Millions To Spare

Chapter Fourteen

“This is our last night together,” said Harrison as he pushed the bedroom door shut.

An hour had gone by since they’d separated, and Julia’s heart gave a little hitch at the sight of him.

“It’s also our wedding night,” he continued, starting across the floor to where she was curled up in an armchair.

He came to a halt directly in front of her. “What do you suppose the odds are I’m staying out of your bed?”

Julia had finished reporting in to Melanie, so she set the cordless phone down on the end table.

“Slim?” she offered, as his gaze swept the simple gauzy, white dress she’d slipped on after her bath.

“Nil,” he responded, his attention returning to her face.

“Nil,” she agreed with a nod.

They might as well make the inevitable decision up front. Real life might start again tomorrow, but tonight was theirs if they wanted it.

He reached for her hands and drew them up to the light, turning them over to inspect the palms. “If they did this right, my initials are somewhere in here. Tradition says that I’m not allowed to make love with you until I find them in the pattern.”

“What if Rania and her mother did it wrong?”

His twinkling gaze met hers. “Then it’s going to be a very, very long night.”

She wiggled her feet out to where he could see them. “There’s more down there.”

“Not a problem. I’m a patient man.”

She couldn’t resist. “That really hasn’t been my experience so far.”

“Are you tossing out a dare?” he asked, with a teasing touch of incredulity.

She gave a little shrug. “Why not?”

His smile broadened, and he turned her hands to inspect the backs.

“Is it like a bridal shower?” she asked, remembering the surreal experience. “Rania and Habeeba talked at me the entire time. They had to know I didn’t understand a word.”

Harrison’s expression turned grim. “That’s really unfortunate.”

Julia became worried. “That they talked?”

“That you didn’t understand it. Arabs are very sensual people, Julia. Rania and Habeeba were imparting the wisdom of the ages. All the secret, erotic arts are passed down from generation to generation at the henna ceremony.”

Julia opened her mouth in mock dismay. “And I missed it?”

“Worse than that. I’m missing it.” He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Why couldn’t you have learned Arabic instead of French?”

She withdrew her hands and folded her arms over her chest. “Excuse me? Are you suggesting my erotic arts could stand improvement?”

“There’s nothing wrong with a little variety,” he deadpanned.

“Are you trying to ruin the evening?”

“I’d be happy to give you a few pointers. The groom gets an earful at an Arab wedding, too, you know.”

Really? Julia shimmied to her feet and gave him a saucy grin, pointing to her chest and putting a lilt in her voice. “On how to please me?”

He chuckled low. “You are one lucky woman.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that. She slid her palms up his chest, tipping her head and coming up on her toes for his kiss. “Go ahead, give me your best shot.”

“You sound like you’re planning to grade me in the morning.”

“You bet I am.”

“Okay,” he agreed. But instead of kissing her, as she’d expected, he tapped his index finger against her nose. “You wait here.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get the ropes and feathers.”

She felt her eyes go wide.

“Oh, baby,” he drawled.

He was joking.

He had to be joking.

But an unexpected excitement mixed with the trepidation in her belly.

She coughed out a laugh to cover it. “I have to wonder what the hell those people are doing out in the desert.”

“They’re definitely not smiling because of the dust and the camels.”

“You are not tying me up.” She truly didn’t think she’d like that.

“Don’t be a spoilsport.”

“Given my recent near-kidnapping experience, I have bondage issues.”

He pretended to contemplate the problem. “What about the feathers?”

She thought about that. Feathers didn’t sound awful. In fact, they sounded kind of…interesting.

“The blindfold?” he pressed.

“Maybe we should stick to you finding your initials.”

“We can start there,” he agreed, drawing her back into his arms. “Then we’ll negotiate the rest.”

He leaned down and kissed her mouth.

She reflexively parted her lips, tipping her head, fitting perfectly to the heat and suction of his mouth. Memories swamped her senses, and she felt as though she belonged in his arms.

He flipped open a button on her dress, then another, and another.

“One of the rules of henna,” he whispered between sensual kisses, “is that you have to be naked while I find my initials.”

“Now you’re just making things up.”

“I swear it’s true.”

In the end, it didn’t matter. Because Julia wanted to get naked for Harrison, and she wanted Harrison to get naked, too. She wanted to press her skin against his and hold on tight for as long as she could possibly get away with it.

