Behind the Curtain - Page 30

“I know it. My jeans are enough.” He grasped her upper arm and urged her down. She sat on his shirt, bending her knees in front and setting her crossed forearms on them. He came down beside her and matched her pose.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” he said, his gaze on her. His face looked mysterious, limned by shadow and moonlight. He suddenly looked out at the Great Lake.

“It’s amazing, how bright the moon can make it,” he said.

“It reflects off the white of the sand, making it seem even brighter,” she murmured. For a moment, they just stared out at the glistening water.

“So . . . have you ever done this before?” he asked after a pause.

“Done what?”

“Escaped out into the night.”

She laughed softly. “No, I can’t say that I have. Not specifically like this, anyway.”

“You always do what your parents want you to do?”

She scowled. “Of course not. I’m not that much of a prude.”

“You’re very dutiful. Very sweet.” She glanced at him in surprise. “That’s how Tahi described you. Last night at Chauncy’s. She also told me you’re smart. You got into both Michigan State and the University of Michigan, but your parents talked you into staying at home and going to Wayne State.”

She rolled her eyes. Tahi hadn’t told her she’d blabbed those particular details. Her cousin was going to be hearing from Laila about it. She didn’t like being portrayed as a prim little goody-two-shoes. Just because she cared about other people—like her mom and dad and Mamma Sophia—didn’t make her straitlaced.

“So what do you do? When you’re not being dutiful? What’s Laila’s version of living on the edge?” he asked. His small, teasing smile distracted her. She cleared her throat and stared out at the lake, searching her brain for a good answer.

“I’ve arranged for Tahi, Zara and me to go to some concerts and music venues before . . . ones my mother wouldn’t approve of.”

“Why wouldn’t she approve of them?”

“My mom loves music,” Laila tried to explain. “If she’s not watching one of her soap operas, she’s listening to her music on her iPod.”

“But she doesn’t like you going to concerts?”

Laila shook her head, still staring out at the midnight water. “Not to see the kind of music I like, anyway. She’s crazy about traditional Moroccan and Arabic music, but she disapproves of most of my music.”

“What kind of music do you like that she disapproves of?”

“All kinds. R&B. Pop. Jazz. The blues. Hip-hop. I even like my mamma’s and Mamma Sophia’s traditional music, even though Mamma doesn’t like mine,” she said, grinning and warming to the topic. “Zara, Tahi and I have been to some amazing concerts at Auburn Hills: Alicia Keys, Rihanna, Beyoncé, Sade. I really like this one singer, Djazia Satour—have you heard of her?” He shook his head. “She’s this amazing French-Algerian singer who does trip hop, some jazz and bluesy stuff . . .” She realized how much she was gushing and laughed. “Sorry. I can get going on the topic. Most people tune me out, after a while.”

“Never apologize for being passionate.” A shiver coursed through her when she heard the warmth in his tone. She felt his stare on her cheek like a light caress. “All women singers? Is that because you’re a singer?”

She blinked, taken aback slightly. She’d forgotten he’d heard her singing the afternoon at the secret lake.

“Not necessarily. I like Outlandish. Have you heard of them? They’re a Danish hip-hop group, but they have an amazing Moroccan lead singer—”

She noticed his smile.

“What?” she wondered.

“You want to be a professional singer, don’t you?”

“What? No. Maybe,” she added lamely after a pause. She swallowed thickly. The truth hurt in her throat. “I don’t think I could ever be a singer, really, but it would be so amazing if one of those women could sing my songs.”

“The ones you’ve written?”

She nodded.

Tags: Beth Kery Erotic
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