Forbidden (Devil's Sons Motorcycle Club Book 1) (7 page)

When Afia made it inside her apartment, she felt like she had passed yet another milestone and broken yet another rule. A twinge of anxiety gave her pause. It was an innocent kiss, but a kiss. After the pointed question from Rayan, however, she knew she had to be more careful. No more skipping family get-togethers, no more missing mosque. She sank back into her pillows with a yawn, resolving to remove all doubt from Rayan's mind. It was the only way she would be able to continue to see Sam.

CHAPTER 7

"Ready?"

"As ready as I can be," Afia spoke into the helmet. They were on their way to Sam's house for the first time in their three month relationship. The plan was to spend the weekend together, and things were in place that not even her nosey mother would suspect where she was going. It had taken time to get to the point where she felt comfortable enough with Sam to go somewhere as intimate as his home, but now that they were headed there, she couldn't wait to press ahead before she changed her mind.

Afia had done everything else right. She had made it to every Saturday dinner. She had only skipped a few services at mosque. Her courtship with Jabar was well underway. Meanwhile, Rayan was spiraling deeper into a nosedive, and there wasn't anything she could do to save him from himself. It was disheartening that her parents paid more attention to seeing her married than seeing to her older brother.

He was drinking. Heavily. He was gambling, she was certain. Money kept coming up missing. He had gotten fired from Asada's boutique. He had been evicted from his townhome and was living in their parents' basement. Yet, he still had the audacity to give her the third degree anytime he got her alone.

Afia sighed and said, "I needed this. Spring break couldn't come soon enough."

Sam gripped the handlebars, palms sweaty. She had no idea, but he was just as nervous as she was. The prospect of having her to himself for three days made him question his sanity. Was it possible he could stick to her rigid boundaries the whole time? He accelerated, eating up the miles from her place to his.

As a mechanical engineer, Sam's salary afforded him a modest ranch house at the edge of the city. The motorcycle cruised to a halt in front of the split level home, and Afia gazed up, impressed by the place. It was sided in white paneling, covered with a shingled roof, and dotted with windows bracketed by black shutters. The house sat on several acres of land, landscaped to bring out the hidden beauty of the desert.  He rolled the bike into his two-car garage where his 1969 Pontiac GMO was also parked, and he nervously took her in through the garage door that led to his kitchen. Chrome and red appliances shined cleanly—nice, sharp lines.

"Tour?" he asked.

"I'd rather let it unwrap itself, you know? See things as we go," Afia decided.  She grinned boldly. She was here. She was in his house and alone with him. "Are you excited?"

He sighed, laughing. "Excited? Try scared shitless."

"How'd you put it? I don't bite."

His lips curled upwards, and he cocked his head to the side. "What if I want you to?"

Afia's eyebrows lifted, and she chose to ignore his statement.  "I brought along some movies and some card games. Which will it be?"

"I'm a sucker for a woman with a good conversation. I happen to know you're skilled in that arena. Care for coffee? Wine? I can turn on the fireplace in the living room to give it that cozy feel. It's warm enough in here, but the flames are pretty."

"Coffee," she chose.

When the aromatic beans were percolating, he took her to his spacious living room where a giant flat screen dominated the wall above the fireplace. He powered on the flames. He had a typical black leather couch and a gray shag rug. He dashed back into the kitchen to fix two steaming mugs and brought them back, finding Afia had made herself comfortable curled up in his favorite chair. Her oversized cardigan was draped over her entire body, feet tucked under her buttocks. She looked small and vulnerable.

Sam had a crushing sense of protectiveness when he looked at her. He realized she wasn't in any danger with him. He'd rather compromise himself than try to coerce her to do something she wasn't ready to do. He took a seat on the couch and stared. Her modest hijab hid her hair. Her loose-fitting clothes cloaked her figure. Yet, she was the reason he had sleepless nights, trying not to torture himself with dreams of plunging into her body.  Other women advertised everything, leaving nothing to the imagination. He had never seen anything wrong with that in the past, and he still didn't. However, Afia's modesty held its own allure.  There was something about just
not knowing
.

Afia eyed him over the brim of her mug, a smile teasing at her lips. His hair was tousled and his face had a five o'clock shadow. He lounged on the couch like a panther in repose, ready to leap if he had to. She decided it might be prudent to alert him to the fact her brother was more and more determined to catch her doing something wrong.

She told him about Rayan's questions and suspicions and what lengths she had gone to just to keep him mollified. Sam listened intently. He didn't have any siblings, but enough of the guys in his circle had kid sisters for him to understand Rayan's overzealousness perfectly.

"He's trying to protect you," he stated plainly.

"I wish he would work harder on taking care of himself. He's plagued me for months now, and he's no closer to finding out about you than he was before. I try to be careful. Bionca wouldn't tell a soul, and I don't talk to anybody else. The only way he'd know anything is if he saw with his own eyes. He's just being paranoid."

"He's being vigilante."

"He's being a nuisance."

"Hey, it's kept you in line so far," he said with a grin.

Afia paused and shot him a dirty look, laughing out loud. "For your information, I keep myself in line. Thank you very much."

Sam chuckled and set aside his coffee mug. "What about that Jabar guy?"

"He'll be popping the question any day now."

