Chapter 6
“Is Kerry coming with us, Father?” Aram looked up at Malik with all the love and curiosity in his little heart and waited patiently for his answer.
“No. I think Kerry has plans.” Those plans mostly included staying the hell away from him. She’d said barely a word to him since he’d returned from the Red Ball to find her bedroom door locked. Since then she had not only stopped sharing her bed and her body with him, but she’d also stopped talking to him unless absolutely necessary.
“Is Kerry mad at you? Is that why she won’t hang out with us anymore?”
Malik bit back a curse, hating the fact that his son picked up any small shift in behavior. And things between him and Kerry had been nothing but tense and silent. “I don’t think she’s mad at me, but how can I be sure?”
“You could just ask her if she’s upset. Kerry always says you don’t know what you don’t know unless you ask.” He smiled as though he’d dished out that piece of evidence all on his own. “Ask her and then you can fix it and then she can come with us for pizza!”
Malik couldn’t help but chuckle at that. His son, who’d eaten with some of the world’s richest and most influential men, food made by the best chefs in the world, and he was excited about pizza. “Fine,” he grumbled and climbed the stairs to Kerry’s room and knocked.
“Yes?”
“Would you like to come with us to get pizza for lunch?” He could tell by the set of her shoulders that she would turn him down.
“No, thanks.”
Malik smiled and took a seat on her bed, remembering the last time he was there with her. Loving her body while she flushed a magnificent shade of pink. “Are you going to hate me forever?”
“I don’t hate you, Malik. But I think it’s best if we keep our relationship professional.”
He could see why she might want to do that. It would be easier for both of them, if they could forget the heat and chemistry burning the atmosphere between them. He couldn’t forget—hell, he couldn’t stop remembering. “So, no to pizza?”
She nodded. “No to pizza.”
“And definitely no more us?”
“Definitely.” She crossed her arms protectively and tilted her chin up. “Was there anything else?”
“Nothing happened between me and Chantal, you have to know that. Tell me you know that.”
“I also thought I knew that you weren’t a man who’d sleep with one woman one night and take another on a date the next night. I don’t know what I know, Malik.”
“You know me.”
She shook her head. “I thought I did but I was wrong. You don’t need to worry, I plan to do my job. Only my job.”
Every time he tried to move in closer, to touch her or get a whiff of her scent, she moved. He hadn’t touched her in days and it was driving him insane. He missed holding her, laughing with her and talking to her about life’s boring little tidbits. He missed losing himself in her body and her loving. “Kerry, we’re not done and I think you know that.”
She shook her head, refusing to hear him. “Our professional relationship is not yet over, I agree. But we never really had a personal relationship, Malik, just a few nights tucked away in secret.”
He scowled at her, hearing more than what she said in those two sentences. “You know that’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? The reason you forgot about Chantal was because it never occurred to you to ask me to go with you. Just say it: you’re ashamed that you’re attracted to the nanny. Fine. I get it! Have fun at the pizza parlor.”
He sucked in a breath, shocked at her vehemence. “Is that really what you think? That I’m ashamed of you?” He laughed, knowing it wasn’t the right response for the moment but unable to stop it. “I don’t do shame. If you knew my late wife you would know that. I just like having you all to myself.”
* * *
There was nothing like the sting of rejection to make a girl feel weak, Kerry thought as she and Aram drove home from the afterschool program where she volunteered. She’d let about a month slide while she settled in with Aram and then went only on the one afternoon she had off each week. The kids had missed her as much as she missed them and being there, where she was both needed and wanted—and surrounded by young artists—had been a balm to her wounded soul. Being there had helped her forget her own problems, her own pain, and that was a good. It was necessary.
There was no point in getting even more wrapped up in a man like Malik. He was a royal, for crying out loud. A massively wealthy man and a father. He wasn’t for her. He never would be. “So what did you think of my afterschool program, Aram?”
She glanced down to see him beaming a smile up at her. “It was so cool! Those kids were so different.”
“There are lots of different types of people in the world,” she told him in answer. His eyes had been so big most of the day as he came in contact with kids with tattoos, piercings, and styles he’d never seen in his gold-plated existence.
