by Farah Heron
She let her thumb graze along his cheek to swipe his full lower lip, leaning in closer to his face. “You know,” she murmured, “I’ve never kissed a man with a beard.”
A tiny smile emerged. “We can fix that.”
He kissed her. Gentle little bites from his lips, his soft beard tickling her face. Mere nibbles. Chaste pecks. Like a conversation, this kiss was for getting to know this side of Duncan. This sweet, softer side of him.
He lifted his face from hers and whispered into her lips, “This okay, Amira?”
Was what okay? Him kissing her like this?
No. Definitely not okay. This was not the way she wanted Duncan Galahad.
“No,” she murmured. “I suspect you can do better than that.”
She pressed herself closer to his hard body and curled her arms around the back of his head, scraping her fingernails through his hair.
He got the hint and grinned widely before devouring her lips. This kiss was deeper, harder, and so much hotter. His tongue stole inside for long pulls as his hands travelled to encircle her waist. He tasted like bourbon and chutney, mingled with the scent of wood chips and . . . Duncan. She groaned as her searching hands found bare skin under the hem of his flannel shirt. She’d wanted this. And she was only now understanding how much.
This time the beard didn’t just tickle her but scratched and scraped along her sensitive skin. Her jaw ached. Her legs were numbing from being stretched over his thighs. She relished the feeling.
What the hell was she doing?
Doesn’t matter, she told herself. Right now, she didn’t care, she was just going to do it.
They ended up in a tangled mess on the couch, kissing for minutes or hours, she had no idea. Her hands had discovered that his delicious chest had hair as soft as his beard, as his hands kneaded and squeezed through her tight yoga pants.
He pulled away again, breathing heavily, green eyes dark. He rested his forehead on hers, lips only centimetres from devouring her again.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said.
“I know. I don’t even like you. You don’t like me.”
He chuckled, his warm breath tempting her all over again. “Believe me, I like you fine. You’re drunk.”
“So are you.” She felt tired all of a sudden. Too tired to keep her head up. She rested it on his shoulder, her face burrowing into his neck as the room spun around her. She inhaled deeply as he began to run his hands over her back.
“That feels nice. You smell like wood chips,” she said.
He laughed softly, the deep rumble vibrating through her. “That’s the beard oil. It’s cedar scented.”
“It’s nice.” She hummed with contentment. “Too bad I don’t like you,” she whispered before closing her eyes.
He breathed a sigh. “You’re going to like me even less tomorrow, Princess.” He lifted her and shifted, repositioning the two of them, with their legs intertwined and her head on his chest. He kissed her cheek before tossing a blanket over them.
She fell asleep.
Chapter Fourteen
AMIRA’S PHONE RANG louder than usual the next morning, waking her. She found it next to her head, which was resting on the edge of her bed, inches away from falling off, instead of where it should have been on her pillow. She answered the phone without looking at the caller’s name.
“Amira?” Sounded like Raymond.
“Yes, hi, Raymond.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just—” She sat up, instinctively smoothing her hair with her free hand. “Just had a late night. What’s up?”
“Still sleeping? Ah, must be nice to be young. But you should start getting back into your working routine, you know.”
“I know, I was celebrating getting my draft done yesterday.”
“Yes, that’s why I’m calling you. I got your email with the attached report. I skimmed the first page, there are a few grammar issues—”
“I know. I’m going to review it again for grammar and all that, I just wanted you to look at it for content.”
“Okay, I can ignore those problems, then. Your topic, though . . . wasn’t your project about computer-integrated manufacturing?”
“I told you I changed it to noise control, didn’t I?” She rubbed her eyes and swung her legs out of bed. The socks and sweatshirt she’d worn last night were on the floor. What the hell had happened?
“Right. Yes. Well, I’ll do my best to look at this in a timely manner,” Raymond said.
“Thanks. I really appreciate this.”
“No problem, Amira. Speak to you soon.” He disconnected before she could say anything else.
Amira sat on the edge of the bed, disoriented by the abrupt wake-up. The air felt different, and not because of the headache pounding between her temples. She looked around. Her room looked the same. She was still wearing the clothes she wore yesterday, save the socks and sweatshirt. Why hadn’t she changed into her pyjamas? What had she done last night? She remembered drinking, a lot. But something else happened . . .
Holy shit . . . It all came back to her like a crash of a tsunami. Duncan. She squeezed her eyes closed. Amira remembered everything. The part when he tried to give her a guitar lesson. The part when they all but polished off her bottle of bourbon. The part when they shared papri chaat. When she attacked his beard to see if it really was as soft as he said it would be. When he kissed her . . .
She even remembered the part when they were making out on the basement couch like teenagers in heat.
And then she fell asleep in his arms.
She remembered it all.
She fell back on her bed.
She’d kissed the garden gnome. Not just kissed, but full-on writhing and grinding, her hands stealing under his shirt, his hands all over her. A wave of nausea overcame her. What was she thinking? How the hell was she going to live here with him now?
Clearly, her logical brain had gone completely AWOL. She hadn’t had a drunken make-out session since high school. This was why she hated drinking in public. She was always terrified she would let loose exactly like this. That she would say goodbye to the inhibitions she normally kept under lock and key. She pressed her fingers to her temples and rubbed, hoping to stave off a nasty hangover headache.
She looked at the clock on her wall. It was almost ten o’clock. To make matters worse, she was sleeping through her silent study time. She wasn’t in the home stretch yet, as Raymond had reminded her—her paper needed proofreading and an ending. Coffee. She needed coffee to function.
Pulling her hair into a ponytail, she got up and quietly opened her door an inch. Coast was clear. Silence.
She snuck out towards the kitchen, keeping her head down as she passed the entrance to the family room.
“Amira! There you are,” Travis said from the direction of the sofa.
Biting her lip, she looked into the room. All the boys were there. The whole blasted quartet.
“Come.” Travis patted the seat next to him. “I want to ask you something.”
Had Duncan told the others what happened? Sameer and Barrington smiled warmly at her in greeting, but, of course, her focus was drawn immediately to the big red gnome in the room.
Duncan didn’t look at her. He was focusing on a glossy magazine in his hands, turning the pages with flourish, conspicuously ignoring her.
Fine. If he wanted to ignore her, she could to that, too. Easily.
“What’s up, Travis?” She sat next to him and smiled.
“Sameer and I met up with a friend last night. He works in the costume department for the National Ballet, and he had a bunch of extra tickets for tomorrow’s matinee. I thought you might like to take your little sister? She’s into dance, isn’t she? They’re doing Sleeping Beauty.”
“Wow. That would be amazing. Zahra loves ballet. I’ll have to ask my mum if she can miss school, but I’m sure it’ll be fine with her. Thank you so much.”
He smiled. “It’s no problem at all.
Glad they’ll get used.”
A twinge of guilt pinched her gut. She still felt terrible Travis had been upset a few days go about her and Sameer’s “relationship.” They hadn’t talked about it, but she was in awe that Travis could still be so generous with her.
“Bring Zahra down before you go tomorrow and I’ll do her hair. You can give her a fancy afternoon out!” Travis’s eyes narrowed. “Hey, you okay? Your face is all red, you have a rough night?”
“Beard burn,” muttered Duncan, not lifting his head from his magazine.
She glared at the garden gnome.
“What?” Sameer asked.
“Oh, nothing.” Duncan smiled at his magazine. “The stress of finishing school must be finally getting to her.”
“I’m . . .” She closed her eyes a second, then glared at Duncan again. “I’m going.” She stormed out and into the kitchen.
Stupid lumberjack . . . Why was he making sly comments? What must the rest of the boys think?
A wave of dizziness overcame her. She held on to the counter for support. How red was her face, anyway? Lifting up her stainless-steel coffee pot, she tried to look at herself through it.
