swallowed hard. Aviators never wore jewelry of any kind. Not even a wedding ring. But this guy had to be married. He was just too charming. The confusion must have shown on her face.
“Rumi, the great Sufi mystic poet, said much about the beauty of a rose.” He then quoted her a passage that he’d memorized.
Emma was sure now he was flirting with her. Completely stunned by Khalid’s warmth, his utter masculinity and those gleaming blue eyes, Emma choked. “But … you’re married!” Well, that wasn’t exactly polite, was it? No, but the words flew out of her mouth. Emma took a step away from him. Khalid’s face was overcome with surprise, his straight, black brows rising. And then he laughed. His laughter was hearty, unfettered and rolled out of his powerful chest.
“I’m afraid I’m not married,” Khalid said and he held up his hands, smiling over her mistake.
Emma didn’t know what to do. She knew how she felt toward him—as if he were a conquering Afghan warlord who had just swept her off her feet, stolen her young, innocent heart and claimed her. His smile was so engaging her heart appreciated it by beating erratically. Brody Parker had wooed and wowed her the same way. Oh, God, it was the same situation all over again!
Emma gripped the red rose until her fingers hurt. Should she give it back to him? Throw it away? This wasn’t military protocol between two officers. Emma furtively looked around her. Who had seen him do this? Had they seen her accept the gift? Things like this just weren’t done in the U.S. Army. Could she be more distressed?
“I can’t take this, Captain Shaheen.” She handed him the rose.
Holding up his hands, Khalid said, “Forgive me, Captain Cantrell. My father is Sufi and I was raised with Rumi. I see all of my life through this thirteenth-century poet and mystic’s eyes. I am forever quoting him, for Rumi guides my heart and my life. I hope you do not take offense to my gift. Among the Sufis we believe that love is the only vehicle to touch the face of God and become one with the source. My gift to you was merely an acknowledgment, heart-to-heart, that we are connected. And it is a gift that honors you as a person, to show that you are sacred to me and all of life. Please, do not be pained by the gift.”
Stubbornly, Emma gave him a long, steady stare. “It’s not acceptable military behavior, Captain. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?”
Khalid winced. He pressed his hand to his heart and held her gaze. “I will maintain correct military protocol with you, Captain. Please accept my deepest apology. I am honored that you have agreed to work with me.” He tucked the rose back into his flight suit.
Emma wasn’t sure about this terribly handsome Afghan standing in front of her, speaking with such candor. Her heart melted over the warmth dancing in the depths of his aquamarine eyes. Given the sincerity in his voice and face, she wondered obliquely if she’d read his intentions wrongly.
“Then we’re in agreement,” she said in a clipped tone.
“I volunteered for this mission to help the Afghan girls get an education.” Emma tried to convince herself that he was Brody Parker all over again, only even more charming and smooth than her lover in Peru had been. Emma wasn’t falling for it again. Her heart couldn’t take the hurt twice. Dallas’s words haunted her: This could be a queen-maker for your career. And more than anything, Emma wanted to get good remarks from Shaheen after she finished the six-month mission. Now, she felt as though she was literally walking the edge of sword that could cut her both ways. What had she just stepped into?
Chapter 2
Emma tensed. A range of emotions passed across Khalid’s rugged face. “Look,” she murmured, “I know that in different cultures, mistakes can be made.”
“No, no,” Khalid said, trying to muster a smile, but failing. “You need to understand the heart of our mission. By knowing what the foundation is, you can appreciate our fierce passion for our people.” He held her forest-green gaze. The noise on the tarmac surrounded them. He gestured for Emma to follow him into the Ops building where there would be a room where they could talk.
Emma followed Shaheen. More and more, this felt like doom to her. She was falling fast and she needed to focus on her work. Inside Ops, the captain found an empty room. They went in and closed the door. There was a rectangular table, reports scattered across it along with pens. Emma took a seat and he sat down opposite her after pouring them some coffee.
Taking the lead, Emma folded her hands and met his stare. “My CO told me you were a marked man. I want to know what that means since I’m putting my butt on the line here.”
“I have an ancient enemy,” Khalid began, “his name is Asad Malik. He was born in Pakistan, along the border in the state of Waziristan. Malik was very poor, and with the Taliban, who make a permanent home in that border state, he found his calling. My father’s family are Sufis. They know that education is the door to all fulfillment of a person’s dreams and goals. My father has considerable wealth, and he poured it into the border villages of our country a long time ago because the so-called central government of Afghanistan ignored them.”
Brows drawing downward, Khalid said, “Malik rose to become a very powerful Taliban leader. He is heartless and ruthless. He began attacking villages to which my father was trying to bring schools and education. There were many pitched battles over the years, and Malik swore to kill every member of my family.”
Emma gasped. Although she knew revenge ran deep, the admittance was still shocking. “What?”
Shrugging, Khalid said, “Malik is not a Sufi. He is a terrorist at the other end of the Muslim religion. Our beliefs swing from an eye-for-an-eye attitude to one of spiritual connection with Allah.” He pressed his hand to his heart. “I am Sufi. Malik is stuck in a state of twisted hatred and revenge. It would not matter what religion he embraced, he would practice what he is, despite it. He has perverted the Koran for his own goals.”
Emma nodded. “Yes, every religion has its fanatics. In my year here in Afghanistan, I’ve lived among the Muslims and I find them incredibly generous and caring.
They aren’t the terrorists that the world thinks. They believe in peace.”
“Yes, we are peaceful,” Khalid agreed. “It will only be through our daily life that we show the Muslim religion is not one of terrorism.”
“It’s a PR game,” Emma said. “And I agree with you, people are educated one person at a time. Religion doesn’t kill. It’s the individuals within any religion who choose to interpret it according to their own darkness and wounds.”
He gave her an intense look. “I have truly made the right decision in asking you to be a part of our mission. I like your free-thinking policy.”
Emma tried not to be swayed by his compliment and felt heat enter her cheeks. “I try never to judge a person. I let their actions speak louder than their words.” The intensity of his gaze made Emma feel as if she were unraveling as a woman—not as an officer—to this lion of a man. She mentally corrected herself once again: there were no lions in Afghanistan. Instead, Emma regarded him as the rare and elusive snow leopard that lived in the rugged mountains of this country.
“My death dance with Malik,” Khalid continued, “took on new dimensions two years ago. Malik stalks the border like the wolf that he is. He continually attacks and kills the villagers who try to better their lives in any way.
