Behind the Curtain

by BETH KERY

  He stepped forward rapidly and wrapped his arms around her, the fronts of their bodies coming into contact. God, she felt better than he’d been anticipating. If that was even possible.

  “I know it’s complicated. I know it too well,” he said, looking down into her upturned face. He stepped even closer, pressing their bodies tight, feeling himself spark to life. “It’s worth it.”

  “But why are you acting so mad? Is it really just because of Eric?”

  “I’m mad because I’m just as selfish as him,” he admitted, his hands moving of their own volition along her supple back.

  “What?”

  “I’m pissed because your parents would hate the idea of you seeing me. I’m mad because this stupid plan of Eric’s might be risking any chance of seeing you again. I’m furious because even though I hate my stupid cousin, I’m starting to think I’m being just as selfish with you as he’s being with Zara. I don’t like to be compared to Eric. Especially in my own head.”

  He saw her face go flat with amazement at his bitter recitation of facts.

  “You mean that you think you’re being like Eric, because all you want to do is have a vacation fling with me, no matter what the circumstances?” she asked, her voice sounding hollow. He cringed inwardly.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Laila. I don’t. And I’m not Eric. But I’m no saint either.” He gritted his teeth in determination and palmed her ass, pressing her tight against his aroused body to make a point.

  “Do you feel that? I want you . . . in a way I don’t remember ever wanting anything,” he stated hoarsely. “Where do you think this is going to go, if we keep this up? Is that what you want?”

  He saw her mouth fall open at his display of crudeness. Damn. He was turning her off, but he only wanted to be fair—

  “Let’s go for a walk,” she said softly.

  “I’m . . . what?”

  Starlight and moonlight gleamed in her eyes as she looked up at him. Or maybe it was just Laila herself. She shone all on her own.

  “Down the dune a ways. Let’s go find a private spot,” she clarified, backing out of his embrace and taking his hand.

  • • •

  They walked for several minutes. She wasn’t sure what had come over her, saying what she had. Her skin was flushed with heat and it felt like a hundred butterflies fluttered in anxious desperation in her stomach. If everything didn’t look so crystal clear in front of her eyes, and if her senses weren’t pitched to such a high degree, she’d think she was getting sick.

  “How’s this?” she heard Asher say beside her. He waved at an empty stretch of dune, the sand gleaming white in the moonlight. Laila nodded and started to sit.

  “Wait,” he said abruptly. She paused, still standing, and glanced back at him expectantly. “Your shorts. They’re really . . .” He cleared this throat. “Thin.”

  She brushed her hands against her hips and buttocks, feeling the insubstantial cotton and her panties beneath it. Was the moonlight so strong Asher was seeing through her clothes? He started unbuttoning his shirt.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. He didn’t respond immediately, just whipped his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms. He was muscular, but lean. The ridges of his cut torso rippled in the pale silver light. He spread his shirt on the sand. “You don’t have to—”

  “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.

  “How do you do that?” she asked slowly after a pause.

  “Do what?”

  “Read me like that.” she replied softly. “Not one person in my family has ever recognized the things about me that you have. Not for my whole life,” she said, looking at him. “And yet you’ve realized it in two days.”

  “That’s because I’m seeing you. Not what I expect you to be.”

  His words seemed to vibrate in her flesh.

&nb
sp; “Do you have any of the music you like here, in Crescent Bay?” he asked.

  She nodded. “On my phone.”

  “Bring it with you the next time we meet. Bring your music too. The stuff you’ve written.”

  “You can read music?”

  “No. But I can read your lyrics.”

  Her cheeks heated at the idea of him looking at something that had remained private for so long, of him experiencing her in such an intimate way. The idea both mortified and excited her. “Maybe,” she hedged. “But like I said, I don’t think I can come tomorrow in the afternoon. Zarif doesn’t leave until four—”

  “Tomorrow night, then? Rudy told me he asked your cousins and you to come over to my parents’ place.”

  “I didn’t say yes, though.”

  She saw his posture stiffen. “Why not?”

