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“Right.” Mariah sat on the bed, folded a pair of jeans for Jane. “You understand that you’re forcing me to eat a week’s worth of frozen dinners?”
Jane eased the jeans from Mariah and refolded them. “Dry fish sticks, watery mashed potatoes, mushy pea-and-carrot medley and fig compote?” She shrugged. “I don’t see the problem.”
“You may be a genius in the kitchen, but you have absolutely no compassion on my poor stomach.”
“I know. But I’ll be back before you know it.”
Mariah paused, realized how pathetic she sounded with all the Miss Lonely Hearts prattle. Seemed she relied on her friend too much. After her divorce from Alan, she’d clung to Jane as a sister, as a friend—the way she had when they were kids, when her parents had died and her feeble grandmother had given her a home but little else.
Mariah fell back on the bed. “Can I just say that your boss is pretty ballsy for making you go on such short notice?”
“It’s cash, M.”
Jane’s sudden serious tone and slight grimace made Mariah pause, ease up on the semiphony guilt trip. She knew Jane was saving up to open her own restaurant. It was her dream. And as her friend, Mariah wasn’t about to be anything but all-the-way supportive. “All right, but if your boss doesn’t compensate you big time for this, you know I can always sue him. Or, hey, I have a friend down at the board of health and he’s really into closing down Italian restaurants.” Mariah leaned on her elbows. “I think his brother was taken out by the mob or something.”
Jane laughed, shut her suitcase. “Thanks, M. I’ll think about it.”
“No you won’t. You’re too damn nice to think about it.”
She grinned. “So, I hear our new neighbor’s moved in. Have you met him yet?”
Mariah rolled her eyes. “Have I met him? You could say that.”
“What happened?”
“Let’s just say I was in rare form—there were bruises and razor-sharp banter on the menu.”
Jane laughed, sat down beside her. “Is he good-looking, or a toad like the last one?”
“Why are you asking me all this? You’ve met him, too.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Sure you have.”
Jane shook her head.
Mariah blinked at her. “Maybe you said hi in passing or something, because he knows you.”
“He knows me? What are you talking about?”
“He asked about you when he bumped into me—well, when I bumped into him. He wanted to know when you’d be home. It was like you’d met and talked and he was more than ready to ask you out.”
Jane sniffed. “That’s bizarre. Maybe Mrs. Gill told him about us, and after he met you he wanted to meet me…some neighborly, friendly kind of thing?”
“I dunno.” Mariah shrugged. “But whatever his story is, be careful. He’s trouble.”
“Why?” Jane slid her feet into a pair of pink flip-flops that were placed neatly by the foot of the bed. “Because he’s tall, dark and handsome?”
“For a start.”
All humor dropped away from Jane’s pretty face. She put a hand on Mariah’s shoulder and took a breath. “Listen, M, someday you’re going to have to see the world and every man in it with fresh eyes.”
Mariah bristled, looked away. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Yeah, all right, I do. But that day’s not today.”
“Okay.” Jane gave her a huge hug and said, “I’ll call you,” then stood, grabbed her suitcase and left the room.
After she had gone, Mariah headed into the kitchen to make herself one of the aforementioned TV dinners and contemplate her next move in the custody case she was working on. Her client’s ex was smart and had hidden his affairs well. It was going to take some serious digging to find anything she could use.
When the breaded fish and compote were ready, she went outside and sat at the pretty picnic bench Jane had set up on the brick patio. The backyard looked lovely bathed in the night’s light. Moon, stars, a few clouds…and soggy carrot-and-pea medley.
Ah, did it get any better than this?
“May I join you?”
Mariah gave a tiny jump, then glanced over her shoulder. Her new neighbor was walking through his patio doors toward her. He looked unbelievably handsome in the moonlight, with that dark-eyes-dark-hair-dark-tailored-clothes thing happening. He was also clean shaven, and it made all the sharp angles in his face look harder and sexier.
Her heart kicked to life in her chest, but she held fast to a calm exterior. “I have some square fish and a few peas left, if you’re interested.”
His mouth curved into a smile as he sat opposite her at the picnic table. “I am not very hungry, but thank you.”
“Just checking out the backyard? Or were you looking for someone?”
“Perhaps a little of both.”
“Jane’s not here.”
His gaze went thoughtful. “I did not say I was looking for Jane.”
“You didn’t have to.” Her tone sounded dry and acerbic, but he didn’t seem to notice.
He said, “Perhaps I was looking for you.”
Her heart literally fluttered. Foolish, foolish girl. “And why would that be?”
“Perhaps I wish to know more about this—” he studied her with a lazy, hooded gaze “—fiery woman who lives beside me.”
Fiery! She nearly blushed.
Nearly.
“Well, there’s not much to tell,” she said, running her fork back and forth through the fig compote.
“I doubt that.”
Lord, he had extraordinary eyes—so black, but flecked with gold. A woman could get lost in those eyes if she wasn’t careful. Good thing Mariah was careful.
“Listen,” she said with more regret in her tone than she would have liked. “I’ve got a ton of work to get to, so I’ll say good—”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“I’m a lawyer.”
