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I dip my head in agreement.
“Your room is on your right, down that corridor. Do you want me to show you?”
Cassandra shakes her head and disappears around the corner with a single glance.
After she leaves, I pour some whiskey for myself, just to get the edge off. I chug it, letting it burn my throat as it slides down.
It’s getting harder to deny the pull, to deny myself that one touch. One taste.
“Sir, before they arrive, we should talk strategy.” Higgins urges me.
I inhale and go with him to the kitchen to speak with my security team.
~Cassandra~
Something strong and potent is drawing me to him like a magnet with two opposite poles. The shower did nothing to quench my longing or bring me clarity. My damn mind got a vacation since we landed in Zalim. All I think of is him. This trip could be the worst decision I ever made. Just stop drooling every time he looks at you! But it’s easier to say than do. My sanity is teetering on the brink. One misstep and it will come undone.
I dress in a purple flowy blouse that I thought is closest to the fashion women wear here, paired with white pants. It’s all I could do on short notice. But instead of going to him, I stall, pacing around my room.
Remember why you’re doing this! I can’t fail, or the Cades will keep me under their thumb for the rest of my life. This way, at least, they won’t be able to control me.
I shake off my thoughts as a knocking sounds on the other side of the bedroom door.
“Who is it?”
“Me,” Mark’s voice rasps. “Can I come in?”
I open the door, backing away so he can enter. He holds a scarf in one hand, but his gaze caresses my form, leaving a trail of heat behind.
“Ready?”
I nod, watching his forehead tighten as if he ponders something important. But before I can ask, he grabs my hand and pulls me out of the room. His shoulders are taut, and the air’s thick with tension, as is my pulse, heavy from sensory overload.
“Mark.”
He slows down.
“Is everything okay?”
He turns around, looking at our joined hands. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I want you to wear this.” His eyes snap to my surprised gaze, eyeballing my hair. I chose to pleat it at the back and leave a few strands to frame my face.
“Why?”
He looks around and pulls me into the nook, leaning close to whisper in my ear like a lover would. His hot breath’s eliciting goose bumps on my skin.
“The Moudi family are traditionalists. Aaron is a mean bastard. I don’t want you to draw attention to yourself while I try to observe his behavior.”
“In other words, you don’t want me to stand out and cause conflict.”
He nods. His shoulders relax, but he doesn’t step away.
“May I?”
I blink as he brings the soft pink scarf around me.
“Your hair color might be too offensive for his beliefs. And if he recognizes you, he might be too cautious.”
“Denise mentioned about Arab customs. You don’t need to explain it to me. Do you know what you’re doing, though?”