“Don’t worry, Princess, you’re still the fairest of them all.”
She squeezed the pot handle and spun on her heels to see Duncan grinning from the kitchen doorway.
“You need to stop calling me that. And you better not have told them what happened last night. I’d prefer to wallow in regret alone.” She shot him a scowl.
His eyes narrowed. “Look, Amira, I came in here to offer to make your coffee for you. You slept in, and I figured you’d want to get started on your paper, since you only have two more hours of silent time left. But never mind. I forgot you’re only civil to me when you want something. Or when you’re drunk, apparently.” He turned. “You know, Princess, you’d make more friends with honey than with that venom you like to spew around.” He left.
Amira stared angrily at the doorway before slamming her coffee pot down and storming out of the kitchen and straight to her room. She could deal with no coffee. It wasn’t worth it.
Once in her room, she found some painkillers and turned on her computer. But the lingering fury at Duncan and a killer hangover were not conducive to focus. She paced the room a bit before falling heavily on her bed. A nap would be nice.
She must have dozed because the next thing she was aware of was a sharp knock on her door. Ugh. Why wouldn’t the boys leave her alone? At least she knew it wouldn’t be Duncan this time. He would be back to ignoring her after he told her off in the kitchen.
“Come in,” she said, not bothering to lift herself up from the bed. She turned her head, expecting to see Sameer or Travis.
It was Duncan. Standing in her doorway, a large mug in his hand.
“You like half a sugar, right?” he asked.
She buried her face in her pillow, cursing him in her head before sitting up and looking at him. Surprisingly, that scowl from the kitchen was missing from his face.
She blinked repeatedly, trying to imagine why he was here.
“We need to talk,” he said.
No. They didn’t. Couldn’t they just go back to hating each other? Couldn’t they forget they knew exactly how it felt to be pressed up against each other, breathing heavily, skin raw with friction burns, trying to stop time and space so they could stay in that moment forever?
Should be easy to forget, right?
“Why do we need to talk?” she asked.
“You know why. Can I come in?”
She said nothing, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Amira . . .”
“You want to talk in here?” she asked, looking around her room.
He snorted. “Not like I’ve never been in here before.”
Her mouth opened.
“Don’t worry, Princess. I was a gentleman. All I did last night was guide you to your bed and watch you fall on it. Now, can we talk in here, or do you want to discuss this where everyone can hear?”
Frowning, she stood and took the mug from his hands before sitting back on the edge of her bed. He closed the door behind him.
She clutched the warm mug and inhaled deeply, surprised by the scent hitting her nose. She raised her eyebrows. “Masala chai?”
“I was going to make coffee, but . . .” He shrugged. “My stomach can’t handle coffee when I’m hungover. I thought you might be the same.”
She took a sip. It was a touch heavy-handed with the spices, but totally drinkable. Actually, quite delicious. Amira’s stomach could usually handle coffee fine, but nothing was as soothing as good chai. “Who made it?” she asked.
“I did.” He sat on the desk chair. “So, here’s the thing. We’re going to have to learn to be civil to each other because we still have to live together for a week. If you’re pissed because you think I told the guys about your wandering hands last night, don’t worry. I can keep my trap shut.”
“My wandering hands?”
“All right. Both our wandering hands. We got a little drunk, and we got a little carried away. We can be adults about it.”
“I have no problem being a mature adult. You, on the other hand, with your snide remarks and—”
He stood, nostrils flaring. “I’m out of here. I don’t know why I ever expected to have a civil conversation with you.”
His hand was holding the doorknob when he paused. Amira’s heart rate sped as the air in the room seemed to want to leave with him.
Finally, he turned and looked at her, expression dark. “You know what I don’t get? I don’t get why you are such a witch to me. I helped you with that creep on the train, you hate me. I make you tea, you hate me. I take you to the library, you hate me—”
“You stranded me at the library.”
