Once Upon a Second Chance (1 Night Stand Series) (3 page)

The pain flared from her heart to radiate throughout her body. Leila steeled her features and threw her shoulders back. She was done accepting the cards fate dealt her. Her runaway husband would have to understand.

“I’ll get dinner ready.” She breezed past him into the villa, didn’t wait for him to follow; her tone had brooked no argument. If he possessed a hint of the good man she believed him to be, he wouldn’t bolt.

She felt the burn of his dark stare on her while she went to the fridge and pulled the two food tubs from the rack.
Hachis parmentier—meat pie
. She preferred shepherd’s pie with lamb, but beef was a Mauritian staple. With a quick flick, she searched the container for the
halal
logo, a little word written in Arabic. Muslims could not eat pork, or meat not slaughtered according to Islamic rites. This turned buying ready-made prepared meals a pain in many countries, but thanks to the thriving Islamic population on the island, almost every company used
halal
meat. Still, out of habit, she checked.

While the meat and potato layers heated in the microwave, she poured two glasses of chilled white grape juice. Try as she might, she couldn’t ignore his presence in the doorway, hands in trouser pockets and one shoulder casually resting against the frame. She took quick, surreptitious glances at him from under her lashes. The timer dinged, giving her something to do so she opened the door and retrieved the food. She placed the tubs on the counter, returned with the glasses, and pulled a bar stool from under the island. “Come eat.”

Her head lowered, she reached for the cutlery tied inside thick, white linen napkins at the edge of the counter. He grasped the same bundle, and their hands touched.

Leila wasn’t able to bring the “cool girl” persona into place this time. She gasped and peered up at him.

With his eyes on her, he unwrapped a napkin and handed her the fork. She grabbed it, and took a bite; however, she could have been eating air for all the taste she registered on her tongue.

Without a word, he joined her.

Was this what dinner would be like? Stretched silence? Once they finished, he would leave. She struggled to think of words that would keep him there, at least until he explained why he’d abandoned her as he had.

“Did you know you were meeting me?”

He glanced up and shook his head. “You?”

“No. Carole didn’t tell me who I had to meet.”

He huffed. “Carole? I should’ve known.”

She blinked. “You, too? She signed me up at a dating agency or something—”

“1Night Stand.”

“What?”

“The name of the agency and the nature of the date.”

A one-night stand. That meant sex, didn’t it? And more…. She had to ask, before she lost the tiny flicker of confidence that sparked in her. Hate him, loathe him, love him—she couldn’t deny she wanted him. God knew for how much longer he’d be her husband, so if she could have him while he remained legal for her, she would. “I get you for the whole night, then?”

At his audible breath intake, she wanted to smile and scream victory. He hadn’t imagined she’d take the upper hand here—she had to keep the edge.

His jaw tense once again, he looked away before pinning her with an intense look. “I’m sorry.”

Not what she’d expected to hear. Her resolve faltered at his apology, before she recalled how he’d hurt her. “As you should be, for what you did to me that morning.”

After I woke up in your arms, feeling safe and cherished for the first time in my whole life
.

He’d bolted from the bed after a long, deep kiss, coming back with a glass of water he’d asked her to drink. Then, everything went blank.

A small muscle ticked in his left cheek. “I apologize. You don’t know how sorry I am.” He ran a hand through his hair. “If I could do anything—”

“You can.”

Where is all this steel coming from
? A woman scorned? A jilted wife?

“How?”

She stepped down from the stool and walked around the counter to reach him. He stood as well, and she stopped a foot from him.

“Stay,” she heard herself saying. “Spend this night with me.”

Chapter Three

Who is this woman
? Certainly not the timid bride he’d taken to the marriage bed, the one who, despite years of being married, had reminded him of a delicate, shy virgin on their wedding night. He faced a seductress, a confident creature out to lure a man.

Out to make him pay.

Did she know the worst punishment for him would be to leave her once he’d had her again? Heaven and hell rolled into one, a sweet agony he would never refuse although it led to the darkest torment he’d ever endure. Once more.

He wanted to say no.
Ya Allah
, how he wanted to push her away and walk out before he lost the little sanity he still possessed, the little restraint he could still call on. With the Leila he’d known, he could’ve called the shots.

But not with this woman, who was still his wife. His for the taking, especially when she offered herself with such unashamed boldness. She had changed, become harder than the sweet girl he had married, yet the persona she showed today intrigued him more than anything. What would it be like to make love to her? Would she take the upper hand in bed, too?

He gulped at his wayward train of thought. Nothing good would come out of them coupling again. He had to resist her, leave.

Who was he kidding, though? He’d knocked her out when he had brought her to the island, because he feared he would never have been able to turn his back on those jade-colored eyes in which had swirled an abyss of hurt and longing.

Eyes he peered into now when she closed the distance between them. The hem of her dress swished against the top of his shoes, a sensual promise of what could happen between them tonight.

Khalid forced himself to tear his gaze from her, to snap his head up so she’d understand he meant no, he wouldn’t allow her any closer.

She paid him no heed and snaked a hand up his chest, her soft fingers lingering on the naked skin of his neck. She didn’t stop there, though. She trailed her other hand up, until she twined her fingers behind his neck, and in the process, pressed the whole length of her body to his.

He winced, unable to hide. Not his feelings for her, not his desire as he grew hard against the gentle press of her belly. He tried to rein himself in with a deep breath. All for naught.

His wife laughed, a throaty sound to poke at the burning embers of his need for her and make him crave her with a yearning that went beyond despair.

“Hold me,” she ordered on a soft whisper.

He shouldn’t. But damn if he could resist. Her heat wrapped around him, the scent of her flowery perfume cloaking him in an inextricable cocoon where he lost himself.

So he stopped fighting and brought his arms up, to splay his hands on the small of her back.

She closed her eyes when he touched her. Her low moan shattered what remained of his composure.

Khalid pulled her against his chest. She snuggled into his embrace, laid her head on his shoulder. He breathed in the sweet smell of her hair, those glorious blonde tresses he hadn’t known she hid under her scarf. His surprise when he had seen her for the first time without the head covering, in their bedroom on their wedding night, had threatened to consume him even more than the flame of lust that had singed his body.

Time came to a standstill while they remained in each other’s arms, until she hummed a soft tune and started to sway to the same rhythm. Listening closer, he recognized the music, an old Kenny G classic.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked, pulling away to peer into her face.

She glanced up at him, green eyes liquid with heat and desire, before she nodded. Leila didn’t need words to convey what she wanted to him. From the very first moment, he’d been attuned to her, anticipating her every wish, fulfilling them before she could voice them. He’d thought such instinctive knowledge odd, a transcendental connection never experienced on this plane of existence.

And he so wanted to give her everything she deserved. But the kicker was that he didn’t deserve her.

Would it be wrong for him to take what should be off-bounds for him?

Just one time. Just this once, tonight
….

He reached into his trouser pocket for his cell phone. Scrolling through the files, he found the tune he searched for, the one she’d been humming. As he placed the device on the counter, the melodious notes of Kenny G’s sax floated out. A track made for romance, for a magical night.

How would he walk away in the morning?

Don’t think of that. Not now
.

Khalid slammed the lid on the questions. Pulling her to him once more, he pressed his cheek against the top of her head and swayed to the music.

She sighed against his chest, the thin cotton of his shirt doing nothing to hamper the warmth of the expelled breath. His body surged to readiness, eager to claim what it had been denied for so long.

But he couldn’t jump ahead—not fair to his lover, and unbecoming of his upbringing. Muslim men were told to take their pleasure, but only after their wives had found their climaxes. In the words of the prophet Muhammad—peace be upon him—lovemaking without foreplay was cruelty to women.

He skimmed his hands up her back, caressed her shoulders with reverence. A shiver danced through her. Pushing his hands into the thick tumble of curls, he clasped the sides of her head and made her look up.

Longing painted her features with a delicate flush. Full lips parted, she begged for a kiss without any words.

He hesitated. If he took her tonight, where would that lead them? He started to withdraw, but she reached out and placed her palms against his cheeks.

“Kiss me.” She followed the request by shaking free of his grip and stretching up on tiptoe to press her lips to his.

At the passionate contact, his resolve, his doubts, his apprehension, dissolved. Touching his forehead to hers, he surrendered. “
Ana bammot feeky
,” he muttered.

I’m falling into you
.

Leila’s heart soared. He was hers for the taking—he had capitulated. And now she would have him. One more time—one
last
time—she would share her husband’s bed. The man who made her lust boil, who had awakened desire inside her body, made her skin crave a lover’s touch. Before being sold off, she’d barely been kissed, and there’d been nothing affectionate in her first husband’s abuse.

With Khalid, she had learned what love and passion could mean. In a way, he’d been her first real kiss, at twenty-seven, that night while she sat at the edge of their marriage bed. He’d settled next to her, touched her chin with startling gentleness, and made her look at him.

“
Ya gameel
,” he’d said.

Hey, beautiful
. The teasing note in the words had melted some of her anxiety, and she had risked a shy smile his way. He had returned the smile before he dipped his head and touched his lips to hers.

Like right now. With his hot mouth upon hers, she let go of everything—the past, the future. Nothing existed but this suspended moment of being with him.

He coaxed her lips to part. She needed no further encouragement to answer the plea. She craved a complete merging and sighed when he teased her tongue with his. His hands snaked into her hair, his fingers tangling in the tresses while he held onto fistfuls of the long locks.

Then he stopped teasing and took control, and she let go of any other sensation that could’ve coursed through her. She plastered herself to his strong, hard body. His arousal pulsed hot and rigid against her belly, and she reveled in the power she possessed to stimulate such a magnificent man in such a blaze of want.

A man who left me.

Shut up
! She refused to think of anything but her man and his lovemaking right then. She needed him, full stop.

She returned his kiss, letting her tongue dance with his. He tasted of the slight anise flavor of the
meat pie
, as well as the drugging essence that was him and him alone. She sighed, the sound coming out of her in a desperate moan.

He broke away. “Where’s the bedroom?”

Needing to touch him, she undid the buttons on his shirt with undue haste. “First door to the right.”

She yelped when he scooped her in his arms and carried her out of the kitchen, across the hallway, and into the bedroom. He laughed, and she consigned the sound to her memory.

Near the bed, he settled her back on her feet. Her need for him hadn’t waned. In fact, it had grown more frantic. She undid the buckle of his belt before she pulled his shirt out of his trousers. With a harsh rip, she tugged the garment off his shoulders.

He chuckled, and the sound turned to a growl when she placed her mouth in the dip of his collarbone and swiped the warm skin with her tongue. His scent—the very heady and masculine Drakkar Noir, along with the musky note of his sweat—wafted through her consciousness, an aphrodisiac fueling her desire even more.

Not to be undone, he found the zipper on her dress and tugged the fastening down, all the way to the small of her back. Shivers danced through her as he brought his hands up with a lazy rhythm, skimming her naked spine to reach the shoulder straps he pushed down.

With a soft wiggle, she made the clinging sheath pool at her feet in a rustle of flowing silk. She stepped out of the discarded fabric and glanced up at his sharp gasp.

“You aren’t wearing anything underneath.”

Instead of replying, she smiled and tipped her chin toward him. “You’re still wearing too many clothes.”

His sultry gaze traveled all over her, from head to toe, and back again. His nostrils flared as he contemplated her.

“I said,” she started as she moved in front of him and reached for the fastenings on his trousers, “you’re still too clothed.”

He joined fingers with her to undo the button and zipper. She peeled the cool linen along with the cotton briefs underneath, letting her palms dance along his hair-roughened thighs and legs, before she placed a bare foot on the fallen garment and tugged it away while he discarded his loafers.