Marian yawned and rubbed at her eyes. After two solid hours of diagramming every potential secret or foible that Kelly could use against them and their diplomatic responses, the looming crisis felt more like an eventual blip. Kelly might try to take them down, but he wouldn’t. His revenge attempt would prove ineffective.

“I think this is good,” Omar said, pushing away the papers they’d been working on at his elegant dining room table. Everything in his penthouse looked like it came from an interior design magazine. Was that his or his wife’s touch? She was afraid to ask.

“Yeah. Good enough, at least.” Marian picked up her empty tumbler, heading for the sink in the adjacent kitchen. She set it on the counter, furtively sizing up the arrangement of the room. Marble countertops, bereft of utensils and appliances. Everything gleamed and sparkled. Omar was so neat.

She turned and inhaled sharply when she found Omar in the doorway, his arm propped against the molding. His dark eyes gobbled her up in a very specific non-business way, but this was where the real test began: standing her ground.

“You have a lovely kitchen,” she said, breezing past him, trying to ignore the heat that rolled off his body. She headed for the living room, where she’d left her shoes. “I’ll get out of your hair now. It’s getting late.”

Congratulations. You did it. She lamely patted herself on the back in her head while she slipped her flats on. Now you can go home and masturbate while thinking about Omar.

She noticed her phone on the dining room table where they’d been planning, so she diverted, her footsteps making a soft snick-snick against the smooth wood floor. Omar stood at the far end of the table, his jaw flexing as he watched her. The silence sizzled between them.

“Just need this,” she said as she grabbed her phone, her voice withering in the tension between them. God, what is this? She tried to force a little laugh, but it stuck in her throat. Omar’s eyes were like obsidian.

“Okay, well,” she said, turning for the door. Just get out the door. Unless he asks you to stay. Please ask me to stay. I have so little time left here.

But no. She would do well to reaffirm the professional boundaries. She already knew what the romantic entanglements would bring with Omar—more conflict and confusion about his past. And she didn’t have time for that. She couldn’t heal him when he was clearly still so hurt.

“Marian, stay with me.”

His gruff words made her freeze in her spot. She stared at the door, hesitant to turn around. Thoughts raced in her head, but nothing seemed clear or right. Staying the night was all she wanted to do. But she would only want more, and more. And Omar could never give her that. For his own reasons, but also for practical reasons.

She spun slowly on her heel, daring to meet his gaze. He approached slowly, his request still echoing in the air between them.

“I don’t know if I should.” She swallowed hard, looking around. This beautiful penthouse palace, where he’d lived with his wife. Her being here reeked of a bad idea. You’ll regret this if you stay. When he pulls away. When he makes this awkward. When he grows cold.

“I know that you should,” Omar said, reaching out to touch her arm. The small caress blasted through her, made her knees weak. Damn you, Omar.

“Trust me, I want to—” she began.

“Then do it.”

Her words shriveled in her throat. “But I think you might be better off if we don’t do this anymore.” She gestured to the air between them. “You know?”

“No.” Omar took one more step to close the gap between them and slid his hand around the back of her neck, pressing his mouth against hers. A slow, thorough, exploratory kiss wiped away every contrary thought from her brain.

“Okay,” she gasped when the kiss broke. “Okay, yeah, I’ll stay.”

Omar grinned boyishly, pulling her by the hand toward the hallway. “Come. We should go to bed.”

She stumbled after him, a haze settling over her. This felt right—too right—but the logical side of her still whispered to keep her distance. Like that was possible anymore. Omar pushed her by the hips into his bedroom, his eyes ablaze as he followed her like a predator.

“Lovely bedroom,” Marian said, barely glancing around. All she caught was dark gray bedcovers and starkly framed black-and-white photos.

“Mm-hmm.” Omar pinned her to the bed and she fell backwards, a giggle escaping her. He climbed on top of her, showering her face with a flurry of kisses. She clutched at his head, welcoming everything, desperate for this sensation to never end.

God, if only you lived in New York…

She pushed the thought away, along with a slew of other things that ensured this would never work out long-term. And why was she even thinking long-term anyway? Why couldn’t this just be a harmless Parsian fling?

Omar flipped her over onto her belly and tugged at her leggings, bringing them down to her knees. He took a bite of each ass cheek, his fingers slipping beneath the damp fabric of her panties.

“Ooooh.” Marian let out a low moan as his fingers went straight for the sweet spot. He knocked and prodded at her clit, prompting dizzying waves of satisfaction. Their one day apart had felt interminable; they had so much to catch up on now.

“I love these pants you wore,” he whispered hotly into her ear. The weight of him pressed against her was too delicious to bear. “They turned me on immediately.”

“Some people don’t consider them pants,” she breathed, rubbing her butt against the hard line of his cock. “They’re just leggings.”

“Well, whatever they are…I vote you wear them to the office every day.”

