“Woman, you're driving me out of my mind.”
Lelia shook her head in denial. “I haven't done anything.”
“That's the problem. Look, I know you said we can't have a relationship or anything, but why can't we just hang out? Get to know one another. You've been here for a couple of weeks now, and I bet you haven't had any fun. I know some of your Guard have gone into town, but I'll bet anything you haven't.”
Lelia shook her head. “I've been very busy. I have a lot of responsibility—”
“So do I,” he interrupted. “But that's no excuse for not going out sometime. Go out with me. I promise you a good time. And I even promise to keep my hands to myself.”
Lelia pointedly glanced down to where their bodies were barely paper-width apart.
Patrick gave her a self-deprecating smile. “Hey, I'm a marine. I can be trusted to keep my hands to myself.”
I believe you can keep your hands to yourself, Patrick. The problem is, do I want you to?
This was absolutely insane; yet she couldn't deny herself the pleasure of a day in his company. “What should I wear?” she asked.
Patrick grinned back, satisfied with his success. “Plan on an adventure. I promise you'll be very wet,” he replied cryptically.
Heat shimmered up from the pavement like waves on a distant shore. Lelia watched it in rapt fascination. Though she was from North Africa and accustomed to oppressive temperatures, this heat was totally different. Laritrea was a mountainous country, and the cool Mediterranean breezes ameliorated the heat. This part of North Carolina was low and swampy, and with the humidity, it was like trying to breathe through a damp towel. She watched as women walked past on the sidewalk, their limbs exposed by shorts or skimpy skirts. Though she was sure they were probably much cooler, she didn't think she could ever be comfortable wearing such clothes. She looked down a bit self-consciously at the jeans and short-sleeved shirt she was wearing. It felt a bit strange to be out of uniform. She almost regretted not wearing her hijab.
Though Patrick had said it was perfectly acceptable, she was not accustomed to wearing it when she was outside her own country. Of course, she had never been out of uniform when she wasn't at home either, but that was beside the point. She glanced over at Patrick, who was similarly attired in a dark green polo shirt that brought out the green in his hazel eyes. She watched admiringly as he navigated through the appalling traffic. Patrick had told her that even with much of the military deployed to one conflict or another, traffic in Jacksonville never seemed to lessen. She rarely drove, though she had her driver's license. Usually she served on point when they traveled, watching for danger or any attacks on the Colonel. Patrick glanced down at her with a grin when she asked again where they were going.
“We're here,” he said, pulling into a large parking lot. He waved an arm in the direction of what appeared to be some type of amusement park.
Lelia raised her brows. “You cannot be serious.”
“What, you got something against bumper boats?”
“Bumper
boats
?”
“Sure, they're like bumper cars, only they're, well, boats.”
Lelia shook her head, “I'm hardly dressed for water sports.”
“Neither am I. Come on, unless you're chicken?”
“Hardly. Apparently I was woefully misinformed about American dating customs.”
“Really?” Patrick tilted his head to one side, his arms crossed across his chest. “So, do tell me what you've heard.”
“It was my understanding that a gentleman would take a young lady to a movie and perhaps dinner. This place looks like it's for children.” Raucous laughter punctuated her comment, confirming her initial impression.
“Oh come on, Lelia.” He took her arm, tugging her toward the entrance. “Any guy can take you to a show. It takes a real man to risk getting his ass kicked on the bumper boats. And if you're really good, I'll even take you for a whirl on the go-carts.”
Lelia hung back briefly, but her curiosity got the best of her. They had similar attractions in resort towns in her country, but she seldom had an opportunity to explore them. “Okay, they do look like fun. I'm really looking forward to kicking your ass…again.”
Patrick raised his brows, and she knew he was as shocked as she was by her crude language. After hanging out with marines for several weeks, it was impossible not to pick up a crudity here and there. “I didn't mean…”
“Oh, I know exactly what you meant. We'll see who gets their ass handed to them. Especially since you've yet to kick mine the first time.”
* * *
Lelia giggled as she sneaked up behind Patrick and fired her water cannon, soaking him through before he could turn his boat around. Steering the bumper boats was dicey at best, and before she could turn and get out of firing range, she found herself surrounded by several bright-eyed youngsters in their boats. She'd seen Patrick talking to them before they'd gotten into their boats, and should have known he was plotting strategy. The children were chuckling gleefully as they fired at her again and again, soaking through her clothes and even her sneakers. One little brown-skinned boy was particularly relentless, cutting off her escape route each time she tried to maneuver away. His adorable, gap-toothed grin belied his skillful manipulation of the absurdly unmanageable boat. Finally she gave up trying to fire back and simply collapsed against the steering column, laughing helplessly. Besides, in this heat, soaking wet was the best she'd felt all day.
