Caught Between Page 6

  He looked up at her. "A lot. I know people. I know an American -- he is helping to arm the Syrian rebels across the border. He can help us."

  Marya held her breath. "Think about this. Are you really willing to sacrifice your life, the lives of your friends and family, for this?"

  His eyes shone with conviction. "If someone doesn't sacrifice something, then nothing ever changes."

  He dropped her off that night with only a single, chaste kiss on the mouth. "Have a good time in Petra. When you return, I will come visit you."

  Marya left him with a feeling of unease in her gut, like she could sense the wind of change. She was scared for Ash, more than she would admit to herself. Why couldn't he just go back to London and forget this place? She knew the answer, of course. It was for the same reason she loved the Middle East and always would -- it was in their blood.

  ***

  Luke was seeing red.

  There'd been a lull in his trafficking duties, and he'd planned to spend more time with the archaeological team... more time with Marya.

  But he hadn't seen her for two nights now, and that was when he learned she was sneaking off with some wealthy Jordanian man.

  What the hell? She didn't waste any time, did she?

  He looked down at the stack of books in front of him, piled high on the table. He'd come into the library to seek solitude, under the guise of doing "research." But what he really wanted to do was use something -- or someone -- as a punching bag. He reined in his fury and flopped down in a chair, cradling his head in his hands. Old habits die hard. Despite all his efforts to separate himself from his roots, it took little provocation for him to feel like he was back in Flatbush, Brooklyn. He was still the skinny white kid with the impish grin, his knuckles bleeding from landing punches, his face bleeding from taking them.

  What was he thinking, anyway? The Syrian girl with the big, black eyes was way out of his league. Hadn't they always been? In his borough, they were everywhere -- quiet, beautiful, smart. Sometimes wearing headscarves. Some were scandalized by him, others were intrigued. From the moment he began living with the Makloufs, his awareness of them consumed him. He was a twelve-year-old gutter rat, and they were ephemeral beings -- completely untouchable.

  He remembered Rasha in particular. Rasha, who dared speak to him, who dared befriend him. She had thick, glossy ringlets that rioted around her perfectly round face, no matter how much she tried to tie them back. He was sixteen and madly in love with her. He never touched her, not once. But that didn't stop her brothers from beating the shit out of him one night. And it didn't stop her father from sending her back to Syria to live with her aunt.

  Luke opened one of the books in front of him and stared at the table of contents. He'd looked for her on Facebook, MySpace, whatever. She was, of course, not anywhere on the Web. Not that he'd expected her to be. He often wondered what her life was like now, whether she'd succumbed to tradition and become a good Syrian wife and the mother of too many children. He hoped with all his heart she was nowhere near the violence occurring in that country now.

  The library door swung open. He wasn't surprised when Liz walked in, her eyes trained on him. She came over to his table and sat next to him. "Are you going to work all night?" she asked.

  He shrugged. "I don't know. I just got here."

  "Are you mad at me?"

  He looked at her then. She bit her full lower lip, her eyes wide with concern. He suddenly felt bad for the past few days -- he'd been dismissing her, avoiding her presence. He sighed. "No, Liz, I'm not mad at you."

  Looking down at her hands, she said, "I know you're under a lot of stress. I expected it. But it seems like you don't even want to touch me anymore."

  He winced inwardly. It was true -- he didn't want to touch her. What had once been a fun, pressure-free relationship was becoming anything but. Still, he couldn't hurt her like that, so he lied through his teeth. "That's not true."

  Liz looked at him hopefully. "Then will you come and hang out with me? Just a little? You don't have to do your research now, do you?"

  He met her gaze. Why the hell not? Marya was living it up with some guy, doing who knows what. He didn't have to stay imprisoned in the library. He stood. "Let's go."

  They smoked shisha on the patio, then Liz inevitably followed him back to his room. Inside, she approached him tentatively, as though afraid of another rejection. He said, "Liz, I want you to know that I'm thinking of going to Petra tomorrow with the volunteers."

  She blinked, digested his words. "Why?" When he didn't answer right away, she said, "It's because of Marya, isn't it?"

  "No," he lied again. "I just want to get away."