His brow lifted a fraction.
“I help women who’ve been treated badly in their marriages get what they deserve.”
“Interesting. And what do they deserve?”
“It depends. But first and foremost, respect. If they’ve given up their careers to take care of the home, I help them gain financial stability. If they’ve been cheated on during their marriage, their self-esteem robbed from them, I help them find a new life. Which is just like the case I’m working on now—”
Mariah came to a screeching halt. What was she doing? This man was no friend, no confidant, and here she was about to tell him the ins and outs of her case.
“What were you about to say, Miss Kennedy?”
She stood and grabbed the remains of her dinner. “Nothing, just that I’m working on a case and I’d better get inside and get to it.”
She started to walk away, but he stopped her. “Miss Kennedy?”
She turned. “Yes?”
“You do not like men, do you?”
Walls shot up around her like steel plates. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “You make them sound like the enemy.”
She lifted her chin. “In court, they are.” And in life, her life, she thought, they weren’t terribly far from that. She gave him a little wave. “Good night, Mr. Fandal,” she said and headed into the house, where she could think and breathe again.
Moments later she had rid herself of “dinner” and was walking into the bathroom. What she needed was a long, hot bath, to get that man’s questions, comments and deliciously probing gaze out of her mind.
Hate men! What a notion.
Sure, she didn’t trust men, she thought as she turned on the hot-water tap and let the tub fill up. There was a big difference.
Peeling off her clothes, she spotted her reflection in the mirror and took a moment to look herself over. The view surprised her a little. Under those bargain power suits of hers lay a pretty nice figure.
Her hands found their way to her flat stomach, up her rib cage to her large breasts. Her skin was pale and so sensitive, and as she ran her fingers over her nipples, she wanted to cry. She hadn’t been touched in four years, and even then it had been seldom, as Alan had been far too busy making his mistress happy to help his wife find some pleasure.
She bit her lip. The truth was, she didn’t hate men at all. In fact, if the right one came along, she was ready to go crazy with desire. But the fear in her heart was stronger than her need, and she couldn’t imagine that changing anytime soon.
She turned away from the mirror and stepped into the hot bath.
Zayad cursed and pitched the bag of microwave popcorn across the room. The corn was black as night and had thoroughly stunk up the two-bedroom duplex he would be calling home for the next two weeks.
“I could hire a staff, Your Royal Highness.”
Zayad turned, his back to the kitchen counter, and eyed his aide and the closest thing he had to a friend—the man from whom he had borrowed his last name. “No, Fandal. I have told you there can be no show of wealth and consequence. And do not call me ‘Your Highness.’”
“Yes, Your—” Fandal lifted his chin. “Yes, sir.”
Zayad turned around, opened the cupboards, found nothing as simple as the popcorn was purported to be and moved on to the refrigerator. “I was hoping to bring something with me when I meet with my sister this evening. An offering, a meal. But alas, I am without.”
“Flowers are usually well received, sir.”
“I am to meet my sister, Fandal, not court the lovely Miss Kennedy.”
“Of course, sir.” With a quick bow of understanding, Fandal went to the bag of ruined popcorn and began to clean up the mess.
Court the lovely Miss Kennedy? Zayad sniffed. His mouth was without restraint. Perhaps because he could not get the woman out of his head after their little discussion in the yard. It was most irritating. She had looked so soft, so appealing, as she verbally annihilated her client’s ex-husband.
“May I say that the golden-haired woman seems unlike the women in our country,” Fandal remarked with just a hint of warning in his tone.
“She is at that.” Blond, fair, a lioness with claws outstretched. But something warned him that once tamed, once her anger was released and desire ruled her body, Mariah Kennedy would not let go those claws. “Not that I would pursue it, but I imagine an affair would not be casual with her. I fear that most American women want far more than a lover.”
“Is it not true for all women, sir?”
“Not the women of my acquaintance.”
“There was one.”
The words had slipped from Fandal’s lips far too easily. Zayad stopped short, his blood thundering in his ears at the memory of the woman who had left his company and that of her son with little regret. Turning around, he stood over a sheepish Fandal. “As you know, Meyaan did not want a true marriage. She did not want to share my life—or her son’s, for that matter. She wanted to benefit from my power and the comfort allowed by the riches of a sultan.” His chin lifted, though his ire sank deeper into his belly. “And she received both. But in the end I was the victor. I received the far more precious gift.”
His face still ashen from his foolish remark, Fandal had the good sense to turn the subject to Zayad’s child. “And how is His Highness?”
“Redet is well, happy at school.” Getting far too mature at thirteen. Zayad missed his little boy.
Just then a loud thud reverberated off the walls. Zayad and Fandal ceased talking. Glancing around, they listened for a clue to its origin. When none came, Zayad uttered, “What the hell was that?”
Fandal shook his head. “I know not.”
A woman’s cry came next.
“Stay here,” Zayad commanded. “I will go.”
“Your Royal Highness, it could be dangerous.”
“It is from next door. It could be my sister.”
“I will go with you.”
But Zayad was already at the door. “Do not leave this house, Fandal, or you will find yourself swimming back to Emand. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
