Chapter 7
Tabitha stood in the warm, cinnamon-scented kitchen holding a second pan of cookies fresh from the oven, but her attention wasn’t on the gooey chocolate centers or the heat radiating through the flowered potholders.
Her gaze locked onto the narrow backyard pathway just beyond the window.
Her father and her boss strolled side by side, and something about their gait—relaxed, easy, damn near jovial—didn’t sit right.
They were laughing.
What the hell?
She tilted her head, watching closely. Her father gestured with one hand, the other tucked in his jeans pocket.
Ramzi’s shoulders shook slightly as he chuckled at whatever was just said.
The contrast between them couldn’t have been more glaring.
Her father, in his worn jeans and decades-old sneakers, still bore the trim build of a man who didn’t sit still for long, but there was no mistaking the slight stoop that age was beginning to deliver.
Beside him, Ramzi looked carved out of authority—tall, broad-shouldered, his crisp button-down tucked into trousers that probably cost more than her parents’ monthly grocery bill.
Her father wore plaid. Ramzi wore power.
And yet… they looked like old friends returning from a fishing trip.
The two reached the back door, and Ramzi’s form eclipsed the glass half-pane, his height turning him into a silhouette against the afternoon sun. Her father reached out and shoved the door open—Tabitha leapt backward just in time to avoid a face full of cookie tray.
“What were you two talking about?” she demanded, adjusting her grip on the hot pan, ignoring the way the heat pricked at her fingers even through the faded potholders.
The kitchen, small and cozy with its gingham curtains and linoleum floor worn smooth from years of traffic, suddenly felt full as both men stepped inside.
Her mother paused mid-motion, wiping her hands on the red-checked apron she wore like a badge of maternal pride.
The smell of sugar and something buttery and spiced clung to her.
Tilda turned with a bright smile, her gaze softening as it found her husband. “Everything resolved?” she asked, her tone tinged with hope.
Ben nodded, walking straight to her and slipping an arm around her waist. “Everything is resolved, dear,” he confirmed, then glanced over at Tabitha with an exaggerated scowl.
“He’ll be sleeping in the guest room, Tabby.
You’ll be in your old room.” He waggled a finger at her, lips twitching like he was fighting off a grin. “And I’m a light sleeper.”
Tabitha nearly snorted. That was the biggest lie of the century. Her father snored. Loud! Plus the man could sleep through thunder, earthquakes, and a freight train running through the living room. Her mother had worn earplugs for the last ten years just to keep her sanity.
“But…what did you guys talk about?” she pressed, her eyes darting between the two men. “I should really explain. We’re not really—!”
Before she could finish, Ramzi stepped closer and kissed her.
Right there. In her mother’s kitchen. With her parents three feet away.
The kiss wasn’t showy or heated. It was soft but confident, his lips warm and certain against hers. Her fingers went slack around the potholders as he gently took the tray from her hands and placed it on the stovetop.
“Everything is resolved,” he said smoothly.
Tabitha blinked, her heart stuttering. Her lips still tingled. “Everything?” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ramzi didn’t answer with words. Instead, he dipped down again, this time letting the kiss linger. His hand cradled her cheek for a split second, thumb grazing just below her ear. The scent of his cologne—rich and warm, with a note of sandalwood—wrapped around her as she forgot what air was.
Behind her, she heard her mother giggle. Giggle.
Tabitha pulled back, dazed, blinking up at him. Ramzi’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction, his mouth curved into the kind of smug smile that made her stomach flutter for all the wrong—and maybe all the right—reasons.
“What, exactly, did you tell him?” she demanded, narrowing her eyes.
“The truth,” he replied without hesitation, then reached down and plucked the oven mitts off of her hands, then took one in his. His grip was steady, firm, and annoyingly reassuring. “Walk me out. I need to check in at the hotel.”
He turned to Ben and addressed him directly. “I appreciate the offer of a room here, Ben, but my assistant and bodyguards need housing as well. Plus, for security reasons, we don’t want to put your family in danger.”
“Danger?” Tilda gasped, her hand flying to her chest, apron rustling.
“Not in any way,” Ramzi said quickly, his tone calm, persuasive. “However, since we’re now engaged, she will be protected as well. My bodyguards are discreet, Ms. Jones. You’ll barely know they’re there. They’ll stay in the background.”
