Page 45 of Delgano: The Intro

She closed her eyes. “How can you tell?”

“The way you look at me. The things you say.” He lightly tugged on the face covering. “If I had to guess, I would say that you wear this to hide your face rather than to represent your faith. Would I be correct?”

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yes.”

“So, who are you?”

“Adrían, I wouldn’t lie if I had the choice not to. I wish I could tell you everything, but I can’t.” She kissed the tip of his thumb, and had it not been for the cloth barrier, he would have eased it between her lips.

“And that’s the truth?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Okay, querida. I believe you.”

He slid his hand underneath the veil and traced her eyebrow. Although he couldn’t see it, there was something about touching a real part of her, feeling her skin and the light brush of the finer hairs at her temple.

“We should go,” she said, opening her eyes. “They gave me the privilege of taking you out with the unstated agreement that I bring you back.”

They hopped down off the rock.

He walked a half a pace behind her back to the house, surveying the area. There were days when he could convince himself that Sayeda hadn’t been methodically introduced into his life. On other days, like today, he thought differently. Central had identified a soft spot and exposed it.

However, if he was correct and Sayeda was supposed to exploit the few remaining vulnerable points in his heart, what did they think would happen if they were successful?

“Actually, Sayeda, it’s late. How about I stay and ride back with you in the morning?”

CHAPTER

TEN

When he couldn’t sleep at the villa, it was usually because of the lingering discomfort surrounding how he ended up in Morocco.

Or a racing mind.

Here, the sofa held him like a swaddled infant, supporting his spine one vertebra at a time. The air smelled like chocolate, and the refrigerator’s hum provided soothing white noise in the background.

Still, he couldn’t sleep.

He and Sayeda had spent all afternoon, evening, and some of the night together, but he wasn’t ready to be done with her.

“Adrían? Can you come here a second?”

Holding back some of his eagerness—he was twenty-four, not fourteen—he left the sofa and followed her voice through the darkness.

“I’m in here.”

He stopped at an open doorway. “Where’s ‘in here’?”

“My bedroom. Come inside and close the door.”

Already feeling the pressure in his groin, he entered the room. When he closed the door, it enveloped them in complete darkness.

“Can you see me?” she asked.

“No.” He raised a hand in front of his face. “I can’t even see my hand this close.”

Her fingers circled his wrist, and she pulled him closer. Instinctually, his hand opened, his fingers slightly bent in preparation for squeezing soft, warm flesh. Instead, she brought his hand to her face.