The Sheikh’s Accidental Heir(20)

“Is that all there is to it?” he asked, staring at the pan as the pancakes started to brown.

“It’s no mystery. It’s about paying attention and the hard part is simply watching and waiting for the pancakes to be perfect. No…don’t turn them too early. You want one turn each.” She showed him how to turn the pancakes, putting her hand over his.

Reaching up, she grabbed a plate. “And you eat not just with your mouth—you want the eyes and the nose involved.” Working fast, she pulled out mint and raspberries, lemon and sugar and cinnamon. She whipped cream with a whisk, added the sugar, a squeeze of lemon and cinnamon, and showed him how to plate. “The mint’s a garnish, a touch of scent and green. The raspberries are better than any syrup—you just crush them lightly—and I wish we had some lingonberries, but these will do.” Stepping back, she admired the plate. Four golden, crisp Swedish pancakes, a dollop of whipped cream, a drizzle of the crushed raspberries, with a couple added next to the mint. It looked appealing even to her.

Inspiration struck, and she added a light dash of fresh ground ginger—an exotic touch—over the whipped cream. They headed for one of the stainless steel islands—not the one that held his sweaty towel—and she offered him a fork. She watched as he took his first bite. His dark eyes lit up.

“Good?” she asked.

He nodded and took another bite. “Better than good. And now I can cook for myself.” He smiled and looked ridiculously satisfied with himself.

She ate a few bites as well. She really didn’t have much appetite, but the pancakes had come out beautifully. And the touch of ginger on the whipped cream added a bite that complemented the creaminess.

They finished eating, and she took the plates to the dishwasher.

Ahmed pulled off his apron and came over to her. “You have taught me something. Now I need to teach you in return. What is something you’ve wanted to learn but have never taken the time for?”

She glanced around the kitchen. She had prep work and menus to work on, but wasn’t this another way to delay the wedding? She started to wonder if Ahmed had maybe hired the guy who had approached her. After all, a guy who wanted to blow up his own wedding wouldn’t be shy about delaying it as well to get more time to make things go wrong.

But Ahmed took her hand and urged, “Come on, there must be something.”

“Self-defense,” she said, blurting out the word. “I’ve always wanted to learn, but I’ve never taken a class.”

Ahmed rubbed his closely cropped beard with his free hand. He didn’t let go of her fingers with the other. “Okay, I can show you a few things.” He pulled her with him. She dragged her feet a little, but he only glanced back, grabbed his towel and said, “Come on. We need the gym and mats in case you manage to flatten me.”

She pulled a face. “As if that’s going to happen. But I’m not dressed for it.”

He shook his head. “You’ll stop to put on sweats if any guy in New York comes up to attack you? ‘Oh, sorry, mister, I must take off my high heels and get ready for you.’”

“I don’t need the mockery.”

He grinned. “No, you need to learn just a few moves.”

Dragging her along, he strode down corridors and back halls, past security guards and maids, who smiled and seemed to regard this as nothing unusual. She started to wonder if anything Ahmed did startled anyone. Was everyone used to him misbehaving? If that was true, he was going to have a really hard time making his wedding come off the rails, since no one would bat an eye at him doing anything outrageous.

Pulling her into the gym, he let go of her hand and headed to an area of dark blue mats that covered part of the hardwood floor. The floors gleamed with polish. She glanced around, seeing a punching bag, a full up boxing ring, weights and state of the art stationary bikes and even a pool in the distance. Windows showed a view into a garden on one side, the pool was on the other, and skylights let in natural light. Air conditioning brushed a cool breeze over her face. Angie had been using the gym, but Melanie had never imagined it was so huge.

Ahmed threw down his towel and faced her, waving her closer. “Come over. Punch me.” He squared his shoulders and kept his hands by his side.

Walking over to him and stepping onto the mats, she asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be fake attacking me?”

He rolled his eyes. “I need to know if you can punch first.”

She lifted a hand, bunched her fist and threw a punch at his chest. He grabbed her hand. “You punch like a girl, and you telegraph every move. Put your thumb over your fingers, and punch with the arm, not your fist. Faster this time. Try it again.”