Chapter Seven
Laurel was certain she had only closed her eyes for a short moment. When she got up, she would go to one of the other rooms, or perhaps she would be calm enough to join Ben and see what he was watching.
She certainly should not have awakened to someone trailing a rough, blunt finger down her cheek, making her smile just a little and turn towards it. It was a small pleasure, but there was something ridiculously delicious about it. It made butterflies open their wings in her stomach, and then she opened her eyes and gasped.
At some point, she had stretched herself fully out on the bed, but it was so large that there was plenty of space for Bassam to stretch his long length on it too. This close to him, the scent of sandalwood and musk was even stronger. At some point, he had showered. His hair was slightly damp, and he was wearing the loose linen trousers and tunic that so many men in Shajae wore. His were a dark charcoal gray, and the edge of the tunic rode up his torso, displaying an inch of muscle underneath.
She realized abruptly that he was still touching her cheek, and with a soft sound, Laurel jerked away.
"What are you doing here?" she hissed, remembering at the last moment to keep her voice low. She listened for a moment, and to her relief, she could still hear a movie going on in the background.
"That is a very funny question for you to be asking, given the fact that you are resting in my bed in my room," Bassam said practically. "I would imagine that a journalist of your great expertise would be able to determine that this was the master bedroom and not a guest room."
"I'm not perfect," she said, refusing to back down. She had definitely brazened herself out of difficult situations before, but she was sure that none of them had involved the other party resting so close to her, smelling so good or gazing at her with that particular blend of amusement and predatory interest.
She started to get up. Perhaps some distance between them would let her get some perspective on the matter. Maybe she would not be so inclined to smile at him, and to return the soft touch on her cheek to his. At least, that was what she had in mind before he casually draped his arm over her belly. She could still feel the immense power and strength of him.
Laurel knew she could fight her way out from under the arm, or that she could even ask him to lift it and he would, but for some reason, the idea of doing so just seemed so...tiring. She let it stay where it was for the moment and turned her head to look at him.
"I take it that's Ben in the living room still."
"It is. I had a particularly enlightening talk with him when I came in."
Laurel frowned. She figured that a ten-year-old boy and the sheikh of Shajae would have very little to say to one another, but apparently she was mistaken. "What about?"
Bassam half-shrugged. "He'd made his way through two of the American action movies he found, and he was slightly at a loss until I recommended one of my favorite Saudi series from when I was his age. It's not amazing, but it's full of satisfying explosions and bad guys dressed in uncomplicated black. He's got the first one in right now, and that should keep him engrossed for at least a few hours."
Laurel blinked. "Two movies? God, I was out for a while..."
"You were tired. Relax. I can feel the tension strung throughout your body."
She very nearly did as he said, but then she remembered that she was in fact not that twenty-year-old girl anymore, and what he had done.
"Actually, I don't think I will," she said, rolling out from under his arm and sitting up. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or irritated that he stayed where he was, stretched out like a lordly lion on the mattress next to her.
"Your loss, the mattress is quite comfortable."
There was something light about his tone, something that said he was making fun of her, but Laurel shook that aside for the moment.
"I am an American journalist, and I refuse to be detained unless you are filing charges against me," she said, lifting her chin. "I know US and Shajae policy, and that means if you are detaining me, I have a right to talk to the embassy."
"Is that really true?" he asked guilelessly. "The legal part is true, I do know it well, after all, but what about that part about being an American journalist?"
She froze, because of course he would have that information.
"You see, in order for someone to declare that they are a journalist, they should have the correct visa for the job. They should have documentation that tells the world exactly what kind of publication they work for, who pays them, to whom they are accountable."
He paused.
"Do you have any of that?"
Laurel glared at him, because he knew what the answer was without asking her. After a moment, he continued.
"You entered Shajae on a tourist visa," he said, his voice utterly bland. "It is easy enough to do, after all, and as far as I can tell, it has allowed you to do exactly as you like, including renting transportation that took you out to Elsiin, an area that most sensible people know to avoid."
"Well?" Laurel demanded. "What are you going to do? So I worked on a tourist visa. That's something plenty of college students do when they are passing through to earn some mad money. I'm no different from the students that pick up a bartending job while they are here studying."
Bassam sighed, for the first time letting some frustration into his gaze. He leaned up on his elbow, and this time, his gaze was dark and sharp, something that could cut her if she was not careful.
"As a matter of fact, when it is discovered that someone is working under a tourist visa, we tend to fine them and then force them to apply for the appropriate visa if they want to stay in the country. You, however, would not ask for a worker’s visa, would you? You would be looking for a press pass."