  “Because you didn’t ask, Rudy did. I wasn’t sure if you actually were okay with it.”

  He exhaled a laugh. “I’m okay with it, trust me. And I’m asking now. Will you?”

  “I’d like to.”

  “We’ll take the boat out and swim.”

  “That sounds fun. We’ll just say that we’re going out to eat in town, after Zarif leaves.”

  “Excellent.” For a moment, they just stared at each other. “Listen,” he said after a charged pause. “About what I said back there, about being selfish—”

  She put her hand on his forearm, cutting him off. He stilled beneath her touch.

  “I don’t think you’re being selfish. I’m here of my own free will, Asher. Do you think I’m selfish?”

  “No,” he said grimly. “I think you’re the opposite of selfish.”

  He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. Shivers poured through her at the sensation of his mouth moving against her skin. Astonished at her courage, she reached and touched his face, her fingers trailing across his cheek and jaw. She saw the gleam of moonlight in his eyes, and suddenly he was bracketing her jaw with his hands and tilting her face up to his. His mouth covered hers. She moaned shakily, overwhelmed by a kiss that was both demanding and gentle at once.

  Intoxicating.

  The kiss deepened. She loved sensing his hunger. Feeling it grow. One of his hands continued to cradle the side of her head, but the other cupped her shoulder, his fingers sliding against the skin of her back, fully awakening her already-sensitized nerves. She glided her hands up the top of his naked arms and shoulders, a thrill going through her. She felt his skin roughen beneath her fingertips and knew he liked her touch. The fever that had been lingering in her flesh ever since she’d left him this afternoon spiked high once again.

  He was so beautiful. She wanted to touch him everywhere.

  His big hands spread around the side of her ribs, the ridge of his thumbs resting just beneath the lower curve of her breasts. He groaned roughly and sealed their kiss, keeping their lips in contact.

  “I love the way you feel in my hands.”

  “I love the way I feel in your hands too,” she breathed out against his lips.

  He leaned back slightly, his stare spearing her. He moved his thumbs, caressing her nipples through her tank top. She shuddered slightly, a potent shock of pleasure shooting through her. She clamped her thighs together to alleviate the ache there, a soft moan escaping her lips.

  “Shhh,” he soothed, even though he continued to rub her nipples with his thumb, agitating her nerves. “Does it feel good?” he asked, his breath whisking across her lips.

  “Yes,” she replied through a tight throat.

  “Do you have any idea how beautiful you look right now? How incredible you feel?” he asked, his thumbs continuing to rub her nipples. They were so sensitive to his touch, it was like a pinching pleasure. She bit off a moan, and then Asher was kissing her again, his mouth hungrier this time. He cradled both of her breasts in his hands, massaging her gently even though his kiss was fierce. Her hands moved anxiously on his back. She squeezed his rounded shoulder muscles and then his hard, defined biceps, the fire in her beginning to rage.

  A spike of panic penetrated her intense, unprecedented arousal.

  She broke their kiss, gasping raggedly against his seeking lips. “Asher, I feel so—”

  “So fantastic, it’s almost unreal,” he muttered distractedly, nibbling at her mouth. She placed her hands on his sides, amazed at the feeling of his body, the strength coiling tight in him. She skimmed the length of his torso from the top of his rib cage to his waist, down and up and down, loving the slant from lean waist up to powerful chest.

  “God,” he muttered, and his hand moved, slipping beneath her tank top. She froze at the sensation of him cupping her bare breast. He stilled too. Anticipation swelled high in her. He pinched her nipple gently. She almost jumped clear off the sand.

  “What?” he asked sharply. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No. It felt so good. I don’t know what’s wrong,” she moaned raggedly, seeking his mouth again. He pulled back slightly, studying her. He looked worried. Maybe he should be. She felt odd. Fevered. Dizzy. No . . . she was like a balloon being overfilled. The internal pressure was too much.

  “I think I do. Luckily, it’s very curable,” he said suddenly.

