Again, her laugh punched right in his crotch. “Since Ali became the imam of the South London Mosque he’s having a more difficult time accepting I am not a traditional Muslim woman, like most of his worshippers’ poor wives, and never have been for that matter. It’s only now he seems to care about it. I have assured him I will continue to do what I wish, but I will be discreet. His only opinion that really matters to me is he thinks highly of you. It’s obvious he trusts you or he wouldn’t have offered you Rehan’s job when the old man retires.” She dropped her voice again, ready to share a confidence. “I’ve seen you at the mosque. When he told me you were an accountant, I did not wish to believe it. How ghastly and boring. Ah, but you showed me last night you are more than that, Khaled. You search for something beyond what the imam has offered you, beyond what this accounting position gives you.”
What was this all about? He said easily, “All of us are more than our words, Adara. Words are easy, only actions speak truly.”
She appeared to think about that, then, “Did I surprise you when you came to the house last night?”
“I thought I might be killed.”
That sexy laugh. “I enjoy drama, it’s true. I wanted to see your reaction. Would you draw a gun? Would you run? But no, you reacted well—in control, honest, but careful with your words since you didn’t know who or what we were. You did not disappoint me. Nor, I will add, did you disappoint Yusuf. The others, I don’t really care about their opinions. They are too young and untried. What did you think of me, Khaled?”
“I thought—no, I think you are fierce and beautiful.”
“Ah,” she said, and nothing else. Was she thinking about whether to take him as a lover, or of recruiting him? She andher friends hadn’t held back that they were political fanatics who wanted to see most everything he held dear destroyed. But they hadn’t been sure of him enough to tell him more. Had they killed? Had she killed? Khaled said, “What are you wearing, Adara?”
He heard her suck in her breath and smiled because he’d taken her off guard. She said then, her voice low, seductive, “Would you like to see what I’m wearing?”
“Yes.”
“Open your front door.”
Khaled felt a bolt of lust so great he nearly ran from his kitchen down the narrow hallway to the small entrance hall. He had no idea what she was playing at. He had to get a grip, he had to stay in control. He drew a deep breath, opened the door.
Adara gave him a slow smile that nearly brought him to his knees. She was wearing tight black leather pants and a black leather jacket with a black rolled neck, a motorcycle helmet tucked under her arm. Her beautiful hair was loose around her face. She stepped into his flat, turned, closed and locked the door behind her.
“I like surprises, don’t you, Khaled?”
“I can’t argue with this one. You were standing outside my door, waiting for the right moment?”
“I’d say rather I was waiting for you to convince me of your interest. Since I live at home, I cannot do as I wish. My mother’s bedroom is only fifteen feet down the hall and she has the hearing of a bat. And don’t forget I promised my brother I would be the soul of discretion. So, I came here, to get the lay of the land, as it were.”
“As you know from last night, I have no mother here. You are very welcome.”
She laid her motorcycle helmet on the small table next to a letter holder and a small vase of tulips, two days past their prime. She did a small spin, laughed, and threw her armsaround his neck. She whispered against his cheek, “Isn’t it marvelous? We’re all alone, we can do exactly as we please.” She kissed him, wet and deep. Every rational thought fell out of his brain. She was beautiful, she was soft and warm and eager, and it had been so long, he’d been so focused on his job. He picked her up in his arms and nearly ran down the short hallway to his bedroom. They stripped off each other’s clothes and he jerked back the dark blue quilt to lay her onto her back. He lowered himself over her, all of her against all of him, and thought he’d explode.
But there were things a man didn’t forget, and though he was trembling on the edge, he was thorough. He gave her pleasure first, reveled in her moans, then nearly fainted with his own release.
He fell onto his back beside her, his heart pounding, and wondered how it was his neighbor hadn’t heard them and banged on the wall. He felt boneless, his brain scattered. He felt the bright morning sun beat against his face through the open window blinds. He pulled her close, and she rested her face on his shoulder, her breath warm against his flesh. He savored the feel of her, though he knew in a corner of his mind if she somehow found out who he was, she’d stick a knife in his heart without hesitation and very likely without a single regret. That thought brought him a bit of clarity, but only for a moment. He wanted her again. He came over her, leaned down and kissed her ear, her cheek, her eyes, and whispered against her mouth, “I am incredibly thankful today is Saturday.” He let her push him onto his back and do as she wished, and what she did was splendid.
When they finished again, he smiled up at her and lightly ran his palm down her flank. “You are amazing.”
So beautiful she was, her thick black hair tousled, her eyes closed, her lashes thick and black. She slowly opened her eyes and smiled at him. “And you too are amazing, Khaled.I wondered if I would be disappointed, but I was hopeful because I liked the cut of your jib. I love that saying. When I said it to my mother, she just stared at me like I’d cursed because she had no idea what it means.” She raised her hand and stroked his morning scruff. “I dislike the full beards so many Muslim men insist on wearing in London, as if to flaunt their differentness.”
“That’s something I’ve never thought of, but perhaps you’re right.”
Adara came up on her elbow over him. “Do you remember last year when St. Paul’s nearly blew up?”
His brain snapped back to awareness. Be honest, don’t overdo. “Everyone remembers. It was terrifying, horrendous. So many people would have been crushed if MI5 hadn’t spotted the terrorist in time.”
“Now that depends on your point of view, don’t you think? Some at the mosque vowed jihad when Samir Basara was betrayed and murdered in cold blood by that American agent.”
“No doubt some true believers would swear he was, but I remember it turned out he was only a well-paid assassin. And no Muslim would admire such a man.”
“An assassin? I’d say rather Samir Basara was a pragmatist. I see no conflict in attacking injustice and making oneself richer in the process.”
He said, “I understand fighting for what one considers justice, but confusing the issue by being paid to kill while wreaking havoc on hundreds of innocents?”
“Ah, but they were all white-skinned English. Would you consider them innocent victims?” As she spoke, Adara laid her hand on his belly, and since he was young and he wasn’t dead, he responded. She leaned down, licked his neck, and said against his wet skin, “At Oxford, my friends and I did just as we pleased, said whatever we pleased. No one cared. The professors encouraged the students to explore their beliefs, whether religious or revolutionary, no matter how outrageous.There were the Communists, a motley, crass lot, and the fervent Muslims who were always probing, searching out those of us they could bring into their fold. The professors seemed to think we were radicals because our views and our brains weren’t fully formed. Why not let the children pay with their ideas until they became reasoning adults?” Her voice turned vicious. “I’ve never seen such a bunch of fools.”
Then suddenly she laughed, kissed him all over his face, and rolled away from him. “Like most people, I’ve always wanted to decide what it is I want in my own life, Khaled, a concept many Muslim women can’t seem to comprehend, even here in England. They have no power, obey their husbands completely, and accept their lives. Do you think that’s right and just?”
