CHAPTER 16
Teren was happy—there was no getting around it. Where had two weeks gone? She was sitting with the children around the fountain, waiting for Nolan, who was finishing up a meeting with Ayman in his office. The children, boys and girls, all between four and eight years old, squirmed and wanted to get as close as they could to her, like little bookends. Two girls sat in her lap. The boys crowded on either side of her. She drank in their smiles, the happy glow in their brown eyes. Their laughter made her heart expand even more—if that was possible.
It was five thirty p.m., and everyone was lining up at the dining room entrance. The children standing in line with their mothers had spotted her and raced over to where she was sitting. Within moments, Teren was laughing with them, kissing them, ruffling their neatly cut hair, and enclosing her arms around as many as she could fit beside her. The mothers in line smiled and waved in her direction. Often in the past, when Teren had time, she would help out at the childcare center with the Sudanese women who ran that portion of Kitra. She loved playing with the children, enjoying their innate intelligence, burning curiosity, and innocent trust of everyone.
The heat today was at its maximum, nearly a hundred degrees. Breathing was like drawing superheated air into her lungs. Teren would be glad to see September come, when it would be a little less hot. The sky was a pale, cloudless blue. For the moment, she forgot about Enver Uzan and Zakir Sharan’s promise to harm Kitra—or her.
The last two weeks had been a dream. Every night she slept with Nolan. And nearly every night, they made love to one another. Her body glowed with the memory of his skills and loving her. Teren wasn’t sure if it was love, since neither had said the word. Perhaps it was care? She railed silently over her lack of experience in relationships. Judging from what Hadii and Farida had said about what it felt like being in love, she was falling in love with Nolan. Every day, in so many large and small ways, he showed his care for her, and Teren tried to do the same.
Now Teren smiled at the wriggling, giggling children surrounding her and spoke to them in Arabic and English. All children at Kitra were taught both languages, which would give them a huge advantage as they grew up. Anyone who knew English could get a job over someone who did not, since English was the primary international language.
When she spotted Nolan leaving the building and walking down the courtyard, her heart swelled with fierce emotion for him. Every day, he wore that safari jacket. She knew there was a pistol beneath its folds. He was her guard and never lost his focus. Only when they were alone, in their duplex, would he relax. Even then, Teren could feel his alertness, although it wasn’t obvious. It was just a sense around him that she’d picked up. And every day they had become more and more in tune with one another. They were starting to finish sentences for one another, and when it happened, they’d laugh over it.
She felt heat stirring deep within her as she met his narrowing eyes, and felt that incredible, invisible embrace surround her. She hoped she knew what it was: the love he felt for her. That and a sense of protection, which was helping her cope with the present threat that hung silently over their heads.
As Nolan neared, he slowed down, his eyes growing amused, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The children called him “Asad,” or “the Lion.” In their world, where they were still open and trusted their instincts, they sensed Nolan’s power but were unafraid of him. Teren knew that these children—at least many of them—had been abused by their fathers or other male relatives. But with Nolan, they showed that they loved him. It was as if they sensed the same thing around him as she did: that he was a big, strong, devoted guard dog. However, in their world, where the lion ruled, they saw him as the lordly king of the desert—admiring, respectful, but still loving them openly because like her, he gave them affection. In fact, in the past two weeks, Teren had seen the children begin to gravitate to him just as much as they did to her.
Nolan was showing these children that a man could be affectionate, kiss, hug, and laugh with them. Teren looked forward to coming to the fountain with Nolan, because the kids, with their invisible antennae, always knew when they would arrive. They’d come racing around the building to join them. If it was during the heat of the day, and everyone was suffering from the burning sun overhead, Nolan usually engaged the boys in a water fight. And then the little girls got involved, as did Teren. They all ended up wet, dripping, and laughing. Within fifteen minutes afterward, their clothes had dried out. And sometimes the employees, if free for a few minutes, would come and join them. Water always splotched around the fountain afterward, everyone grinning, wet, and feeling cooler in the unrelenting heat.
