“I can’t even imagine the pain of losing your brother.”

She stared out the window for a long moment and then sighed. “You can see why an arranged marriage is my best option. I don’t have to deal with love or emotional commitment. It’s a contract. Two people with a shared interest in companionship and family with none of the heartache that goes along with it.”

Sam flinched inside. “There’s no guarantee you’ll wind up in a better situation.”

“That’s true, but my dad knows me better than anyone. He wouldn’t hook me up with a creep.”

Sam hoped that was the case. His parents had done their best to screen out inappropriate suitors, and yet somehow Ranjeet had slipped through. Maybe things would be different for Layla. She deserved to be happy. Despite all that had happened to her, she remained upbeat and without any of the regret or bitterness that tainted his life.

“What if your dad doesn’t know you as well as you think?”

“Who knows you, Sam?” She ran her finger gently along his swollen jaw. Far from pain, electricity zinged through his body, warming his heart.

“I’m a lone wolf.”

“You are looking pretty feral right now.” She pressed a soft kiss to his injured cheek. “I saw a documentary on wolves. They’re pack animals. Their chances of survival go down when they have no family.”

“I have a family.” His hand went to his cheek where she’d kissed him. He could still feel the press of her lips against his skin. “I just don’t spend much time with them. Work keeps me busy.”

“That must be so incredibly hard for them. My parents called or texted me every day when I was in New York and once a week Daisy would set up a video chat for them. They just wanted to stay in touch.”

Sam felt a thickness in his throat, a heaviness in his chest. He had never thought about the effect his actions would have on his parents or how they would feel when their son cut them out of his life. All he knew was a guilt that ran so deep he had to push away anything and everything that could possibly be blamed. Why would they want him around? He had failed them. He wasn’t worthy of being their son.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.” He shook off the bad feeling. “Aside from the bruises, I’m perfectly fine.”

They talked about baseball, the changes in the city since she’d gone to New York, and their shared love of the ’50s music that was playing on the jukebox. There were no snarky comments or sarcastic remarks. She was thoughtful, intelligent, and knowledgeable about everything from Indian politics to global warming. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a lively and interesting discussion.

After she finished her meal and threatened to break his bruised nose when he offered to pay the bill, he walked her to her car, keeping a watchful eye on the street. He loved the area but it wasn’t always safe at night.

“Thanks for coming to explain,” she said when they reached her Jeep. “I was planning all sorts of nasty things to do to you tomorrow.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

She gave him a quick hug. “Go home and look after those bruises.”

Unable to stop himself, he wrapped his arms around her, and they held each other in silence in the still of the night.

“Sam?” She looked up at him, dark eyes glittering under the streetlights.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, those soft, lush lips silently calling his name.

“Yes?” His head dropped lower, heart pounding in time to her rapid breaths.

“I texted Daisy before you found me.” She pulled away and gave him a rueful smile. “If I were you, I wouldn’t drink the coffee for the next few weeks.”

• 10 •

“FAROZ Jalal. Age thirty-eight—”

“He’s too old for you.” Sam held open the door to the busy coffee shop on the Embarcadero and gestured Layla inside.

Bemused by his gallant behavior, Layla waltzed through the door, imagining herself as a desi version of Scarlett O’Hara with an extra dose of tan.

“Did you hit your head on the way over?” she asked over her shoulder. “You’re batting for the wrong team. You’re supposed to tell me age doesn’t make a difference. I like the idea of being with someone mature and worldly. It means I can be fun and silly. I can dance and sing and he’ll look at me with fond amusement before sweeping me off my feet and ravishing me in bed with all the erotic skills he’s learned in the extra years he’s been alive.”

Sam snorted. “It will make a difference when he’s popping the Viagra and you’re still at your sexual peak.”

“That’s a very pessimistic and utterly depressing way to view marriage.” She looked around for a table in the big, open, industrial-chic coffee shop where Faroz had suggested they meet. “Very you. Are you being so down today because of your face full of bruises? They look worse now than they did on Saturday night.”

She still couldn’t believe Sam had fought with his friend over the “Blue Fury” video four nights ago. Never in her life had she imagined herself as a femme fatale, nor could she wrap her head around the concept of Sam as the good guy in any scenario. With the cuts and bruises on his face, he looked badass today, and she hated to admit how much it turned her on.

“I’m a realist,” Sam said. “I suffer under no illusions as to the physical or emotional effects of aging.”

“Now who sounds like he’s old enough for some performance-enhancing drugs?”

Sam gave an affronted sniff. “I have never—”

“I’m just teasing, Sam.” She wiggled her fingers. “You’re always so serious, it makes you an easy target.”

His jaw tightened and he cleared his throat. “Tell me more about Faroz.”

Layla checked the résumé on her phone again. “He lives at home—”

“Christ. Not another one. Doesn’t anyone have their own place?”

“Please don’t swear,” she said over her shoulder. “And if you do, use Urdu so people don’t understand. Not everyone has the money to live on their own.”

“He’s thirty-eight, can’t find a woman on his own, and lives at home. That equals loser,” Sam said. “Why are you wasting your time? I want to get you married off and out of the office, but there’s no way this guy is a real candidate. Why did you even agree to meet him?”

“Because he has an interesting job. He’s in the CIA.”

Sam swore in Urdu using a few words Layla hadn’t heard before. “CIA agents don’t tell people they’re in the CIA. It defeats the entire purpose of being a secret agent.”