Something about his words sent happiness spiraling through her. Even the briefest hint at a future warmed her. Damn you, Omar! He leaned back for a moment to step out of his pants and briefs. Then he nuzzled her ass cheeks, tugging her panties down to join her leggings.

“I want every part of you,” he growled, nuzzling her legs apart. She gasped as his tongue traced the lips of her pussy, passing gently over her clit. He slurped and suckled from behind, an interesting angle that stoked her fire more intensely than normal. She moaned and writhed against the bed, knotting the covers in her hand.

Omar sighed softly, then nestled his cock in between her legs. She arched up to meet him and he pressed himself inside slowly, a low groan escaping him as he did. She moaned along with him, suddenly so grateful for his heat and the fullness that tears pricked at her eyes. Jesus, this man made her think crazy things. Nobody had ever felt so good with her, or inside her.

“Marian.” Omar grabbed an ass cheek in his hand so hard that it hurt. She bucked against him, and he started a slow rhythm, one that brought her to the precipice in record time. He snaked a hand underneath her shirt, seeking a breast, cupping it gently.

They moved together in jerky unison, desperate pants escaping them, the friction leading to a delicious climax.

“I’m close, Omar,” she whispered, pinching her eyes shut. She fisted the bedspread as she took another long, deep thrust from him, which made her breasts jiggle.

He pounded into her, gripping at her hips to hold her in place. He thrust again and again, until Marian’s pussy clenched and the freefall was impossible to ignore. Her orgasm spilled over and consumed her, but he didn’t relent, slamming into her with long, frenzied thrusts that pushed her to new heights each time. She let out a wail, something throaty and foreign, as the pleasure wracked her over and over.

Omar groaned a moment later and slowed his movements, stilling as he pulsed hot inside her. His chest heaved as he collapsed onto her. Her eyes drifted open and shut as the powerful climax receded into a pleasant buzz.

“Holy...hell.” Her voice came out weak and muffled.

“Mmmm.” His cock throbbed inside her. A moment later he slipped out and fell onto the bed next to her, cupping her face in his hand.

She snuggled up to his smooth chest. Three little words hung heavy on her tongue, but she wouldn’t say them. It didn’t seem right to say them. Not now, probably not ever. But they were there, despite all the logic and rationale in the world.

They smiled lazily at one another until sleep overcame her and she drifted off.

* * *

Hours later, Marian awoke with a start. Bladder aching, she fumbled around for a moment, trying to get her bearings. She was still at Omar’s, but where again? She squinted in the darkness, trying to make out anything familiar. A bedside clock glowed with an ungodly hour: 3:21 a.m. She swallowed a dry taste in her mouth and swung her legs over the bed. Omar must have tucked her in, since she was magically covered with sheets and a blanket. He must have taken her shirt off, too, because she was definitely nude.

She smiled as she stumbled out of the bedroom, unsure where the bathroom might be. There had to be one close to his room. She glanced both ways down the hall; to the left was the living room, and to the right were a slew of closed doors. It had to be one of those.

She grabbed at the handle of the first room, flipping on the light. A spare bedroom. She turned off the light and shut the door, trying the next one. A closet. She grunted, trying the next one in line. His office.

His scent hung in the air, drawing her inside. The light she flipped on glowed soft yellow, illuminating his bookcases and a wide, spacious desk. She blinked as she took it in. Just a quick glance, like being a tourist.

She walked along the bookcase, checking out the spines she could read in English. She grinned. Some detective novels, Plato, and plenty of cookbooks. A diverse selection. She dragged a finger over his desktop, needing just a few more glimpses before she left, despite her straining bladder. A notebook sat open on his desk, papers splayed out. She peered down at the writing, something elegant and feminine staring up at her.

My dearest Omar…it’s impossible to describe how much I’ve come to love you! It’s like years have passed instead of months. I know that once I pass on, I’ll continue loving you for eternity. Yours forever, Anahita

Marian blinked, rereading the short letter. There were stacks of them. Each one on a piece of stationery. She’d spent her days writing letters to Omar. She flipped through them—most were in Farsi, but a couple stood out in English. She read as much as she could until she heard something in the distance. And whatever it was, she wouldn’t risk being caught in his office. She hurried out of the room, clicking the light off and the door shut.

The next room she tried was the bathroom, a huge, white arena with a jacuzzi tub and two sinks. She stared at the white tiles as she peed, the love letters heavy on her mind.

What was she doing here, when she knew this was a bad idea? Clearly he’d read them recently, if they were sitting out on his otherwise clear desk like that. He probably read them every night before he went to bed, for two full years. She rubbed at her face, the truth settling into her.

She’d stepped into something she should have never gotten mixed up with. Just do the job and leave—that was her only mission. And it was time to stick to the plan.

Marian returned to the bedroom, tiptoeing quietly around the room as she searched for her clothes in the darkness. Omar snored softly as she dressed once she found all of her clothes folded neatly on a chair in the corner. Things like that made her smile…things like that she’d miss about Omar.

But this would never work.