Chapter Twenty-Three
I wake groggily, rubbing sleep from my eyes and straining to hear the morning prayers sung from distant minarets. But the room is almost silent, insulated from the outside world, the only sound the quiet hum of the central air circulating the room. I should get out of bed; instead I pull the pillow over my head and stretch out a tentative hand. The sheets are cool.
On some level, I’m pleased I’m alone. A moment to consider, to decide how I feel. Surely it’s too soon to be in love. It must be some kind of endorphin related emotion. It’s not like I’m a blushing virgin. Well, I blush, but I’m not a virgin, though maybe I can be considered virgin-esque as far as last night. I begin to replay the evening in my mind, diametrically hot and cold, intense and extreme. Nerve endings begin to spark and heat, embers of the evening’s passions flickering to life between my thighs. I stretch out along the bed, my libido stirring one moment before muted voices carry from the adjoining room. As I tighten my grip on the pillow, the door opens wide.
‘Sabah al khair.’ Do I imagine the touch of self-satisfaction as the edge of the bed dips under his weight? ‘Good morning, beautiful.’
Peeling away the pillow, I upend it and shove it behind my head. He’s dressed for the gym, all post-workout yum: black sweat-shorts and what appears to be a damp t-shirt slung around his neck. He leans back, elbows against the bed.
‘How are you feeling?’
Debauched? Delighted? A little sore?
‘Too early,’ I croak.
Ignoring the intellectual, I make a quick assessment of my body: Nipples still attached—always a bonus—arms and legs in their usual places. No lasting damage, I’m all good. Aching a little, but not unpleasantly so.
‘What time is it?’ I ask, choosing to ignore his expression and my pinking cheeks. Diversionary tactics. As someone who works with small children, I’m well versed in these.
‘A little after seven.’
Crap.I plant my head back on the pillow. ‘I’m late. Again.’ Early the hour may be, but I’ll never make it to work on time. I have to get home, get dressed. Grab my things.
‘It’s fortunate you have influential friends, then, isn’t it? You’re welcome, by the way. The gimlet eye...’ his words draw off in chuckle. ‘Not so much.’
‘Do I even want to know what you’ve done?’
I cautiously lift my head an inch or two as his gaze travels my body, reflections of the evening playing across his face. He looks like he’s enjoying himself a little too much.
‘I put in a call,’ he eventually purrs. ‘Did you a favour. Like friends do.’
There’s that word again.‘I don’t want any favours.’ I sound petulant I realise, ridiculously so, as I sit up. ‘I appreciate you’re trying to help, but I have a job and responsibilities.’ Not to mention he’s not supposed to have any influence. ‘I don’t understand, the alarm is always set on my phone.’ My eyes skim the room for the offending item.
‘I switched it off, on the way to the gym.’
‘What! Why?’
‘You seemed to be doing a good job of ignoring it, soI switched it off.’
‘You can’t do that! I’ve got things to do.’ I grind a palm against one eye. ‘Look, I see where you’re coming from but this is how most grown-ups live.’
‘Are you calling me childish?’ he asks, the burn becoming a blaze.
‘No.’ I sigh, my tone softening. ‘But maybe you don’t have to stick to the same set of rules as I do.’ His mouth firms, the t-shirt pulled from his neck, hitting his thigh with an audibleslap.‘I just need to do some things for myself,’ I placate, nudging his thigh playfully with my pink painted toes. ‘I’m a pretty capable girl. Anyway, what kind of masochist leaves the comfort of a warm bed to go to the gym?’
His expression lightens in an instant. ‘I think you might want to check your definitions, and you a teacher.’ His words are teasing, his tone kind of gravelly. ‘Endorphins, I needed my morning injection and you looked too cute to disturb. I’m driven purely by natural opiates, habibti. What, I wonder, gets you going in the morning?’ Leaning toward me, he smiles anticipating my answer.
‘Caffeine.’ I giggle, leaning away.
‘If you’re insistent on going to work, I suggest we shower.’
His tone is guileless, but his eyes smoulder with the depths of something else. I swallow audibly as he pulls on the sheet covering me, throwing his tee over last night’s major prop, which will be known from this point forward—at least to me—asthe chair. I notice the bondage-chic Louboutins arranged neatly underneath and wonder how they got there as he draws a black, silk robe from the arm, curling his fingers allcome-hither.
Tempted, as always, I dig in my metaphorical heels. ‘You go on ahead,’ I assert, albeit rather wobbly.
‘I’d love to know what you’re thinking,’ he purrs. ‘Your mouth and body are so at odds.’ My eyes snap to his and follow the path of his eyes as it falls to my chest... and an exposed nipple. A very prominent, exposed nipple.
Blame the air con?‘Mind reading not one of your talents?’ I rasp, readjusting the sheet and covering the offending pink bit.