He pushed the dress from her shoulders, and it slunk to the floor. Her bra and underwear were simple, white against her tanned skin. He gazed down along the line of her body.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed.

She’d always thought of herself as ordinary, but she liked the desire she saw reflected in his steel eyes.

Her fingers went to the buttons on his shirt. He was back in Western dress-a crisp, white shirt and a pair of gray slacks. She pushed the smooth button through the hole, remembering the play of muscles on his broad chest, even as she revealed them one more time.

When she got to the bottom, she tugged the shirttails from his waistband, separating the fabric and running her fingers over his warm, taut skin. She leaned forward to kiss his pecs, leaving a damp, shining circle.

He cupped her chin and tipped it up, his lips hot and mobile where they came down on her mouth. She fought the distraction, dislodging the button of his slacks.

One of his hands went to her back, unfastening her bra, the fabric slipping away even as his hand slid down below the waistband of her panties to knead her soft bottom.

Then he slipped off the panties and stepped out of his slacks. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the big bed, depositing her on a billowy, satin comforter.

He dropped to his knees, his strong hands sliding over her body, across her belly, over her thighs to her knees and her feet. He repositioned himself, gazing at the pattern on her left foot.

“H.W.A.B.R.W.” he muttered.

She curled up on her elbow. “I don’t think my foot’s that big.”

He ran his fingertip along the arch. “It doesn’t really matter. I can’t read Arabic. Ahmed translates for me.”

“Now there’s a flaw in the game plan.”

His finger stopped on the tip of her ankle. “This might be a letter.” He cocked his head. “Or maybe a flower.” He kissed the ankle. “A lily? A poppy? Or maybe a scroll?”

Julia smiled down at the top of his dark head, feeling calm for the first time in days. “I’m thinking this is going to take a while.”

In response, he promptly kissed her calf, then the curve of her knee, her thigh, her hip, then the crest of her breast.

Sparks sizzled through her body, and she gasped in a breath. “Wow.”

He pulled back. “Is this too fast?”

“You got something in between?”

He slipped onto the bed next to her and gathered her in his arms. “I can see this is going to be quite the challenge.”

“I’m a fickle woman.”

“Fickle is fine. There’s nothing worse than predictability.”

She slipped a thigh across his hip, holding him closer still. “I have tried very, very hard to keep your life exciting.”

“And I appreciate the effort.”

She smiled into his eyes. But suddenly she was overcome with the enormity of leaving him tomorrow.

They both slowly sobered, their breathing synchronized. The overhead fan whirred off the seconds, and his thumb drew circles on her palm.

“Do you feel married?” she asked him.

It took him a minute to respond. “A little bit.”

She nodded. “Me, too.” Then she paused. “It’s funny. I didn’t expect it. There was no dress, no ring, and they could have been reciting the Declaration of Independence for all I could tell.”

“They weren’t,” he said, his voice low with conviction.

Then he unexpectedly rose from the bed.

She was suddenly cold, almost frightened. “Harrison?”

But he came back quickly, something shiny in his hand.

She blinked it into focus and realized it was a diamond ring.

Her stomach contracted in a rush of emotion.

“It’s an heirloom, but we’ll need it tomorrow,” he said, reaching for her hand.

She watched him slide it over the knuckle of her ring finger, where the large, empress diamond sparkled against the henna pattern.

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” she said, feeling almost weepy.

“I don’t want any glitches going through Immigration,” he responded. “A bride without a ring may raise questions.”

She nodded.

That was very logical of him, and she was being silly in letting it get to her. This was still a marriage of convenience, and a very temporary one at that. Harrison belonged to Brittany, not to Julia.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked, peering into her eyes.

She shook her head and forced a smile.

He stretched back out on the bed, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her into the cradle of his body. She all but melted into his strength as his kisses found the crook of her neck.

She turned to face him, offering up her mouth. They melded together as their lovemaking took on a sense of urgency.

Deep in sleep, Julia whimpered in Harrison’s arms.

She twitched against him and thrashed her head to one side of the pillow.

“Shh,” he whispered in her ear, smoothing her hair, trying to soothe away her nightmare. “You’re dreaming.”

She whimpered louder.

“Julia,” he tried. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

Her foot kicked and she struggled to cry out.

He spoke louder. “Julia.”