She bit her lip, and he nodded grimly.
"Which, without a recognized news agency behind you, by the laws of Shajae, you would not be able to procure. So. With that lack, given the fact that you have blithely been trespassing here doing exactly as you pleased for the last two months, my thoughts might slide toward darker alleyways."
Laurel did her best to keep her voice level. She prayed that Ben, with the focus of a ten-year old, was still watching television.
"Say what you are accusing me of," she snapped. "Don't draw it out as if you were a cat playing with a mouse."
"I am saying that it would not be illogical to accuse you of espionage," he growled, sitting up. "What the hell were you doing in Elsiin?"
"An interview," she said, keeping her voice calm.
"With a known terrorist?"
"With a man who wanted to tell his story," she corrected him, lifting her chin. "That man had killed no one, harmed no one. He drove. He saw things. He was planning to defect."
Bassam snorted. "You expect me to believe that? He is a known supplier for the terrorists, yes, and one is like any other."
"So you say. He deserves to have his story told. It humanizes, it—"
"It could lend support to terrorists who have made attempts on the safety of Shajae." There was something dark and dangerous in his eyes. "That is what you were risking. You were primed to tell the story of a man that could rally others to his cause, and his cause is unrest and trouble in my country. Terror is his business, Laurel. You cannot possibly be this naive."
"I am not a fool as you seem to think I am! He was planning to defect. He was ready to tell a story that would destroy whatever support those terrorists had—"
"Excuse me if I think that you will use whatever story comes to hand to get your foot back in the door," Bassam said, and Laurel was shocked into silence. He took in her expression with a grim eye, nodding.
"Yes, there's a good question, isn't it? You haven't worked in journalism for almost eleven years, not since Ben was born, have you? Before, there were awards and accolades from your reporting all over the world, but then...nothing. And after Ben was born, there was office work, some stints as a caterer, some part-time things, but nothing like journalism."
"You think you know so much," Laurel said, but there was an exhausted air to it, because in this matter, he did.
"Why the gap, Laurel?" To her dull surprise, there was no anger or accusation in his tone. There was only a genuine curiosity and some compassion. "What happened?"
"That's none of your business," she said, and for a miracle, he nodded.
"That is fair. That means that when I offer you your choice, I can say I am doing it with no knowledge of your situation."
"My choice?"
"Yes. You have put me in a difficult position," he said almost broodingly. "On one hand, I would like nothing more than to let you return to America, hoping against hope that you have learned a lesson about dangerous zones. However, I cannot be seen as soft on people who flout my borders without the proper documentation, with a full intent to venture to places like Elsiin.
"Here is your choice. Leave me and take your chances with the government bureaus that oversee such things. I will warn you that given the political climate, they will prosecute you, and they will be looking at a charge that is closer to espionage than trespassing."
She shuddered. They would take Ben away from her. They couldn't do that, no no no no...
"And the other option?" she managed to say.
"You stay here. I retroactively grant you a press pass, and I give out the fact that you are going to be covering events in the capitol. You stay for at least four months to do just that, and after that, I am going to allow you to leave if you wish."
She wondered if there was something strange about the way he spoke, but she was thinking too fast to worry about that now. Instead, she narrowed her eyes.
"Stay in the capitol with you, covering events. What, is that like an entertainment beat? Museums and park openings?"
"Something like that. There are many cultural exchanges in the city that might interest editors back in the United States," he said, keeping his voice as bland as possible.
"I am not an entertainment writer! I'm not going to write puff pieces to—"
He moved so fast that she could barely register it. In that split second, Laurel remembered that Bassam was a soldier now, powerful and fast enough to execute the raid she had seen just a short while ago.
"I don't care if you write about the damned women's folkloric dance troupes," he growled. "You are fortunate that you get a choice at all. You are fortunate that I do not simply decide that you were a spy, and that you are to be treated as such, regardless of whether you have a son or not. A son, may I add, that you dragged along with you to this part of the world, and one that you left stranded at a hotel while you were consorting with terrorists. One whose safety you don't seem to care about..."
In that moment, Laurel knew she needed diplomacy and a soft touch more than anything else, but instead, she could feel her temper lash out. She wasn't as quick as Bassam, but she was still quick enough to catch him unawares. Her hand reared back, and the slap echoed through the room. It left a livid red print on his cheek, and for a moment, they were both frozen.
I wouldn't take it back, Laurel thought defiantly. Not after the things he said.
