Chapter 11
Ramzi didn’t wait for her to pull him closer this time.
The second her fingers brushed the back of his neck, a jolt of need surged through him like a spark to dry kindling.
His arms tightened around her, crushing her against his chest as his mouth descended on hers in a kiss that left no room for doubt.
There were no playful brushes, no tentative pressure. Just heat. Hunger. Possession.
And release.
He’d held back for so long—too long. Years, not hours.
Years of wanting her and forcing himself to look away.
To stay quiet. To pretend that she wasn’t exactly what he craved every time she walked into his office with that guarded expression and clipped tone.
She’d always been polite. Distant. Tempting.
But never his.
Until now.
Now, there was no hesitation in her kiss. No subtle evasion in her eyes. Her hands weren’t resting gently on his arms like before—they were wrapped around his neck, her fingers curling into his hair, anchoring him to her like she never wanted to let go.
And he wasn’t about to let her go either.
His hand slid up her back, then into the fall of her hair, greedy for more of the silky strands.
He tilted her head, deepening the kiss, angling it until she gasped softly against his lips—and then kissed her again, swallowing that sound, savoring it.
She tasted like cinnamon and coffee, and something else.
Something that made him forget where they were.
Sunlight filtered through the trees, dappling her hair with gold.
Her sweater was soft beneath his palms, but not as soft as her curves.
And good God, those curves. He wanted to peel that sweater away, bare every inch of her and finally—finally—know what it was like to feel her under him. Around him. His.
Ramzi wasn’t a man who lost control. But Tabitha had always been his one exception.
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
He didn’t hear it at first. Not really. Not until the second, more insistent whistle pierced through the fog of lust clouding his brain.
He blinked, groaned, but didn’t let her go.
Didn’t even break contact. He just stopped kissing her, reluctantly easing his mouth from hers while keeping her close—his fingers still buried in her hair, his other hand firm around her waist. Holding her steady.
Or maybe holding himself together.
Tabitha was trembling against him, her breath shallow, her eyes wide and slightly glazed. Her lips were kiss-bruised and parted, and he had the insane urge to dive right back in. Just one more kiss. Maybe two.
But another high-pitched squeal snapped him out of it.
A pack of small children—ten, maybe more—came barreling down the path toward the waterfall like a stampede of wild energy and sticky fingers. Their giggles bounced off the trees, drowning out the sound of the creek and whatever shred of dignity he had left.
Tabitha giggled too. Against his chest. The sound was muffled, but he felt the tremor of it and glanced down, incredulous.
“It’s not funny,” he muttered, jaw clenched, trying to angle his hips slightly so his current state wasn’t obvious.
“It kinda is,” she whispered, still tucked against him. Her body shook with silent laughter as she tilted her head up, clearly amused by the timing—and his predicament.
Ramzi groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re enjoying this.”
“A little,” she admitted with zero shame, her lips twitching.
He glanced over her head, watching the children. They didn’t even glance at them—too busy shrieking and tossing rocks into the water. Still, he didn’t relax. Not completely. Because Tabitha was still in his arms, still warm and breathless, and he was still so hard it physically hurt.
Thankfully, by the time the parents appeared behind the stampede, waving juice boxes and looking vaguely overwhelmed, Ramzi had at least regained some semblance of control.
At least on the outside.
Inside? He was completely wrecked.
And Tabitha was the one who’d done it—with a kiss and a laugh and a smile that made him want to forget the rest of the world entirely.
God help him, he didn’t want to stop. Not now. Not after that.
And definitely not in just four days.