She stilled. Her eyes blinked open in the dim light.

“You were having a dream,” he repeated.

In response, she turned and clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder, muffling her voice.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“We were in the helicopter again,” she hiccuped. “You were falling. And Muwaffaq was laughing and laughing.”

She drew a shuddering breath, and Harrison realized she was more rattled by the experience than he’d thought.

“Everything was in slow motion,” she continued. “I reached for you. I could see the patterns on my hands. They were codes. And I knew, I just knew, if I could only read Arabic, I could save you. But I couldn’t read Arabic, and you were falling…”

Harrison hugged her tight, his heart aching, her body feeling fragile in his arms. She’d been through so much, and she obviously hadn’t had enough time to recover. And he still felt the need to protect her. It wasn’t some kind of an on-off switch.

How could he send her away all alone?

“You’re safe,” he reassured her. “Nothing can happen here. I have security all over the stable.”

She nodded, but she was still shaking.

“And I’ll take you home,” he said, making up his mind.

He’d planned to buy her a first-class ticket to Lexington. But he’d take his own plane instead.

She drew a breath. “You sure the passport thing will work?”

“It will work,” he said, drawing back to reassure her with his eyes. “Besides, I’m coming with you to make sure.”

“You mean to the airport?”

He rested his head on his own pillow so they were eye to eye. “To Lexington.”

She didn’t say anything, simply blinked at him quizzically.

“I want to talk to the Prestons,” he lied.

While he did want to talk to the Prestons, there was no need to do it in person. His telephones were working just fine.

Truth was, he simply wanted to stay with Julia. He had no intention of examining the reasons why. He was just going with his instincts.

He’d get her safely back to Lexington, then he’d come back to Dubai and find out who the hell had attacked them in the desert, and why the police were interested in her. The subject wasn’t closed, not by a long shot. But he was getting her out of harm’s way before he stirred up anything else.

After a pause, she said, “I’m really glad you’re alive.”

He smiled at her. “So am I.”

“Who do you think they are?”

“Nobody who can get to you now.”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” she said. “Why are they scared of me?”

An excellent question. One Harrison had been pondering himself. “Maybe Muwaffaq poisoned Millions to Spare, and he knew you could identify him.”

“But why did he poison Millions to Spare? And how did he get the police to help him?”

“The same way I got the police to help me. Money.”

“He bribed them?”

Harrison didn’t believe for a second that Muwaffaq had the power or wherewithal to bribe the entire police force. “It could be that simple,” he told Julia.

“I’m glad he’s gone,” she said. “I’d rather he was in prison,” she hastily added. “But I’m glad he’s gone.”

“I’m glad he’s gone, too,” said Harrison. And he didn’t particularly care that the man was dead. Muwaffaq had likely murdered his horse. And it had been him or them, simple as that. Harrison would do it again if Julia was in danger.

“Nothing like this ever happens in Kentucky.”

He smoothed her hair back from her face, giving himself an excuse to touch her.

“Tell me about Kentucky,” he said, hoping to turn her mind to happier topics.

“It’s green,” she responded, relaxing into her pillow. “And it smells fresh all year long. There’s a creek off my deck, with trails along both banks. If I didn’t travel so much, I’d get a dog. He’d love the outdoors, and we’d walk for miles and miles.”

“What kind of a dog?”

“A Dalmatian. Or maybe a Labrador. Something with lots of stamina. I’d throw sticks in the water and Herman would retrieve them.”

“Herman?”

“It was my grandfather’s name.”

“Oh, in that case, great name.”

“What about you? Do you like dogs?”

“We have two golden retrievers at the house in Windsor.”

“Windsor?”

“It’s a borough just outside London. We have a lovely, little country estate there. It’s perfect for dogs and horses.”

“What are their names?”

“Alpha and Epsilon.”

“You don’t think that’s a little pretentious?”

“Maybe compared to Herman.”

She nudged him with her elbow. “Don’t you be messing with Herman. He’ll be sleeping with me long after you’re gone.”

“Maybe, but I suspect I’m a better kisser.”

She made a show of considering that statement. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

“So, aside from kissing dogs-” he kept the conversation going “-what else do you do in Lexington?”

“Tennis.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “There are courts in the park down the street, and a group of us in the condo development that like to play.”

“We’ve got some nice courts in Windsor.”