  He slid his hand between her legs, his manner striking her as matter-of-fact. Firm. Air rushed out of her lungs as he began to rub her sex through her shorts and underwear. She made a disbelieving sound as the friction inside her soared. A shock rippled through her flesh. His mouth moved on her neck and he spoke in a low, rough voice near her ear.

  “It’s okay. Just let go, Laila.”

  The feeling surrounded her, controlling her versus her controlling it. She made an anguished sound, twisting her hips against the pressure of his fingers. His free hand spread across her lower back and hip, keeping her steady while his fingers moved and agitated her flesh. The pressure built in her until she clamped her eyes closed in a hopeless attempt to stop it.

  She shuddered in release.

  He continued to touch her, even through the aftershocks. He pressed kisses against her ear and spoke to her. His deep voice melded with the sound of her pounding heart. It took her a few seconds to really interpret what he was saying.

  “You’re so sweet. So warm. I feel your heat, even through your shorts.”

  She drew up her knees abruptly, knocking aside his hand. She looped her arms around her knees and gasped raggedly.

  What the hell had just happened?

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, clearly startled by her abrupt action. He was obviously confused. But he couldn’t be as confused as her.

  She pressed her forehead against her arms. She couldn’t speak, so she just shook her head.

  “Laila?” The sound of disbelieving concern in his voice swelled her pain. He put his hand on her back and moved it in a soothing motion. “Didn’t it feel good?”

  She nodded against her forearm, miserable. Suddenly, she couldn’t take it anymore. She began to stand.

  “Hey . . . Hey, where’re you going?” he asked, sounding stunned. He caught her shoulders, halting her. She stopped trying to scramble off the beach and fell back on her butt, gasping. He touched her cheek. “Talk to me. Please. What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve never done that before,” she blurted out. Her face pinched tight in acute embarrassment. His soothing hand on her back stilled.

  “You’re never had an orgasm?”

  “Yes, I’ve done that,” she mumbled, still clamping her eyes tight. She couldn’t believe it had happened. Now they were talking about it, which was almost as bad. “Just not . . . with someone.”

  The silence felt like it lasted for an eternity, but probably was all of two seconds long.

  “Oh. I see,” he said, resuming rubbing her back. His tone was even. Confident. It told her that he did get it. He wasn’t bullshitting h
er. “That’s nothing to be embarrassed about. That’s . . . that’s amazing.”

  “It’s not just that,” she said in a choked tone. God, could this possibly be more horrifying?

  “Then what?” he asked, sounding puzzled. Concerned.

  She lifted her head. Did she really have to spell it out for him?

  “You barely even touched me for three seconds, and I was . . .” She covered her hot face, drowning in shame.

  He laughed softly. She lowered her hands and glowered at him. Here she was, shocked by her unprecedented physical reaction, the strength of it . . . the quickness of it, and he was laughing at her?

  This time, she succeeding in shoving herself up off the beach. She made a beeline in the direction they’d come, fueled by mortified outrage. He caught her elbow.

  “Laila, stop. Listen to me.”

  She spun around, his laughter still ringing in her head. She popped her palm against his shoulder. He started.

  “You laughed at me.”

  “I wasn’t laughing at you,” he defended, grasping her shoulders.

  “Yes, you were!” she sputtered, pointing to where they’d sat on the beach.

  “I was laughing at myself. At both of us, more accurately.” Even though what he’d said wasn’t flattering, something about the helpless earnestness of his tone penetrated her mortification.

  “What . . . what do you mean?”

  “Do you think I wasn’t worked up too? After being at the beach with you today?”

  She just stared up at his shadowed face, her mouth hanging open. He lowered his head until their faces were just inches apart. “I came just as quickly as you did. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. There’s a lot of chemistry between us. More than I’ve ever experienced.”

  She blinked. She’d never had anyone say something like that to her before. Yet from Asher’s mouth, the words didn’t sound coarse or dirty. Just private.

  Exciting.

  Still, she was confused.

  “You mean . . . you mean, just now?” she asked hollowly.