The Chai Factor

by Farah Heron

  Was this because of her pity party?

  She looked at him. His eyes still sparkled with the usual amusement, but the way he was looking at her so clearly, she believed him. She realized she trusted Duncan. It’s why she had been comfortable drinking with him the other night. It’s why she agreed to take Zahra to the ballet with him. It was probably why she sat down across from him on the train in the first place. He was telling the truth, and it was amazing to have someone be completely honest with her.

  May as well go for broke and tell him the truth, too, she told herself. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?

  “I liked you, too,” she said quietly.

  “No, you didn’t.” He smiled.

  “Yeah, I did. I just didn’t admit it to anyone. Or myself. Reena told you I used to have a thing for musicians, but I’ve also always liked . . . country boys. You’re both.”

  “Country boys?” He laughed.

  “Yes.” Her face reddened. “Reena used to say I had a farm-boy fetish. You know The Princess Bride? She said I was looking for my own Westley to boss around. In high school, I’d narrow in on any small-town boy who moved to the city.”

  His eyes glazed over. “Oh, fuck, Amira. I’d love for you to boss me around.”

  She stared at him and felt a shiver down her back. He waggled his eyebrows at her. Damn . . .

  She grabbed her pillow from behind her and hit him in the face with it. Laughing, he took it from her, threw it to the end of the bed, and rolled on top of her, easily holding her down with his large hands on her wrists. His grin faded as his eyes darkened. Amira could hear her heart beating in her own ears.

  He was going to kiss her again. Duncan Galahad was going to kiss her again—except this time, they had both admitted they were attracted to each other, and maybe even inexplicably compatible. This time, they were stone-cold sober and already lying on a bed. This was no drunken hookup. This was infinitely more terrifying.

  But he didn’t kiss her. They stared at each other, mere inches between them, the edge of the cliff falling into eternity.

  “What happens now?” she whispered.

  “You tell me,” he whispered back.

  “This is going to complicate . . . things . . .”

  “Immensely.”

  The way her life was going now, the last thing Amira needed was complication. But this . . . this was tempting.

  She licked her lip. Terrifyingly tempting.

  Duncan didn’t move, his arms caging her in. The smell of cedar and soap consumed her senses. His soft beard just barely grazed her chin. He licked his lips. She knew how soft and mobile they could be. She knew what those lips tasted like. She could lift her head closer. It would take a fraction of a movement and she could have him. All that delicious skin, all those strong muscles. He wanted her. His strong heartbeat against her chest gave him away. She could forget everything, and she could lose herself with him.

  But could she?

  With monumental effort, she said one word. “Duncan . . .”

  He sighed and released her, rolling away to lie next to her. She put her hands back down and rubbed absentmindedly at her wrists. “It’s not that I’m against a no-strings-attached hookup . . .” she said.

  He swallowed. “But that’s not what this is.”

  “No.”

  He looked at her. “The competition is in four days.”

  “My project is due in five.”

  “I would say we can pick this back up then, but . . .”

  Pick up what in five days? Even if they ignored the fact they had been at each other’s throats since they met just over a week (!) ago, she’d sworn off closed-minded country boys years ago. She wanted to find someone who understood her, and a substitute music teacher from a town of fewer than two thousand people didn’t really fit that bill, no matter how easy he was to talk to. Or how empathetic he had been about her truckload of baggage. Not to mention the fact that the whole quartet was planning on leaving immediately after the competition, and, true, Omemee wasn’t that far (in a moment of weakness, she’d googled the distance yesterday) but far enough to make the whole getting to know each other part of the relationship tricky.

  Wait, relationship? Was that what she wanted? With Duncan? She stilled . . . a few days ago, she would have been happy to never have laid eyes on him or the rest of his merry men, and now she was cataloguing the possibility of a relationship with him?

  “Easy there, Princess. I can hear your gears turning from here.” He leaned up on his elbow, his gaze sweeping her face. “This doesn’t have to be profound. We don’t have to overthink it. We can work all day and have fun”—one side of his lip upturned—“lots of fun, at night. Or . . . not. I didn’t come in here for a booty call.”

