Chapter Four
Twenty years ago...
The autumn light trickled like honey through the red and gold leaves on the trees, and Laurel danced through the crisp breeze like a fawn. In her maroon dress, black boots and long, lacy black cardigan, there was something a little witchy about her, a thought that she rather liked. She knew that in a few short years, her job would mean dressing professionally and dealing with people who would judge her by what she wore, but that was a ways off yet. She would dance where she could.
Of course, for a truly wonderful dance, she needed a partner, and she spied her favorite one straight ahead, sitting on a low brick wall, eating an apple with one hand while using the other to look at his book.
Laurel slowed her steps until she was padding along silently, and with all the stealth of a natural born predator, she sneaked up behind him, her eyes intent. She was just reaching forward to throw her arms around him, but then he caught her handily. He wrapped her up in a tight hug that pinned her arms to her sides, and he gave her a grin that was all flashing white teeth.
"You are going to have to do better than that." His voice was grave, but his eyes, that velvet black that had initially captured her, danced with humor.
"Well, that all depends on what I am doing."
Before he could figure out what she was talking about, she stretched her neck and took a small, tidy bite from his apple.
He laughed outright at that and reluctantly let her go, inspecting his violated apple.
"Well, that does feel like something we should be covering in tactics soon," he mused, and she laughed.
"Well, you're in luck. My dad discusses victory through diverse means next week."
"I am fascinated to hear another Garibaldi's take on your thesis," Bassam said, and she laughed again.
She never laughed as much as she did when she was with Bassam, she thought. There was something about this man that brought out the joy that was such a deep part of who she was and what she wanted from life itself. At the age of nineteen, she felt strong and vital, true and wild, and this was the man who made her feel more herself.
"If you're a little impatient about it, you should come home to dinner with me tonight," she said, looping her arm through his. "I came out looking for you especially to offer."
He looked at her, surprised. "I didn't know your father cared for me enough to invite me to dinner. I thought that was an honor reserved especially for his most promising students."
She reached up to tap his nose gently with one fingertip.
"And what makes you think that's not you?" she asked with a bright laugh. "Say yes. It's always such a good time, well, it is if you like military tactics and politics, I guess. And besides, I will be there."
He gave her an unimpressed look, but she could see the smile that trembled at the corner of his lips. It always made her want to kiss him, but as she had always been told, kissing would inevitably lead to other things, and she still wasn't sure she was ready for that.
"And is that supposed to tempt me?"
"I don't know," she said flirtatiously. "Does it?"
"I confess I am tempted. What time?"
"Six this evening. Don't be late, my father hates that."
She skipped away because she had a list of errands to run before she could get to the library and properly start her studying. Despite the time crunch, she couldn't resist a look over her shoulder as she walked away.
Bassam hadn't moved from his spot, and his book and apple dangled forgotten by his side. There was a look on his face that made her draw her breath in sharply. There was a terrible longing and need there, and it was so powerful that she didn't know what to do with it.
She ran.
Laurel turned and ran because if she stayed, who knew what might have happened? The truth was that even as she ran, she knew the answer to that question. If she had gone back, if she had gotten within reach of the mysterious foreign student, she knew she would have reached for him, touched him, kissed him. She would have fallen into his arms, and then she would have said yes to whatever he asked of her.
***
Bassam watched after Laurel's receding figure, and when she was gone from sight with no chance of return, he sighed and shook his head.
He had known from the first that she was trouble. There was something about her that got under his skin, and once she was there, she refused to be excised, no matter how much he told himself that she was off limits.
That first day in Military Politics, he had been taken with the serious-looking girl who sat at the rear of the class. She was one of four women in the class, and unlike the rest, she was dressed as if she had wandered in from an art class. She seemed to grasp the topic with an innate understanding, however, and he found that when it came to discussions, she was the one he invariably agreed with.
The penny hadn't dropped until he caught her chatting with Professor Garibaldi after class. They were standing close enough that he felt a dark suspicion run down his spine, and then when she reminded him to be home on time as she was cooking dinner, he realized that they were in fact father and daughter.
"So the professor is your father?" he had asked, and she turned to him, eyes bright as a northern lake in full summer.
"Why, are you angling for a better grade?"
Bassam had been so shocked by her question that he was at a loss for words, and then at her bright laugh, he realized she was joking.
That set a pattern for them. She laughed and teased and danced around him like a flame. Every time he thought he could grasp her, she flickered away again, leaving him wanting her even more.
Things were simpler in Shajae. He was known there as the second son of the sheikh, a man who was perhaps lesser than his father and his brother, but still a force to be reckoned with. He still commanded attention, he still was known for his power and wealth. In the United States, he was a foreigner, and though he was known to be a wealthy one, well, there were many wealthy students at this East Coast school.
