First, he’d left Na’arah pacing in his apartment and second, the man whom he suspected had fathered her child was dead. Street shook his head. Somehow he’d let a dumb infatuation and his hormones lead him to a complication he truly didn’t need in his life. There was no way he was going to let her go now. Na’arah was in trouble and the least he could do was see her through this horrid ordeal. After their conversation in his office he’d decided to not to speak to her again, but when he’d stepped outside to clear his head and didn’t see Na’arah in the shop, he got worried. He didn’t want to admit he’d been watching her and he still couldn’t shake her. A day didn’t go by he didn’t touch her panties. She was the first woman from whom he’d ever kept something so personal. Yet he wasn’t sure if he wanted to shake her. He shuffled the plastic take-out bag and bottles of orange juice and whiskey. He wasn’t letting her near alcohol in her condition. Pain shot up and down his right leg and he gritted his teeth against the ensuing spasm.
