, smoothing sunblock onto her long legs with a wry smile. “Be careful. Obviously Al Mansur men are very potent.”
“Like I said, we’re just going to talk. She’s an Omani. There’s no question of us getting naked without elaborate negotiations involving goats and camels.”
“That’s a relief, then.” Celia leaned toward him and whispered. “Still, take a condom with you.”
“Sister, you shock me.”
She patted his arm. “Just speaking from experience.”
* * *
Dani arrived at the fruit-and-vegetable market a full ten minutes before noon. She didn’t want to take a chance of getting held up and missing their meeting. She busied herself looking over the stalls full of fragrant limes, garlic and bright piles of carrots. Young children darted around their mother’s legs, making a game of tagging each other with their blue plastic shopping bags. She was trying to look busy testing the freshness of oranges at a citrus stall when something told her to look up.
Her gaze fell on Quasar, striding along the dusty street, chin high, gaze fixed intently on her. Dressed in white linen pants and shirt, he looked as cool and fresh as a tall glass of water.
She braced herself, hoping he wouldn’t draw attention to them by calling out her name. She put down the orange and walked to meet him, keeping her gaze averted.
Luckily he was discreet. “Good afternoon,” he said quietly. Her eyes wandered to his lips, and imagined them kissing her hello. Which mercifully didn’t happen.
“Good afternoon. Almost afternoon. We’re both early.” Her heart fluttered with excitement, which was silly since she barely knew this man. The sun had kissed his skin a shade darker since yesterday, making his incongruous blue eyes shine even brighter. Even white teeth glittered in his wolfish smile. He looked like trouble. If she had any sense she’d make up an excuse and run for home right now.
But she didn’t.
“My car is parked around the corner.” He seemed as if he were about to thread his arm through hers, or put his hand at her waist, but he hesitated, aware of the conservative local customs. The unmade gesture ratcheted up the tension between them. Her body hummed with both the desire to be touched and the fear of it. She walked beside him self-consciously as he led her to a silver Mercedes, already covered in a fine film of inevitable dust, and opened the passenger door for her. “I’m so glad you’re coming out to the resort. I haven’t been there since my brother Salim’s wedding.”
“I bet it was spectacular.”
“Oh, it was. Salim doesn’t do anything by halves.”
“I bet you don’t, either.” She snuck a glance at his bold profile as he pulled out onto the road.
“I do tend to throw myself into things.”
“Until you grow bored with them.” She regretted the words as soon as she’d said them. It sounded like she was scolding him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Except that you’re right.” He shone those fierce blue eyes on her. “I have been accused of having a short attention span. I prefer to think that there are just so many things to do that I can only devote so much time to each one.”
No doubt he felt the same way about women. He could never pursue a proper relationship with her since she was a divorcée and wouldn’t meet his obviously demanding brothers’ criteria for wife material. On the other hand, he might have no qualms about having an affair with her. She had to be careful to resist his charms.
They drove through a cultivated grove of date palms, then out of the city into the desert. She snuck furtive glances at him while he drove, taking in the sharp cut of his aristocratic features, and the sensual curve of his mouth. Resisting his charms might take some doing and she’d better take the resisting seriously since her heart was still in repair mode from her one and only serious relationship. The last thing she needed was to get it bruised or broken again by this man.
She resolved to keep her eyes focused out the window. The desert landscape was hypnotically minimalist, with its subtle colors and bold blue sky. The fog-shrouded mountains rose up ahead of them, and the landscape changed dramatically as they drove up into the lush green oasis of plant and bird life that made Salalah a tourist destination during the annual rainy season. Right now it was June, dry and sunny, in between the spring rains and the summer downpours that got underway in July.
Quasar kept the conversation rolling with no apparent effort. They chattered about the lifestyle differences between Oman and America, and the bond deepened between them as they agreed that it was hard to move from one country to the other without severe culture shock.
“So you haven’t really lived in Oman at all.”
“I haven’t lived here permanently since my mom died. My dad packed Elan and me off to boarding school overseas. I was young enough to adapt easily. I never really looked back.”
“You didn’t miss your family.”
“I didn’t miss my father. He was very strict and kind of mean. I guess I’m not the type to get hung up looking for Daddy’s approval. I made friends and moved on.”
“And you’ve been moving on ever since.”
He turned to her. “You think my nomadic lifestyle is the result of childhood psychological trauma?” He sounded serious, but she saw a twinkle in his eye.
She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She wondered what depths lay beneath his cocky exterior. Was there a wounded little boy craving approval and love? “Where is home for you?”
He shot her a glance with those piercing blue eyes. “Good question. Until recently it was L.A., but I just sold my condo there. Right now the only place I own is a house out in the desert here. I don’t know if I’d call it home since I just had it renovated, but I bought it as a place to put down some roots and reconnect with my heritage, so maybe I’m heading in the right direction.”
“Or the wrong direction.” She laughed. “Do you really think Oman is your home now, or are you more comfortable in the United States? I feel more of a stranger here these days than I did in New Jersey. Moving around the world hasn’t made my life easier.”
“How did you end up in America when your family is still here?”
“My story’s not so different from yours. I was sent to live with my aunt in New Jersey when my mother died. The idea was that I would go to college there then come back and work in my father’s engineering firm while pursuing a suitable husband. I don’t think it occurred to my father that I could just switch majors and stay there.”
“Did he mind?”
“He went ballistic when I told him I wasn’t coming back to Oman. It took me a long time to pluck up the courage to admit that I’d majored in art history instead of engineering. Since I paid the bill myself with an inheritance from my mom he didn’t find out until it was too late.”
She saw a smile tilt the edge of Quasar’s mouth. “So you’re a bit of a rebel.”
“Only a very tiny bit.”
“I wonder.” He gave her a mysterious look.
She had been a rebel in choosing to chart her own course in life. The fact that she’d been blown right off it and ended up back here again made her wonder about her choices. She planned on sticking closer to the straight and narrow from now on. A degree in engineering certainly would present a lot more employment opportunities than her currently useless art history Ph.D.