exterior security, the locals aren't known to be hostile, there's never been an incident, and…" he pauses, "I'm staying."
Luckily I'd already figured that out , otherwise the shock might have tripped me up. Instead, the cocky way he emphasizes, " I'm " makes me smile.
"One man army, eh?"
"Absolutely. But…" He retrieves a scarf from a pouch at his belt.
I wonder what else he has tucked away in there. I imagine grenades or a throwing star or maybe ibuprofen.
"You'll need this." He hands me the scarf. "Hughes & Ralston is too politically correct to tell you to cover your hair, but this isn't the place to challenge gender roles. Plus, it'll help with the dust."
I take the light cotton fabric from him, running my fingers over the fine paisley print. "Thanks." The word seems inadequate and my throat is definitely getting tighter. I have no idea what else to say. Catching a glimpse of the checkered scarf draped loosely around his neck, I ask, "Do you normally carry extra scarves?"
"This all went down so quickly I wasn't sure you were properly prepared. I picked it up at the bazaar this morning."
My throat is so tight I can barely swallow. "Oh." I never would have dreamed he would go out of his way to make sure I was prepared. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it," he replies casually. "You won't need to totally cover, like with a hijab, but keeping the majority of your hair concealed will make the locals more comfortable. If you fold the scarf in half…" He demonstrates by removing the scarf around his neck, taking the square fabric and folding it into a triangle. "And then drape it over your head like so." He places the folded edge at his forehead so that the triangle tip dips down his back. "You can just toss one side across your shoulder."
He demonstrates and I have to cover my smile to keep from laughing. With his heavily muscled body, thick stubble, and hard, masculine jaw, the softly draping scarf looks ridiculous.
He puts a hand on each hip and poses. "You like?"
I shake my head as a few giggles erupt under my breath. It's just the distraction I need to break the tension. "You're killing me."
His hands fall from his hips. "Sorry. This is serious. It's just nice to get away from the compound and with—" He clears his throat. "At any rate," his tone loses the joking edge and becomes hard, serious, "wear your hardhat over the top, and if the dust kicks up, cross the scarf at the back and use the tails to cover your nose and mouth, tying them in the back to secure. Like so." He demonstrates the wrap and when I nod that I understand, he pulls it from his head and returns it to his neck. "Trust me. The last thing you want is a lungful of desert dust."
"Sounds lovely." I slip the scarf over my head. The fabric is light and comfortable and instantly cools my head, providing a shield from the aggressive sun.
"Absolutely. Assuming you like swallowing sandpaper."
"Chew a piece after every meal. Really helps with tartar buildup."
"So I've heard." He places a hand on my shoulder. "Now for the moment you should be dreading." With a gentle push, he spins me around. "Your living quarters for the next few weeks."
"I see why you showed me the lake first."
"I thought you might prefer the scenery during your scarf tutorial."
"Definitely."
Before us sit the skuzzy looking shipping canisters. Ranging in color from white to orange to gray, they're lined up in haphazard rows. A dust cloud, likely kicked up from the helicopter, floats by in puff of red. "It's like where shipping containers come to die."
"Home sweet home." He turns to me. "One more thing. While you're here, you need an escort 24/7. It's dangerous enough for expats, but since you're a woman…"
"No, I get it." It makes perfect sense and I don't know why I didn't think of it before. I glance at Trey. His sunglasses are back on and in the lenses I see my reflection. The scarf looks a little matronly, but not too bad. Trey, of course, looks gorgeous. "Let me
Luckily I'd already figured that out , otherwise the shock might have tripped me up. Instead, the cocky way he emphasizes, " I'm " makes me smile.
"One man army, eh?"
"Absolutely. But…" He retrieves a scarf from a pouch at his belt.
I wonder what else he has tucked away in there. I imagine grenades or a throwing star or maybe ibuprofen.
"You'll need this." He hands me the scarf. "Hughes & Ralston is too politically correct to tell you to cover your hair, but this isn't the place to challenge gender roles. Plus, it'll help with the dust."
I take the light cotton fabric from him, running my fingers over the fine paisley print. "Thanks." The word seems inadequate and my throat is definitely getting tighter. I have no idea what else to say. Catching a glimpse of the checkered scarf draped loosely around his neck, I ask, "Do you normally carry extra scarves?"
"This all went down so quickly I wasn't sure you were properly prepared. I picked it up at the bazaar this morning."
My throat is so tight I can barely swallow. "Oh." I never would have dreamed he would go out of his way to make sure I was prepared. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it," he replies casually. "You won't need to totally cover, like with a hijab, but keeping the majority of your hair concealed will make the locals more comfortable. If you fold the scarf in half…" He demonstrates by removing the scarf around his neck, taking the square fabric and folding it into a triangle. "And then drape it over your head like so." He places the folded edge at his forehead so that the triangle tip dips down his back. "You can just toss one side across your shoulder."
He demonstrates and I have to cover my smile to keep from laughing. With his heavily muscled body, thick stubble, and hard, masculine jaw, the softly draping scarf looks ridiculous.
He puts a hand on each hip and poses. "You like?"
I shake my head as a few giggles erupt under my breath. It's just the distraction I need to break the tension. "You're killing me."
His hands fall from his hips. "Sorry. This is serious. It's just nice to get away from the compound and with—" He clears his throat. "At any rate," his tone loses the joking edge and becomes hard, serious, "wear your hardhat over the top, and if the dust kicks up, cross the scarf at the back and use the tails to cover your nose and mouth, tying them in the back to secure. Like so." He demonstrates the wrap and when I nod that I understand, he pulls it from his head and returns it to his neck. "Trust me. The last thing you want is a lungful of desert dust."
"Sounds lovely." I slip the scarf over my head. The fabric is light and comfortable and instantly cools my head, providing a shield from the aggressive sun.
"Absolutely. Assuming you like swallowing sandpaper."
"Chew a piece after every meal. Really helps with tartar buildup."
"So I've heard." He places a hand on my shoulder. "Now for the moment you should be dreading." With a gentle push, he spins me around. "Your living quarters for the next few weeks."
"I see why you showed me the lake first."
"I thought you might prefer the scenery during your scarf tutorial."
"Definitely."
Before us sit the skuzzy looking shipping canisters. Ranging in color from white to orange to gray, they're lined up in haphazard rows. A dust cloud, likely kicked up from the helicopter, floats by in puff of red. "It's like where shipping containers come to die."
"Home sweet home." He turns to me. "One more thing. While you're here, you need an escort 24/7. It's dangerous enough for expats, but since you're a woman…"
"No, I get it." It makes perfect sense and I don't know why I didn't think of it before. I glance at Trey. His sunglasses are back on and in the lenses I see my reflection. The scarf looks a little matronly, but not too bad. Trey, of course, looks gorgeous. "Let me
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