Page 33 of Veiled Fantasies

“Are the meals good?”

She chewed on the idea of trying room service. Then she’d get to stay in bed. With Erik. “Very tasty,” she replied, barely catching herself before sliding off into fantasyland.

Louise sent the toddler off with a loving pat on the rump. “Could you sleep all right? I find it quite difficult in this heat.”

Sleep? An image of Erik’s pulsing body flashed through her mind, followed by another of him asleep and serene.

“Oh, um, I guess I was tired enough to sleep well,” she mumbled. Tired enough after coming—how many times? And not just in round one. She pulled her shirt away from her skin and fanned herself a little. “Gosh, it’s hot today.”

“Awful, this climate!”

She thought of the cool hotel room air and the heat of two intertwined bodies. She tuned out as Louise launched into a tirade against the hotel’s breakfast sausages and tea. But Louise caught herself a moment later and softened into an appreciative smile. “But it’s just fine. I don’t know where we’d be without you.” She sniffed a little, eyes shining with fresh tears.

As if Jill needed another boost to her high-flying mood. She positively floated over the sidewalks on the way to her afternoon sights, oblivious to the glares of pedestrians she bumped on uncrowded sidewalks.

A nervous thought made her freeze in mid-stride. Didn’t they stone adulteresses here?

Wrong country. She hoped.

Dubai’s long avenues were a desert of cement, dotted with shops and restaurants. She stopped in at the Russian restaurant, thinking about making a reservation for later.

Apparently, it wasn’t a good time.

Svetlana wasn’t there, and the two staff who were in attendance stood whispering in Russian behind the counter. “The sooner he leaves, the better.”

“I can’t believe they let him in.”

“What else could they do?”

“The man’s bad news, I tell you.”

They looked up at Jill, then huddled again, probably assuming she couldn’t understand them. When Svetlana came out from the back, she was straightening her apron, wiping red eyes. The lines on her face were strained. What was wrong?

A doorway curtain shifted and she caught a glimpse of Svetlana’s husband. Normally, the man was so upbeat, but today he looked dark, brooding. Almost a double of the criminal from her flight. Then the curtain dropped, and Svetlana hurried toward her.

“Not now, dear,” Svetlana said, taking her arm and guiding her toward the door. When she let go, her hands were shaking, her eyes scanning the street.

“Is everything all right?” Jill asked.

Svetlana tried a weak imitation of a smile. “It’s fine, but it’s better if you come back tomorrow. No, the day after.”

She stood blinking by the doorway for a long minute. Poor Svetlana was really stressed. Jill hoped for her sake that whatever the source of her problem was, it would clear up soon. She might have been more curious had it not been for the memories of her night with Erik occupying her mind as she picked her way toward the Creek.

They’d shared an incredible night and a beautiful morning. One by one, she shook out the sensations stirring her mind, holding them up like freshly washed clothes to be hung on a line. There was the physical satisfaction, for starters. She hung on to that a while, admiring it. When was the last time she’d felt that? Up it went, pinned on a line under the summer sun. Then there was the delight of discovering that Erik was attracted to her, too. That got a prominent place on the laundry line. But confusion, too. What was she really doing with him? Where might it lead?

Endless rounds of tug of war ensued as broad avenues gradually gave way to the narrow, twisting lanes of the old town. Wasn’t she supposed to know a guy before she slept with him? But that was the definition of a fling, right? Shouldn’t she stick with guys she had an actual chance at something bigger with?

Another part of her brain flung its weight into the argument.Just to let go and enjoy.

Well, she’d certainly done that. In all possible ways. So why the tug of war?

Something was eating at the corner of her mind. What? She couldn’t tell. Part of her problem was having very little—okay, zero—experience with irresponsible, spontaneous flings, especially with chiseled slabs of muscle that short-circuited her brain.

Good thing? Bad thing?

Fun thing, she decided and called it a truce. She locked away the rest. Especially the part about how flings, by definition, came to an end. No, she wouldn’t go there now. She’d let herself dream on, just a bit longer.

Passing familiar sights, she honed in on the museum. As it turned out, it was the kind of place where you wandered indoors and out—just the distraction she needed. The place was bright and airy one minute, cool and dim the next. Each doorway opened a portal to another world. Boats, barrels, everything down to the tiny beads on display forced Jill’s eyes to zoom in and out, trying to take it all in.

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