  “Why did you come in here?”

  His head fell back onto the pillow. “I was pissed off after reading about you, and maybe . . . maybe I wanted to rescue you again.”

  “I don’t need to be rescued.”

  He turned his head and smiled at her again. “I know. That’s why you’re my type. But”—he rolled off the bed and sat on the edge, his broad back tense—“I guess it’s time for me to hit the couch. You know where to find me. Not if you need me, mind you, but if you want me.” He stood and nodded. “’Night, Princess.”

  He left, closing the door softly behind him.

  Amira groaned and rolled onto her stomach, burying her face in the crook of her elbow. How the hell was she supposed to get any sleep after that?

  She knew, almost from the moment she saw him, that the garden gnome would be the death of her. She willed her body’s reaction to return to normal.

  She hadn’t imagined that it would be death by sexual frustration.

  The room was silent. The whole house breathed a level of peace that hadn’t been present here in a week. No singing. No arguing. She got up and glanced at the decorative clock ticking on her wall. Almost ten o’clock.

  She reopened her computer and checked her email. Still no response from Raymond. Her stomach tightened. He’d get back to her soon. She opened her report and tried to pick up where she’d left off. She was far further along in her work than she’d expected to be with five days left. The tension that normally sat between her shoulder blades had eased over the last few days, and her thoughts had been able to flow freely when working. Because she was at home? Maybe.

  But now that tension had snuck back in. Why hadn’t Raymond responded? Her thoughts wandered back to Duncan. She still couldn’t believe it. He wanted her. He liked her . . . for her. Not because of some exotic fetish or some desire to be the big, strong white man to save the princess. He wanted her, not in spite of her outspokenness, drive, and even prickly nature, but because of it. She bit her lip. They could have a very, very fun time. What was the problem?

  Maybe it was fine to have one last, futureless fling before her life became nothing but work and ambition. One final dip into her secret penchant for hot musicians. Despite the constant butting heads, she had a feeling Duncan was the type to stay friendly with women he had been physical with. And the more she thought about it, the more she could see a friendship with Duncan Galahad in her future. Even play dates and high tea.

  The clock ticked loudly in her room. Loud enough to drown out the rational reasons why she shouldn’t do this.

  She picked up her phone and opened her texting app, but stilled. Years of maternal and grandmotherly advice, years of social and cultural programming had told her the woman didn’t make the first move. It was a struggle to overcome her sexist upbringing, but she was always up for a challenge.

  Hands shaking, she forced herself to text two words.

  Amira

  Farm boy.

  Duncan

  On my way.

  Chapter Seventeen

  AMIRA TURNED OFF her overhead light, leaving on the dim lamp on her nightstand, and stood at her door, open a crack to let Duncan in. Still wearing his pyjamas, he arrived with a wide smile and a shav
ing kit in one hand.

  “Just so we’re on the same page,” he said as she softly shut the door behind him, “this time I am here for a booty call.”

  Suddenly nervous, Amira felt her heart rate speed up. “What’s that?” She nodded to the shaving kit. “You expecting me to shave you?”

  “Hell no. There are condoms in there.”

  She tensed even more, feeling a flutter in her gut.

  He must have sensed her nerves, because his face softened. He took one step forward and watched her intently as he ran one finger from her cheek, grazing slowly down her neck and over her chest, stopping in the deep hollow between her breasts. She shivered at the touch.

  With a sinful gaze, he whispered into her ear, “Give me orders, Buttercup.”

  That was it. Instant arousal. The tension between her shoulders got up and walked right out of the room. She smiled. “Shirt off. On the bed.”

  He purred, sucking her earlobe into his mouth for a second before releasing and stepping away.

  Eyes on her, he slowly lowered his arms to grasp the hem of his T-shirt. He lifted it at a snail’s pace, strong hips, a flat stomach, and a sprinkling of red curls. Yum.