  "From me?" she asked, unable to mask the hurt in her voice.

  "From Amman," he answered. "From my work. All of it."

  She considered. "I can't go with you," she said. "I have to work on my dissertation."

  He nodded, but didn't respond. He expected her to storm off angrily, but she sank into his arms instead. Surprised, he didn't move as she nuzzled his jaw, the warmth of her body pervading him.

  "Okay," she said sadly. "But I still want you. Now."

  Shit. He had to stop lying to her. "Liz, it's because of Marya."

  She pulled away abruptly. "What?"

  "I'm drawn to her," he said softly. "I want to get to know her. I can't help it."

  Liz nodded stiffly and stepped away. "Okay." She turned and walked to the door, pausing before letting herself out. She raised her chin, her mouth pursed. "I'll be waiting for you when you get back."

  Luke stood very still after she left, listening to her footfalls fade. I'm such an asshole. It was dawning on him that, while he'd been having harmless summer flings with her, Liz had been falling in love... with him.

  8.

  The following morning, Marya threw together a backpack of items to take to Petra with her. She heard banging outside, and when Amy returned from the bathroom, Marya asked, "What's all that noise?"

  Amy rolled her eyes. "Liz is slamming doors. She's in a mood again. I swear, that woman needs to go on meds."

  Marya was glad to be leaving Liz and Margot Ducharme behind; she was tired of watching everyone tiptoe around them. This was a students' excursion, and only the bus driver had a schedule. They would be on their own. She strapped on her backpack and followed Amy to the bus that was parked in front of ACMER, waiting to take them to Petra. This was not the rickety clunker that took them to Tell Zeynoub every morning. This was a fairly nice tour bus with big, cushy seats. Even without air conditioning, it was a luxury compared to what they were used to.

  Sitting in near the window and propping her legs up on the seat beside her, Marya sighed. She'd been looking forward to this trip for a while. On the way to Petra, they were going to stop at Mount Nebo and Madaba, then arrive in Petra at dusk. They would sleep in a hostel for the night, then visit the ruins first thing tomorrow. Making sure her camera was fully charged, Marya slipped on the earbuds to her iPod and settled in for the drive.

  "Is this seat taken?" Luke pointed to the row in front of her. He wore his ratty baseball cap and baggy jeans, and he badly needed a shave. He tilted his head quizzically at her.

  Marya pressed pause on her iPod and stared at him. "You're not coming with us. Are you?"

  "I am, in fact, coming," he answered, tossing his backpack on the floor. "Turns out I have some free time." He grinned. "So lucky you."

  Before she could stop herself, she asked, "Where's Liz?"

  Luke sat with his back to the window and looked at her from above the seat. "She has work to get done. She's not coming."

  That explains the door-slamming. Marya bit her tongue, willing herself not to say anything catty. She pressed her forehead against the window and continued to listen to her music, trying to suppress the inexplicable joy she felt knowing he was coming to Petra. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She'd always felt superior to those girls who fell for assholes, and now she was joining their ranks. What was it abo
ut him that drew her? He was clearly dysfunctional, running off into the night, insisting on being alone. The way he'd behaved when she first arrived, taunting her as though they were in grade school. He had the maturity of a six-year-old.

  Guys like Luke were better off alone.

  She closed her eyes, trying not to think. She must have snoozed, because suddenly they were stopped in front of the Church of Moses. Amy nudged her. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty."

  Marya sat up and whispered groggily, "I didn't snore, did I?"

  "Like a fucking freight train," Luke answered with a backwards grin at her.

  Marya rolled her eyes. He was laying on the charm again. What does he want? She almost preferred when he was indifferent. At least then she could convince herself that he was bad news.

  She followed the other volunteers through the early Christian monastery, snapping pictures of the mosaic floors. Outside, she leaned out into the wind to see the famous view of the Jordan River Valley.

  "The Promised Land," a familiar voice said from beside her. He pointed into the distance. "There's Jericho, and sometimes we can see Jerusalem... Maybe if we look hard enough, we'll find the Ark of the Covenant around here somewhere."

  Marya smiled, shading her eyes. "Are you very religious?"

  Luke snorted. "Not remotely. Why, are you?"

  "No. I just know that people who study Middle Eastern archaeology tend to be religious," she said. "So I was just wondering."

  "Yeah, they do," he agreed. "But my interest in it stems from other things."

  She looked at him. "Like what?"

  "Mainly Indiana Jones movies," he said with a laugh. Then his humor disappeared. "I grew up in a Brooklyn neighborhood that was mostly Arab-American. My best friend was Syrian-American. When my dad was too drunk or high to give a shit about me, his family took me in."

  For some reason, Marya was startled by this admission. She looked at his face now, at the high cheekbones and sculpted jaw, the fierce brow and straight nose. He was becoming more human to her, and she didn't know how to feel about that. "I didn't know you grew up in Brooklyn," she said. "You don't have an accent or anything."

  "I worked hard to lose it," he said with a chuckle.

  They were quiet for a moment, looking out across the Holy Land, the wind in their faces. Marya glanced down at his hand, so close to hers. A man's hand, with calluses and rough fingernails. A pretty hand, however, with long fingers and a square palm. The image of that hand touching her flashed through her mind and she suddenly felt hot. Dammit.

  They climbed back onto the bus and continued their drive south to Madaba. This time, Marya was wide awake. Luke wore headphones and closed his eyes, and she wondered what he was listening to. What food did he like? Where did he live? Why did he lose his accent? And for the love of God, why did she find him so fascinating?

  She had been doing well on her "Luke Detox" plan, and now he was screwing all her hard work up.

  ***

  They had lunch in Madaba, a lengthy affair at an outdoor restaurant that served all of Marya's favorite dishes. Afterwards they walked around the town and looked at more Byzantine mosaics before boarding the bus and heading further south on the Desert Highway. The road was aptly named -- there was nothing to see but sand and layered rocks for miles. The desolate landscape was almost poetic, it was so stark, and Marya dreamed to her music as she gazed from her window.

  Luke half-turned in his seat, showing her his profile. "A whole lotta nothin' out here, Helwe," he said.

  "It's beautiful," Marya answered.

  He grinned. "Only a raghead like you would think so."

  In spite of herself, she laughed. Somehow, she knew he felt the same way she did.

  Petra emerged out of the golden rock and sand, truly an oasis in the desert. The sun was setting as the bus drove into the town, and Marya tapped Luke on the shoulder excitedly. "When can we see the ruins?"

  "Not until tomorrow morning. We've got to find ourselves a place to stay for the night before we can think about the ruins." He stood and slung his bag over his shoulder. "We're not staying at the Marriot, that's for sure."

  "It doesn't matter where we stay," Marya replied, beaming. "We're here."

  Luke smiled at her. "A woman after my heart."

  The others were more concerned about the sleeping situation. "We need to find a hostel quick," Amy insisted. "There won't be any place for us to sleep."

  "How about you guys find us a hostel, Marya and I will dig up some grub?" Luke offered.

  Marya snapped her neck to look at him. He shrugged. "Since neither you nor I really care where we end up sleeping." His lips twitched, his eyes glinted.

  Marya's heart skipped a beat. He was reeling her in. Why? Is it the thrill of the chase? What about Ash? What about Liz? In the back of her mind a warning bell was ringing, but she knew she would ignore it. Right now, she was flying high.

  The took off into modern Petra, which was little more than a tourist stop built around the archaeological park. Backpackers walked about, speaking German, French, Spanish. She watched as a well-dressed couple climbed out of a cab and headed to the five-star hotel overlooking the town.

  "Is it weird that I don't envy them?" Marya asked Luke, indicating the couple with a nod.

  "Nah," Luke answered. "You're an adventurer. You don't mind roughing it a bit."

  They bought shawarmas, or meat wraps, from a local vendor along with cans of Vimto, a popular Middle Eastern soft drink. With their arms full, they made their way back to the hostel the volunteers had planned on trying first. Amy greeted them out front, frowning. "We got the last few rooms," she told them. "Apparently all the hostels are full."

  "Can't we just all cram into one room?" Marya asked. "We'll pay extra."

  Amy shook her head. "No more than two people of the same sex to a room, that's the rule," she said.

