The Sheikh's Triplet Baby Surprise, Page 32

  “Good,” he replied before capturing her mouth in a gentle kiss. As he moved to deepen it Morgan pulled away, trying to slow down her beating heart.

  “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I’m a professional, on the clock, and my job has come to an end. I think I should probably go home now,” she said, daring to look back into those dark, piercing eyes.

  Hassan leaned in again, and she could feel his breath on her neck. “Well I think that makes you officially off the clock, doesn’t it?”

  “I…” Morgan whispered.

  Nothing more was said as Hassan slowly made love to her above the desert. Morgan had never felt such passion, such wild abandon as they united beneath a blanket of stars.

  Afterwards, Hassan pulled a blanket over them and cradled her body with his own, warming her against the cool desert air. She fell asleep wrapped in his embrace, feeling safe for the first time in a very long time.

  NINE

  Morgan awoke to a stabbing sensation against her hip. Tiny rocks were digging into her side, invading the beautiful bubble she had been enjoying in the comfort of Hassan’s arms. She felt him shift, and rolled over to face him. In the light of the breaking day, he was even more handsome than in the moonlight, and she couldn’t stop herself from running a thumb over his growing stubble.

  “You’ll have a full beard in no time,” she said, and Hassan chuckled, pulling her in close.

  “I’m not that wild…yet,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose and nuzzling her closer. “Thank you for sharing this place with me, Morgan,” he said, running a hand along her bare back.

  Morgan sighed. It was one of those moments she never wanted to end, but she could feel time’s inexorable movement forward. She would have to get back to Houston, find new clients, make a living for herself.

  “What are you going to do now?” she asked, keeping her head pressed against his muscular chest.

  Hassan chuckled again. “That’s the beauty of it. Whatever the hell I want,” he said.

  Morgan thought about that. She thought about this strange, compelling man who would give up wealth and titles for a life on the road, sleeping under the stars, pursued by skinheads. She wondered if she could do it, and immediately knew the answer. This wasn’t the life for her. She wanted some security, at least.

  After a long moment, Hassan rose and dressed, handing Morgan her own clothing. In the light of day, she tried not to be shy, but couldn’t help but smile at the glances Hassan cast her way as she dressed. It was nice to feel wanted. Between searching for jobs and generally not being able to stand most men, Morgan had been alone for a very long time.

  She took one last glance out at the desert before turning back down the path to the shack. Hassan reached for her hand, and they casually strolled down the hill and back to his bike.

  “I hope my car’s still in one piece,” she joked.

  Hassan grinned. “Should be, though with people like me running around, once can never be too sure.”

  “I think we’d all be better off if there were more people like you running around,” Morgan said.

  “Well you might just be the first,” he laughed.

  It was then that Morgan remembered something—a message she was supposed to pass on.

  “Um, I have a message for you—from Channie,” she said, and Hassan’s eyebrow lifted. Morgan put up her hands. “I know, I know, probably not kosher to bring up an ex-fling right after…well. Anyway, she told me that she wanted to say thank you, and she’s sorry. She didn’t say anything beyond that,” Morgan said, her words falling out at once.

  Daring to glance up at Hassan, she found his expression thoughtful.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Channie was going through a tough time, and I was able to help her out. I’m glad to hear she’s doing better.”

  “She seemed good to me,” Morgan said, trying to push down the gentle pang of jealousy. She barely knew this guy; there was nothing to be jealous about.

  “And how are you, Morgan?” he asked, approaching her slowly.

  She gulped. “Never better,” she replied, fighting her body’s instant response to him.

  Hassan grinned and held out his helmet for her to take. “Good. Now let’s go make sure your car’s still there, shall we?”

  Morgan gladly jumped on the bike after Hassan, squeezing his middle tight, not wanting to let go. There was something about him that she wanted to hold on to, even though she knew there was no way she could. This wasn’t the kind of life she wanted for herself, no matter how handsome and charming the company would be.

  She closed her eyes, breathing in the dry desert air, already warm so early in the morning. She savored the moment—the last she’d probably spend with Hassan—and before she knew it he was pulling into the parking lot of the bar.

  Hassan was right. There were a few other vehicles still parked in the lot, waiting for their owners to come back for them, and Morgan’s car was in perfect shape. Hassan pulled the bike right up next to it and turned off the engine. They both hesitated before pulling apart and dismounting.

  Hassan leaned back against the motorcycle, gazing at Morgan one last time.

  “It was really nice to meet you, Morgan,” he said. His grin was sheepish. Based on the night before, they had done much more than meet each other.