Tilda nodded, clearly unsettled but soothed enough by his tone and words. She glanced at Tabitha with wide eyes full of questions but didn’t press.
“Walk me out,” Ramzi said again, softer now, tugging Tabitha gently toward the door.
He stopped at the back door of the SUV, his hands still wrapped around hers, thumbs slowly stroking the base of her palms as if he had no intention of letting go.
“Stop looking so confused,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing. “And you’re going to have to show me a bit more affection than you did in the kitchen if we’re going to convince your neighbors that our engagement is real.”
That snapped her out of the fog. Tabitha blinked, then frowned up at him, her brows pulling low. “What did you say to my dad, Ramzi?”
His chuckle was quiet but intimate, the sound brushing over her skin like a caress. That low rumble slid down her spine and sparked something deep inside. Even now, without more than his touch and the soft rasp of his voice, her body throbbed with unwanted awareness.
“You used to trust me, Tabby.”
Her spine stiffened. “Don’t call me that,” she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. “Only my dad uses that nickname.”
Ramzi’s expression shifted, something playful stirring in the corners of his eyes as he moved closer, her back bumping gently against the sleek side of the SUV. His heat enveloped her instantly.
“It reminds me of a kitten,” he murmured, his breath warm against her cheek. “I think I’d like to hear you purr.”
A low sound rose in her throat, something between exasperation and longing. She wanted to push him away—and she wanted to pull him closer. Her fingers twitched with the urge to do both.
Her whole body hummed, every nerve ending straining toward him.
His chest brushed against hers, firm and unyielding, and her breath hitched.
Her thoughts blurred, tumbling over each other in a scramble of need.
She wanted to taste him. She wanted to punish him for stirring her up like this.
She wanted to forget the neighbors behind their fluttering curtains and climb him like a tree.
“I don’t,” she managed, though the words rang hollow.
Ramzi’s smile deepened, his dark lashes dipping briefly. “A challenge,” he murmured. “I accept.”
Her pulse spiked. She held her breath, trying to brace herself.
“Ramzi, what are you doing?”
His gaze flicked to the house, then back to her. “Since several of your neighbors are watching us,” he said, tone maddeningly casual, “I’m going to kiss you. Then I’m going to check in at the hotel. After that, I’ll be back to help your dad bring over the present he made for the bride and groom.”
He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Just a soft brush, but it scattered her thoughts like leaves in the wind.
“Then,” he continued, his voice dropping even lower as he kissed the other side of her lips, “I’d like you to show me around town.”
She couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.
“And after that… we’ll see how to fill the time between the tour and the party tonight.” He leaned in again, nipping gently at her lower lip, and her knees nearly gave out. “Any suggestions?”
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
With a soft moan, Tabitha reached up, her fingers weaving into his hair as she yanked him down to her.
This time, she kissed him. Her lips teased and tasted, but Ramzi responded instantly, his body pressing her more firmly against the SUV.
His hands settled on her hips as he tilted her head, deepening the kiss until she was no longer in control.
His mouth moved over hers with skilled precision, coaxing and claiming.
His tongue traced the seam of her lips until she gasped, and he took advantage, sweeping into her mouth.
He rolled his hips once, then again, and her hands clutched at his shirt, needing more even as her brain begged her to stop.
She didn’t stop.
She didn’t even think.
By the time he pulled back, both of them were breathing hard. Her heart pounded in her chest, her legs trembling where they had somehow locked around his waist. She hadn’t even noticed herself doing it.
Ramzi’s hands slowly helped her legs stand again, his palms running over the backs of her thighs with practiced control. Once she was standing again, he adjusted her cardigan gently, smoothing it back into place before stepping away.
Her face flamed. She tugged her sweater straight and looked around, mortified that they’d put on a show for whoever might be peeking from behind those embroidered curtains.
“I’ll…uh…see you later then.”
“Later,” he said, then opened the SUV door and climbed inside, calm as ever.
Tabitha stepped back into the neatly clipped grass of her parents’ yard, watching as the three black SUVs rumbled down the street.
She didn’t move until the last one turned the corner.
Then, very quietly, she muttered, “What the hell have I gotten myself into?”
From the edge of her vision, she caught a flicker of movement. Her mother’s lace curtains twitched back into place.
With a groan, she turned and marched inside.
Time to do some damage control.