Private Acts (6 page)

“Where is she going?”

“She’s giving us some privacy. She’s a kind woman—a romantic.”

“Did she understand you were lying to her when you told her we’re lovers?”

“For some reason, she didn’t believe your accusation that I wasn’t telling the truth. I wonder why.”

“Because whatever you said to her carried more weight than what I said.”

“I am her countryman after all.” He moved closer, and Samirah pressed her heels into the carpet to keep from backing up.

“Maybe this kind of behavior works on the women here, but it won’t on me.” At least she hoped not. Even though she maintained a look of steel, her resolve was dissolving faster than a cube of ice on hot coals.

“You’d be surprised.” She wouldn’t, actually. “Now, let’s take a look at the dress.” He made a circular motion in the air with his forefinger, indicating she should do a twirl.

“If you think,” Samirah said through thinned lips, “I’m going to prance around so you can ogle me, think again. I’m going somewhere else to shop.” She lifted her nose in the air and moved past him.

“Don’t tell me this poor woman lost a sale because of me.”

Samirah glanced at him over her shoulder. “You should’ve thought about that before you said what you did. I’m not modeling for you.”

“Humor me.”

“No.”

“Don’t punish her because of my behavior. At least try on the other dresses.”

Conflicted, Samirah glared at him. On the one hand, she hated shopping and didn’t want to have to deal with Miguel here to watch what she wore. On the other hand, if she didn’t pick an outfit today, she’d be stuck having to come back out to the mall, and she really did want to try on the other dresses. One of them might be the one. If she left and came back another time, they might be gone, and she’d have to start all over again.
   

“If I do this, and I come out and show them to you, do you promise to behave?”

“As much as I can. I mean, yes.”

With one final glare at him, Samirah turned away from his charming smile and hurried into the dressing room. “Nothing’s going to happen,” she mumbled to herself, slipping off the gown and putting on the other. “It’s not like we’re going to have sex right this minute.”

The thought of wrapping her body around his left her breathless and weakened her knees. She reached toward the floor length mirror to stabilize herself. “Oh my goodness,” she whispered. “Celibacy sucks.”

Seconds later, wearing a halter-topped dress that also landed around her ankles, she emerged to find Miguel in the middle of the sales floor. Thrusting her shoulders back, she walked forward on bare feet, having left her tennis shoes behind.

Her hands went to her hips. “What do you think about this one?” She kept her voice arctic cold, sending him a message and hoping he couldn’t see past her façade of phony cool indifference.

“Hmm.” He tilted this head to the side, considering the dress. “Let me see.” He walked around her, making her feel exceedingly uncomfortable, warming her body in secret places. “Hmm,” he said again when he stood directly behind her. “I like the fit back here.”

She was going to kill him. One one-thousand, two one-thousand . . .

He came back into view. “I like it better than the first one, but let’s see the last one to make sure.”

Samirah marched back into the dressing room and donned the other dress, reminding herself it would soon be over. This one was just as elegant, with a ruche bodice and a one-shoulder design. It gathered at the waist to show off her hourglass figure and the poly-jersey fabric stretched across her hips and buttocks before draping loosely around her legs thanks to a mid-thigh slit on the left side. The tomato color popped against her dark skin and as she critiqued her reflection, she realized this was her favorite of the three.

Because it was too long at the hem, she had to gather a couple of inches in her hand to keep from tripping before stepping out from behind the curtain. When she appeared before Miguel again, she right away saw the male appreciation in his eyes. The lazy grin he’d been sporting when she reappeared dissolved into a long, heat-filled look.

Walking on feet that barely managed to move her forward, she asked, “What do you think?”

Without a word, he circled her like a predatory wolf, and she remained as still as prey, thinking if she didn’t move he wouldn’t pounce. “This is the one.”

“I agree,” she said softly, unable to tear her eyes away from his steady stare.

The formerly comfortable dress felt tighter under the weight of his gaze. He was no longer the easy-going artist. A shiver down her spine warned her again of the danger. But it wasn’t bodily harm—it was the ruination of her heart, possibly her soul, even, if she allowed him to get too close.

But she was already too close, joining in the game he had started. She was getting sucked into the vortex of her desire for him, and the pounding alert of her heart echoed in her skull, warning her that falling for a man like this would be far more devastating than the embarrassment she’d suffered at the restaurant in
Miami
.

She didn’t know where she accessed the strength necessary to drag her eyes away, but she found it. “This is the one I’ll get.”

He didn’t say a word, and she didn’t look up at him for fear of what she would see. She walked away and once alone, she sagged against the wall.

* * * *

Samirah arranged to have the dress picked up the next day after the hem had been taken up. To go with the dress, she purchased a pair of chandelier earrings and heels she would have to practice walking in before the big event. She avoided shoes with heels over two inches whenever she could, but a dress like this deserved a pair of sexy shoes to go with it.