Several of the boys broke from beneath Teren’s arms, rushing down the red tiled walk toward Nolan, calling, “Asad! Asad!” Two more little girls snuggled in coyly beneath her arms, smiling up sweetly at her. Teren smiled down at them, her arms curving around them. Laughter bubbled up in her throat as the two young boys, ages four and six, flew down the walk, arms wide open, flinging themselves at Nolan. She watched as he knelt down on one knee, grinning, calling them by name, his arms open to embrace them. The boys slammed into his hard body, screeching with delight. Nolan easily took their tiny hurtling forms into him, their thin arms wrapping eagerly around his neck. She heard them begging him to lift them up and carry them, one of their favorite games with him. He would offer children horseback rides and make neighing sounds, then go galloping around the fountain with one of them. And then he’d offload that child and take the next one begging for a ride. Teren had seen him do a circuit around the fountain twenty times for twenty excited children. Horseback rides were an American thing, and Teren would sit at the fountain, watching the sheer joy and anticipation mirrored in each child’s face and in the faces of their mothers.
Nolan had brought a positive male influence to Kitra—just as the Sudanese men who worked here did. It was good that these abuse survivors had this experience with such men.
Nolan picked up the boys easily in his arms and they shrieked, hugging him with their child’s strength. He grinned past them, holding Teren’s smile, her eyes clear and light with joy. His heart raced with such intense and powerful feelings of love for this woman. As he deposited his two boys on the concrete lip where Teren sat with the rest of the children, he told the boys in Arabic that no, there wouldn’t be any horseback rides right now. Each boy looked disappointed, making sad little sounds, their expressions pleading as they begged Nolan to give them a ride anyway.
He ruffled their hair and told them no. The boys made more sounds and kept holding on to his hand and jacket, giving him pleading looks.
“You’ve really started something with horseback rides,” Teren said, chuckling as she released her children, gently urging them back to their mothers, who were just about ready to enter the dining room.
“Tell me about it,” he said, grinning. The flock of children scattered like startled birds, heading back to their mothers. In a few moments Nolan found himself alone with Teren. His smile deepened as he placed his arm around her waist, wanting to kiss her but refraining in public. Nolan was aware of Teren’s stature here at Kitra and didn’t want to diminish it. Children especially found their affectionate public behavior strange. In the Sudanese culture, women were separated from men, unlike in America. The children found them fascinating and curious, always watching them.
“Ready for dinner? I don’t know about you, but I’m starved.” Nolan walked with her toward their duplex down at the bottom of the small knoll. He kept his hand around her waist and enjoyed how her slender body touched his as they walked. She looked wanton, her hair caught up on top of her head with that clip, loose strands straight and falling on each side of her face. Her favorite color, he’d discovered, was pink. Today, she was wearing a cap-sleeved pale pink tee, her ivory cargo pants, which hung loosely on her frame, and her leather sandals.
“I’m hungry,” she murmured, giving him a wicked look, her arm around his waist.
Tipping his head back, he laughed fully. “Uh-oh, I know that look.”
A grin pulled at her lips as they continued their walk to their duplex. “What look?”
Nolan released her, unlocking the door to her apartment. “I think,” he said in a low, teasing tone, looking into her glinting eyes, “that you have come to really enjoy those nightly orgasms, Ms. Lambert.”
Teren stepped to one side, knowing Nolan would go in and clear both duplexes. “They’re wonderful,” she murmured. “Farida and Hadii were right as rain about that.”
He looked around as he pushed the door open, his focus shifting. Nolan didn’t like to expose the pistol out in public. He gazed around the low-lit apartment, a cool rush of air from the air-conditioning evaporating some of the sweat on his face. Pulling the Glock from beneath his jacket, he shifted focus entirely. The threat to Kitra and Teren was still there—it hadn’t gone away.
Teren leaned against the stucco of the building until Nolan reappeared minutes later. He’d shed his jacket and pistol.
“All clear,” he said. “Come on in.”
The moment she closed and locked the door behind her, Nolan swept her into his arms, his mouth bearing down on her lips, brushing them, teasing her. She moaned and slipped her arms around his neck, rubbing her body against his, feeling his erection beneath his jeans. “Mmm, is this called getting dessert before dinner?” she asked, licking his lower lip, nudging her hips suggestively against his.
Hearing his low growl, she felt her lower body readying itself for pleasure, warmth beginning to flood her. Nolan laughed, a rumble in his chest as he ravished her wet lips, kissing each smiling corner of her mouth, luxuriating in the sparkle in her eyes as she held his gaze. Teren slid her fingers through his short, dark hair, his scalp prickling with pleasure.
*
In two weeks, Teren had turned into the fastest learner Nolan had ever encountered. She might have started out innocently enough, but she took to his teaching in earnest. Once he loved her in a certain position, she learned from it. And it had tripled the pleasure for both of them as a result. There was so much more he wanted to share with her.
