The Sheikh's Triplet Baby Surprise (The Sheikh's Baby Surprise Book 3) by Holly Rayner Page B
Authors: Holly Rayner
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fingers to his temples and slumped his shoulders. “Wow, Amity. What a whirlwind that was.” He shook his head, giving her a mischievous grin. “But okay. I respect your decision. There’s not much more I can do than that, is there? I can’t convince you to stay, can I?”
“I know where I belong,” Amity said, her eyebrows high. “I suppose I’ve always known.”
Aziz stretched his arms out, then, and reached gently around her shoulders. Amity hugged him roughly, feeling his beating heart against her cheek and wanting to reach up, to kiss him. She felt the tension between them; she felt the chaos of her mind. She longed for it to calm, to fall away. And she knew it would, the moment she entered that taxi. And so, fighting every impulse in her body, she pulled away, swiping at her wet cheeks.
“I’ll tell your employers it was my decision to send you back,” Aziz said firmly. “I’ll tell them what you’re telling me. That I don’t need a PR rep. I’m not sure what they’ll say. Probably that I’m crazy.” He laughed warmly. “But I’ve always been a bit that way.”
“I like it,” Amity said wistfully. “I do.”
She couldn’t tell him a single thing more. She held her tongue, yanking it back toward her throat. She felt the moments tick. Finally, Aziz spoke once more.
“You know, you’re welcome to come back here any time you please. I hope you do, one day.”
Amity gave him a slight, confused grin. She felt her stomach flip over. It was a one-time thing for him, wasn’t it? That was the unspoken agreement?
“And I’ll make sure Flora gets home in one piece,” Aziz added, chortling.
Amity allowed her head to fall back in a high school laugh, an easy giggle. For a moment, she felt like she could laugh with him on the corner, in front of that mansion, for all of time. But it was time for her to go. And so she bowed her head, thanking him once more, before backing into the taxi and giving him a strained, single-swoop wave.
She forced herself to face forward, not to look back as the taxi swept away. And she told herself, continually, as she passed through the airport sensors and ticket-takers, that she’d made the right decision. She was no more supposed to be in Al-Mabbar than Aziz was supposed to be with her. They had been like two ships in the night, passing each other for only a moment, before going their separate ways. For a moment, deep into their passionate lovemaking, it had been beautiful. And then it had been over.
The pilot launched into his well-practiced speech, explaining that they’d have sixteen hours to cover across the ocean. Amity shoved her earplugs in, pulled an eye mask on, and bid Al-Mabbar a final goodbye. She wasn’t one to linger on past feelings, and this wouldn’t be any different.
THIRTEEN
“Just a tall macchiato,” Amity said, her expression blasé, looking down at her phone as she spoke. The line at Starbucks had been mortifyingly long, but since Flora—who, miraculously, was still her intern—hadn’t been available to fetch her coffee, she was multitasking herself through the afternoon.
“What’s the name?” the barista asked her. She chomped at her gum, looking at Amity with dead shark eyes.
“Amity,” she muttered.
She waited to the side, typing up a brief email to one of her clients—an eighteen-year-old actress who had recently gotten drunk and streaked down Hollywood Boulevard. Amity thought she could probably help her using some of her normal tactics: forcing the girl to volunteer her time at an animal shelter, or an orphanage. Anything that sounded good in a news anchor’s voice.
Whatever worked, Amity thought.
She clutched the latte and marched back into the searing L.A. sunshine. It was late August—the end of summer already—and the heat was at an all-time high, pushing her from air conditioning unit to air conditioning unit. She sighed and entered the
“I know where I belong,” Amity said, her eyebrows high. “I suppose I’ve always known.”
Aziz stretched his arms out, then, and reached gently around her shoulders. Amity hugged him roughly, feeling his beating heart against her cheek and wanting to reach up, to kiss him. She felt the tension between them; she felt the chaos of her mind. She longed for it to calm, to fall away. And she knew it would, the moment she entered that taxi. And so, fighting every impulse in her body, she pulled away, swiping at her wet cheeks.
“I’ll tell your employers it was my decision to send you back,” Aziz said firmly. “I’ll tell them what you’re telling me. That I don’t need a PR rep. I’m not sure what they’ll say. Probably that I’m crazy.” He laughed warmly. “But I’ve always been a bit that way.”
“I like it,” Amity said wistfully. “I do.”
She couldn’t tell him a single thing more. She held her tongue, yanking it back toward her throat. She felt the moments tick. Finally, Aziz spoke once more.
“You know, you’re welcome to come back here any time you please. I hope you do, one day.”
Amity gave him a slight, confused grin. She felt her stomach flip over. It was a one-time thing for him, wasn’t it? That was the unspoken agreement?
“And I’ll make sure Flora gets home in one piece,” Aziz added, chortling.
Amity allowed her head to fall back in a high school laugh, an easy giggle. For a moment, she felt like she could laugh with him on the corner, in front of that mansion, for all of time. But it was time for her to go. And so she bowed her head, thanking him once more, before backing into the taxi and giving him a strained, single-swoop wave.
She forced herself to face forward, not to look back as the taxi swept away. And she told herself, continually, as she passed through the airport sensors and ticket-takers, that she’d made the right decision. She was no more supposed to be in Al-Mabbar than Aziz was supposed to be with her. They had been like two ships in the night, passing each other for only a moment, before going their separate ways. For a moment, deep into their passionate lovemaking, it had been beautiful. And then it had been over.
The pilot launched into his well-practiced speech, explaining that they’d have sixteen hours to cover across the ocean. Amity shoved her earplugs in, pulled an eye mask on, and bid Al-Mabbar a final goodbye. She wasn’t one to linger on past feelings, and this wouldn’t be any different.
THIRTEEN
“Just a tall macchiato,” Amity said, her expression blasé, looking down at her phone as she spoke. The line at Starbucks had been mortifyingly long, but since Flora—who, miraculously, was still her intern—hadn’t been available to fetch her coffee, she was multitasking herself through the afternoon.
“What’s the name?” the barista asked her. She chomped at her gum, looking at Amity with dead shark eyes.
“Amity,” she muttered.
She waited to the side, typing up a brief email to one of her clients—an eighteen-year-old actress who had recently gotten drunk and streaked down Hollywood Boulevard. Amity thought she could probably help her using some of her normal tactics: forcing the girl to volunteer her time at an animal shelter, or an orphanage. Anything that sounded good in a news anchor’s voice.
Whatever worked, Amity thought.
She clutched the latte and marched back into the searing L.A. sunshine. It was late August—the end of summer already—and the heat was at an all-time high, pushing her from air conditioning unit to air conditioning unit. She sighed and entered the
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