“Nothing important.”
“It is important, or you would have said it in Spanish so I could understand. It’s very rude of you to speak in another language so I can’t understand.”
He spoke again to the boutique owner, and she giggled. She said a few words back to him, bestowing a smile on both of them, similar to that of a doting grandmother.
Samirah swung back to him and rolled her eyes. “Okay, what did you say that time?”
“Well, if you must know…”
“Yes, I must.”
“I told her we had a lovers’ quarrel, and you’re angry with me, but I can help you pick your dress from here.”
Samirah swung back to the woman, making sure to clutch the slipping gown to her chest to maintain coverage over her breasts. “No es verdad. Él es un mentiroso.”
He didn’t seem to mind that she called him a liar. He gave a self-deprecating shrug, as if to prove his point to the owner, and then spoke again in Quichua. The two of them carried on a conversation, none of which Samirah comprehended. She tapped her foot, waiting for them to finish. At the end of it, the boutique owner walked away.
“Where is she going?”
“She’s giving us some privacy. She’s a kind woman—a romantic.”
“Did she understand you were lying to her when you told her we’re lovers?”
“For some reason, she didn’t believe your accusation that I wasn’t telling the truth. I wonder why.”
“Because whatever you said to her carried more weight than what I said.”
“I am her countryman after all.” He moved closer, and Samirah pressed her heels into the carpet to keep from backing up.
“Maybe this kind of behavior works on the women here, but it won’t on me.” At least she hoped not. Even though she maintained a look of steel, her resolve was dissolving faster than a cube of ice on hot coals.
“You’d be surprised.” She wouldn’t, actually. “Now, let’s take a look at the dress.” He made a circular motion in the air with his forefinger, indicating she should do a twirl.
“If you think,” Samirah said through thinned lips, “I’m going to prance around so you can ogle me, think again. I’m going somewhere else to shop.” She lifted her nose in the air and moved past him.
“Don’t tell me this poor woman lost a sale because of me.”
Samirah glanced at him over her shoulder. “You should’ve thought about that before you said what you did. I’m not modeling for you.”
“Humor me.”
“No.”
“Don’t punish her because of my behavior. At least try on the other dresses.”
Conflicted, Samirah glared at him. On the one hand, she hated shopping and didn’t want to have to deal with Miguel here to watch what she wore. On the other hand, if she didn’t pick an outfit today, she’d be stuck having to come back out to the mall, and she really did want to try on the other dresses. One of them might be the one. If she left and came back another time, they might be gone, and she’d have to start all over again.
“If I do this, and I come out and show them to you, do you promise to behave?”
“As much as I can. I mean, yes.”
With one final glare at him, Samirah turned away from his charming smile and hurried into the dressing room. “Nothing’s going to happen,” she mumbled to herself, slipping off the gown and putting on the other. “It’s not like we’re going to have sex right this minute.”
The thought of wrapping her body around his left her breathless and weakened her knees. She reached toward the floor length mirror to stabilize herself. “Oh my goodness,” she whispered. “Celibacy sucks.”
Seconds later, wearing a halter-topped dress that also landed around her ankles, she emerged to find Miguel in the middle of the sales floor. Thrusting her shoulders back, she walked forward on bare feet, having left her tennis shoes behind.
Her hands went to her hips. “What do you think about this one?” She kept her voice arctic cold, sending him a message and hoping he couldn’t see past her façade of phony cool indifference.
“Hmm.” He tilted this head to the side, considering the dress. “Let me see.” He walked around her, making her feel exceedingly uncomfortable, warming her body in secret places. “Hmm,” he said again when he stood directly behind her. “I like the fit back here.”
She was going to kill him. One one-thousand, two one-thousand…
He came back into view. “I like it better than the first one, but let’s see the last one to make sure.”
Samirah marched back into the dressing room and donned the other dress, reminding herself it would soon be over. This one was just as elegant, with a ruche bodice and a one-shoulder design. It gathered at the waist to show off her hourglass figure and the poly-jersey fabric stretched across her hips and buttocks before draping loosely around her legs thanks to a mid-thigh slit on the left side. The tomato color popped against her dark skin and as she critiqued her reflection, she realized this was her favorite of the three.
Because it was too long at the hem, she had to gather a couple of inches in her hand to keep from tripping before stepping out from behind the curtain. When she appeared before Miguel again, she right away saw the male appreciation in his eyes. The lazy grin he’d been sporting when she reappeared dissolved into a long, heat-filled look.
Walking on feet that barely managed to move her forward, she asked, “What do you think?”
Without a word, he circled her like a predatory wolf, and she remained as still as prey, thinking if she didn’t move he wouldn’t pounce. “This is the one.”
“I agree,” she said softly, unable to tear her eyes away from his steady stare.
The formerly comfortable dress felt tighter under the weight of his gaze. He was no longer the easy-going artist. A shiver down her spine warned her again of the danger. But it wasn’t bodily harm—it was the ruination of her heart, possibly her soul, even, if she allowed him to get too close.
But she was already too close, joining in the game he had started. She was getting sucked into the vortex of her desire for him, and the pounding alert of her heart echoed in her skull, warning her that falling for a man like this would be far more devastating than the embarrassment she’d suffered at the restaurant in Miami.
She didn’t know where she accessed the strength necessary to drag her eyes away, but she found it. “This is the one I’ll get.”
He didn’t say a word, and she didn’t look up at him for fear of what she would see. She walked away and once alone, she sagged against the wall.
* * * *
Samirah arranged to have the dress picked up the next day after the hem had been taken up. To go with the dress, she purchased a pair of chandelier earrings and heels she would have to practice walking in before the big event. She avoided shoes with heels over two inches whenever she could, but a dress like this deserved a pair of sexy shoes to go with it.
“Can I buy you dinner?” Miguel asked once they’d stepped out of the store and she had her purchases in hand.
“No, thank you. I’m on my way back to the house.”
“I could give you a lift. I’m headed back myself.”
Samirah came to an abrupt stop, forcing the couple behind them to veer sharply to the left to avoid colliding into her. The man cursed angrily. She barely heard him because she was so focused on the six-foot-three Ecuadorian towering over her.
“No, thank you, I don’t need a ride back,” she said slowly, enunciating each word.
Miguel caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Warm, delicious sensations arrowed toward her abdomen. “How long do you plan to do this? How long do you plan to run from me?” he asked, looking down at her with hooded eyes.
“As long as it takes. You’re wasting your time.”
“I don’t think so.” His thumb stroked across the underside of her lower lip. She wanted to swat away his hand, but she couldn’t, rendered helpless in the middle of a busy mall. “You strike me as a c
onfident woman of adventure, so I have to ask—why? Did someone hurt you?”
The spell broke, and she freed herself, pulling back to clear her mind from the narcotic-like effect of his touch. “No.”
He’d come so close to the truth of her shameful secret. The fact that a married man had used her as his plaything, and she’d never even known he was married. Her woman’s intuition hadn’t kicked in. When the rollercoaster ride of their whirlwind relationship had come to a crashing halt, she ended up losing her job and her reputation. No one believed she hadn’t known he had a wife, but he’d managed to walk away practically unscathed, with his career and marriage intact.
Miguel peered at her with a frown, trying to decipher the complicated puzzle she presented. “Then why?”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I’m not interested?”
A muscle in his jaw pulsed. “No, it never occurred to me,” he said. “Not when I can clearly see you want me as much as I want you. Not when I could have followed you into the dressing room moments ago and had you against the wall.” He spoke the words with such raw intensity, her insides trembled. “No, Samirah, it never occurred to me.”
She went still, unable to look at him, without the strength to deny the accuracy of his words. But she’d promised herself no sex on this trip. Besides, she barely knew him. The extent of her knowledge consisted of knowing he lived next door, and he sculpted. Nothing else.
“I can’t sleep with you right now.”
Why had she added those last two words, suggesting she would eventually, but not right this minute? Was it inevitable?
“Who said anything about sleeping?” The smile in his voice compelled her to raise her gaze to his. “Let me give you a ride home. That’s all I’m offering.”
She was being ridiculous. There was no harm in accepting a ride from him. Unless he attacked her in the car. “Okay,” she said with a resigned note to her voice.
Out in the parking lot, Samirah realized they were walking toward a Harley Davidson motorcycle and pulled up short.
“Is that yours?”
“It is.” He smiled at her. “You look surprised.”
“Because I thought when you offered me a ride you meant you had a car.” She drew nearer to the powerful-looking machine, admiring the shiny blue and chrome paint.
“I had it custom made and imported last year.”
“It’s nice, but I don’t know if I would feel comfortable riding with you.”
“I’m very careful. You have nothing to be afraid of.”
Except being pressed up against you for the length of the ride back home. The short trip would seem like an eternity.
“You only have one helmet,” she pointed out.
“And it’s all yours.” He released the lock and handed the helmet to her.
Miguel took her bag and deposited it in the leather saddlebag on the side and then swung one long leg over the machine. Over his shoulder, he asked, “Are you coming?”
Against her better judgment, Samirah pulled the helmet onto her head. In a moment of vanity, she wondered in dismay what her hair would look like once she removed the protective head gear.
Awkwardly, she swung her leg over the top of the machine and settled onto the seat.
“Hold onto me,” Miguel instructed. “You’ll need to lean when I lean, and turn when I turn to maintain balance on the bike. Got it?”
The tightening in her throat made it difficult to breathe. She’d been on a bike before, so that wasn’t the problem. “Got it,” she said with a shaky breath.
She wrapped her arms around him, her hard nipples poking into his muscular back. Miguel flipped the kill switch and pushed the start button, and they were on their way.
By the time they arrived at his house, Samirah was thankful women didn’t get erections, or she would have a massive boner right now.
“Thank you for the ride,” she whispered, retrieving her package. Keeping her eyes downcast, she moved away from him, trying to distance herself from the physical need of wanting him.
“Samirah.” Her name left his lips on a groan.