He still felt as if he was finding his place after making the perhaps rash decision to go to school in the States, and through it all, his desire for Laurel Garibaldi was only growing fiercer and fiercer.
The Garibaldi household turned out to be a small, neat house close to the campus. He appeared at the door at six on the dot, wondering if his flowers were too much. In Shajae, no one ever went visiting without bringing flowers, but he had already figured out that things were very different in the United States.
To his relief, it was Laurel who answered the door. Her grubby art student clothes had been tucked away and replaced with a casual black dress with a wide, bell-like skirt.
"Ooh, daises, how lovely," she crooned, taking them away from him. "Thank you so much! Come in, I'll get you something to drink as soon as I put these in some water. I have juice, tea, coffee and water of course. We do not keep alcohol in the house..."
"Had a problem with the stuff when I was your age, and now I don't touch it."
The second voice was a familiar growl, and almost as if by magic, the elder Garibaldi appeared by his side, a slight smile on his saturnine face. Wendell Garibaldi was a lean man with hair a shade or so faded from his daughter's chestnut. They had the same blue eyes, but where hers sparkled with creativity and wit, his were more akin to a laser, cutting precisely where he wished.
"I see my daughter managed to find you easily enough," he said, and when the older man looked him up and down, Bassam felt as if he were being evaluated in some way.
"Yes, earlier this afternoon. Thank you so much for the invitation, sir. It is very welcome after spending most week nights on my own."
The conversation did eventually grow more fluid as more students arrived. They trailed in for the next half-hour, and when he was helping Laurel put out the dishes, he glanced at her with a small amount of curiosity.
"I thought you said your father hates lateness," he said, and she grinned at him.
"Well, I know he's not fond of it. I might have overstated his intolerance, however. I just wanted to make sure that you made a good impression."
Bassam thought about what she might mean by that, and for just a moment, he nearly gave in to his urge to kiss her. However, with her father just in the next room, even if he was distracted greeting another professor and some other students, it seemed like the exact wrong thing to do.
Dinner was a lively and convivial experience, with Professor Garibaldi holding court over a number of diverse opinions and experiences. He encouraged the quieter of the group to speak more freely, and he was never shy about knocking back those who thought they could press their views upon others. Bassam had always held Professor Garibaldi in high esteem, but now he could feel that regard increase even further.
The evening would have been pleasant and engaging on its own, but then Laurel was seated to his right. She was like a sparkling jewel, glittering raptly but never afraid to offer her own opinion. Where her father was a steady fire, she was a firecracker, bright and brilliant. He admired her wit and her wisdom, but there was another part of him, one that was hardly fit for company, that persisted in thinking how lovely she was, how her coppery hair shown against her dark dress, how slender her neck was and how, despite her sweet, almost-girlish face, there was a real woman's body underneath.
After dinner, there was talk about continuing the discussions in the small house's modest library, but then Laurel looped her arm through Bassam's, much as she had earlier that day. For some reason, he could feel an electric tingle run through his body at her gentle touch, and for a moment, he simply stared at her in surprise.
If Laurel noticed the electricity at all, she gave no sign. Instead, she waved to her father cheerfully. "Bassam said he would take me to coffee after dinner and tell me all about politics in Shajae. We're leaving now."
Professor Garibaldi raised an eyebrow and gave his daughter an unimpressed look. It was clear that he wasn't fooled, but when he turned an eye towards Bassam, there was a greater warmth there than Bassam had found since coming to the United States.
"Of course you are. Well, I hope you two have a thorough and engaging discussion on the matter."
"Yes, Professor," Bassam said, and he was pleased when he did not stutter in the least.
When they were walking out to Bassam's car, he shot Laurel a dire look.
"So I see that you like to spring surprises on people? At the very least, I do not remember telling you that I wanted coffee and a political talk after dinner."
"Well, I am full of surprises," she said with a laugh, and then to Bassam's further surprise, she looked at him, her gaze shy.
"At least...is that all right? I really don't want to...to push you into anything that you don't want to be involved with, and maybe you would have a better time just going home...?"
Who knew, she is shy, he thought, and in that moment, something opened in him, something that had always existed but was only now coming out. He felt strangely tender towards the brave girl, and the idea of making her upset or teasing her while she was actually vulnerable and afraid lost all fascination for him.
"That's more than all right," he said reassuringly. "I like women who can surprise me."
She still looked a little shy, but her smile was slightly bolder then.
"All right," she said, tilting her chin up in a way that he found strangely adorable. "Then let's get to it. No use hanging around here, right?"
"Of course."
She stepped into his car with the grace of a born princess, and they were off.