Caught Between (11 page)

"More than okay," she said. "I loved it."

"Really?"

"Yes. Let's do it again."

He laughed into the pillow. "I need a few minutes." He kissed her ear and whispered, "Where have you been all my life, Helwe?"

14.

Luke hadn't enjoyed
himself so much in months, maybe even years. And it wasn't just the mind-blowing sex he was having with this little Syrian minx -- it was every blessed moment with her, watching her, talking to her. He dreaded the morning, dreaded going back to Amman.

"Again," she ordered, straddling him and grinning fiendishly.

Luke laughed. "Jesus! I've created a nympho!" He cupped her breasts in his hands and she purred.

"Please?" she begged, placing her hands over his.

"That's three times in... what, five hours?" he gasped. "I'm literally sapped."

She pouted, and he immediately pulled her mouth to his. He flipped her onto her back and devoured her, forcing her mouth open. Exhausted as he was, he was driven by this primal need to own her.
Mine. All mine.

She wiggled her way out from under him and rolled out of bed. Then she stood naked in front of him, grinning. "
Wanna play cards or something?"

"Cards?" he echoed in disbelief. "You brought a deck of cards?"

"Yeah."

"Do you maybe want to sleep a little?" he asked.

She hopped from foot to foot. "No. I'm too fired up." She paused. "But you can sleep, if you need to."

"Screw sleeping," he groaned, rolling to the edge of the bed. "I'll sleep when I'm dead." He crashed to the carpet and slowly rose to his feet. "We'll play cards and have sex all night long."

"Perfect!" she cried, skipping over to her suitcase. "I'm also getting hungry again. I wish we could order pizza. Real pizza, not this Arabicized stuff that passes for pizza over here. I'm talking about a large Papa John's pizza with pepperoni and sausage..."

"I've got sausage for you, baby."

She eyed him. "Yeah, about your sausage..."

He held up a hand. "Not ready yet, tiger. Easy there."

They played a dismal game of gin rummy, and Marya proved to be a sore loser, pummeling him with a pillow and accusing him of cheating. Luke choked on his laughter, cringing from the feisty woman who clambered over him and tried to pull him into a headlock.

Their late night snack arrived, and they ate again -- mostly decadent deserts, this time. By the time they were finished, Luke was ready to go again. He watched
Marya prance around the room in nothing but panties and a t-shirt and had to grab her. He pulled her down into his lap and began kissing her neck. He felt her tremble, her skin heat to his touch.

"Luke... can I ask you something?"

He continued to nibble at her. "So
now
you want to have a serious conversation?"

"I'm worried about you."

Pulling back to look at her, he noticed her frown. "None of that, now," he said, running his thumb along her cheek. "You don't need to worry about me."

She wasn't mollified. Chewing the inside of her cheek, she said, "Where do you go at night that requires you be alone and that puts your life in danger?"

"I already told you I was involved in things."

"You told me you were involved with Ash," she said. "But there's something missing, something you're not telling me."

He forced his wall down, composed his features. "There's a lot I'm not telling you. But you knew that too."

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes narrowed. "When the dig is over, what are you planning to do? Will you go back to the States?"

"I can't tell you, Marya."

"But you can tell Liz." She stood and stepped away from him, her arms crossed on her chest.

Ouch.
"Liz knows more than she should by sheer circumstance, not because I want her to know something that I won't share with you."

She pursed her lips, then blurted, "Are you Ash's arms smuggler?"

Luke opened his mouth. "What?"

Pointing at him victoriously, she said, "You are. You're the Amer
ican Ash said would help him, the one who is smuggling weapons to the Syrian rebels."

He dragged a hand across his mouth. "
Marya, I can't discuss this with you."

"Are they there?" She looked imploringly at him, her hands at her sides. "Tim's parents. Are they in Syria now? Is that why, Luke?"

His chest suddenly ached. He closed his eyes. "It's part of it."

"What's the other part?" her voice was soft, full of sympathy.