“Can I buy you dinner?” Miguel asked once they’d stepped out of the store and she had her purchases in hand.

“No, thank you. I’m on my way back to the house.”

“I could give you a lift. I’m headed back myself.”

Samirah came to an abrupt stop, forcing the couple behind them to veer sharply to the left to avoid colliding into her. The man cursed angrily. She barely heard him because she was so focused on the six-foot-three Ecuadorian towering over her.

“No, thank you, I don’t need a ride back,” she said slowly, enunciating each word.

Miguel caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Warm, delicious sensations arrowed toward her abdomen. “How long do you plan to do this? How long do you plan to run from me?” he asked, looking down at her with hooded eyes.

“As long as it takes. You’re wasting your time.”

“I don’t think so.” His thumb stroked across the underside of her lower lip. She wanted to swat away his hand, but she couldn’t, rendered helpless in the middle of a busy mall. “You strike me as a confident woman of adventure, so I have to ask—why? Did someone hurt you?”

The spell broke, and she freed herself, pulling back to clear her mind from the narcotic-like effect of his touch. “No.”

He’d come so close to the truth of her shameful secret. The fact that a married man had used her as his plaything, and she’d never even known he was married. Her woman’s intuition hadn’t kicked in. When the rollercoaster ride of their whirlwind relationship had come to a crashing halt, she ended up losing her job and her reputation. No one believed she hadn’t known he had a wife, but he’d managed to walk away practically unscathed, with his career and marriage intact.

Miguel peered at her with a frown, trying to decipher the complicated puzzle she presented. “Then why?”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I’m not interested?”

A muscle in his jaw pulsed. “No, it never occurred to me,” he said. “Not when I can clearly see you want me as much as I want you. Not when I could have followed you into the dressing room moments ago and had you against the wall.” He spoke the words with such raw intensity, her insides trembled. “No, Samirah, it never occurred to me.”

She went still, unable to look at him, without the strength to deny the accuracy of his words. But she’d promised herself no sex on this trip. Besides, she barely knew him. The extent of her knowledge consisted of knowing he lived next door, and he sculpted. Nothing else.

“I can’t sleep with you right now.”

Why had she added those last two words, suggesting she would eventually, but not right this minute? Was it inevitable?

“Who said anything about sleeping?” The smile in his voice compelled her to raise her gaze to his. “Let me give you a ride home. That’s all I’m offering.”

She was being ridiculous. There was no harm in accepting a ride from him. Unless he attacked her in the car. “Okay,” she said with a resigned note to her voice.

Out in the parking lot, Samirah realized they were walking toward a Harley Davidson motorcycle and pulled up short.

“Is that yours?”

“It is.” He smiled at her. “You look surprised.”

“Because I thought when you offered me a ride you meant you had a car.” She drew nearer to the powerful-looking machine, admiring the shiny blue and chrome paint.

“I had it custom made and imported last year.”

“It’s nice, but I don’t know if I would feel comfortable riding with you.”

“I’m very careful. You have nothing to be afraid of.”

Except being pressed up against you for the length of the ride back home.
The short trip would seem like an eternity.

“You only have one helmet,” she pointed out.

“And it’s all yours.” He released the lock and handed the helmet to her.

Miguel took her bag and deposited it in the leather saddlebag on the side and then swung one long leg over the machine. Over his shoulder, he asked, “Are you coming?”

Against her better judgment, Samirah pulled the helmet onto her head. In a moment of vanity, she wondered in dismay what her hair would look like once she removed the protective head gear.

Awkwardly, she swung her leg over the top of the machine and settled onto the seat.

“Hold onto me,” Miguel instructed. “You’ll need to lean when I lean, and turn when I turn to maintain balance on the bike. Got it?”

The tightening in her throat made it difficult to breathe. She’d been on a bike before, so that wasn’t the problem. “Got it,” she said with a shaky breath.

She wrapped her arms around him, her hard nipples poking into his muscular back. Miguel flipped the kill switch and pushed the start button, and they were on their way.

By the time they arrived at his house, Samirah was thankful women didn’t get erections, or she would have a massive boner right now.

“Thank you for the ride,” she whispered, retrieving her package. Keeping her eyes downcast, she moved away from him, trying to distance herself from the physical need of wanting him.

“Samirah.” Her name left his lips on a groan.

She gasped when he grabbed her from behind and dragged her into the shadows, forcing her back against the wall of the house. Her package fell from her weakened grasp so she could grab onto the rigid muscles of his arms as he hauled her up and against his body. Weak-kneed and grateful for the supporting wall against her back, she gazed into his eyes. Air squeezed from her lungs as he locked their bodies together against the concrete and lifted her to press his loins between the cradle of her hips.

“Miguel…?”

His eyes blazed down at hers in the dimly lit yard. Then he lowered his head to forge a hungry kiss.