The imprint of his fingers lingered – #AsianAdventures #AngkorWat #MFRWHooks

Happy Wednesday! My MFRW Book Hooks post for today comes from another title in my Asian Adventures series. As you might guess from the vivid descriptions, Citadel of Women borrows from my own trip to Angkor Wat, nearly twenty years ago. I understand that it has changed now, becoming much more slick and touristic. When I visited, though, the experience was a bit more of a true adventure.

Blurb

Passion flares among the ruins of an ancient empire

When her lover severs their relationship just before a long-planned trip to Angkor Wat, Doa stubbornly decides to travel alone. The marvelous sights of the ancient Khmer empire do little to heal the rift in her heart. Che, the mercurial young tour guide, senses her loneliness and offers her comfort and passion. Their connection is far more than physical – but how can two people from such different worlds share a future?

The Hook

For the rest of the afternoon, I tried to be a good tourist. When images of Laurel surfaced, I suppressed them, focusing on and photographing the wonders around me – the lichen-crusted towers and walls, the slick green surface of the palace pool, the stone elephants on the friezes, and the live ones waiting for tourists. I snapped a shot of Mrs. Ishida, perched atop one of the beasts, her face a cross between elation and terror. I captured Che's animation as he lectured to his flock in the courtyard at Bayon, guarded by the immense faces carved above. My camera caught his lanky grace, scrambling goat-like up to the peak of the Baphuon Temple.

He was a riddle, alternately tough and soft. So different from most men I'd known. He was proud, clearly, but not arrogant. Physically he was enchanting, with his golden skin, his androgynous, Buddha-like features, and a fluid energy that made his every movement a delight to watch.

We gathered on the summit, sweaty and out of breath. The sun drifted toward the western horizon. The whole city of god-kings spread out around us.

“The rulers of Angkor built their temples to reflect the Hindu view of the universe. The central tower and its four smaller towers at the cardinal directions represent Mount Meru, home of the gods.” Che surveyed his audience, as if to satisfy himself that they were paying attention. “Even the Bayon, constructed by the great Jayavarman VII as a Buddhist shrine, follows the same scheme. The kings demonstrated their special relationship with heaven by duplicating its form in stone. Each king tried to outdo his predecessors by creating new, more magnificent monuments.”

We could see the city walls, a mile away on all sides, the slabbed roads running parallel, strictly aligned to the compass, and the tumbled peaks of all the temples and palaces we'd visited over the afternoon. A greenish mist rose from the barays, the pools Che told us were used for both water supply and ritual bathing. The sun slipped off the edge of the earth, painting the gathering clouds in shades of rose and gold. For a moment the whole scene shimmered, luminous and insubstantial, as though the massive edifices might detach themselves and rise into the azure sky.

Laurel would have loved this. The thought was a knife, slashing through my carefully maintained calm. Pain twisted in my belly. My chest tightened. I couldn't breathe. I wanted my baby so badly.

I imagined her beside me, my arm around her shoulder, her slender body pressed against mine, her gardenia perfume tickling my nostrils. I closed my eyes, as if by shutting out the marvelous scene I could banish her presence as well. The unseen world whirled around me. My feet stumbled on the uneven paving.

There was a hand on my arm, steadying me. I smelled soap and sweat.

“Doa,” came his voice, the English vowels sing-song on his tongue. “Doa?”

My eyes flew open. He stood close enough to me that I could see the damp stains on his shirt and the shadow of tomorrow's beard on his chin. His touch was cool on my sun-baked skin. I felt briefly dizzy again.

Shame chased away my sorrow. I couldn't bear to have this young stranger see my hurt.

“Oh, sorry. Probably just got a bit too much sun, just like you warned. I'm fine now. Really.”

Che's expression was kind, but the intensity of his gaze was almost too much to bear.

“Are you sure?” He still held my arm. “Let me help you down the steps.”

He made me nervous. Fresh sweat trickled into the crevice between my breasts. I was startled to realize the crotch of my jeans was damp as well. I hadn't been this close to a man in a long time. Not since I met Laurel.

“No, really, I'm okay. Thank you, though.”

“Any time,” he said, breaking into a grin. “That's what I'm here for.” Still, perhaps sensing my discomfort, he let me go. “All right, ladies and gentlemen,” he called, gathering the figures wandering around on top of the temple. “Let's get back to the hotel.”

As I hurried down to the bus, I wondered at my paradoxical arousal.

Dinner was served on the hotel terrace overlooking a small garden. The moist air was a soft, heavy blanket, laced with the scents of jasmine and mosquito coils. Two dim bulbs lit the scene with a golden glow. Our group sat together at a long table, consuming spicy fish, garlicky vegetables, and mounds of rice. I sat at the far end, nearest the garden, listening to the multi-lingual chatter, the clink of silverware, the droning of the insects in the trees. I had never felt so alone.

All at once, he was there, settling his loose-limbed frame into the chair across from me. He plunked an amber bottle misted with condensation down in front of me. “You look like you could use this.”

He took a swig from his own beer. Not knowing what to say, I did the same. The icy liquid slid down my throat.

“Good?”

I nodded and drank again before turning the bottle to examine the label. “Angkor Beer?” I laughed.

“Why not? One of our leading exports.” He tilted the bottle back. I watched his brown throat move as he swallowed. “Possibly the only thing most people know about my country.”

“Really?” It was difficult to talk to him, difficult not to stare at his mobile, expressive face. Fortunately, the beer offered a convenient alternative to conversation.

We drank for a while in silence. I wondered how I could politely excuse myself.

He replaced his bottle on the table. “You really miss her, don't you?”

My eyes filled with tears. Somehow, though, it was a relief to admit it to someone, even to him. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Is she your lover?” I'd read Cambodia was a conservative country, but Che didn't seem shocked by the idea at all.

“Was. She broke it off just before we were supposed to leave on this trip.”

“Why?” The question was completely inappropriate, but I could see he wanted to know.

I buried my face in my hands. What could I say? How could he ever understand?

I heard the scrape of his chair as he rose. His hand rested briefly on my bare shoulder. “Whatever the reason,” he murmured, “I think she was crazy.”

By the time I looked up, he had returned to his seat at the other end of the table. “Make it an early night,” he told the group. “We've got to be up at five tomorrow.” He did not look at me again, but still the imprint of his fingers lingered on my flesh.

Find the buy links at https://www.lisabetsarai.com/citadelofwomenbook.html

Or enjoy the full series, free on Kindle Unlimited: https://www.amazon.com/Asian-Adventures-Erotic-tales-East-ebook/dp/B08XW69V2R/

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks!