He sat down again on the piano bench, blocking the view of his crotch.
“It’s okay, Tahi. You can come in,” he called after he’d raked his fingers through his hair.
The door opened cautiously. Tahi peered inside.
“Oh . . . this is nice,” she said, stepping into the sitting room and looking around. Asher could tell she was relieved it wasn’t a bedroom.
“Laila was playing my mom’s piano,” he said, closing the lid on the keys.
“I thought I heard a piano from down the hall. That’s what led me here. This house is huge.”
“Laila’s in the bathroom. She’ll be right out. So . . . Laila’s mom texted?”
Tahi nodded, making a face.
“She does that a lot? Gets anxious about Laila when she’s out?”
“I can hardly think of a time when she hasn’t,” Tahi sighed.
Tahi walked farther into the room, examining some of his mom’s artwork. He covertly gathered up Laila’s music notebooks and set them on the piano facedown. By the time Laila came out, looking flushed and flustered and very pretty, his body had cooled down sufficiently to stand.
She turned to him, a concerned look in her eyes, as they followed Tahi out of the sitting room. They paused next to the staircase, and Tahi walked ahead.
“Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone see your notebooks. I’ll bring them with me tomorrow,” he said very quietly, guessing what she was worried about.
“Tomorrow?” she whispered.
“Yeah. When we meet at the secret lake? At one?”
“I’ll try,” she whispered, and they continued down the hall. Asher willfully chose to focus on the excitement in her eyes at the prospect of them seeing each other again versus her reluctant answer.
Chapter Ten
The next day was unusually hot and muggy. He arrived at the inland lake a few minutes early, hauling a small cooler and sweating like crazy. Laila had mentioned last night that she loved the peaches that a farmer’s wife sold at a roadside fruit stand down on Route 87. He’d driven there this morning and bought a dozen, then packed several along with some sandwiches and drinks for a lunch.
At one forty, he’d already swum twice and succumbed to eating one of the peaches. There was no sign of Laila, but he hadn’t given up hope, recalling how she’d been late before. After he dried off, he checked his phone for the third time.
Sorry I’m not there yet. Mamma Sophia isn’t feeling very well in this heat, and my mom wants me to read to her. I’ll probably be able to get away as soon as she falls asleep, but I understand if you have to go.
He wrote back. No problem. I’ll wait. The water is nice and cold.
Which was a good thing, because the heat of the day was nothing in comparison to his vivid memories of Laila last night—of her steady, brilliant inner flame as she played and sang her song; of her wearing nothing but bikini briefs, her arms outstretched, her breasts flushed, her nipples tight and hard. She’d been so deep in the moment, so lost in arousal, even the memory made him feel a little drunk.
Desperate.
Cursing under his breath, he threw down the towel and plowed into the cold water once again. He’d never restrained himself as greatly as he was with Laila. The last thing he wanted to do was offend her. Turn her off. It didn’t take a genius to see she wasn’t all that experienced with sex. But she was naturally sensual. So damn sexy.
He’d never felt so tested.
“And you failed last night,” he muttered under his breath bitterly before he plunged his face back into the water and headed toward shore.
At a little after two, he got another text from her.
I’m so sorry, Asher. My mom just sprang it on me that we’re having guests for dinner. I need to help her get things ready.
The sharp disappointment he experienced was tempered by the dismay he read between the lines of her text. He wrote:
Don’t worry about it. Tomorrow at one?