Sure, he was aware that the threat was ongoing, and it kept Nolan up some nights after making love with Teren, trying to figure out what Uzan was up to. Ayman’s three men were still undercover in the slums of Khartoum, coming up empty-handed regarding the al-Qaeda officer. No doubt Uzan was a sly fox who knew how to hide in the slums. It left Nolan concerned, and always on guard as a result.
“You’re dessert anytime,” Nolan whispered against her smiling lips, drowning in the pearlescent shine in her eyes. A giddy joy bolted through him, and he realized that in the last two weeks his closed-up heart had flung itself wide open once more. He loved Teren. The connection he had with her was so deep, he couldn’t see where it began or ended. Was it the same for her? Nolan knew her experiences with men were different, and he didn’t dare project what he felt on her. He was a patient man.
He’d been hesitant to allow that feeling in again, and he would always love Linda. She would be a permanent resident in his mind and heart until the day he died. But Teren brought something new, exciting, and enlivening that he’d never experienced before. She widened him in areas he’d never trod and made him dig deep into his psyche. Her insights were startling revelations, for him and about him.
Nolan had come to cherish their exploratory talks with one another after they’d made love, lying in one another’s arms, damp and satiated. She was truly dessert for his soul, whether she realized it or not. Nolan silently promised Teren he would one day share that realization with her because daily, he was seeing her confidence in herself, and in them, grow.
Teren smiled and eased out of his arms. “If we keep kissing I’m going to drag you into the bedroom, Mr. Steele, and I’m not letting you out of there.”
He grazed her mussed hair. “Okay, I’ll stop for now. My turn to make dinner. What do we have in the fridge?”
“Leftovers,” she said, squeezing his hand and then releasing it.
“Want some cold water?”
“Yes, but I want to get changed first, and then I’ll help you in the kitchen.”
Nolan nodded, heading for his duplex apartment. This was their routine: get out of their sweaty clothes, shower, and then change into some comfortable evening clothes. “Meet you in thirty,” he told her.
*
Teren noshed on Sudanese tomato salad, goat cheese, and some leftover kissra. Nolan had finished off several barbecued goat steaks, gobbled down a huge salad that she’d made for him earlier, and eaten enough for two people. He worked out in the gym every day, without fail, and they jogged their five miles every other day, too. She loved when Nolan wore one of those revealing muscle shirts that embraced the beauty of his hard, rock-solid body. He was truly her own personal eye candy!
“You know that in two days I’ll be taking that Belgian group of arriving doctors and nurses to Zalta, that village along the river?”
“Yeah,” he said, wiping his mouth on a white linen napkin. “Ayman and I were going over the route this afternoon.”
“Hmm, is that why you were late?”
Nodding, Nolan took his fork and speared a tomato from her plate. Teren ate like a bird, although she had been eating more since they’d started living together. “Yes. I’ve got the list of medical people’s names, and we’ll have three vans from Khartoum coming to bring them here tomorrow afternoon. Right now, they’re at a hotel in the city. Ayman’s soldiers will dress as civilians, be their drivers, and bring them out here. Farida has the visitors’ duplexes ready for them. Everything seems in order.”
“Good thing I speak French, too,” she said. “I’ll be translating between them and the villagers, who only know Arabic plus their own tribal language.”
“We’ll be out there for five days straight.” He frowned. “I wish you didn’t have to be gone that long from Kitra.”
Teren shrugged. A week ago, Nolan had argued with Ayman to keep her at Kitra. He didn’t disagree with Nolan, but the problem was there was no other translator. Teren understood his concern for her safety, citing the dangers that lurked unknown out there. Did Uzan know about their schedule of medical visits to the various villages? Could he possibly be lying in wait for her to arrive at this village? No one knew the answers. Nolan had been adamant that she stay at Kitra. She had persuaded him, with Ayman’s support, that her medical assistance to the regional villages was important. Grudgingly, Nolan had yielded, but she’d seen the raw concern in his eyes as they left Ayman’s office that day.
She gave him a tender look, knowing he was on edge about it. “I’ve been doing this for seven years, Nolan. I love doing it. We get doctors, dentists, and optometrists who donate their help to the villages around Kitra. It’s a worthwhile use of my time. This is your first time, so I’m sure it’s hectic to plan.”
“It is. That’s a village of nearly three-hundred people, Teren. I know you know that place like the back of your hand, but I don’t. We’re taking extra soldiers with us because Ayman wants you protected. Plus, if Uzan decided to attack, he’d have a good opportunity.”