He opened his eyes. "My rage."

She didn't speak again. Somehow, he had satisfied her curiosity. She approached him slowly,
then began caressing his head, pulling her fingers through his hair. She kneeled in front of him and took his face in her hands. With a tenderness that broke his heart, she kissed him. In response, he clasped her to him, listening to their hearts beat in sync.

***

The following morning, they caught local minibuses to get back to Amman from the Dead Sea. They were both quiet throughout the trip, and Marya lamented the end of their magical weekend. They wouldn't be able to touch each other like that again.
Ever.
The thought tore her up, made her want to double over and sob.

I love him.

She would have to settle with sneaking around ACMER, avoiding both Liz and Ducharme, just to steal kisses from him. And then, at the week's end, she would fly back to the States, and Luke would...
Oh, God.
How was she going to survive this?

When ACMER was within sight, its dreary brown walls shimmering from the heat,
Marya's heart plunged to her feet. She didn't want to see those curious, sour faces. She didn't want to be judged by Ducharme, by Liz, by her parents. She didn't want any of it. All she wanted walked alongside her, his lean body moving like a panther's, his deep green eyes staring pensively ahead.

"This is it," he said as they slipped through the gate and began climbing the hill. He gave her a brief, wistful look and reached out to squeeze her hand once. She said nothing, for fear of choking up. Their reception was chilly, as expected. Everyone knew they'd separated from the group at the Dead Sea and gone off together -- alone.
For the night. Marya could feel the scandalized stares boring holes in her back. Her whole life, she'd been the good girl, the wholesome girl who did what she was told. For the first time, she felt like people were looking at her and seeing the
bad
girl, the rebel, the slut.

And the strange thing was -- she didn't really care.

She hadn't done anything wrong. She was an adult woman, an American woman, who'd lost her virginity to a man she loved. Anyone who thought that made her bad could go to hell.

It was lunchtime, and everyone was eating in the dining hall when they arrived. Liz stood and marched over to them, her face a peculiar
shade of pink. She stopped in front of Luke and slapped him across the face with all her strength.

"You son if a
bitch
!" she spat, then stormed from the building.

Oh, the scandal.
Marya was frozen in place. Luke looked down at her, his cheek branded with Liz's handprint. He blinked to clear his head and said, "You up for some grub?"

They loaded their plates with food and sat at a table together, as if nothing had happened. Although
Marya had no appetite, she forced herself to eat, to act normally. Luke spoke to her about their work, his eyes glowing with affection.

The dining hall returned to normal.
Marya said, "I'm sorry for causing you so much trouble."

"Hey." His eyes were hard. "Don't apologize. Ever. You are worth all the trouble in the world."

The rest of the day was difficult, and she knew the week would be harder still. When she said goodnight to Luke, she lingered expectantly until he said, "Let's sleep tonight, okay? We're being watched. Tomorrow we'll see what we can get away with."

She agreed, but instead of going to bed she went to the office and called her parents. She needed to hear their voices, needed them to r
emind her of what normal life was like. It was the afternoon back home, and her mother answered the phone excitedly. "Marya, love, we can't wait for you to come home. We miss you so much."

The tears came then, unbidden. "I miss you too," she croaked b
etween sniffs.

But I can't lose Luke.

15.

It was agony,
working beside Marya and not being able to touch her. Luke was going through serious withdrawal. He was smoking cigarettes again, a pack a day, in an attempt to squelch his need for her. It wasn't working.

In the mornings they sifted through dirt side-by-side,
Yusef constantly watching them. And if it wasn't Yusef, it was Ducharme, eyeing them as they recorded their findings in the lab. Or Liz, glaring at them in the dining hall, on the patio. When his eyes would lock with Marya's and he saw his need mirrored in her face, he would groan aloud, unable to keep silent. He felt like a prisoner, and it was making him crazy.