"And?"  He didn't want to sound possessive, but it was hard not to. He gazed into her mesmerizing eyes. She flicked her tongue along her lips and grinned, hesitating to respond merely to toy with him. Sam smirked and rolled his eyes. Afia giggled.

"And, that will be the end of that. I'll politely explain how I've suddenly changed my mind about our courtship. He'll disappear into the annals of history like all the other men my parents have tried to get me to settle down with."

"I need to ask you something important, and I don't want you to be coy with me. I need an honest response."

"Why so serious? What is it?" She leaned forward on her chair, letting him know he had her full attention.

"Where do you see our relationship going?"

A still silence descended, heavy with the weight of the question. She didn't know how to answer that. If she was honest, she would have to say that she didn't see them going anywhere. Eventually, her little dating games with men like Jabar would have to end. She would have to pick someone, and that someone couldn't be a man like Sam. If she was even more sincere, she would say that she saw them forging ahead together and seeing what life threw at them next. There was no way of knowing.

"I care about you, Sam. A lot."

"That isn't an answer."

She swallowed and shook her head, and her eyes met his. "It's the only answer I can give you that has no caveats and no escape clauses. I think you knew what this was when you entered into it."

He held his comment. It was true. He couldn't deny that she had always made it clear that what her family expected of her would ultimately be the route she took.  He had things in his own life holding him back from being able to fully commit, but he had wondered. It was worth asking.

"For what it's worth, there's no one else in my life but you. You never have to wonder if I'm dividing my time between you and another woman because I'm not. And, I care about you too, Afia. The same way. Just so you know...Anyway, let me show you to your room. I can get your bags out of the satchel on my bike and help you get settled in. It's fairly late."

Afia pouted. "I thought we were about to engage in witty banter and engaging conversation."

His laughter rumbled up from within, and he launched himself from the sofa to lead her up the stairs to his guest room.  "We have three days for that. Three days we totally, completely need to fill from sunup to sundown with
only
witty banter and engaging conversation."

Saturday morning dawned bright and early at Sam's. Afia was awakened by the happy humming of her boyfriend taking a shower in the other room, the one directly next to hers...his bedroom. She flushed as dreams from the night before flashed to mind. Her scandalous mind was throwing everything at her in her weakest hour. She suppressed a squeal of excitement. She was waking up in his guest room in his house. She couldn't believe herself.

Afia kicked off her covers and forced her body to get out of the super comfy bed before she got too attached. She'd have to ask him where he got his mattress. Her stomach grumbled for breakfast, and she pulled a terry cloth robe over her silk pajama pants. Her pedicured feet slipped into house slippers, and Afia padded softly down the stairs to see what she could find in his kitchen. 

By the time Sam made it out of the shower and followed his nose, he found her cooking fluffy buttermilk pancakes and scrambled eggs. He had thoughtfully purchased turkey bacon the day before. Thin strips sent a hickory smoke and maple sweet smell into the air. He inhaled sharply, wondering what he had done to get such treatment.

"Oh, don't spoil me," he groaned in pleasure. He leaned over the countertop and grinned, watching her work.

"I consider it common courtesy. Your hospitality deserves payment in kind, in my opinion."

"They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

"I've heard otherwise," she replied, biting her bottom lip and smiling.

Sam spun away from the countertop and grabbed plates from the kitchen cabinet, avoiding her innuendo. She sizzled, and it had nothing to do with what was on the stove. There was something different about Afia. Sam wondered if it was his influence or her simply coming into herself. If she was just being herself, he liked it. Very much.

He pulled cutlery from a kitchen drawer and pulled napkins out of the napkin holder. He set the small dining table that stood in front of the French doors to the backyard, and he took his seat, waiting patiently for her to bring his meal. He had plenty of things planned for their day, which he couldn't wait to get started. They had made an agreement. Afia didn't want to be seen out and about in public with him too much. Sam realized, after his discussion with her the night before, she was trying to keep from being caught by her protective older brother.

That left him with his house and his things as the only stuff to keep her entertained. Thus, Sam had planned to kick the day off teaching her how to play pool in his billiards room. When she sat down to eat with him, they fell into easy conversation. Then, he washed the dishes, despite her protests. He took her to the pool room where they played like teenagers, making bold calls and blustery insults. She was giggling so hard her sides were hurting. It was around noon, and Sam still wasn't done with her.

"You ever shot a gun before?" he asked.

Her eyes widened. He took her to his backyard where he had set up targets. The weapon he handed her was nothing more than an airsoft rifle, but Afia didn't have to know that. At first, Sam shouted instructions from the sidelines, but eventually Afia asked him to show her personally, and she allowed him to cup his arms around her shoulders to show her how to aim and fire correctly. All of which proved to be more detrimental to his libido.

"Hot as snake balls out here," he remarked after the second hour of target practice. "Let's get inside under the air conditioner. Woman, I swear, I haven't had this much action in decades."

"Is that good or bad?" she asked.

He pulled off his cowboy hat and slapped it over her hijab, grinning at her with a darker tan. In the cool interior of the house, they sprawled out on the living room couch to watch television together, and Sam didn't say anything when Afia shifted closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder. He just dropped his hand over her arm, safely out of danger of accidentally stroking her breast, and kept his eyes pointed forward. She fell asleep in his arms. It was crazy. In a different world, or maybe with a different sort of woman, he wouldn't have thought twice of propositioning her. As it was, Sam respected Afia too much to debase her like that.