“This country is lucky to have you, Nassor. You’re a good man,” she said, ignoring the pulsing knot in her throat. When she stretched her hand to him, she realized her fingers trembled, her palm clammy. God, she was a mess—nervous, anxious and so, so confused.
“And you’re a good woman.” He walked alongside her, placing his arm around her waist. She brushed against his muscly side, catching a whiff of his manly scent. “Why were you so quiet a while ago when we arrived?”
She scratched her arm, uneasy. Wasn’t it fair to share with him? She’d had deep conversations with him before. When I didn’t know how he felt about me. When it was easy. She kicked a couple of pebbles on the ground, gathering her courage. “I don’t have a lot of memories about my birth parents. A counselor said once that was my way to block the bad stuff from my mind and just move on.”
“I understand.”
“I remember running to the pantry whenever I saw them injecting needles. I’d close the door, sit and link my hands over my crossed legs. I prayed, even though I had no notion of spirituality or religion. I prayed for the situation to change and for them to become closer to those parents I saw on TV commercials,” she said, blinking the tears stinging behind her eyelids. They rolled down her face, streaming over her cheeks before she wiped them with the back of her hand. Her face tightened, and she folded her arms over her chest, willing herself to calm down.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, watching her. He motioned to inch closer, but she stepped back, lifting her hand in disagreement. She needed the space, needed to handle the emotions clutching her heart.
Besides the counselor, she hadn’t really shared much about her birth mother with anyone. After hopping from a couple of foster homes, she accepted no one really wanted to know—who needed her depressing stories? She returned to the orphanage, where she stayed until Harold found her. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. And it’s time to stop thinking it’s okay,” he said. “You deserved better and they failed you. They were the creeps who made mistakes. You don’t have to answer for their choosing drugs over being there for you, and your background doesn’t make you any less of anything.”
“Doesn’t it? Isn’t that why we’re here in secrecy? Because I can’t be associated with you?” she said, and a second later, an internal voice alerted she wasn’t being fair. He’d taken her to the party, hadn’t he? He hadn’t labeled her a date but a guest, but didn’t that count? She wiped her cheeks, sniffing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“I wanted to spend time with you only. Not my staff, and not paparazzi thirsty for a new story.” He cupped her face, tilting up her chin, and she basked in the honesty in his eyes.
“I know.”
“That’s what’s going to happen, if you let me. We’ll have a good time.”
She cleared her throat, and his touch brought a non-sexual, calming sensation to her core. She exhaled, as if weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and smiled at him. “I’m ready for a good time.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Come,” he said, grabbing her hand as they strolled through the woods. Excitement pumped in his veins, and he couldn’t wait to show her his next special spot.
During the past two hours, they talked, walked through the stadium, and he stopped in a restaurant and had the driver bring them takeout of one his favorite junk foods from his childhood—a creamy chicken sandwich and a local soda. Famished, they chowed it down and she seemed to enjoy it.
He’d given express orders for his driver to wait a good distance away from them on the other side of the woods. If memory didn’t fail Nassor, this area wasn’t busy at this time—the woods surrounding the lake where he used to swim during his teenage years. Most people in the closest neighborhoods worked, and were either at factories and companies or the young ones at school. Perfect for what he had in mind.
When he reached the edge of the lake, he took in a deep breath, pushing in the scent of the woods and clear air. A path of dirt and gravel led to the shallow area, where they could get into.
“Wow,” Izzy said, contemplating the clear, calm water in front of her. “Stunning.”
“I used to skip class sometimes to swim here. Helped me clear my head,” he said. Also helped him escape from the intrusive thoughts popping in his mind whenever his mother vented about her volatile relationship with his father.
“Clear your head about what?”
“From my mom’s worries. She always shared a lot.” He wouldn’t be the same parent, he added inwardly. Burdening the child because of his own insecurities and fears. No child should be their parent’s emotional sounding board.
“I’m sorry. Hey, at least you had a mom around.”
“You did too—you just had to wait for her,” he said, thinking of Mary. Too bad she’d died—he’d like to personally thank her for having kept Izzy as hers, even after losing her husband. For not giving up on her.
“Did you ever bring another girl here?” she asked.
“Once. We chatted and drank beer. Illegally, of course. Which I hope you won’t tell anyone, since now I’m the king.”
A smile danced on her lips. “I’m sure I’ll think of ways you can convince me not to spill the beans to a thirsty paparazzo.”
“I’ll try my best. Starting now.” He removed his shoes and socks, kicking them to the side, then pulled his shirt over his head.
“Wait,” she said, raising her voice. “Here? What if someone sees us?”
“Trust me, this place is dead this time of the day. I told my driver to call me if someone approaches. We can quickly take a shortcut to the car and leave.”