Then one late afternoon before dinner, she tapped on his door. He let her in and their lips came together urgently, desperately. There was no time to talk -- they had to hurry. To his surprise, she needed no instru
ctions from him. She quickly pulled down her pants and panties, then turned her back to him and leaned against the wall, panting.

"Please," she breathed. "Take me. Now."

He swallowed the expletive that rose from his throat, and with an animal growl freed himself of his pants and pushed into her. Within seconds he was muffling his cries in her hair, crushing her to him with his arms.

Wow, that's got to be a record.
His face was red with embarrassment, but Marya didn't seem to notice or care. She re-adjusted her clothes and kissed him feverishly, then said, "I have to go."

He was still recovering from his climax when she breezed out of his room, quiet as a mouse. He collapsed on his bed, breathing hard and staring at the stained ceiling.
Damn it all to hell, I love that woman. I love her.

And he had no idea what he was going to do about it.

The next day, Luke excused himself during lab. Marya watched him leave, a puzzled look on her face. He felt guilty for not telling her, but he couldn't risk it. Today was Ash's protest, and he didn't want Marya anywhere near it, even if it was supposed to be peaceful. He'd spent too much time in the Middle East to believe a protest could ever remain peaceful.

When Luke arrived in downtown Amman, he was shocked. Under the merciless desert sun, thousands of protestors filled the square in front of Al-
Husseini Mosque, in the heart of the city. The protestors, mostly young activists, waited apprehensively for the noon prayer to end so that they could begin the demonstration. Hundreds of police officers and soldiers lined the streets, forming a chain around the protestors. Security forces waited in the shadows with their empty police vans, ready to carry off protestors at a moment's notice.

As Luke pushed through the crowd to the center of the square, he spotted journalists in balconies and on roofs, their cameras trained on the entrance of the mosque.  He looked back at the mosque just as the prayer ended and the front doors burst open. A band of protestors emerged, walking with purpose into the square and down the street, their ranks swelling as the surrounding crowd joined in the march. Ash was at the head of the group, carrying a Jordanian flag. Luke recognized the students behind him, including
Selwa, her head covered by a veil. A small truck carrying speakers joined the march, and a student cried slogans through a microphone.

"The people want reform!"

"The people want an elected government!"

"We are peaceful, we support the police and the army!"

Luke shoved through the shouting crowd, trying to catch up with Ash. It was to no avail -- there were simply too many people. Squinting into the direction Ash was headed, Luke saw the "special unit" of military police, their red berets bright in the sunlight, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the street, blocking the path of the protestors. The soldiers wore pistols and wielded batons, waiting for the students to reach them.

Shit.
Luke pressed harder, his heart pounding in his ears. Ash was at the front of the line. He was going to get beaten to a bloody pulp. The noise of the crowd became chaotic, and screams began to intermingle with the chants. Luke lost sight of Ash, but he saw the line of Special Forces break and batons begin flailing. He was on the ground, scrambling between legs. He reached the fighting and saw a figure crumpled in the street, unconscious. A woman.

As he crawled to her, he felt a club strike him on the back. He swung around to face his assailant, an officer whose beret had fallen off. The baton came down again, but Luke stopped it. With his other hand, he sank his fist in the man's face. The officer fell and Luke glared, cracking his knuckles.

These guys clearly had no idea who they were messing with.

***

The moment she saw Luke's bloodied face, Marya's calm shattered.

He stood in the lobby of the clinic with his hands in his pockets, and he scowled when
Marya began to cry. He took her into his arms and stroked her hair. "Marya, please don't. I'm fine, I promise. It looks worse than it is."

He had called ACMER from the clinic, just as news of the protest reached
Marya's ears. Felicity had answered the phone and, with a frightened look on her face, handed it over to Marya. "It's for you."

She could hardly breathe, listening to Luke's words: "Ash was at the front of the demonstrations. He was hurt pretty badly, but he's alive and conscious."

She slammed down the phone as soon as he told her where he was and ran out of ACMER without an explanation to anyone.

