Queen of the Castle: Open to Love

By Lyndell Williams

From award-winning, bestselling author, Lyndell Williams, a story of bridled desire unleashed.Tarika is happy living single. She loves her home—her castle—and is not looking for some man to try and take over everything she has built. When her best friend, Hafsah throws Aqil her way, Tarika makes it clear that she is not interested in the shy man, who barely speaks to her. When she needs his help after an accident, she allows Aqil and his daughter into her life, making it difficult to resist his sexy gray eyes and sultry smile. The more time she spends with him, the harder it is to keep her distance.Aqil planned to stay focused on rebuilding his life with his daughter after a messy divorce until he saw Tarika. He tries to maintain a respectful amount of space, but her confidence and beauty draw him in. He knows he has everything Tarika needs and gets closer to her, bringing them into a passionate abandon that can break down the walls of her inhibitions but may also shatter their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deen Love Books
• Release date: Sep 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201329297

Book preview

Glossary of Islamic Terms

Allah- God

Allahu Akbar–God is the greatest.

Alhamdulillah–The praise is for Allah.

aqeeqah–a sacrifice and celebration after the birth of a baby

As-salam alaykum–Peace upon you. It is a greeting used by Muslims when they meet each other anywhere.

Bismillah–In the name of Allah or with the name of Allah.

dua–Supplication to Allah

Fajr–Early morning prayer before sunrise

haram–Something impermissible

hijab/khimar–A scarf used by Muslim women that covers the hair, ears, neck, and the breast area.

Inshallah–If it is Allah’s will

Jazakallah–May Allah reward you.

mabrook–blessings a way of saying congratulations

Mashallah–It is as Allah wills

nafs–ego, desire

salaah–prayer

Subhanallah–Glory to Allah

Wa-alaykum salam–It is the response to someone greeting a person and means ‘and may peace be upon you.’

Turkish Terms

anne – mom

askim–my love

babaanne  - grandma

babacığım  - daddy

babam – my father

kizim – my daughter

lahmacun -  Turkish pizza

1-Sweet Potato Pie

S alams. Tarika waltzed into the white kitchen, passing a light gray art deco pillar. Here you go, Sis. She walked up to Hafsah, kissing her, before putting sweet potato pies that she had in each hand on the counter.

Jazakallah. Hafsah kissed her other cheek and smiled. The maternal glow on her face beamed brightly.

Alhamdulillah. Faheem rose from a brown suede chair and rounded the other side of the huge kitchen island planted in the great room. That's what I'm talking about, he said, patting the baby lying on his navy tee shirt. Ibrahim’s little body barely covered his big shoulder. He kissed the top of his newborn son’s head, but Tarika could see his eyes still fixed on the desserts.

Tarika held up a finger, Stop right there. Tin scraped against the marble. You will not tear through my pies this time, Faheem Qureshi. People barely got any at the aqeeqah. You're like an addict.

He smirked and walked past her. Nah, she’s my addiction. He bent and nibbled Hafsah’s ear.

Hafsah brought her shoulder to her cheek and giggled. Stop it, Faheem. See— she lifted the knife in the baby’s direction —that’s how we got that one so soon.

Tarika shook her head. You two are hopeless. She screwed her face in disapproval, masking the warm, fuzzy feeling swelling inside her from seeing her best friend in the throes of domestic bliss. Faheem blew into Hafsah’s life and laid claim to her. Not in the gross I am Muslim man way, though. He was a rarity. A confident guy who didn’t walk around like women owed him something.

Faheem chuckled and faced her, I tell you what— he passed his hand up and down the mint green fabric of the baby’s pajamas —I’ll let you hold Ibrahim if you give me one of those pies.

She huffed. That’s blackmail.

Yup. Ibrahim squirmed and gurgled, as Faheem hiked him higher up his neck. The sound went straight to her heart.

She squinted, How dare you use that sweet boy as leverage?