  "Imposed morality," Luke said with a smile. Obviously, he was used to dealing with this. "Come on, Marya. I'll take care of it."

  They headed for the front desk, where a woman in a head covering was drinking coffee. In smooth, flawless Arabic, Luke said, "My wife and I would like a room, please."

  The woman looked skeptically from Luke to Marya. "We have no rooms left, I'm sorry. But for two dinars each, you can sleep on the roof."

  Luke considered. "If you include toilet paper, it's a deal."

  As they climbed up onto the roof, Marya said softly, "I knew you spoke Arabic. Jesus, you speak it better than I do."

  Luke didn't look at her. "It's a little known fact, one I don't publicize."

  "Why not?"

  "I have my reasons." He dropped his backpack and pointed to the darkened horizon. "Look, Marya. Take it in."

  The jagged, barren mountains were black against the purple sky, enveloping Petra in their midst. Marya remembered that sharp, desert sky, with stars so vivid they took her breath away. There were only a handful of tourists on the roof, backpackers from Denmark. Luke and Marya sat together on the cool cement and ate their shawarmas, drank their sweet soda.

  "Amy and the others don't know where we are," Marya said.

  "So what?" Luke crumpled up the foil of his sandwich and leaned back on his elbows. "We're not required to stay with them, are we?"

  Marya drew her knees up to her chest and looked out over Petra. She didn't respond.

  "Are you scared of me, Marya?"

  She shot him a look. "No, of course not." But she was, a little. She had no idea what to make of him. She shivered and wrapped her arms around her shins. "It's getting cold out here."

  Luke reached for his backpack. "The desert at night. It can get down to sixty degrees Fahrenheit."

  "Oh, man," Marya laughed. "I'm going to freeze."

  Slowly, he unrolled a sleeping bag that he'd strapped to his backpack. "Luckily, I brought this."

  "That doesn't help me much," Marya said. "And I'm not letting you give it to me, either."

  He unzipped it, kicked off his shoes, pulled of
f his hat, and slid into it. "I wasn't going to give it to you," he said, looking at her in a way that made her insides quake. "I was going to suggest we share it."

  "You're kidding." With anyone else, she would have laughed. But the way Luke was looked at her... He'd set this all up. He's been here a million times before. He knew the hostels would be crowded, that we'd end up on the roof, that I wouldn't have a sleeping bag. "You did this on purpose. Why?" she asked.

  "Come on, Helwe," he said softly, his eyes hooded. "I promise it's only about staying warm. I'll keep my hands to myself. If you don't want to, we'll sneak you into Amy's room. No worries."

  He was giving her an out, and she wished he wouldn't. She took off her shoes and unbound her hair, then slipped into the sleeping bag wordlessly, her back to him. His warmth pervaded her body, and it felt so good. He reached around her and zipped up the sleeping bag, then moved his hand away from her. Not knowing why, she took his hand and wrapped his arm about her, clasping his fingers in her own. She moved back ever so slightly, pressing herself against him. She felt him respond, and his body molded to hers.

  "Marya..." His voice was hoarse. "Don't take it the wrong way... if I react to you. Your ass is pressed against my crotch, after all."

  She giggled, then turned to face him. She rubbed his bristly cheek with her fingers, offering him her lips. He took them with his, wasting no time to slip his tongue into her mouth. So different from Ash's kisses. She wasn't aware of her surroundings with Luke -- she was consumed by a white-hot fire.

  They floated in and out of sleep all night, and more often than not, their mouths were joined, their hands roaming over each other's bodies. He slid his hand under her shirt, into her bra. She thought she would die every time his fingers touched her skin. She pressed her hips to his, making him groan. "You're going to kill me, Marya," he breathed.

  When dawn broke, they were tangled together, a mound of body heat in the sleeping bag. Luke kissed her throat then lifted himself from her. He unzipped the bag and stood, and when Marya opened her eyes, he'd gone. She sat up, her body still humming from their strangely erotic night under the desert sky. She ran her fingers through her hair, grabbed her toothbrush, toothpaste, and some toilet paper, then rushed down the stairs to the communal bathroom.