“I do a cover now and then, but yeah. It’s mostly all mine.” She took a sip of her tea, watching him over the rim. “After that summer in Crescent Bay, I took your advice and signed up for some writing and music classes.”
His dark brows rose. “What did your parents think about that?”
“They never knew about it.” She took a sip of tea, examining his reaction closely. She wanted to try and convince him that she was an adult now . . . that she’d make very different decisions today than she had when she’d known him years ago. But part of her felt foolish for wanting to plead her case, maybe even a little unworthy. She’d sacrificed him once. Maybe he didn’t deserve to bear witness to her defense, especially when he’d thought her actions indefensible.
“Your family still don’t know that you’re a poet and songwriter?” he asked after a pause.
“They still think I work at Microsoft.” A weary smile curved her mouth when she saw his stunned reaction.
It was hard, living the lie. She only knew it would be even harder, to hide who and what she really was. “Tahi has generously promoted me three times now in her stories to the family. I’m now an account manager for a huge restaurant chain. We chose restaurants carefully. It was a business that could conceivably have me work a Tuesday through Saturday workweek.”
“It matches your performance schedule,” he said as understanding hit. “Wasn’t it hard for you? Going behind your parents’ back?”
“Oh, yeah. It still is. Every day. I’m still very involved in family life. I try to visit whenever I can. My mother either texts or calls me more days than not. But I’m not willing to give up something that’s so crucial to who I am.” She set down her cup. “Not anymore,” she added softly under her breath.
“It would be a crime. You were clearly born to share your gift. I told you back then how talented you were.”
Her heart fluttered. He wanted to keep the conversation focused on her singing . . . on the sacrifice she’d refused to make in regard to her family versus the one she’d made for them eight years ago. She’d given him up then.
“But even I couldn’t have imagined back then just how amazing you’d become,” he continued. “You grew into your voice.”
Her gaze dropped over him. “You grew into yourself. Everywhere.”
A small, distracting smile shaped his mouth. She smiled back. It was so wonderful, being able to relish a quiet, adult moment of sensual appreciation and awareness with him.
“I was blown away at your performance tonight. I didn’t get a chance to tell you,” he said.
She smiled wider, despite her earlier anxious thoughts.
“What?” he asked her.
“Nothing,” she said, unable to hide her grin. “It’s just . . . I thought you did. Tell me. There, on the train tonight.” She waited for a moment, wondering if he’d recall how he’d told her something similar once, and how she’d responded in the same way. It had been that first time he’d heard her sing in his mother’s sitting room. He’d grown extremely passionate with her while they’d sat at the piano afterward. She saw recollection spark in his expression. He leaned toward her, holding her fast in his stare.
“Are you telling me it’s okay with you that your gorgeous voice and artistic brilliance make me hornier than a stag?” he asked her quietly.
“I’m telling you that coming from you, it’s the best kind of compliment,” she said, taking a sip of her tea and watching as his eyes caught fire.
• • •
They talked until five thirty in the morning. Finally, feeling warm and content after having communed with him all night, but also fatigued and grubby, she asked him if she could shower. When she left the bathroom wearing a towel five minutes later, she saw that he was lying on the bed in the dim bedroom. He tracked her progress as she walked toward him and sat on the edge of the bed. She touched his whiskered jaw softly. He caught her wrist and held her against his skin. The full silence rang in her ears and seemed to swell her heart in her chest cavity.
“It seems so unreal . . . so amazing, seeing you lying there. Touching you,” she murmured.
He reached and pulled on the end of the towel she wore. The fabric fell and pooled around her hips. He ran his hand in a solemn gesture along her shoulder and down her arm, pausing to gently cup a breast.
“You seem like a miracle,” he said.
He sat up and hugged her against him, sliding her over him and onto her back on the bed.
When he finally entered her body again later, Laila realized their entire nighttime talk session had been lovemaking, of a sort. Every glance had been a hungry, intimate caress. Every word they’d uttered had been a delving into the other’s spirit. And the thousands of words not said—the hovering knowledge of how short and impermanent their time together was, the exquisite and excruciating memories they shared—had created its own brand of desperate longing, as well.
Of course, she realized as dawn peeked around the corner of the curtains and started to soften Asher’s rugged features as he slept, she wasn’t exactly sure if he experienced things precisely in the same way.
Chapter Twenty-two
She awoke in a split second, knowing precisely where she was, despite the relative unfamiliarity of the room. She’d been dreaming her phone was ringing, but all was silent in Asher’s luxurious condo.
Her phone was in her backpack, she recalled. Asher had discarded the bag onto the floor almost immediately when they’d entered the condo. Asher continued to sleep as she slid off the mattress. She snagged his discarded T-shirt from the carpet and pulled it down over herself. She closed the door behind her softly and rushed down the hallway.