She glanced over at Patrick, who was calling off his troops at her surrender. With his eyes glowing with good humor, he was almost beautiful, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat. They'd spent weeks working together trying to ignore their intense attraction, but now as she looked into his rich hazel eyes she knew that it was highly unlikely that they'd be able to maintain a platonic relationship. As he returned her stare, his gaze turned from amused to frankly hungry. A shudder raced through her body as she felt moisture gathering between her thighs.
She exhaled sharply as the boat abruptly fetched up against the retaining wall. The attendant had signaled for their return anyway. She watched as Patrick slipped bills to his coconspirators. “Amazing the lengths a grown man will go to win a child's game.”
“Remember, I play to win, sugar.” She shivered as his molasses-rich voice continued, “If you think this is extraordinary, imagine what I'll do to win an adult game.”
Not for the first time, Lelia was grateful for the dark complexion that kept him from seeing the flush that rose under her skin. It would be best for all concerned if he never knew that she had thought of little else.
“What do you want to do next?” he asked when she couldn't come up with a response to his comment.
“Anything but the go-carts. One wreck with you is one too many. I want some steel around me when you're driving.”
* * *
Lelia screamed as Patrick made another hairpin turn. He barely slowed the little vehicle, and she gasped as it came up on two wheels. “Y'Allah! Patrick. Slow down,” she yelled at him, knowing full well he'd ignore her as he had during their previous two trips around the track. Who would've thought she could have so much fun putting her life in the hands of this erstwhile Lewis Hamilton? Her braids, unaccustomedly loose from their usual chignon, flew behind her in wild disarray. Laughter bubbled up from her throat as Patrick pulled in to stop the go-cart.
“I can't believe I let you talk me into this foolishness,” she yelled above the roar of the engines.
“Who would've thought you'd be such a sucker for speed? Want to go again?” he asked, his cheeky grin tempting her to touch the dimple that suddenly flashed in his cheek.
She was about to say yes, when they both heard her stomach grumble even over the roar of the returning go-carts. “Perhaps not,” she said a bit wistfully. “I suppose we need to find something to eat.” She glanced down as her cell phone, which was clipped to her belt, began to beep. “I need to find some privacy. It's time for afternoon prayer.”
“Well, I made reservations. We could go ahead and check in. I wasn't sure if you'd want to stay here in town or not.”
Lelia smiled her relief. “That'll be great.”
Patrick nodded toward the phone. “What's that?”
“Electronic call to prayer. A necessity for when Muslims travel outside an Islamic country.”
“Definitely doesn't sound as nice as the real ones. After all these years, you don't automatically remember the prayer times?”
Lelia shook her head. “It changes as the days lengthen or shorten. They're attuned to the cycles of the earth, not any man-made clock.”
“Doesn't praying five times a day get annoying after a while?” Patrick asked.
“No, not really. I've done it all my life, so I'd really miss it. I think it's good to have regular reminders during the day to maintain our covenant with God.
Asr
, the afternoon prayer, is the only one that can be problematic, as it usually comes up when we're in the middle of training. I really like
mashrib
. It comes right at the end of the workday and helps me make the transition.” She glanced at him. “Are you a Christian?”
“I'm more or less a lapsed Baptist. When you grow up in south Alabama like I did, they automatically stamp Baptist on your butt when you come out of the womb. It's not something I made a conscious decision about.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Much to my mama's horror, I haven't been to church in years.”
Lelia frowned. “But you pray, right?”
Patrick grinned. “Only when someone's shooting at me. No atheists in foxholes, you know.” He sobered. “I think it's so cool that you're so devoted to your faith. It would be nice to have something I believe in so strongly. Besides the corps, that is.”
“I enjoy prayer more than anything. It steadies me and helps me reconnect with who I am and my place in God's universe,” Lelia said, surprised by the wistful tone in his voice.
Their long silence was broken when Patrick asked, “You're putting a lot on the line here, aren't you?”
Lelia didn't pretend to misunderstand him. She had never deliberately violated her faith before, and what she was contemplating was an egregious sin. She studied him for a long moment, gathering her thoughts. Her deep breath brought his tantalizing, masculine scent to her, engulfing her senses once again. Then she gave the only answer she could. “I know, but I think it's worth it. As a member of the Guard, I never thought I'd ever have any type of relationship with a man, so it was never an issue.” She lowered her head. “It's easy to resist temptation when there is none, but now”—she raised her eyes to his again—“now I understand how difficult it is. It's my decision, and I've made it.”