Page 47 of Veiled Fantasies

“Jill–”

She swept straight past him, avoiding eye contact as she struggled into her clothes. The only clothes she had. Everything else was still lost. Everything she thought she found—that, too, was lost. A mirage, scattered like sand by a cruel puff of wind.

“Please, Jill. Let me explain.”

Tears filled her eyes, making it worse.Show a little backbone, girl!She choked the tears back and knocked right past his outstretched hands. Out! She needed to get out!

The hallway echoed with the blunt slam of the door. She smacked the elevator button, again and again, feeling her wet hair drip down her shirt. She shivered all the way down to the ground floor, then shoved the lobby doors aside and burst into the desert heat. Without her sun hat, she felt exposed, blinking as the sunlight cast prisms through her tears.

Go, just go. Anywhere. Away. She took off down the block with a forced stride, eyes on the ground.

A little fresh air, even if it was inside an oven, would do her good. Moving always helped. Running would be even better. To run away. She picked up the pace to a trot and felt her heart rate rise.

There, she felt better already. Free. Independent. Strong.

I told you so.

She came to a jarring halt. Not just her feet, but everything else, too. Everything but the part of her mind that had known all along it would end like this. She was a complete fool. She’d handed her body and soul to a near stranger on the basis of a wild fantasy that would never come true. She’d gone too far, much too far, running from fact and straight into the arms of fiction.

Running, always running. She’d taken fantasizing to the next level, trying to impose it on real life, and where did it get her? Heartbroken and homeless on the streets of Dubai.

She jolted forward again, swearing a silent vow with every step. She was through with him and through with fantasies. Time to face reality. She was alone and probably always would be. Erik was a fling. A great fling. Nothing more.

Soon, flights would open up and she’d be on her way home. He’d fly to his and quickly find the next second-best woman. For him, that would be easy.

A nauseating feeling oozed through her gut like lava down a slope, consuming everything in its path. The tears were already back like the second stage of Noah’s flood. She hurried down a side alley, away from prying eyes.

Footsteps hurried to catch up with her from behind, and her dignity reared up in self defense.Oh no, sir!She balled her fists and hastened her pace. No amount of sweet talk would bring her back now. Not her!

A hand landed on her shoulder, gripping tight. Pinching. Hard. How dare he? Jill spun with the coiled fury of a wildcat, knocking Erik’s arm to the side, ready to shout him down.

But her eyes were focused too high, registering a mop of unruly black hair instead of familiar brown eyes. Not Erik. It was someone else. Someone with a very tight grip on her wrist. Dark. Surly. Dangerous.

The man from the airplane—the arms dealer.

Blinding pain shot through her arm as he clamped down on it while another hand came at her face. She opened her mouth to scream, but it was too late.

Chapter Sixteen

Erik glanced at his watch and found it had barely advanced one tick from the last time he checked.

Seven hours. Seven hours since he’d ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him.

It was one thing to stomp away in anger. But seven hours? Jill wasn’t the type to completely flip out. She should have cooled off and come back hours ago. Especially now that night had descended, throwing the city into shadows and whispers.

Where was she? He glanced around the room. Everything was there, yet it felt empty. Her backpack, water bottle, and wallet were all there. She never left without them. Her guide book and camera, too. What would she be doing for so long without those things?

Maybe Jill had done the girl thing and gone running to a friend. She was probably with Louise now, inhaling chocolate bars while painting her toe nails and cursing his existence. That was it.

Erik called the old hotel and asked for room 516, only to be reminded that Jill was not your stereotypical female. Louise hadn’t seen her since the morning.

“Is something wrong?” her worried voice echoed over the phone.

He was starting to wonder the same thing.

When the caged silence of the room became unbearable, he went downstairs to wait at the bar. From there, he could see Jill coming. Hell, he could probably feel her coming. The streetlights would shimmer and ripple, and she’d be there. Then he could run to her, hold her, kiss it all away.

If she let him, that is.

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