  “It is red,” she mused as he lifted his shirt to obscure his face.

  “What?” He tossed his shirt to the floor.

  “Your chest hair. It’s red like your beard, not auburn like your head.”

  “I’m red from the ears down.”

  “All the way down?”

  He smiled as he sat in the middle of the bed. “What next, Princess?”

  Amira stood in place. Exhaling slowly, she climbed on the bed, kneeling next to his thighs. “Arms behind your head.”

  He complied immediately, fingers interlaced behind his head resting against the headboard.

  She tapped her fingers on his thigh. “What will I do with you next?”

  “Anything you want,” he rasped.

  It was like someone had dug deep into the furthest corners of her mind to find her deepest fantasies and presented them on a silver platter. She lowered her head and kissed him, going deep from the start. He tilted to get even closer, opening wide for her, but he didn’t release his hands.

  It was so hot.

  “So, what are you going to do next?” he asked after she broke free, his voice trembling.

  “I haven’t decided yet. You enjoying this?”

  He swallowed. “You have no idea.”

  She smiled. “You’re not what I expected.”

  “Well, you, Princess, are exactly what I expected. Or, well . . . fantasized. I’m all yours,” he growled.

  He looked so beautiful. That red beard was almost glowing in the dim room. His chest heaving, his hands locked in place behind him. She got up to grab a condom from his kit, stripping her clothes off along the way.

  Having him here, offering himself to her, was a gift she wasn’t about to refuse. And he not only let her lead, but his murmurs of appreciation told her that he was enjoying it as much as she was.

  It was breathtaking.

  Afterwards, she lay on his chest, basking in his warm embrace.

  Duncan kissed the top of her head. “Jesus, Amira . . . you . . .”

  Amazing. She’d rendered him speechless. She lifted her head up, looking into those clear green eyes. They reflected back more tenderness, and more vulnerability, than she’d expected.

  She rested her head back on his shoulder, needing to break the pull of that look.

  “Two questions, Princess,” he whispered.

  “Hmm?”

  “One, can I stay here with you tonight? The couch is getting a little . . . tight. I’m a big guy.”

  “That you are,” she said, running her hand over his chest.

  “And two, are you planning to boss me around again? Because I would like that. Very much.”

  She laughed, burying herself in his chest as he squeezed her into him. She agreed. She would very much like to do that again, too.

  * * *

  AMIRA WOKE THE following morning curled on her side with Duncan wrapped around her, his arm warm across her chest and his hand clutching her left boob. She tried to extract the hand.

  “Stop it. It’s mine,” he growled.

  “You’re awake.”

  “Of course I’m awake. I’m naked, wrapped around a beautiful, also naked woman . . . I don’t want to miss this by sleeping.”

  She laughed as she turned in his arms to face him.

  “Hi,” he said, grinning widely.

  “Hi.”

  He ran his fingers through her hair, loose and messy on the pillow. “So . . . this is a strange new development on our so-called friendship.”

  “I know.” She wrinkled her nose. “Do we have to talk about it?”

  “I don’t know.” He kissed her neck. “I can think of other things I’d rather do . . .” He kissed her chin. “But if you insist on talking . . .” He kissed her mouth, and she forgot about talking for a while.

  For a long while. Long enough that he needed to get up and grab another condom from his shaving kit. “Last one,” he said, returning. “Wasn’t expecting any action on this trip, but I think a visit to the drugstore is in order today.”

  Amira tensed. A drugstore. A box of condoms. Meaning more . . . this? For how long? Was this a relationship? Did she have to spend every night with him? Was that what she wanted?

  “Amira, you okay? You want this?”

  She closed her eyes. He was surrounding her. The lights weren’t dim this time; the daylight sun was seeping in through the crack in the shades in her high window. He obviously had no morning-after regrets. In fact, he was ready for round three. A wave of terror passed over her. How could she trust him this much?

  “Amira, look at me.”