Do we have a deal or not? His eyes twinkled. Perhaps he was a little too self-assured, but he made Hafsah happy.

She rolled her eyes and pushed one of the pie tins, sending it shooting across the long counter. You play dirty, Qureshi.

Hey— he passed her Ibrahim —hate the game, not the playa. Her heart melted, as she looked at the tiny hand opening next to a set of the cutest puckering lips. She could practically hear the baby trap clamping shut. Faheem yanked open a drawer and pulled out a pie server when the doorbell rang. That’ll be Aqil.

Aqil. The name brought her out of her trance. She lifted her gaze and watched the wall Faheem disappeared behind, while her heartbeat sped. She had only seen the man a few times, so there was no plausible reason for her stomach to be fluttering. Stop it, stupid gut.

The cause of all her girly anticipation swaggered into the room on long legs wearing jeans, and a form-fitting Henley shirt pulled over them. Like the other times she saw him, a small smile barely cut through the stoic expression. Diamond cheeks jutted out of the sides of a lightly tanned face over his jaw, covered with a close-shaved beard and under soulful, gray eyes. He met her gaze, and the grin deepened enough to reveal a little of his teeth. Damn. He was fine.

Salams. He looked down at the pretty little girl holding his hand. Say salaams, Daliyah.

The child pushed back wisps of soft, auburn curls from her forehead, revealing a female version of his face. She looked up at Tarika and turned her head into his leg. He chuckled and smoothed a hand over her hair. C’mon, Kizim, don’t be shy. This is Sister Tarika, and you know Uncle Faheem and Auntie Hafsah.

Tarika raised her eyebrows, patting Ibrahim’s back. Look who was talking. She never heard him say over ten words at one time. Always dipping his head and poking at his food or something. She waved. Salams, Daliyah. It’s nice to meet you. No luck. Daliyah’s face stayed firmly placed against her father’s leg.

Yeah—Hafsah chimed, flipping her khimar over her shoulder, as she rounded the counter, —we’re all family here. She bent and held up her arms. Come to me, sweetie. Daliyah squinted at Hafsah’s arms and then ran into them. She scooped the small girl up, her pink Jordan’s swinging next to Hafsah’s hip. It’s been a long time.

Aqil walked to the refrigerator. I’m sorry. Vanessa extended their visit to her parents’ house out of nowhere. He yanked open the door, his scowl disappearing behind it.

Faheem patted Aqil’s back, holding a hunk of pie. She’s here now.

Hafsah passed her hand down Daliyah’s French twist, silver rings with leaves, flowers, and hearts studding it. Mashallah, did your father do your hair?

Aqil’s shoulders lowered. He closed the door and leaned on it. I did, he said, unscrewing a water bottle cap, his full lips pulling into a smirk that barely registered on his face. I watched online videos.

Six words.

Well— Hafsah crossed the kitchen —I’m glad you could do it with those big hands of yours. She giggled and stood in front of Tarika. Daliyah, this is my best friend, Tarika.

Okay, let’s try this again. Tarika smiled and offered her hand. Hey, Daliyah. She waited, glancing between Hafsah and Faheem. They were both still as can be. Everyone was. The only person moving was Ibrahim, nestling against her neck. He obviously didn’t care if Daliyah liked his auntie. A tingle sprayed down her arms. How could one kid cause the air to thicken with tension by a simple stare?

Daliyah put a hand in hers. Wa alaykum salam. A precious voice sprang from her mouth. Another trap.

Tarika resumed patting and stroking Ibrahim. She breathed away the nervous pit in her gut, as she turned and saw Faheem cutting another chunk out of the pastry. You put that down. Get your husband, Hafsah.

Laughing, Hafsah sat Daliyah on a stool and punched her husband’s arm. Leave it alone.

Faheem dropped the pie on a plate. What? This is for Aqil. How hospitable would I be eating in front of him?

Tarika snatched the plate from the counter. You’re right— she said, facing Aqil —here you go. She flashed an extra sweet grin in fun. Want some tea with that, Aqil?

