“They recognize how good you are and want you working for them. You made it worth it for them, no matter what your dad can threaten,” Laila said softly, stroking his jaw. He didn’t respond. “Asher?” He turned his head and met her stare in the dim room. “Was there something else? About the call or your job? You seem preoccupied.”
“I can’t keep much from you, can I?”
“I hope not,” she said, smiling. He reached up and traced the line of her plump lower lip.
“Avery Sennet told me something else. Something great,” he said.
She spun over on her belly and propped herself up on her elbows. “What?” she asked breathlessly. He dragged his gaze off the vision of her firm, suspended breasts gilded by soft lamplight. Before he could answer, she spoke.
“You won the Pulitzer Prize. Didn’t you?” she asked tensely.
He blinked in surprise. “How did you know that?”
She laughed, the sound clear and joyful. She scooted up on the mattress and started planting kisses all over his face and chest.
“I knew you’d win. That piece was so amazing. So honest and strong and compassionate, just like you.” He laughed when she started to kiss his ribs, her enthusiasm and soft, falling hair tickling him. His fingers cupped her scalp and she looked up at him. Air popped out of his lungs at what he saw on her radiant face.
“I’m so proud of you, Asher.”
A full, throat-gripping feeling rose in him. It mortified him, a little—her heartfelt reaction and the pride shining in her eyes.
It also pleased him more than he could put into words.
“Your parents are going to be so proud too,” she said tremulously. “How wonderful, that you’ll get to give them the news when we go there for lunch. I bet your father will especially be proud, given how he’s in the newspaper business too. I hope he doesn’t find out the news first!”
“The winners’ names were announced to their editors and publishers earlier today, but a general announcement won’t go out until next week.”
“So it will be a wonderful surprise for your parents too.” She looked so happy, he didn’t have the heart to correct her about his parents’ probable cool or dismissive reaction. Suddenly, she was scrambling out of bed.
“Where are you going?” he asked, not at all happy with the loss of her warmth and her naked, silky skin pressing against his.
“I saw some champagne in the refrigerator,” she told him with a grin. “We’re going to celebrate.”
Chapter Twenty-five
It was one thing to watch Laila perform behind the curtain. It was even more mind-blowing to watch her without the veil, Asher realized the next day as he observed her rehearsing at the State Room. The amount of talent she possessed, the sheer magnitude of her stage presence and her sex appeal was a little intimidating for him to consider.
She made eye contact with him now as she sang on the stage, a small, shy smile curving her full lips. She was dressed casually in jeans, a purple T-shirt, a scarf and boots. Her long hair was pulled into a high ponytail that emphasized her almond-shaped green eyes. He hadn’t seen her wear her hair that way since Crescent Bay. Since the secret lake.
The way she subtly moved her hips to the music and the knowing shine in her beautiful eyes went straight to the heart of him. Not to mention the crotch. He shifted his legs uncomfortably beneath the cocktail table. He was growing hard, watching her.
Wanting her.
He recalled perfectly that she’d had a similar effect on him the first time he’d seen her perform here at the State Room, when her true identity had been only a vague, seemingly impossible suspicion.
“She’s phenomenal, isn’t she?” a woman asked him quietly, fracturing his focused attention on Laila. “I just wish I could convince her to forget the veil. With that voice, face and body, she’d become one of the most recognized n
ames in the world.”
Asher frowned slightly. It bothered him that he both agreed with what the woman next to him said and yet felt irritated at the pat, arrogant assessment of Laila, as well. He shared the table in the otherwise empty club with a woman named Charlotte Morris. Laila had introduced them before she’d begun to rehearse, explaining that Charlotte was her newly hired agent.
“I thought Rafe was your agent,” Asher had said earlier.
“Rafe is her manager,” Charlotte had interrupted. She was the kind of pseudo-blond, no-nonsense, brassy middle-aged woman he associated with the entertainment industry. “Up until now, Rafe has been doing a lot of things that an agent would normally do.”
“I needed to hire a professional like Charlotte to negotiate my contract with Sunday Records,” Laila explained. One of the musicians on the stage had called her name. She’d leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth before she hurried onto the stage to rehearse.
“Laila is a very private person,” Asher responded to Charlotte presently. The band broke midsong and Laila went over to confer with the musicians. “Public displays like this aren’t condoned by her culture, generally speaking. Plus, she’s very reserved, by nature, aside from cultural expectations. It’s incredibly courageous of her, performing at all. The curtain helps her to manage things.”