Now, she pushed away from him, battling between anger and so
rrow. Rather than focus on his swollen, purple eye or bandaged forehead, she wiped her face and asked, "Where's Ash?"

A nurse led them to a private room -- the best that Jordanian money could buy -- and began hovering around the bed.
Marya approached carefully, afraid of what she would see. Ash had been gazing at the window, but turned his head to look at her when he sensed her presence at his bedside. His face, half-covered in bandages, registered surprise.

Don't cry, don't cry,
don't cry.
Marya smiled and reached for his hand. "Ash..."

"
Marya." He glanced behind her, where Luke lurked in the shadows. "Why did Luke call you?"

"Because you and I are friends," she answered. "And I care about...  you." She licked her lips. "What happened?"

He let his head relax against the pillows. "They attacked us with clubs. They gave me a concussion and broke my leg." He smiled wryly. "Nothing I won't recover from."

"What about the others?
Selwa?"

"
Selwa escaped unharmed." He scratched his chin. "Some of the others weren't as lucky."

"What now, Ash?"

He couldn't speak his thoughts aloud. His eyes darted to the nurses in the hallway. When he looked again at Marya, she knew without a doubt what he would do: raise the stakes.

"Please don't," she whispered.

His expression softened a bit, but it didn't surrender. Instead of answering her, he spoke to Luke. "Have you stolen my girl, Marshall?"

Marya
answered before Luke could. "No, Ash. Not at all."

Ash nodded in resignation. "So you have found your American man,
Marya?"

She swallowed, afraid to look back, afraid to answer. His eyes wi
dened. "Ah," he said, as if it was all very clear.

"When do you get out of here?" Luke asked, stepping forward.

"In a couple days," Ash answered, still watching Marya curiously. He slowly turned his attention to Luke. "Are you sticking around?"

"Yes," Luke answered, and
Marya resisted the urge to close her eyes.

Almost to himself, Ash said, "And
Marya is going back to the States soon."

"Day after tomorrow," she said.

He touched her hand with his fingertips and tried to smile at her. "Have a safe trip, love."

"Will you keep in touch?" she asked, choking up against her will.

"Sure." His voice was less than enthusiastic, and Marya knew he was still hurt.

Luke accompanied her back to ACMER, and the tension crackled between them.
Marya finally broke the silence by asking, "Are you in pain?"

"Nah," he answered, squinting into the distance. "I've suffered worse."

Marya stopped walking and turned to him. Time was running out, and they were wasting what remained. She was going to be honest with him, otherwise she'd regret this moment for the rest of her life. "Luke, please don't do this."

He peered at her through his one good eye, his lips tight. When he said nothing, she continued. "You've done enough for the rebels. Don't throw your life away. Come back to the States -- "

"I'm in too deep," he said. "I've got to go."

Once the tears started, they wouldn't stop. "They'll kill you,"
Marya gasped. "You're only one man. You'll die in some shell attack and all your passion, your strength will go to waste. Nothing will change."

"I have to do something." His voice was soft but firm. "People are dying."

"It doesn't do any good if you die too," Marya said, her voice shaking.

He looked away. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. My mind's made up."

"Then I'll go with you. I'll fight with you."

With a fierceness that caught her off guard, he grabbed her by the wrists. "Don't you dare start
that. It's not remotely funny."

Marya
took a deep breath. "I love you, Luke. I love you. Please don't go."

He let her go abruptly and his expression changed to one of misery. He grimaced, as if in pain. A moment passed, then he said, "Let's get back."

At ACMER they parted ways. Without a word, Luke left Marya at the women's hostel and walked, his shoulders slumped, to the men's hostel.

Marya
went to her room and lay on her bed, her eyes burning. Amy came to bed, aware that Marya was crying. She said softly, "I'm sorry, Marya."

Marya
gave her roommate a weak smile, then turned to face the wall.

So that's it, I guess.

Sometime during the night, she stopped crying and fell asleep.