Behind the Curtain - Page 48

“I think I better take a swim to cool off,” he said after a pause. He started to stand, and she realized the stiff movements of his body indicated renewed arousal. He’d brought her so much pleasure, made her lose herself not once, but twice. Now he was hurting again. She stopped him by grasping his wrist.

“No. Let me—”

“No,” he said. He gave her an apologetic glance for his harshness. “You look like you’ve been put through the wringer. Rest a few seconds. I’ll be right back.”

She propped herself up on her elbow, watching as he plowed into the shallow water and then plunged into the lake, arms outstretched. He sliced through the water, his stroke powerful. Almost aggressive. By the time he’d reached the center of the lake, she’d gotten up and had put her bikini back on. She sat on the towel, her arms wrapped around her knees, waiting for him as he swam back to shore.

He sat down next to her on the beach towel, water dripping off his large body. He still breathed heavily, this time from the exercise instead of arousal. When he didn’t speak, she grew uncertain. She touched his shoulder. He turned to her, and she saw the glint in his eyes. He’d banked the fire in him, but it was still there . . . waiting. Ready to leap up at any given moment. She brushed her lips softly against his damp, firm ones.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She was thanking him for so many things. The pleasure. The sweetness. The glimpse of freedom.

“Thank you.” She had the impression he was thanking her for his own reasons, and they were every bit as somber and amazing as hers had been.

They smiled at once, and their mouths met. A time would come, very soon, when she’d have to exist without his taste, Laila realized dazedly. He palmed the back of her head and tilted his face, deepening their kiss. She’d have to live without his hunger. She loved how demanding his kiss could be. How she lost herself in him. How she became somebody different.

Asher reached for her hand and squeezed it.

“I want to be friends, Laila. Someday, maybe we can be more. I’d like that.”

She started slightly. The memory of Ben Khairi saying those words last night had leapt into her mind, unbidden. Ben had asked her to walk on the beach last night, and since he was their guest, she’d felt obligated to go. Despite her reluctance, they’d walked far enough to be out of sight of the cottages, and their mothers’ gazes. He’d grasped her hand when he’d said those words. The feeling of Asher doing the same had made the uncomfortable memory spring into her consciousness.

Asher pressed his mouth to the back of her hand. She saw his puzzled glance. She realized he’d felt her start at the memory of Ben.

“You okay?” he asked.

“So good,” she insisted hoarsely. “It was amazing. All of it.”

“Yeah, it was,” he agreed, studying her. “So what’s wrong?”

She grimaced. He seemed to see straight through her. “It’s nothing. It’s just . . . my mother went and did something stupid last night, that’s all. Sometimes she drives me crazy.”

“What do you mean?” Asher asked, his brow creasing.

“There’s this guy. Ben Khairi. He’s the son of one of my mother’s friends in Detroit. Our mothers have been plotting to push us together forever. He just graduated from Western Michigan, and he has a new job in Grand Rapids. He’s an accountant there. Since Crescent Bay isn’t too far from Grand Rapids, my mom arranged for him and his mother to come to dinner last night,” she said in a rush before she could stop herself.

“So that was why you couldn’t here come yesterday. Ben,” Asher said in a flat tone. He still held her hand, but his body had gone stiff next to hers. “He’s Moroccan, I assume?”

She nodded, finding it difficult to meet his stare.

“I thought you said your parents hadn’t arranged for you to be with anyone.”

“They haven’t! Don’t you think I’d know if I was arranged to marry someone? I swear, Asher, this wasn’t about that. It was just my mother and his mom plotting for us to get to know each other, maybe date. She sprang it on me out of nowhere. I didn’t want to have dinner with them.”

He didn’t speak for a few seconds. “Do you think she knows?”

Her head swung around. “My mother? About us?” she asked disbelievingly.

He stared out at the lake, his jaw tense. “Maybe not any details. But maybe she’s catching a hint of what’s going on with you, senses you pulling away from the fold a little, and is making moves to put a stop to it.”

The idea startled her. “No,” she said after thinking about it for a few seconds. “I don’t think that for a second. She just saw an opportunity, with us being closer to Grand Rapids. I guess her friend—Ben’s mom—had texted that she was visiting Ben in Grand Rapids, and she saw a chance to throw us together.”

“Did he want to see you?”

She made a frustrated sound and backed out of his arms. “What has that got to do with anything?”

“If he’s Moroccan, and your family approves of him, and his family approves of you, and he likes you, I would think it’s got a lot to do with it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, hating the topic, despising the rigid expression on As

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