He stepped into her, holding her face with his hands. His mouth closed over hers. He lifted his head a moment later. Her smile sliced right through him.
“All I know is we’re together right now,” she said tremulously.
“All I know is there’s no place in the world I’d rather be,” he said, leaning down to taste the miracle of her again.
• • •
When he finally got around to showing her where the tea was located, she exclaimed happily when she saw some Moroccan mint tea.
He smiled at her reaction. “It’s my favorite, actually.”
“Really?” she asked him in amazement, grinning. Excitement shone in her eyes. “Did you ever go to Morocco, like you hoped to?”
“Three times, actually. Did you ever go?”
She nodded. “I’ve been twice with my family and Tahi’s parents.” She saw his eyebrows knit together.
“What’s wrong?” she asked him.
“It’s just . . . back then, one of the reasons you said you hadn’t gone to Morocco yet was your grandmother’s illness.” She saw the question in his eyes and understood.
“Mamma Sophia died six years ago.”
“I’m sorry. I know how much she meant to you.”
“She did. I miss her every day. And thank you,” Laila said.
They talked about their experiences in Morocco while she made them a pot of atay. Afterward, they sipped the tea at the kitchen table and talked about everything and anything. They had eight years to catch up on.
He told her about his routines as a foreign correspondent in the digital age, explaining how he constantly had to balance being tied to his phone and computer to keep abreast of breaking news with getting out into the field, interacting with colleagues and sources in order to work original and unique stories.
“Aren’t you going to miss it?” she asked him at some point. He’d already told her about his future job in London. She’d felt a little melancholy, thinking of him leaving, but she couldn’t help but feel proud of him too when he spoke
about his career with such calm confidence and purpose.
“Probably,” he admitted. “But I’ll still be able to do some reporting. It’s just that now, I’ll have a team helping me investigate leads and writing. Besides, I felt like I’d reached the peak of my learning curve, being a correspondent. As the bureau chief, I’ll be responsible for directing a team of American and European reporters in several countries. I’ll be traveling a lot still, mostly between the U.K., France and Germany. I’m nervous about starting, but it’ll be a new arena for making a difference . . . for learning about another side of the newspaper business . . . for gaining a bigger perspective on getting a story out to the public.”
“A whole new learning curve. You never were afraid of trying something new. Even when you were young, you told me that we didn’t grow unless we stepped into unfamiliar territory. ‘That’s how you know you’re growing, when things get a little uncomfortable.’”
He grinned slowly, his teacup wavering in the air.
“Did you just quote me?”
She laughed at his incredulous amusement. “Oh, I remember all sorts of things about you. You’d be shocked if you knew.”
“If it’s anything close to the details I remember about you, I doubt it,” he said, giving her a hooded, smoky glance that made her heart give a little jump.
She had the impression that his mother or a decorator had furnished the elegant, luxurious condominium, including purchasing the dishes. It felt strange to Laila to use cups, and not the pretty, fragile glasses with which she was used to drinking Moroccan tea. The teacups and saucers they used were fine china, the muted floral pattern hardly one she’d imagine Asher ever choosing. But she loved the way he held the cup in his big hand—not by the delicate handle but with his fingers cupping the bowl. There was something sexual about it: his masculine handling of the delicate, feminine cup; the way he brought it to his firm, well-shaped mouth; the vision of his strong throat as he swallowed.
His hair had still been wet when he’d come into the kitchen. The strands had dried spiky and mussed. After his shower, he’d put on a pair of black cotton pajama bottoms and a simple white T-shirt that molded his powerful torso. She liked to look at his strong forearms sprinkled with dark hair and long, blunt-tipped fingers.
She could never get tired of watching him.
“What about you?” he asked her, resting his elbows on the table. “You’ve taken some chances, haven’t you? Stepped into new territory?”
“You’re talking about my performing?”
He nodded. “And you write your own music, I understand.”