  She did. Those fathomless green eyes, so often crinkled in the corners with mischief, were wide, honest, and serious. “Nothing happens you don’t want,” he said softly.

  She smiled. This man was a treasure. She wrapped her bare leg around his thigh. “I want you, now. But I can’t promise more than just . . . this, okay?”

  “This, right now, is everything.” He kissed her gently.

  This time, it was different. No one took the lead, but rather, they moved together, knowing exactly what the other needed, their gazes locked, faces inches apart.

  Damn. When she had decided to sleep with him last night, she hadn’t in a million years expected . . . this. Amira was no virgin, but the hookups had been few and far between the last few years, and none in over eight months. Maybe it was just the post-orgasmic haze, or maybe it had just been way too long, but she couldn’t remember sex being this good. She didn’t think she’d ever been with anyone she connected with so well. Someone who could relinquish control as easily as he shared it. Someone who could laugh in bed one moment, and stare intensely at her the next. And to think she found an unparalleled lover in the likes of Duncan Galahad, the bearded garden gnome.

  “I should probably leave you alone,” he said, grinning at her and ending their post-coital snuggles. “Not that I wouldn’t love to spend the whole day in bed with you, but we had a deal. Mornings are yours.”

  And thoughtful to boot. Ugh . . .

  She got up and grabbed her robe. Raymond had sent some literature a couple of days ago about the project she’d be working on with him when she returned to Hyde, so she figured she could get a start on reading it while she waited for him to finish with her report. “I’ll come have breakfast with you first.”

  * * *

  SHE FOUND HIM in the kitchen after her shower, already adding milk to her coffee.

  “Thanks,” she said, taking it.

  “Barrington made a mess of pancakes.” He winked before he took his own coffee to the dining table to sit. Sameer and Travis were just coming out of their room as she walked by.

  “Hey, guys,” Travis said, looking at his phone. “A friend of mine sent me these new vocal exercises.” He started singing scales with
his face contorted into a series of bizarre pretzel formations. Sameer looked at Travis with a pinched expression for a few seconds before bursting out laughing.

  “There is no chance in hell I am going to do that with this face,” Barrington said. “Hey, Amira! Someone’s unusually social this morning. You joining us for breakfast, too?”

  Amira frowned. What did that mean? She stood at the table, a wave of panic freezing her in place. Had the boys already seen it on her face that she’d had sex, repeatedly, with their baritone?

  Sameer and Travis sat, clearly clueless. Travis smiled at Amira.

  She sat. Who the hell cared if they figured it out anyway? There had been nothing normal about the interpersonal dynamics in this apartment for the last week; may as well add another layer of crazy to their little family.

  After all five were seated and eating, Barrington smirked again. “So, Duncan, sleep well? I think the air mattress and the couch may be missing you.”

  Amira reddened.

  “What?” Travis asked. “Isn’t he sleeping on the floor in your room?”

  “Nah,” Barrington said. “He’s been on the couch for a few days. I think my good-night calls to Marcia were finally getting to him. But I woke up early to make you guys pancakes and our baritone wasn’t on the couch. I thought maybe he went out late and got lucky, but here he is . . . in his pyjamas, hair a mess.” He chuckled.

  “So, where . . .” Sameer asked, looking suspiciously at Duncan.

  “I’m thinking the beard slept with the beard,” Barrington said, laughing.

  “Shut up, Barry,” Duncan said, but he was smiling.

  Sameer’s already wide eyes grew wider in shock, but Travis smiled proudly at Amira, nodding with appreciation. “That’s awesome, guys. I knew there had to be a good reason for you to hate each other so much. You guys were doing enemies-to-lovers the whole time and we never noticed it.”

  By this point, Amira felt sure her face was as red as Duncan’s beard.

  Sameer’s brows were still sky-high. “This is weird,” he said.

  Barrington was still chuckling. “It’s hilarious. Y’all sure we’re not living in some sort of Big Brother house? I keep expecting to trip over a cameraman.” He winked as he turned his head to the right. “Tell them this is my good side.”