“I took you first. Everything I do gets met with nastiness. You’re as sweet as pie to the other guys, but I only get your poison.”
“And what about you? You keep calling me Princess, even though I told you not to. I’m not some helpless princess that needs to be rescued!”
“What the hell, Amira! I call you Princess Jasmine. She was hardly helpless! Jasmine’s the one who saved Aladdin’s ass by pretending to be Jafar’s slave!”
Amira sat frozen, mouth agape. Duncan Galahad was an odd man.
“Plus,” she finally continued, ignoring his unnecessary princess education, “you smirk and scowl at me whenever I enter a room, and you make snide comments about me every chance you get. You obviously dislike me, so I don’t see why we have to get along.”
“We seemed to get along fine yesterday, and I’m not talking about our wandering hands. And lips. And . . .” He stopped, staring at her face, pupils widening.
She felt herself blush, then shot him a nasty glare.
Heat seemed to turn back to anger as he crossed his arms over his chest. “We’re going to have to get along tomorrow, too, so better find some manners behind that pretty face of yours.”
“What? Why do we have to get along tomorrow?”
“We’re going to the ballet together.”
“No, we’re not.”
“Yes, we are. Travis’s friend gave them four tickets. I’m borrowing Sameer’s car to go pick up Maddie from Omemee first. She’s into dance, too. She’s really excited.”
Ugh. A whole day with Duncan. “But don’t you have to rehearse?”
“I can miss a day. I’ll catch up. They’re just going to be finalizing choreography, anyway. I can work on my twerking and twisting later.”
She closed her eyes. Going to the ballet would be a disaster. She would be forced to put up with his jabs all day; she couldn’t exactly lose it on him in front of Zahra and his niece.
She should just skip it, but . . . she couldn’t do that to Zahra. Her sister would be ecstatic about getting to go to a real ballet. Amira didn’t have it in her to say no. She groaned and fell backwards on her bed, legs dangling off the edge.
Out of the corner of he
r eye, she saw Duncan smile.
“I’m not cancelling,” he said. “I can’t do that to Maddie.”
“I know. I wouldn’t ask you to.” She blinked, staring above her. “I guess we’re going to the ballet.”
“Yeah.” He was quiet. “You know, what happened yesterday doesn’t have to mean anything. Just two kinda lonely, kinda horny drunk people killing time. It doesn’t have to happen again, and it doesn’t have to mean something if it does.”
She sat up again, looking at him. “It doesn’t?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I’m not looking for a relationship right now, and I gather you’re not either. And I think we can be honest, we’re not exactly each other’s types. But we can be civil. Hell, we can be more than civil, we can be friends. We’ve done it before. We didn’t seem to have a problem interacting last night.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“I meant conversation, Princess. We had good conversations.”
They did. Even before the copious amounts of bourbon, she had been amazed at how easy it had been to talk to Duncan last night. But could they do it again? It was worth a shot. Peace would be better than the war zone her basement had become.
“Don’t call me Princess,” she said with a small smile. She smelled the chai again. “You make a decent cup of chai.”
He chuckled. “Decent?”
“Yeah, if the music thing doesn’t work out, you have a promising future as a chai wallah. Who taught you to make it?”
“You. I’ve been watching. So, friends?” He held out his hand for her to shake.
She was willing to try if he was. She took it. “Friends.”
Chapter Fifteen
AS EXPECTED, MUM had no issue with Zahra missing school for free tickets to the ballet, and Zahra was beyond thrilled to go. She was even more thrilled to have a real hairstylist do her hair first. Travis pinned up her wild curls in a complicated arrangement of braids and twists and finished with a tiny tiara. She was still preening for the others when Duncan finally showed up with Maddie minutes before they had planned to leave.
Maddie Galahad was a quiet girl with large, blue eyes and hair as fiery red as her uncle’s beard. She shyly greeted Amira and Zahra, but only after Duncan told her to.