He raised to his full height. Taller than her. That was a rarity. She usually towered over everyone, including Faheem and Hafsah. Jazakallah. You made it?

I did.

He dipped his head in true Muslim guard your gaze fashion. Then I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.

Hafsah stretched across the counter, pulling a stand, filled with bright yellow bananas, toward her. You do that and take this one with you. She sat next to Daliyah. Would you like a banana?

C’mon, man. Faheem lifted the mostly empty pie tin and strutted out of the kitchen. Call us when dinner is ready. The pair disappeared behind a wall.

There they go— said Tarika, leaning on the counter —off to the cave.

He loves it. I’m so glad we’re out of that small apartment.

I bet. So— she pointed to the vacant doorway —is he the reason you invited me to dinner?

Who? Hafsah asked, shifting in her seat.

For real? She gave Hafsah the baby and picked up the banana peel Daliyah dropped on the counter. This is the third time you’ve asked me to come over, and he showed up.

He’s Faheem’s best friend, and you’re mine. It’s only natural that you end up running into each other here.

She wet a napkin. Give me your hand, please, Daliyah. She wiped bits of banana off the tiny fingers.

Can I go to my daddy? asked Daliyah.

Sure, Hafsah said, standing. Do you remember where the den is?

Yes. Daliyah started to climb down the stool.

Here, let me help you. Tarika lifted the little girl into her arms and put her down in the hallway. Mini Jordans squeaked on the floor, as she scampered away. Hafsah passed behind Tarika. She tucked her khimar and straightened her top. However natural it may be, you know how I feel. She followed Hafsah into the living room, pointing at her sneaky girlfriend. Just because you fell for some young hottie, it doesn’t mean I will.

Hafsah moved a print pillow on the brown suede sofa and sat. Aqil is forty-four. She plopped a nipple into Ibrahim’s mouth.

Tarika stopped in her tracks, looking behind her. No way.

Yes, way. He’s  a successful independent contractor.

Independent contractor. She rolled her eyes and flopped in the side chair. What, is he a handyman working out of his truck?

Hafsah shook her head. Girl, would I be looking at him twice for you if he were? He’s licensed and has a small business with workers.

And the daughter?

Who wants to know?

Just because you’re holding a baby, don’t think I won’t hurt you.

Daliyah is from a previous marriage. She lives in Nassau County with her mother. He has her on weekends, holidays, and summer vacation.

His background?

He’s Turkish-American, third generation. Now, stop even acting like you’re not at least a little interested. I saw how you looked at him when he came into the room.

It’s not a crime to appreciate a good-looking man. That doesn’t mean I want to court.

Or maybe it does. Remember when you told me that there were plenty of brothers—

That’s because you’re the marrying type. I’m not. She crossed her arms. You better be serving the menfolk their dinner in Faheem’s cave.

You’re going to be that anti-social?

Isn’t that the Islamic way? Separate the sexes.

Hafsah glowered at her. You listen to me, Tarika. If you’re not feeling him, fine, but I like Aqil. So, you’ll sit and be nice. Now, please check the meatloaf for me.

She shot out of the chair and stormed into the kitchen, grabbing a fork and yanking open the oven door. She jabbed the center of the steaming hunk of meat, heat bursting into her already warm face. Faheem and Hafsah lost their minds if they thought she was about to play their little Muslim hook up game.

Smells good, Aqil’s deep voice floated to her. She jumped straight with a small shriek. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.

Ten words. She half lowered her lids and jammed her hands inside two oven mitts. Don’t worry. I’ll live. Hafsah! she called out, the meatloaf is ready! A nice dose of loud Black woman should be the thing to turn him off and put the kibosh on all this matchmaking nonsense. She sat the glass baking dish on the stove.

Can I help? he asked, pushing the sleeves of his shirt up his thick, hairy biceps.

Great. Something else to make her all hot. Plates on the table would be nice. They’re on—

"I know where they are. I