Page 43 of Veiled Fantasies

Her juice glass halted halfway to her lips. “What?”

“I read that in the newspaper. An arms dealer. Chechen, I think. No, Armenian. The story was in the paper. Something about the man being extradited to testify in a trial.”

Well done, Jill. You didn’t just chat up any criminal. No, you went and honed right in on an arms dealer.

Erik still had that quizzical look, so she relented. “The guy actually had the nerve to try to get me to help him. ‘I’ll make it worth your while,’ he said. ‘Tell Yuri in the spice souk,’ he said. As if I’m going to help a criminal!” Her voice rose.

Erik put a hand over hers.Everything okay?his eyes asked, massaging her nerves back into place.

Everything perfect.

“So the souk is off the list.” Erik turned a page.

“I was thinking maybe the desert zoo. Or, Allah forbid, if I have more time, even the mall. When will you be free?”

It never seemed soon enough.

* * *

Erik kept waiting for it; for Jill to get possessive, demanding shorter work hours and pressing him about the future. He waited and waited until it dawned on him that he might have to wait a very long time for that to happen.

But what if that meant she didn’t care? Maybe this was just a casual fling for her. Which would be a good thing. It would make the inevitable breakup that much easier. Wasn’t that what he wanted?

He didn’t know any more what he wanted. Except for her.

He reminded himself how reality worked. Sooner or later, the novelty would wear off and expose all sorts of grave issues that spelled doom as far as a relationship was concerned. Any minute now.

“You know you drool toothpaste all over the sink?” He accused her on his way out of the shower, running a finger over her protesting lips.

Jill kissed him. “You know you make an extremely irritating noise when you stir your coffee?”

He caught her in the loop of his towel, pulling her close. “You’re too organized,” he mumbled, swallowing the last syllable in his kiss.

“You work too much for your own good,” she told his lips.

He liked the way she put it—for his own good and nothing about hers. He kept her close for a moment before letting her free.

“It used to be that I played hockey too much,” he said. “Now it’s too much work.”

He was getting far too talkative lately, but her shining face always encouraged more. Fool that he was, he obeyed. He described the lake in the woods and the buddies who gathered there, slowly reliving it all—calls for the puck, good-natured banter. Breath visible in the cold air, and the scratch of skates on ice. Funny the things he’d let slip in the past couple of years.

He wanted to continue the light-hearted exchange but didn’t dare, lest one of them accidentally hit too close to home. He had too many weak points, real ones he’d rather keep safely locked away. Better not to expose those, especially since this wasn’t bound to last. Right now, Jill was tuned in to him, but eventually, she’d move on. The way Anna had. All he’d been for Anna was filling, a generic male to stick within the dotted lines of her life plan. The substance of him hadn’t been enough. It would be the same with Jill.

Except nothing was the same with Jill. She saw through the outside and into his soul and didn’t run away at what she found. The way she came into the room after her mornings exploring the city. She lit up on seeing him, every time. When she laughed, it was just for him. Even in bed, it was more than sex. It was making love. Afterwards, she’d snuggle against him like he was her favorite teddy bear. The one you keep even when the fur is worn, the ears tattered and torn.

Could she love him? Not just fall in love with him, but stay in love with him?

One thing was certain: he was losing his grip fast. He’d started craving her the way he craved fresh air, like a man cooped up for far too long. No matter which way they bonded, or where, he always ended up with an ear pressed to her racing heart, every sense attuned to her—her scent, the summer flowers, so much like home. He’d always thought of home as a place. But as a person?

Imagine what that might mean.

* * *

All of it was magic. The passionate nights, the languid mornings, even the dusty days. Afata morgana, Erik called it. An illusion, hovering above the overheated sand. Jill burned her eyes examining the shimmering image, determined to find something solid in the wavering desert air.

There was fact in their fantasy—facts that fought back harder and harder each time she tried to thrust them aside. Physical attraction multiplied by genuine feelings. An irresistible urge to heal and be healed. Hope. Love, even.

But once those thoughts were safely locked in their cages? The two of them hit a comfortable rhythm and let time drift like dunes in the desert, trying the whole time to let go. Erik worked through mornings while she did the obligatory airport rounds, then checked in on Louise and the children.

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