Let him go charm someone else into making a fool of herself with him. Dani Hassan wasn’t making any more mistakes in the man department.
Changing into a dark forest-green dress with silver edging, she went back to the kitchen to help the cook prepare a traditional chicken dish with rice and vegetables. She wasn’t sure how the elderly Faizal felt about her assistance—Dani suspected he’d just as soon she butt out and leave him to his business—but joining him in the kitchen gave her an activity to look forward to, when there was precious little to do around the house all day.
She arranged the meal in the dining room, on the carpeted floor, Omani style, with more attention to detail than usual—artfully folded napkins, the prettier glasses—and waited with grim curiosity for her father’s “friend” to arrive. When he finally did, she hung back and waited in her room with headphones on, pretending to listen to music, until her brothers had been introduced and one of them was sent for her. The sight of her prospective beau made her heart sink.
“Daniyah, I’m delighted to introduce you to Mr. Samir Al Kabisi.” He was at least sixty, with thinning gray hair combed over a freckled scalp and a bulbous nose like a misshapen potato. His eyes were yellowish and his teeth crooked as he spoke the traditional greeting.
He didn’t extend his hand, so she bowed her head and attempted a smile. Did her dad seriously consider this man a potential partner for her? He must have a very low opinion of her worth.
On the other hand, maybe she had too high an opinion of herself. She didn’t know this man at all. He could be perfectly nice and here she was judging him entirely on his looks—or lack of them. Wouldn’t a kind and sensible man with a homely appearance be better than a gorgeous and dashing jerk?
She’d prefer the company of a good book.
“Do come in and have some coffee.” She kept her smile fixed while she served the fragrant hot drink in the ornate brass urn they kept for visitors. Her father engaged their guest in riveting conversation about the nuts and rivets industry, and he responded with brief comments in the rasp of a heavy smoker.
Dani wished she could go hide in her room. They stumbled through dinner with innocuous conversation about the city and a recent burst of new construction. After dinner her father leaned forward and pinned her with his gaze. “Mr. Al Kabisi was widowed seven years ago.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Uh-oh. Seemed like her father was finally getting to the point.
“He’s mourned his wife for many years but I’ve persuaded him that perhaps it is time to set the shroud of grief aside.”
Dani swallowed.
“Boys, come out into the garden with me for a few minutes.” Her brothers looked perplexed for a moment, especially Khalid, who probably wanted to go play with his Xbox, but they got with the program and followed her dad out of the room.
Alone in the room with this man more than twice her age, Dani had no idea what to say. He stood and cleared his throat. “I see no shame in a woman divorcing a man who is cruel to her.”
Her heart clenched. He must know her humiliating story. “That’s kind of you.” Now what was she supposed to say? She did see considerable shame in marrying a man old enough to be her father, whom she had less than nothing in common with, out of desperation. And she had no intention of doing so.
“I own my own business and my house. My three sons live and work in Muscat with their families, so I am all alone here. My income is—”
A desperate need to interrupt his sales pitch overcame her and she rose to her feet. “You’re very kind but I really don’t think—”
He rose, too, with considerable difficulty since they were sitting on the floor. His eyes bulged. “I am still potent.” His fetid breath stung her nostrils. “So have no fear that you will be neglected.”
Her dinner churned in her stomach. “I’m not ready to marry again. It’s too soon. I’m still...recovering.” She’d be in permanent recovery if this were the kind of prospect available to her.
At that exact moment she resolved to throw caution to the wind and take Quasar up on his invitation.
Quasar emerged from the warm water of the pool with chlorine-blurred eyes. Sun shone on the sandstone surfaces of the elegant hotel buildings, and a light breeze ruffled the rows of majestic palm trees.
“Your phone’s ringing,” Celia, his brother Salim’s wife, called from beside the pool, where she was relaxing with Sara, the wife of his brother Elan. They’d just eaten a leisurely poolside breakfast and were planning a day of relaxation on the nearby beach. Quasar was soaking wet and bouncing his three-year-old niece, Hannah, on his shoulders. “I doubt it’s anything important. I’m taking a break from business.”
“Throw me!” Little Hannah could yell surprisingly loud for such a small human.
“I can’t. You can’t swim.” She’d watched him tossing her cousin and was desperate to join in the fun. He ducked down and almost dunked her, then rose up fast, making her scream.
“You’re so good with kids. You should have some.” Sara sipped her nonalcoholic cocktail. She was pregnant with her third child.
“Nonsense. I just need to spend more time with you guys. I think this is the first time we’ve all been together since Salim’s wedding. I’m not going to let that happen again.”
Salim and Celia lived in Salalah, with their children Kira and Basia. This hotel was the headquarters for his chain of luxurious resorts throughout the region. Elan and Sara lived in Nevada, where they ran their thriving fuel exploration business while raising Hannah and their son, Ben. Quasar was usually jetting around cooking up projects and it was rare for them all to make the time to relax. For the last decade he’d been so busy starting businesses and partying hard that he hadn’t had time to get bored. Now he was beginning to think he’d missed out on something. Something big.
He didn’t even have a permanent address right now. He’d sold his L.A. penthouse for a profit too good to refuse, and his worldly goods were in a storage unit near Hollywood. He’d recently bought a farmhouse in the hills near Salalah, but it had needed months of renovation so he’d barely spent any time there.
“It’s ringing again.” Celia peered at his phone, which sat on the table next to her. “Same number. Want me to get it for you?”
“Okay.”
She picked up his phone. “Quasar’s phone. Celia speaking.” Then she frowned. “They hung up.” She lifted a brow. “I hope I didn’t scare off one of your girlfriends.”
He swung his niece around until she shrieked loud enough to pierce his eardrums. “I don’t have any girlfriends.” Then he froze.
Dani.
What if she’d decided to call him, and now a woman answered his phone? “Let’s go dry you off, kid.” He carried his niece to the steps and climbed out, dripping onto the sandstone tiles. He dried his hands on his towel and snatched up his phone.
Celia leaned toward Sara. “I think he