“And Jasmine said her granny makes the best fried chicken. What’s a granny? Can I have fried chicken?” His little mind always raced in his eagerness to know everything and now wasn’t any different.
“A granny is just another way of saying grandmother. Not everyone is as formal as you royals,” she joked, loving the sound of his sweet little-boy laugh. “As for fried chicken, I know just the place. We’ll pick up dinner, okay?”
“Alright!” Aram bounced in his seat and thrust a fist of victory into the air. He chattered the whole way to her favorite spot for fried chicken, exclaiming over the creamy mac & cheese and frowning over the dark leafy collard greens. She’d loaded up on mashed potatoes and green beans just to make sure he got a few vegetables. “That’s a lot.”
“Gotta make sure you find something you like.”
“How come Jasmine’s granny cooks? My grandmother never cooks; she orders Abilene to do it.”
Kerry laughed at his statement. Of course a queen, or whatever the wife of a Sheikh was called, wouldn’t dirty her hands with pedestrian tasks like cooking, but she couldn’t tell him that. “Not everyone can afford to have an Abilene, Aram.”
“Like you?”
“Yep. I’ll always have to cook my food unless you want to come be my chef or let me borrow Tisha? I can’t pay you, though.”
“That’s okay, Father has money.”
Ah, to be a kid again. Actually, she’d never had that kind of security and she envied it. But she was also glad a sweet boy like Aram would never know a childhood like hers. “Alright, kiddo, let’s go.” In one hand she carried the bags and in the other she held his trusting hand.
“I’m so hungry,” he shouted, running to the kitchen ahead of her to wash his hands. “Father’s home!”
Kerry’s steps slowed at the sound of his deep voice greeting his son. They chatted merrily while she drew up her strength to set eyes on Malik again. She’d done a spectacular job of avoiding him and any personal conversations because it just hurt too much. Despite her wildly colored hair, her life as an artist, and outward appearances, she didn’t engage in casual sex. And she never would have slept with Malik if she didn’t care about him.
Which just made things awkward. And uncomfortable. And suck-tastic. Dammit.
“And Kerry stopped so we could get fried chicken, mash ‘tatoes and vegetables,” he scrounged his face up at the last menu item, drawing a laugh from his father.
He drew himself up, Aram still in his arms, and looked at Kerry. “I guess you’re our savior tonight.” He smiled and her body instantly responded. Despite their pint-sized chaperone, her nipples hardened, her core seized with desire, and moisture flooded her core.
“It’s just dinner.” Instead of taking the direct route, Kerry circled the island counter to unload dinner into serving dishes. It took no time at all and by the time she brought it all to the table, Aram was on his third story about his day at the afterschool program.
“And she had purple hair all over but she drew me and it looked like a photo, Father. A photo!”
Malik smirked at his son’s amazement and sent her wink, to which she dipped her head, finding her plate infinitely interesting. That was pretty much how dinner went, Aram talking nonstop so the adults didn’t have to, Malik trying to coax Kerry into conversation, and Kerry steadfastly dodging all attempts.
At least until dinner was over and Aram was excused for game time with Rajiv. Then she could no longer avoid the big man with the bigger presence.
“You can’t avoid me forever, Kerry.”
She stood and began to clear the table. “I’m not avoiding you at all, Malik. I’m maintaining a professional distance because it is better this way.”
“For whom?” he asked, his features twisted up as dark as his hair.
“For me. And for you.” It would help her avoid dreaming too big and it would save him from having her pining after him, clinging to him. Wanting more than he would ever give her.
“No. Don’t pretend this is at all for me. This is all about you.”
She laughed bitterly. “I can’t believe you just said that. Fine, it is, so what?”
“You need to get over it.”
She stilled at his words, arms stacked with dishes. “Actually I don’t. I’m performing my job well, aren’t I?” He gave a long, slow nod. “Then you should be happy.”
“I’m not. But I will be.”
She didn’t know what those words meant and if she was being honest with herself, she didn’t want to know. Malik was up to something and she needed to keep her guard up. “Okay. Will that be all?”
“For now,” he answered ominously before exiting the kitchen.