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There was acid in her voice, a hint of fire in her eyes, and he could see she was exasperated.
He didn't rise to the bait, thinking it better to let those remarks go. "Can I call you later?"
She looked sternly at him. "Why? To get my answer?"
Qazim shook his head. "No. To make sure you're okay."
She gazed deep into his eyes. Perhaps she saw just how sincere he was being, because she didn't answer him back, but just turned away from him.
"Call me if you like, Qazim. I'm pretty sure I'll be home."
She took a few steps away from him. For a moment, he thought he'd never seen anyone look more beautiful, never seen a woman more alluring than Grace.
Right now, the last thing he wanted was to be apart from her. But he knew there was no choice.
He'd have to wait.
At least she hadn't said no.
He held onto that thought as he watched her push open the glass doors and enter the apartment building.
She looked back at him as she stood waiting for the elevator. It was a brief glance, but he didn't see any resentment or anger in that look.
Then she disappeared into the elevator and Qazim turned and walked back to his limo.
Already he could feel the tension in every part of his being. It was going to be a long wait.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Once in her apartment, Grace slipped off her shoes, made her way to the bathroom and washed. The heat of the day had gotten to her briefly when she'd stepped out of Qazim's limo downstairs.
Feeling better, she made herself a cool drink of apple juice and sat down on the sofa. She felt as if she been subjected to a trial of strength, some kind of endurance test. As if her own inner strength and resolve had been ruthlessly examined.
How could she have been so stupid? She should have walked right on by Qazim Al Shirah, she told herself. At the Medical Center, she should have ignored him and headed out the door, making it absolutely clear that he still had no place in her life.
But, she had foolishly allowed herself to be tempted into his limo, back into his world.
It had been a mistake, and she knew it.
And then he'd gone and made things worse by proposing a marriage.
A marriage of convenience, of all things.
What century was this?
What kind of life would that be, if she did go ahead with it? Grace couldn't even begin to comprehend what that life would consist of.
She knew that both of Qazim's brothers had married American women. Grace had briefly met the wife of Qazim's older brother Zaheer. Grace remembered Becca as a sweet woman, blonde and blue-eyed. Zaheer and Becca had a little one, a baby just a few months old.
The Al Shirah brothers certainly had a thing about American brides.
His other brother Riaz lived a secluded life in the desert. He also had taken a wife, an American journalist who seemed content to live the life out in the wilds of the desert. Qazim had described Riaz as some kind of desert chieftain, searching for the authentic, traditional Qazhar life.
Better her than me, Grace told herself. That was definitely not the kind of life she could even contemplate.
What would a marriage of convenience really involve? For one thing they would probably lead separate lives. Even if there was a child, Grace and Qazim would probably co-exist with stiff formality, constantly keeping up appearances in front of friends and family members.
It sounded like a cold, emotionless existence, Grace thought.
