Behind the Curtain

by BETH KERY

  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.”

  “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.

  Her phone was set to silent. Even though it didn’t ring out loud, she saw that someone was indeed calling at that very moment. When she saw the caller identification, a prickle of anxiety went through her. It was her mom. Her concern wasn’t because of her mother calling, precisely. It was the realization that she’d never texted Tahi and told her she would be away for the night. They usually did that as a courtesy so the other one wouldn’t worry. She shouldn’t worry, though. Even if her mom had talked to Tahi first, Tahi would have covered for her.

  Rafe had also undoubtedly called last night, she realized. Several times. She pushed the anxious thought out of her brain.

  “Mamma?” she said quietly into her phone. She walked into the living room. It must be nine . . . maybe ten o’clock? Sunlight poured into the east-facing bank of windows.

  “You sound out of breath,” her mother said. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No, no, I just couldn’t find my phone.” She sidestepped the question. “What are you up to this morning?”

  “Nadine and Nora are here, going over the menu for Driss’s visit next weekend. You and Tahi are still planning on being here, aren’t you?”

  A feeling of trepidation swept through her. Crap. The Detroit visit. She’d almost forgotten about it, with the rush of adrenaline and excitement of being with Asher again. Asher was scheduled to leave the Wednesday after next. But the Detroit visit had been scheduled for months now. It was important for Laila and Tahi to be there for obvious reasons, but for some unspoken ones, as well.

  “Of course. We’ll be there Sunday morning,” Laila said uneasily.

  “I still don’t understand why you can’t have a normal weekend like everyone else,” her mother said. “Tahi gets off on Saturday and Sunday.”

  “I know Tahi does. But her business follows a different work week than mine does,” Laila repeat
ed for the thousandth time.

  “But Driss and Sara get here on Friday night and leave on Monday morning. You’ll miss almost their whole visit.”

  Her mom referred to her cousin Driss’s new fiancée. Her mother and the aunties were in full-out excitement mode, given the fact that they’d never met Driss’s intended. What they did know only fueled their anticipation—Sara had a good job as a senior analyst at a financial consulting firm, was very pretty and was Moroccan.

  Of course.

  “I’m sure one day with Tahi and me will be plenty for Sara,” Laila said drolly. “Poor girl. She’s going to be worn out by the time they go back to San Diego.”

  “It’s her first visit to her fiancé’s family. She’s got to expect—”

  “Uncles and aunts and cousins and neighbors thrown at her from every direction?”

  “You know it would help things to go smoother for her if you and Tahi were here. You’re all bound to become friends with Sara. You two girls are the family members closest to her age. What I say is even more true, given—”

  “Mamma,” Laila warned softly. She knew her mother’s impulsiveness, rambling train of thought and her habits so well, and she realized she was about to indirectly refer to Zara.

  Or more correctly, to Zara’s absence.

  As Driss’s sister, Zara would normally have been expected to bond with Sara and make her feel welcome in the family. Both Laila’s mother and her aunt Nadine, who was undoubtedly within hearing distance of this phone conversation, were aware of that fact. Aunt Nadine was especially sensitive and pained by Zara’s absence during her son’s and his fiancée’s visit.

  “I just wish you and Tahi could be here sooner, that’s all,” her mother said.

  “I know it. But you and the aunties will do just fine welcoming Sara.” Movement caught her eye and she turned. Her mother continued talking about the menu and plans for the visit, but she might as well have been talking in Chinese, for as much as Laila comprehended. Asher walked into the living room. He was dressed only in the pajama bottoms he’d had on last night. His hair was mussed and dark whiskers shadowed his jaw. Sunlight gilded his tanned, muscular torso. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. Delicious. Sexy as hell.

  Every inch the miracle he’d seemed like last night.

  “That all sounds fantastic, Mamma. I’ve got to go.”

  “But wait, I called to get your opinion on chicken or lamb for the tagine on Sunday night.”

  “Both would be great,” she said, taking a step toward Asher. Despite his disheveled, newly-risen-from-bed state, his gaze on her was sharp. She recognized that fire in his blue eyes.

  “Laila, are you listening? We’re not doing both. I’m asking your opinion on which, chicken or lamb?” her mother scolded.

  “Chicken, I guess. I’ve got to go, Mamma,” she said firmly. “Someone is knocking at the door.”

  She hung up the phone a second later and immediately walked into his arms. The hair on his chest felt good against her pressing cheek. His skin was smooth and warm beneath her lips, the muscle beneath so hard. “Good morning,” she whispered. She kissed a small, dark brown nipple. His low growl thrilled her. He delved his fingers into her hair and pushed her head against him as she charted the stiffening flesh with the tip of her tongue. She felt him harden against her lower belly. He bent his knees, slid his big hands beneath the T-shirt she wore, cupped her bare ass and pushed her more firmly against his hard body. Liquid heat rushed through her sex.

  “I woke up and you were gone,” he said gruffly from above her. “I didn’t like it.”

  “I don’t think I like it either. Let’s go back,” she murmured. She glanced up as she went back to finessing his nipple with her tongue. His hand went to the back of her head, holding her as she licked the hardening disc of flesh. He watched her, his stare hot enough to melt through metal. She saw herself as if from his eyes, experienced her red, wet tongue. She felt his heavy cock bump against her belly. He lifted her against him, his mouth slanted in arousal, and walked toward the bright sunlight. He lowered her down onto the couch.