She lifted her chin, ready for whatever would come next, but then he surprised her again.
Instead of shouting at her or even slapping her back, he took her by the shoulders and rolled her onto her back. She barely had time to register her change in position before his lips crashed down on hers, drinking down her sharp cry.
Before Laurel quite knew what she was doing, she was relaxing into the kiss, her hands coming up to loop around him, dragging him closer. God, there was something so familiar about the way he felt in her arms, the way his powerful body seemed ready to overtake hers in an elemental way. She held him, and she could feel the fury leech out of him as well.
The kiss might have started out of fury and frustration, but slowly, as they kissed, that fell away, leaving them with the passion that was at the core of it.
It's the same, Laurel thought hazily, not knowing why she thought that. It's the same. Underneath, we are both the same...
When they had kissed before, there was no time, no place, but here they were in the darkness of Bassam's own bedroom. She could not stop herself from groaning as he came down to rest more on top of her than on the mattress. His weight felt like something she had wanted for a very long time.
Bassam broke the kiss long enough to look down at her, and there was something confused in his vision, almost as if he didn't understand how they had gone from a fight to this so quickly. She laughed, and she could have explained the passion, but she wanted other things instead. With a firm hand, she reached up, tangled her fingers in his hair, and dragged him back down to her.
This kiss was longer and more aware in some way. There was a question they were simultaneously asking and answering. They were learning each other as Bassam's tongue breached her lips. They were remembering, and at the same time, they were understanding that nothing was quite the same.
She wasn't quite sure when Bassam had started running his hand down her side, but when he rested his palm on her ribs, she whimpered a little. Encouraged, he raised it until he was cupping her breast, sending little shocks of pleasure throughout her body. It occurred to her hazily that this would be different from what they had done before. A body at twenty was different from a body at forty, and childbirth changed things even more. Then any doubt she had flew out of her mind because this was Bassam, and even if her head didn't quite understand, her heart knew that he was kind, and that above all things, this man wanted her.
There was no telling what might have happened if she hadn't heard Ben calling for her. "Mom?"
The voice from the corridor was clear, too clear, and she realized where he was. There was a bend in the hallway that separated the bedrooms from the rest of the penthouse, but soon enough, he would see her come out of Bassam's room, and she knew that would be confusing to say the least.
She pushed her way out from under Bassam, racing to the door and throwing it open. She turned so that it looked like she was just coming out of the bathroom when Ben came around the corner.
"Hi sweetie!" she said, aware that her hair was likely a mess and her eyes were far too bright, her mouth far too red.
He gave her a slightly quizzical look, but then in the way of a ten-year-old boy who had more important things to worry about, he dismissed it.
"Mamut and Samir passed in some really good kebabs earlier, but that was a while ago," he said. "You were sleeping, but there are some left if you want them. I was getting hungry, and I didn't want to eat them if you wanted them..."
"You're hungry, of course you are," she said, feeling a stab of guilt. God, she hadn't even started to think about it. She was used to working long hours with little to eat, but Ben didn't deserve that. He certainly hadn't signed up for it.
"Thank you for telling me," she said, because she wanted to make sure he never got worried about asking her for help. "Um, let's see what we can do about it..."
Bassam appeared in the doorway of his bedroom, looking damnably calm and collected.
"There is an excellent pizza place around the block," he said. "American style, because I suspect it matters to the both of you. How about that? I don't like to make a habit out of it, but this is your first night in Tir, and I think it should be a bit special. What do you think?"
"Sounds really good!" Ben said happily. "So sheikhs like pizza?"
Laurel blinked. They had talked about Bassam's rank? How long had she been out?
Bassam grinned, a genuine thing that Ben returned.
"Sheikhs typically do exactly as they please, as long as it does not harm their country," he said. "I'm all right with just about any topping that isn't pork, but they have beef pepperoni and sausages of many types, so I am sure we can find something. The menu is in the first drawer on the left in the kitchen."
Ben, who must have been hungrier than he let on, pelted towards the kitchen, leaving Laurel and Bassam alone.
"Our first night in Tir," Laurel said softly. "First of many, I take it?"
His grin was small, but there was no smugness to it.
"I've seen how you look at your son," he said with an understanding that felt real. "I knew that while you might risk throwing yourself at an espionage charge out of pride, you would never risk him."
Before she could decide what she thought of that, he reached out, tucking a stray lock of chestnut hair behind her ear. Then he walked past her towards the kitchen, and bemused, she had no choice except to follow.