“What do you mean?”
“That village sits on the Nile River. It’s in an oasis for starters, so there are lots of palm trees, a lot of underbrush and high grass, plus stands of papyrus, on both sides of that river. Ayman showed me the area online with Google satellite photos. While it’s a terrific place for the village, with its water, shade, and ability to irrigate crops, it’s a hell of a place to try to keep you safe.”
“It’s the biggest village in the area,” she said, becoming somber, nibbling at some greens. She tore a piece of bread from the loaf of kissra. “You do know that I’ll be running around here and there—are you going to be able to keep up with me?” she teased, trying to allay the worry she saw in his eyes.
“Absolutely. I’m not leaving your side in that kind of environment and circumstance.”
“All the camel caravans come through that oasis, too. They do a lot of trading with the villagers while they rest up their camels. Those poor creatures can drink gallons of water from the nearby Nile.”
“Do you have a particular hut you sleep in?”
“Yes, normally I sleep with all the female nurses and dental assistants. You know: Sudanese tradition.”
“Well, not this time,” he warned her. “I talked to Ayman about this and he agrees, you should be with me at night. Those are straw-walled huts, and anyone could pull open a side and slip in.”
“That will cause a few raised eyebrows, Nolan. These villagers are very traditional in their customs. Women sleep with women. Men sleep with men. Even married couples don’t sleep together.”
“Ayman had a fix for it,” he told her confidently. “We’ll just tell everyone we’re married and that in America, a husband sleeps with his wife.”
Giving him a wry look, Teren said, “Ayman’s wily.”
“Yes, and I’m glad. You can’t be left unguarded, Teren. It just isn’t going to happen. Ayman thinks that this white lie will work and the chief won’t cause a fuss about it.”
“The chief knows Americans from the medical teams that have visited them over the years. And there have been husband-and-wife doctors or nurses. They’ve always slept together in a small hut in those cases.”
“That’s what Ayman was saying. I don’t believe the village chief will raise one eyebrow, much less two.”
Teren could see the relief in Nolan’s eyes. He rarely allowed her to know he was concerned about something, but tonight he was. She chalked it up to his worry about her being outside the safety of Kitra’s walls. She covered her hand with his. “It will be all right. The whole village will be in celebration over the medical people arriving. There’s lots of dancing, ceremony, and laughter. These are good people and they so appreciate what Kitra does for them. We’ll also be bringing our own food for our medical teams. That way, the villagers won’t bear the brunt of giving away hard-won food to visitors.”
“I like the food we have here,” he said. “I’m not keen on bush food unless it’s the last resort.”
Grimly, Teren said, “I agree, especially in southern Sudan, where Ebola and the Marburg virus are carried by fruit bats. And hammerhead bats, one of the carriers, are a huge meat source for the tribes down there.”
“Well,” Nolan grumped, “you sure as hell won’t find me in a market buying some of those bats as meat. No way in hell.”
“We’re lucky, we don’t have those types of bats up here because we’re in the grasslands, not the jungle. People up here eat bats, too, but they aren’t carriers of Ebola or Marburg.”
“Like I said, bush meat isn’t something I want to eat for any reason.”
“Have you had to?” she asked, finishing off the tomato salad. If she asked Nolan about his life as an undercover Delta Force agent, he would often give her general details.
“Many times,” he said, shaking his head. “We’re vaccinated up to our eyeballs for all kinds of diseases you can pick up here in Africa, but there’s no vaccine for viruses like Ebola, Crimean fever, Lassa, or Marburg.”
“I know. Well, no worries, okay? I talked to Nafeesa this morning and she’s got most of the food provisions made and packed. They’re all ready to go.”
“This is when I’m really glad to have MREs—‘meals ready to eat’—around.”
She grinned. “We do a lot of packaging of meals when we have to go out like this, which is at least once every three months. Nafeesa is a brilliant chef. She does a lot of goat jerky, and dried fruits and vegetables. Then all we have to do is add water. And we carry clean water and pots and pans, and never drink from any village water source. Too dangerous.”
“Tell me about it,” he muttered. “Sometimes I had to drink brownish water and was hoping like hell it wasn’t full of brain-eating parasites.”
“And yet, here you are,” she teased, smiling over at him. “Fit, healthy, and very, very sexy.”
