Chapter 16
Tabitha rolled over and cracked one eye open.
Too bright.
She groaned and flopped an arm over her face. Her body begged for another five—maybe six—hours of sleep. Unfortunately, her mind had other plans.
Last night came rushing back in a flood of memory.
And for a moment—just a moment—a dreamy smile curled her lips.
Then the realization hit.
She’d had sex. With Ramzi.
“Oh, good grief,” she muttered, yanking the sheet up over her head.
Her brain spun in all directions, trying to make sense of it. Her body? It was humming with the memory of his hands, his mouth, the wicked way he’d coaxed pleasure from her again and again until she was left trembling and breathless.
But now… she had to see him again.
Coffee. That was the only thing that might make this morning manageable.
She shoved the sheets away and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, jamming her feet into her fuzzy, well-worn bunny slippers.
Last night had been…
Unbelievable. Stunning. Earth-shattering.
Ramzi hadn’t just made love to her—he’d worshipped her. Every kiss, every touch had felt like it was meant just for her. He’d listened to her, responded to her, whispered to her in the dark like she was the only woman who had ever mattered. Her body still tingled at the memory.
But that was lust. Just lust.
Right?
She buried her face in her hands and groaned. It had been five in the morning when I climbed back in the window. Five! No wonder she felt like her head was full of mashed potatoes.
Clearly, she was overtired. That explained her emotional whiplash. And the… longing. It was just exhaustion messing with her rational brain.
Tabitha stood up and tugged a giant sweatshirt over the tank top and pajama shorts she’d thrown on when she got home. As she padded toward the stairs, she rehearsed what she’d say.
Something cool. Dignified.
Something like, “Last night was fun, but it can’t happen again.”
Yes. That sounded good. Sensible.
Maybe even add an apology for climbing into his room like a delinquent teenager. If she hadn’t done that, there wouldn’t be this awkwardness. No elephant in the room. No tangled sheets or memories of the way his voice had rasped her name as he—
Nope. Don’t go there, Tabitha.
This weekend was about helping her mother. That’s it. A fake engagement. Strategic. Temporary.
What happened last night? That had been a mistake.
A glorious, moan-inducing, body-worshipping mistake.
Tabitha reached the kitchen, zeroed in on the coffee machine, and opened the cabinet above it, hunting for her favorite mug. Of course, her parents had thirty different novelty mugs in various sizes. For a two-person household, it was absurd.
She muttered under her breath as she dug toward the back. “Why do you need a mug that says ‘Don’t talk to me until this is full’ if it holds forty ounces of caffeine?”
Finally, she found it: the chipped mug shaped like a cartoon monkey doing yoga. Her favorite.
But as she pulled it out, a deep voice behind her said, “Nice slippers.”
Tabitha startled hard. The mug slipped from her fingers, tumbling through the air in a slow-motion horror show.
Before she could even yelp, Ramzi moved.
He stepped forward and snatched the mug out of the air one-handed, saving it with infuriating grace.
Of course he did.
Because apparently, even physics found him sexy.
“You left me this morning,” he murmured, setting the mug on the counter behind her.
Then he stepped in, bracing his hands on either side of her, locking her in.
“I just… umm…” Her eyes flicked to his mouth, her voice trailing off as the memory of his kisses, his hands, his body—all of it—slammed into her like a wave. She shouldn’t be thinking about how much she wanted to kiss him again. But she was.
If they kissed again, would they be able to stop?
Because last night, Ramzi hadn’t just made love to her. He’d consumed her.
“You… um… what?” he teased, dipping his head slightly. His thigh shifted forward, pressing between hers.
Her breath caught. She grabbed his shoulders for balance—or maybe just to stay standing. That hard thigh shifted again and she nearly whimpered.
“Ramzi, we can’t—”
But she didn’t get the words out. His mouth found her neck, his teeth grazing the delicate skin just beneath her ear before his lips soothed the sting.
“If you hadn’t shimmied down the tree this morning,” he murmured, “we could be doing this in my bed. Alone.”
He straightened, but his hands gripped her hips, shifting her slightly so the most sensitive part of her pressed against him again. Her breath hitched.
“Then neither one of us would be in pain right now,” he added, voice low and wicked.
“You’re… cheating,” she whispered, a mix of accusation and desperation.
His quiet chuckle vibrated against her skin. “I know. But seriously, you shouldn’t have left.”
Then, just as smoothly as he’d cornered her, he stepped back, hands sliding from her hips in a slow, teasing departure.
He picked up the monkey mug and placed it in her hands, his fingers brushing hers deliberately.
And then he sat back down, casual and composed, just as Tilda bustled into the kitchen.
“Your father!” her mother huffed, sliding on oven mitts. “He’s out in that shed more and more these days.”
Tabitha didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Not with her heart pounding and Ramzi watching her over the rim of his coffee cup.
He was smug.
He knew exactly what he’d done to her.
And she was standing there, clutching a monkey mug while trying not to melt.