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“We went on holiday to this resort a few years in a row. They had an ice skating rink. I used to love it.” She shifted a little in her seat, unable to resist reaching beneath the table and taking his hand in hers.
His eyes widened at the unexpected gesture. Ra’if had been pretty sure he’d stuffed everything up by bringing her to a restaurant like this. He’d forgotten, for a moment, the yawning gulf in their circumstances. She was a single mum who ate at fast food restaurants when she went out, and this was one of the most exclusive places in London. He stroked her fingers, glad she was thawing.
“You d
o too.”
“I do too, what?” He didn’t follow.
“You skate well,” She squeezed his hand in the anonymity given by the tablecloth.
“Oh.” He shrugged. “I too had access to a rink as a boy.”
“Did you?” She leaned closer, crossing her legs beneath the table. Her knee brushed his and he felt himself jerk with desire. “In the desert?”
He tilted his head forward. “Well, not in the desert itself. It was inside.”
She laughed quietly and was about to ask him another question when the waiter reappeared. Melinda noticed that he barely made eye contact with Ra’if. It was interesting, and intriguing. Ra’if spoke in French and the sound of it made her pulse hammer hard in her chest. She’d heard him speak in his own language before, when he’d been on the phone or in bed, when they’d been making love and he’d whisper things to her that she couldn’t possibly comprehend. Things that nonetheless never failed to make her heart sing.
Jordan had also responded to the unusual language being spoken at dinner. His little face looked at Ra’if with renewed interest and Melinda pulled her hand away, remembering why she needed to be more circumspect.
“What did you order Jordan?” She asked, folding her hands conspicuously on the table in front of her. Ra’if looked at them with just a hint of sardonic amusement on his handsome face.
“Pasta with plain cheddar cheese.”
Melinda arched a brow. “That’s perfect.” She stared at him and felt as though her heart was being pulled from her body, bonding to his.
“Was that French?” Jordan interrupted the moment and Melinda was glad. At least, she told herself she was.
“Yes,” Ra’if said with a nod. He didn’t speak to Jordan as most people did to children. He spoke to him like he was a another adult at the table.
“Cool.” Jordan leaned back in his chair.
“We were just talking about where Ra’if grew up,” Melinda said, her eyes latching to Ra’if’s.
Ra’if flicked her an amused gaze, and beneath the table, his hand reached for her knee. His touch rose a little higher, to her thigh, and his fingers were so comforting and addictive that she didn’t shift away.
“It’s very different to here,” Ra’if said thoughtfully, as though telling a story. “A lot of desert. Sand as far as the eyes can see, and so beautiful. The sky takes on colours at dusk that you can only imagine. The air is clear and very hot, as though if you breathe too deeply you might burn your lungs.” He winked.
“Wow,” Jordan was impressed by the images that conjured, apparently. “What else?”
“Yeah, what else?” Melinda murmured teasingly, her smile sending fires of flame licking through Ra’if.
He ran his fingers in circular patterns over her jeans, but it was his words that had her entranced.
“My childhood was very structured,” he said, choosing his words carefully. Melinda was too caught up in him to notice. “I had activities planned from morning to night.”
“What kinds of ac… activities?” Jordan beat her to the punch by asking, stumbling a little over the big word. She sent her son a conspiratorial smile.
“Oh, good ones,” Ra’if winked. “Horse riding. Astronomy. History, which I always loved particularly. Martial arts. Archery.”
“What’s martial arts?”
Melinda shot Ra’if a look of mock impatience. “A grown up sport.”
Ra’if squeezed her leg beneath the table. “Yes. A skill that was deemed important to learn for me.” He’d transferred his attention back to Melinda. “Self-defence is important.”
“Because your country isn’t safe?” She asked softly, pulled into his web.
