22
Madaba, Jordan. 4.32am
Morgan woke with a start as the muezzin’s call rang out across the city. The clock next to the bed said it was just after 4am, so it was Fajr, the pre-dawn prayers. She and Khal had slept for more than ten hours, so clearly they had needed the rest. She reached for her phone to see five text messages and seven missed calls.
“Morning.” Khal’s voice was rough with sleep and the aftermath of recovery. Morgan turned to see his silhouette in the half light from the street lamps outside.
He lay on his side facing her, the sheet pulled down to his waist. Sometime in the night he must have shed his clothes for his chest was bare, and shadows highlighted the clearly defined muscles. Morgan relaxed back onto the pillow and looked at him. She was still at the opposite si