“On the little estate?”

Was it his imagination, or was there a thread of disdain in that question?

“Yes, on the estate. Do you have something against private tennis courts?”

“They take up a lot of space.”

“We have a lot of space.”

“I don’t. But I’m thinking of putting in a gazebo some day.”

“We have a nice gazebo.” He couldn’t stop himself from hoping she’d decide to come for a visit.

“Is there anything you don’t have in Windsor?”

He could think of one thing. Her. But he wasn’t about to say that out loud. “We don’t have an orchard.”

She sighed expansively. “How do you manage?”

“Quit being such a reverse snob. It’s a nice estate.”

“Apparently it needs an orchard.”

“Cherry trees,” said Harrison decisively. “Acres of little white blossoms followed by plump, purple, Bing cherries.”

“You could hang a swing from one of the trees.”

“That would be nice.”

“And your perfect daughter, in her little white dress and patent leather shoes, could swing back and forth while she watched you play tennis.”

“I’d beat you,” he said, putting Julia into the fantasy. “I’ve had lessons, and I have a longer reach.”

“You think I’m coming all the way to Windsor to play tennis?”

Harrison immediately realized what he’d done.

“Or I could come to Lexington,” he offered, to cover up the blunder.

“How often do you play?”

“Once or twice a month.”

“Ha! You’re on.” There was satisfaction in her voice. “I play three times a week.”

“Really? I’m up for a match. Care to make it a little interesting?”

She leaned up on her elbow. “What did you have in mind?”

He matched her posture. “You win, I build you a gazebo. I win, you name your dog Harrison.”

“You’d build me a gazebo? As in, cutting boards and hammering nails?”

“More along the lines of write a check to a carpenter,” he said honestly. “But, yes, I’d build you a gazebo.”

She smiled, and he realized in that moment that he’d do pretty much anything to make her happy. The realization was both exhilarating and frightening.

Julia struggled against cold, hard terror as they crossed the airport terminal, heading for the security check-in. She was about to present herself to the very people who’d been hunting her down. And all she had for protection was a little red book, along with Harrison’s assurance that the men with the guns would respect it.

“This way,” said Harrison, pointing to a short lineup off to one side of the security area designated for diplomats.

She felt like an imposter.

“Relax,” he murmured.

She nodded, but she could feel the sweat gathering on her palms.

They walked quickly up to the wicket, and Harrison handed the uniformed man both passports.

The guard swiped Harrison’s through a machine and pressed a button on his keyboard. He stared at the screen for a moment, pressed another button, stamped the passport and handed it back.

Then he swiped Julia’s.

His eyes narrowed, and he looked up at her.

He said something to Harrison in Arabic.

Harrison answered and produced their marriage certificate.

The man read the document. He typed something into his keyboard, and she could see the exact second he found her old identity.

He must have pressed some kind of secret alarm, because three more security guards descended on the little kiosk.

Harrison snagged her hand and squeezed. “Don’t worry,” he muttered.

She was past worrying. She’d gone straight to petrified. This was it. They were going to arrest her here and now.

The guards seemed to be arguing amongst themselves.

One of the new guards picked up a phone.

She wanted to ask Harrison what they were saying. But she was too afraid of the answer. All she could do was stand mute and watch four stern-looking Arabs decide her fate.

The guard set down the phone.

He shot a rapid-fire question at Julia.

Harrison answered.

He asked another.

Harrison’s expression and stance didn’t waver. He provided another answer.

That guard looked at Julia’s passport.

He read the marriage certificate.

Finally, scowling, he banged the stamp down on her passport and handed everything back to Harrison.

Harrison put an arm firmly around her shoulders and ushered her past the kiosk.

She didn’t say a word as they rounded the corner and moved out of sight.

“You’re through,” said Harrison with a squeeze.

Her legs were shaking, and she didn’t think she was capable of forming an actual word.

They turned down a narrow hallway and came to a podium with another guard.

“What’s this?” she asked hoarsely.

“Relax. We’re done. This is only to get into the private boarding gates. We’re taking my jet.”

“You have a jet?”

“I have a jet.” He gave his passport to the guard.

The man checked a list, smiled at Harrison, and let them through.

Julia couldn’t help looking back over her shoulder.

But nobody was coming after her.

She was out of the UAE.

She was going home.