  “I don’t think I can make it to the bedroom. I want you right now,” he said.

  “We seem to be saying that a lot to each other,” she replied, smiling.

  She knew exactly what he meant. The hunger—the need—had slammed into her like a locomotive upon seeing him walk into the room. Even her mother’s voice in her ear hadn’t dampened it. She lay back and he came down over her. Their mouths fused and clung in a liquid, heated kiss. The sun warmed his bare back. It felt so good against her wandering, massaging fingertips.

  It was as if they were encapsulated in some kind of sunlit cocoon. Only they existed, their seeking lips and exploring tongues, the pressure and heat of each other’s bodies. He slid his T-shirt up over her chest, baring her and caressing her with his large hand. She moaned, feeling herself soften for him, growing wetter. Hotter. Their bodies pressed tight. She loved the feel of him against her skin. She adored how heavy his cock felt behind the thin layer of his pajama bottoms. He was so big and blatant. So amazingly male.

  Her hand slid between their pressing, grinding bodies. He felt what she was doing and braced himself on his arms, lifting slightly off her. She cupped his full testicles in her palm and squeezed gently. He groaned into her mouth and broke their kiss. He came up on his knees slightly, still crouching over her, giving her free rein. She glided her hand up the thick, long shaft, watching his handsome face tighten in pleasure.

  “Do you have any idea what I want to do to you right now?” he rasped.

  She saw the answer in the feral glint in his eyes. She opened her thighs, feeling the air tickle at her wet sex.

  Her hand slipped beneath the waistband of his pajamas. She grasped his beautiful cock tighter, gritting her teeth in arousal at the sensation of the soft skin gloving the long, rigid shaft. She pushed his pajama bottoms down over his ass. Gripping his cock with both hands, she began to pump him. She met his stare as her arms moved up and down.

  “Tell me. What do you want to do?”

  His nostrils flared slightly. A snarl shaped his mouth. “Something I shouldn’t.”

  Excitement rippled through her at his words. Wincing in pleasure, he glanced down between their bodies to where she jacked his cock. “God bless it, you’re good at that.”

  “I should be. You taught me how to do it.”

  He gave her a sharp glance. She pumped him faster with both hands.

  “Laila—”

  “Tell me what you want to do,” she entreated. She could feel her pulse throbbing at her throat. He still stared down between their bodies, but this time, she knew he wasn’t looking at her jacking his cock. She felt his stare on her sex and spread thighs. She pumped him more determinedly.

  “Jesus,” he groaned. “I’ll go get a condom.”

  But she wouldn’t let up on him. A fever had seized her body. Her brain.

  “Asher.” He met her stare. “Tell me. Say it.”

  “You know what I want,” he grated out between white, bared teeth. She sensed his anger in that moment, his cutting frustration. It sent a perverse thrill through her. “You know I want to dip my cock into this.” He moved abruptly, rearing back on his bent knees. He grabbed her hips and roughly pulled her lower body onto his thighs. He slid a long finger into her sex. She gasped. His hand circled on her outer sex, applying pressure to her clit.

  “So damn creamy,” he muttered. “So warm and tight.” He drew his finger out of her and plunged it deep again. He pushed another finger between her labia and applied direct pressure on her clit. She whimpered and twisted her hips against the divine friction.

  He grasped a hip with one hand and held her in place as he thrust his finger in and out of her. “Do you hear that? Do you hear how wet you are? I could die in this pussy,” he grated out darkly. He was
right. She was soaking wet. She could hear him moving in her flesh. “You know I fantasize about it. About fucking you raw. You know it, but you wanted me to say it. Didn’t you?” She cried out in unbearable excitement as he stroked her harder and her clit sizzled beneath his rubbing forefinger. His dirty talk was driving her crazy. So was the sensation of his thick erection pulsing next to her bare ass.

  “No barriers between us. Just my cock sinking into your wet little pussy and fucking you until I don’t know where you start and I end . . . feeling you squeeze the living daylights out of me while you come—”

  “Oh God.” She lifted her head off the pillows, her face tight. She was mindless with pleasure, desperate with need. Not fully aware of what she was doing, she instinctively began to bob her ass up and down, popping his erection with her ass. His growl would have been intimidating if she weren’t so turned on by it. Everything had grown hot and sticky and delicious. She was about to go off like a lit firecracker.

  “Do it,” she whispered fervently. She splayed her legs open even further and lifted her pelvis from his lap in a flagrant invitation. She popped her bottom against his cock again, once, then twice. “Put your cock in me,” she begged.

  He abruptly grasped her hips with both hands, holding her ass down on his cock. She cried out at the loss of his fingers at her sex. She’d been on the verge of coming.

  “Stop it, Laila.”

  His hard, tense voice barely breached her trance of lust.

  “Stop writhing around. You’re killing me.” This time, his fury penetrated. She blinked open her eyelids and stilled her wiggling butt. She saw the wildness in his eyes. It killed her a little.

  “Just for a little bit,” she whispered. “I’m healthy, Asher. I swear it. I just had a doctor’s appointment last month, and I haven’t had sex since then.”