“Hi,” she says, sounding shy. But her gaze, when it meets mine, is open. No more secrets, no more hiding. It’s just the two of us now.
“Hello.” I step aside so she can come in, her perfume trailing after her like an intoxicant. I want to fuck her right now, want to slide the dress from her shoulders and do all the things I fantasise about doing to her. I don’t kiss her, because if I do, I won’t stop.
“Oh!” She turns to me, her eyes wide. “This is beautiful.”
Like I say, I’m all about the details. The terrace is full of lanterns, hanging from the overhead beams, grouped on tables and among the plants, all filled with lit candles. It’s the only light up here, apart from the moon. The long wooden table is set for two people at one end, with gleaming silverware, china and glass, a number of dishes set up on a nearby warming tray. On one of the plates is a single red rose. More rose petals are scattered on the tiled floor and along the table.
“You’re beautiful,” I say.
Her expression softens, her lips parting.
Screw this. I don’t want dinner. I just want her. I go to her, pulling her into my arms. She presses herself against me, her brown gaze wide and trusting.
“I have to rescind your job offer.” Damn. I hadn’t meant to say it, not yet, not like that. But when she’s looking at me that way, as though I’m her entire world, my heart takes over.
She pulls back slightly, her hands resting on my chest. “You’re firing me?” Her eyes are wide and bright with tears, her soft mouth trembling.
“Ending your contract early. With a payout, of course.” I feel like the biggest asshole in the world.
She says nothing. But she also doesn’t pull away.
“I want you.” The words tumble from me. “And I can’t be with you and be your boss.”
“You want to be with me?” The words are a breath, her hands softening against me. Her slender throat moves, but her eyes don’t leave mine. Pink tinges her cheeks. Oh God. She doesn’t feel the same way. Doubt floods my mind. What the hell am I doing?
But I trust my gut and it’s telling me that this is the right thing, the only thing I can do at this moment. As if on cue music begins, winding and sinuous, echoing up from the courtyard below. It’s the small Moroccan orchestra who play there sometimes in the evenings. Their timing couldn’t be more perfect.
I wrap my arms around Zara, my cheek resting on her smooth hair. Her arms come around my waist, her head on my shoulder. She hasn’t answered me yet, not with words, but the way she melts against me gives me hope.
After a moment, she lifts her head. “Is this real?” she whispers.
“More real than anything.” My lips touch hers and she kisses me back, opening to me.
And we dance.
ChapterThirty-One
Zara
I’m scrambling for the last dregs of my sanity.
When I climbed those stairs earlier, the most I thought I’d be getting this evening was sex, and I was okay with that.
But now, as I cling to Myles, as we sway together to the music, I feel as though I’m hurtling downhill and I can’t stop.
He lifts his head, and I stare into his eyes.
“Are you all right?” His lips touch my cheekbone, the corner of my mouth, the tip of my nose, gentle as butterfly wings. “I’m sorry about your job, but I hope you understand.”
“What about my notice period?” I am an idiot.
He grins, then lowers his mouth to mine again, gentle at first then more insistent, his tongue parting my lips, tangling with mine. He lifts his head.
“Notice period is finished. You no longer work for me.” He’s still grinning, but I can feel how fast his heart is pounding. He releases me, goes to the table and picks up the rose on the plate. He comes back towards me, desire darkening his grey eyes. I swallow, trembling with anticipation, feeling his heat as he circles me. He pauses behind me, pushing my hair to one side to kiss my neck, and it’s like electricity goes through me.
His hand comes around my front, still holding the rose. He trails it along my collarbone and down between my breasts, the petals velvet against my skin. His other hand comes to the tie at my waist, pulling it. I can hardly breathe, my knees weak. My dress falls open, the silk sliding across my skin and catching on my taut nipples, exposing me to his wandering hands. The rose drops to the ground. His hand slides across my stomach, touching the edge of my lace thong. I go to push it lower but he nips me, gently, on my shoulder. “Don’t move,” he breathes.
His hips are against me, the hardness of him pressing into my backside. I press back, just a little, and he takes in a sharp breath. His fingers slide into my underwear, circling me, tasting the soft flesh where my thighs meet, teasing me, cupping me until my head goes back and I groan. “Myles, please.”