Giving her a heated glance, Nolan said, “What’s for dessert?” He saw Teren give him a coy look, her cheeks suffusing with pink. She was still an innocent, still learning to embrace herself as a sexual woman. Two weeks had shown her the beauty of having a skilled man as her lover. She was blossoming before his eyes in the best of ways. Even more, Nolan appreciated her honest responses to him pleasuring her. Some women pretended to be satisfied when they weren’t, but she didn’t.
Her expressions, that smoky sound in her voice as he teased her, increased to a peak where she would orgasm. That couldn’t be faked.
“Well,” she said, looking suggestively down the hall toward her bedroom. “I was thinking that you could be my dessert.”
“I like your boldness.” It was as if their time together had released Teren in many positive ways. Nolan understood the importance of partners who fed each other praise, support, and love. He’d been lucky enough to be married to Linda and knew what a good marriage consisted of. Linda had taught him a lot, but he’d equally contributed. The same kind of healthy connection had just automatically sprung up between him and Teren.
Every day, Nolan was seeing Teren flourish in exciting and unexpected ways, and he loved her for her eagerness to explore all her potential. The influence of family, right or wrong, played hell on most people. Teren had come from one that might have had good intentions, but her personality, who she could become, had been deeply suppressed. Until now.
“My turn today,” she told him archly, standing and pushing the chair back. “I’ve been thinking of how I was going to undress and make love with you tonight.”
“Did you get any work done in your office today, I wonder?” he chuckled, rising. Nolan picked up their plates and flatware while Teren gathered up the salt and pepper shakers and the butter dish.
“Very funny,” she sniffed, then grinned broadly. “Of course I did.”
They stood side by side at the sink, their hips brushing against one another.
“Do you hear that?” Teren said, lifting her head.
Nolan frowned, hearing a tinkle of bells. “What is it?”
Pulling the curtain aside, Teren said, “Look. It’s a camel caravan!” She hurried through the dishes. “They come through here off and on. The caravans don’t carry cell phones on them, so they can’t call ahead and let us know they’re arriving.”
Nolan dried his hands, studying the line of about twenty-five dromedary camels that were carrying loads. There were at least ten men in long white flowing robes walking beside them. The bells they heard were part of the decorations around each camel’s neck. Nolan knew that if a camel ever got loose, its owner could find the camel by the sound of the bells. They were made of brass, hand-painted, and usually came from India. Anywhere between three and ten of those bells were around each camel’s long neck.
“Been a while since I saw a caravan,” he murmured. “What’s the SOP—standard operating procedure—on one coming to Kitra?”
“They have to remain outside the walls of Kitra. The guards on the outer gate will guide them to three, huge wooden water troughs placed alongside the north wall. They can refill them with water from the nearby faucets. Those camels will consume a lot of water.”
“Do you go out and talk with them?” Nolan asked, seeing the excitement in her eyes. He was concerned that Uzan might try to sneak close to Kitra in disguise as a camel driver. He put nothing past the enemy soldier.
“Yes. I love camels! I know some people hate them, but they have such gorgeous, liquid brown eyes and those long, long lashes over them.”
He gave her a sour look. “I got bitten by one once. He turned on me so damned fast, he took my hand and arm up to my elbow in a millisecond. Surprised the hell out of me.” Nolan pointed to several deep scars along his forearm. “The camel was unhappy with how heavy his load was and took it out on me as I walked past him.”
Teren moved her fingertips over the small white scars that dotted his forearm. “Ouch. Their bite is really bad.”
“Well,” he said drily, “at least he didn’t spit in my face.”
Wrinkling her nose, Teren said, “Ugh…that’s worse than a bite! They regurgitate part of their meal and spit it at someone who has pissed them off. The smell is horrible!”
“Yeah, tell me about it. Been there and had it done to me.”
“Don’t wanna be a camel jockey, eh?” she teased.
“No. Not even, I’ll get my jacket and pistol.” When he returned, he became serious, placing his hands on her shoulders. “You’re going to have to stay behind. I’m sorry.”
Teren became somber, her excitement dissolving. “I forgot all about the threat,” she admitted, frowning.
“Uzan could be among them. I just want to be extra watchful,” he said, seeing all her childlike enthusiasm wane.
“I understand. I’ll wait for you here by the door.” Caravans came through about once a month, and she loved going out to talk with the head driver, finding out what stories he had to tell. Usually, they camped outside the walls for one or two days while they and their animals rested up.
Kitra was a well-known camel oasis. Here, water was plentiful, and the fruit-tree orchard lent shade to everyone. Tamping down on her sadness that she couldn’t go out this time, Teren understood why.