She gasped when he grabbed her from behind and dragged her into the shadows, forcing her back against the wall of the house. Her package fell from her weakened grasp so she could grab onto the rigid muscles of his arms as he hauled her up and against his body. Weak-kneed and grateful for the supporting wall against her back, she gazed into his eyes. Air squeezed from her lungs as he locked their bodies together against the concrete and lifted her to press his loins between the cradle of her hips.
“Miguel…?”
His eyes blazed down at hers in the dimly lit yard. Then he lowered his head to forge a hungry kiss.
Chapter Six
Miguel had heard the shock in her voice, but he’d also heard the heated tremble, recognizing she felt the same untamed need that drove him. It consumed him—so much so he couldn’t even make it to the door of his house.
The ride back had been both pleasurable and painful. He’d been tortured by the sensation of her breasts across his back and her fingers pressing into his abdomen. He’d planned to wear her down little by little over time, but that plan was tossed out. Right now he sported an erection hard enough to tunnel through granite and needed relief.
He didn’t even try to stop himself. Why should he, when he’d wanted her since the moment he saw her on stage?
He plied her mouth with kisses, determined to dominate her senses the same way she had his, and pressed his throbbing erection even harder against her while his tongue filled her mouth. She tasted so much better than he ever imagined, making him tremble and ache. With the help of her legs clamped around his hips, he held her steady and pushed up her T-shirt to unhook the front clasp of her bra and release her bountiful breasts for his waiting mouth. They spilled from confinement like heavy fruit, and he groaned with pleasure.
Finally.
He kissed the dusky tips, her jagged breath arousing him just as much as her beautiful body. Then he captured one nipple, sucking it into a more rigid point, scraping his teeth across it until she shuddered and moaned.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured as he pressed his face into the scented hollow between the soft mounds.
Her hands moved in a frenzy of motion across the back of his neck and stroked upward to cup his head as he showered kisses across her skin up to her throat. Panting and greedy, she writhed in his arms, driving him wild. He hoisted her higher and forced her harder against the wall, pressing against her breasts, stomach, and hips to hold her still. Kneading the soft skin of her breast, Miguel scraped his thumb across the nipple. Then he took her lips again in a hard kiss, sweeping the sensitive roof of her mouth with the tip of his tongue. They devoured each other, and he angled his head to steal every breath she took.
He was so engrossed he didn’t hear the ringing cell phone at first, but eventually it penetrated the fog of his brain. He recognized the familiar sound. The unique ring tone signaled a call from his brother, Aarón.
Their bodies stilled and with great reluctance, he withdrew his mouth from hers. Her complete withdrawal came fast as she unwound herself from around him, and he lowered her to the ground onto her feet.
The insistent chirping of the phone continued.
Miguel needed time to collect himself because he could hardly breathe. Leaning on his forearm, his hand curled into a fist of frustration above her head. He watched as she cut him off by pulling her shirt down to cover her bared breasts.
This couldn’t be happening. Not right now.
Samirah looked away from him. With the heavy rise and fall of her chest and lips plumped from kissing, she enticed him, and he thought about turning off the phone and carrying her into the house to finish what they’d started.
The ringing stopped, but before he could say a word, it started up again.
He closed his eyes momentarily. “No te muevas,” he said grimly.
Even though he told her not to move, the minute h
e reached into his pocket for the phone, she slipped under his arm and grabbed her discarded bag.
“I said don’t move,” he muttered, reaching for her, but only grabbed air. She slipped away, and helplessly, he watched her rush out the gate away from him.
Forcing his voice into neutral, Miguel answered before the voice mail picked up again.
* * * *
Samirah tiptoed into the quiet house. She could smell whatever the Hills had eaten for dinner in the air. She didn’t bother to check the refrigerator to see what was left over because food was the last thing on her mind. Quietly, she moved through the house to her quarters and closed the door. Leaning back against it, she let out a heavy breath and lowered her lids. Never had she wanted a man so much. The mere thought of not having him caused a physical ache as basic as hunger or thirst.
Tossing her package on the sofa, Samirah went into the bathroom and took a quick, cold shower. Feeling refreshed, she put on a clean pair of underwear and a tank top she used to sleep in and climbed into bed. She burrowed under the covers, as if they could protect her from her thoughts. The frigid temperature of the water hadn’t sufficed. Since the night was still young, maybe she could sleep off her horniness.
Saved by the ring, she thought with disgust. Was she really so weak and impulsive she would have had sex with him? So far she hadn’t lived up to any of her promises. She hadn’t stayed out of trouble, and she’d come close to having sex.
She’d never run from her sexuality before, but dammit, this trip was about taking a break and getting to know herself better—the opportunity to regroup and assess her life going forward. She wasn’t getting any younger and needed to think seriously about her future. She couldn’t jaunt across the globe forever. Time to start thinking long term, about serious issues like kids and how she would support herself in her old age.
She thought back to her first experience abroad alone, when she’d decided to do her Le Cordon Bleu externship in Italy. She hadn’t slowed down since then, wanting to see the world and visit places other than the Caribbean where most of her maternal family lived. Ten years later, she felt the hankering for something more permanent.
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