The Sheikh's Virgin Bride(95)

“Please, could we have some cake to go? We have somewhere to be.”

The waiter nodded and, a minute or so later, reappeared with a brown bag filled with presumably cake, and the bill. Khabib paid, took the brown bag in one hand, and my fingers in his other. And then, we were off.

Outside, Khabib paused and turned to me.

“Did I mention that you look stunning tonight?”

I giggled, feeling my cheeks burn infuriatingly.

“You look pretty handsome yourself; though I’m sure you get that all the time.”

Khabib’s smile turned into a confused look.

“What do you mean?”

“I…all I meant was that I know about your reputation regarding women, Khabib.”

He dropped my hand.

“So, what—you don’t take this seriously, then? Us?”

I gaped at him.

“Well?”

Slowly, I shook my head.

“I really like you, Khabib. I just…”

“You just what?”

“You’re my boss, and I—”

The truth was swirling in me, threatening to boil over. You’re my boss, and I’m spying on you.

Khabib grabbed my hand again, his face looking intense.

“I was going to do this after a nice walk in the park, but clearly it can’t wait.”

He got out his phone.

“Hi, Howard. Yes—could you come a bit earlier? Yep, Griffith Field. Yeah, ten minutes would be perfect. See ya.”

As Khabib led me by the hand on a brisk walk, I searched his still-tense face for any indication of what that had been about, or where we were going.

“I thought you said…”

“You’ll see.”

And ten minutes later, in the middle of Griffith Field, I did see. No sooner had we set foot on the green than the helicopter started touching down.

“Khabib!”

At my awed expression, Khabib smiled, in spite of himself.

“Yeah, it’s really something, isn’t it?”

Inside, the helicopter was even more impressive. With red leather seats and black satin walls, it felt like I was in some James Bond getaway vehicle instead of Khabib’s personal helicopter.

“I didn’t take you in here just to brag,” Khabib explained with a smile. “We have a city to see.”

He leaned forward.

“Howard, you good to go?”

“Sure am, boss!”

And then the helicopter’s blades were whirring and we were rising. Higher and higher we went, at some point Khabib’s hand finding mine, both of us strapped in our seats, sneaking glances at each other when we thought the other wasn’t looking.

It was only once we were high, high up, once Los Angeles had been reduced to a collection of lovely lights, that Khabib spoke.

“I’m sorry for getting upset with you earlier.”

I could feel his gaze on me, yet couldn’t quite return it; not yet.

“It’s okay. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I just…I really care about you, Lucy. More than I could have ever expected and hoped, and it scares me that you might not feel the same.”

I turned around to see his eyes on mine—intense, deep chocolate pools.

“Khabib, I—”

“I don’t know what’s happened to me. But ever since you moved into that office next to mine, I can hardly concentrate. Every other minute I have to see what you’re doing, what expression is on your face. My life has brightened in an undefinable way. I can’t say whether it’s your laugh, the way you blush when you’re embarrassed, the graceful way your body moves, or just the way you look at me when you think I can’t see. But I can, Lucy. I can see you—the real you—in all your splendor. The kind-hearted, fun-loving woman who every day challenges me to be half as good of a man as she sees me to be.”

His words were wonderful, horrible, snaking around my neck, choking me with how much I didn’t deserve them, or him. Now, his other hand was squeezing mine.

“What I’m trying to say, Lucy, is that I’ve never met anyone like you, and I won’t ever again. I want to try to be something with you—I don’t care that we work together, I don’t care what my parents will think. All I care about is making you as happy as you make me.”

My eyes were streaming, and I couldn’t stop looking at this man, this wonderful, surprising man who’d said all the words I’d been feeling for weeks, but hadn’t dared express myself.

“Lucy, what I’m trying to say, what I want to ask…is, will you be my girlfriend?”

The question was a slap in the face, a wakeup call. This was Khabib, my boss—my boss who I was spying on—who was asking me this question. My boss who I adored, and yet, could not accept, not yet. Khabib could see it written all over my face, too.

“I’m sorry, I… Was that too much, too soon?”

I shook my head and squeezed his hand back.

“Khabib, I can’t tell you how much I care for you. How much, from the start, you’ve surprised me with how caring and considerate you are. Every time I see you, it pains me to leave, and all I can think about every week is seeing you. But…this is a big step. With your parents and work, my mom and my job, everything…I need time. A few weeks, maybe, to figure everything out. Not whether I care for you, of course—I knew that the night of the launch. But of how we’re going to do this, how we’re going to make this work. Because, Khabib, I really want to make this work.”