Chapter 13
Tabitha closed her eyes and inhaled the warm, spicy scent of Ramzi. She never could have imagined this. Not in a thousand years. And yet here she was, wrapped in his arms, swaying to music beneath the stars—and it was so much better than any dream that had ever haunted her.
His arms were strong, confident…yet there was something incredibly tender in the way he held her. Protective. Intentional. And then there was the unmistakable press of his arousal against her stomach, which sent her mind spinning with want.
But what could she do about it? They were surrounded. Friends, neighbors, half the town. There was no escape.
She pulled back slightly, lifting her gaze, about to say something to break the spell.
That’s when the music changed.
The band launched into a peppy country tune, and the older couples who had been slow dancing shuffled off the floor, making room for the next wave. Tabitha stepped back and smiled.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “That was nice.” She turned toward the dessert table again, determined to distract herself with something safe.
But Ramzi didn’t let her go.
She paused, glancing up at him, unsure what he intended. Surely, he didn’t plan to—
And then he did.
With a swift flick of his wrist, he spun her under his arm. Tabitha’s laughter bubbled up as he pulled her back against his chest, her back snug against him.
“The evening is young,” he murmured near her ear, and then spun her again.
Her feet barely kept up. She laughed, delighted at the sudden burst of mischief.
Another tug and she was in his arms again, and this time they were dancing. Really dancing. Swinging and spinning with a rhythm that made her heart race.
Ramzi—her tightly controlled, impossibly powerful boss—boogied with the ease of someone raised to lead a dance floor. It was stunning. Exhilarating. He wasn’t just holding his own—he was leading with a kind of expertise that caught her completely off guard.
Tabitha laughed so hard her sides ached. She followed his lead, slipping into line dances, clapping with the music, shimmying when the band broke into a rock number. The party blurred into motion and color and music, and with every dance, she felt something inside her loosen.
Eventually, the tempo slowed again, and she melted into his arms once more. They swayed together to a quiet love song, the kind that made her chest ache. She couldn’t quite name the feeling growing in her, but it hovered close to something dangerous.
By the time the final notes drifted into silence, only a few couples remained on the dance floor. Tabitha didn’t want to let go.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice catching just a little.
Ramzi chuckled and pulled her close, but this time, he didn’t kiss her. Instead, he slipped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward the road.
“Goodnight, Tabitha!” Stacy called, still holding hands with John.
“Goodnight, Stacy!” Tabitha called back. “See you tomorrow!”
The party was winding down. The food tables were cleared, leftovers packed away for morning raids. Someone had already removed the tablecloths, and stray napkins had been collected. The cleanup had happened in quiet, communal waves.
As they walked the three blocks to her house, the only sounds were crickets and the faint rustle of leaves. The night air was crisp, calm. Even the hum of air conditioners had fallen silent.
Without realizing it, Tabitha had tucked her arm around his waist. He felt warm and solid beside her, and she smiled, leaning just a little closer.
“How did you learn to dance like that?” she asked, her voice low, as if speaking too loudly might disturb the peace.
“Like what?”
She nudged him with her hip. “Like a country boy.”
He chuckled, the sound rich in the quiet night. “Why did you assume I wouldn’t know how to throw down?”
She glanced up at him, grinning. “Because you’re you.”
“And that makes me incapable of dancing?”
“It makes you a stiff, snobbish royal who shouldn’t know how to throw down with a honky-tonk band.”
Ramzi laughed, really laughed, tossing his head back. The sound startled her. It was so rare. So unexpected.
When he looked down at her again, his eyes sparkled. “I’m not stiff and sno—” He caught himself. “Correction. I’m not as snobbish as you seem to think.”
Tabitha didn’t know how to respond to that, especially since her mind had gone straight to the first part. She didn’t care much about the snobbish accusation—but stiff? That was endlessly fascinating.
The darkness around them felt like a soft cocoon. It was late, and the street was completely still.
Well, almost. His bodyguards lingered ahead and behind, doing a convincing job of pretending not to exist. She had to admit she was impressed by how seamlessly they blended in.
No one had questioned the silent presence of the men who always hovered just outside Ramzi’s space.
Maybe it was because Ramzi himself drew so much attention—tall, broad-shouldered, magnetic in a way that made others instinctively take a step back.
Unfortunately, the walk had been too short. Her house was already in view, warm light spilling from the front porch.
Tabitha frowned. Of course the porch light was on. And of course the door would be unlocked. Her mother was almost certainly sitting up in bed, pretending to read while her father snored beside her.
It was a familiar scene, one that had played out countless times during high school and during her engagement to Martin. She was older now, yet somehow still subject to her parents’ silent surveillance. It was a little insulting.
“Your mother is waiting up for you?” Ramzi asked, his voice low as he turned toward her. His hands settled on her hips, pulling her gently into his space.
Tabitha glanced around, ready to tell him he didn’t need to kiss her again. But then she caught the faintest flicker of movement across the street—a curtain twitching.
Great. They had an audience.
“Yeah,” she muttered, annoyed. “You don’t have to—”
But Ramzi was already leaning in.
His mouth claimed hers before she could finish the sentence, and heaven help her, Tabitha didn’t even try to resist. She told herself it was just for appearances. A part of the act. Something to keep her mother from hearing whispers the next morning at the grocery store.
But the truth was, she needed this kiss. Craved it.
Her mouth opened beneath his without hesitation, letting him in, meeting him stroke for stroke. Their lips and tongues tangled with hungry purpose. She melted against him, one hand sliding up to his shoulder, the other curling into the front of his shirt.
All in the name of performance, she told herself, ignoring the sound of someone moaning—unsure if it had come from her or from him.
“Tabitha!” her mother called out sharply.
Tabitha jolted, but Ramzi didn’t release her. His hands held her steady, anchored her, even as they both turned their eyes toward the porch.
Her mother stood in the doorway, arms crossed, curlers firmly in place, wearing a robe that had absolutely no business existing outside of a nightmare.
“Don’t make a spectacle of yourself, dear,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “There’s already more than enough gossip flying around town.”
Ramzi exhaled heavily against her neck, and Tabitha couldn’t help the giggle that escaped.
Still, she pressed one last kiss to the hollow of his throat—just for show, she told herself—and stepped back. With a quick smile, she turned and headed up the walkway.
Halfway to the door, she glanced back.
Ramzi was still standing where she’d left him, watching her.
And for some reason, that felt really, really good.