  “You too, Hassan. Are you sure you won’t come back with me?” she asked, figuring she might as well try one last time. She was going to have to place a difficult phone call to his parents if he turned her down again, which, inevitably, he did, shaking his head sadly.

  “I can’t. That world doesn’t belong to me anymore, and I don’t belong to it, either. I’m a different person now, and I’ll never know if I go back there. I’m sorry, Morgan,” he said, grasping her hands in his before pulling her into a fierce hug. “I wish I could, if only so that I could see you again,” he breathed into her hair.

  Morgan held onto him tight. To say they had only experienced one night of passion together, he felt like her only lifeline. Hassan made her feel things she had never experienced with anyone; she barely knew him, yet somehow she felt like she knew him, the real him, better than anyone else on Earth.

  Reluctantly, she pulled out of his embrace, but he captured her chin and forced her to look into his dark, piercing eyes.

  “Take care of yourself,” he said, and she gave him a small smile. He planted one last kiss on her lips then—gentle, tender—and strode back to his motorcycle.

  Sighing, Morgan unlocked her car and got into the driver’s seat, turning on the engine and heading back in the direction of Texas. She couldn’t help but glance in her rearview mirror the whole way, watching Hassan’s silhouette disappear behind her.

  What a night. What a week. Suddenly a wave of exhaustion washed over her, and she rubbed her eyes, surprised to find tears in them.

  Get it together, she chided herself. She was crying over a man she’d only just met; a man who was an assignment, no less. Maybe she was more upset that she had failed in her mission, and would now have to face the consequences. That’s what she told herself, at least.

  ***

  Having blasted music to keep herself awake until she reached Lubbock, Morgan pulled off at a small motel on the outskirts of town. She ordered a room and plopped onto the bed, next to the phone.

  Taking a breath, she picked up the receiver and dialed Ahmed’s number.

  “Hello?” his voice said on the other line, answering after only two rings.

  Damn, Morgan thought; she’d secretly been hoping it would go to voicemail so she could delay a little longer.

  “Ahmed? It’s Morgan,” she said, ignoring the squirming sensation in her stomach. She’d thought about what to say during the car ride, but her speech had suddenly disappeared from her mind.

  “Morgan! So good to hear from you. How are things? Did you find our son?”

  There was so much hope in his voice. Morgan took a breath and plunged in.

  “I did, sir. He is sa
fe and doing well…”

  “That’s wonderful! I knew you could do it!” Ahmed interrupted.

  Morgan plowed on. Better to rip off the Band-Aid…

  “But he has decided to not return.”

  Silence. Morgan waited for several seconds, wondering if Ahmed had dropped the phone. Then he spoke.

  “Did he tell you why?” Ahmed asked, his voice cold, and Morgan felt a surge of defensiveness for Hassan. What was with these people anyway? Couldn’t they respect their son’s choice?

  “He told me he is not ready to return, and is not sure when that time will come. I’m sorry,” she said, but Ahmed cut in again, and this time his voice was laced with anger.

  “We pay you a year’s salary to find our son, then somehow you can’t convince him to have the decency to see his parents? But you’re sorry, so I suppose that makes it all right?”

  Morgan closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. She told herself that Ahmed was hurt by his son’s decision, and that was why he was acting out. It would do no good to fight him on this.

  “I will send the money back to you as soon as I get back to Houston.”

  “Don’t bother,” he hissed.

  Morgan could hear Almera weeping in the background. She felt absolutely terrible.

  “Apparently there is no one strong enough to make Hassan do his job as a son and as future sheikh. There is nothing we can do,” he said, and the phone went dead.

  Well that went about as well as could be expected, Morgan thought, rubbing her eyes, which felt like sandpaper. While she had enjoyed her night in Hassan’s arms, clearly she hadn’t gotten as much sleep as she’d thought.

  Rolling over onto the bed, she grasped onto a pillow and held it tight, pretending for just a moment that it was Hassan in her arms. For a moment she questioned whether she could have tried harder, even manipulated him to get him back home. As much as Ahmed’s words had stung, she knew he truly missed and worried for his son. Ahmed and Almera were good people—that were used to getting their own way. In time, she hoped, they would come to understand and maybe even support Hassan’s decision.

  Until then, Morgan tried to think toward the future. This case was closed, and there was no point in dwelling on the past.

  It was time to move on.

  TEN

  Two Months later

  Morgan was in over her head.

  That seemed to be the case more often than not, these days. Leaning against the cold brick of a Chinese restaurant, her gun nestled in a small holster at her side, she took a peek into the window.

  Cheap chandeliers hung from the ceiling. A series of tables with white cloths were scattered around the empty dining area, though Morgan could see a girl sat alone, in the center.