Chapter 19
Ramzi couldn’t remember ever being this turned on.
Tabitha leaned over the table to line up her shot, and the view nearly did him in. Her jeans clung to her curves like they’d been sewn in place, offering a perfect, mouthwatering silhouette.
The only disappointment? She wasn’t wearing a low-cut shirt. But then again, maybe that was for the best. If she had been, he might have lost all rational thought and dragged her into the nearest shadowy corner.
Still, watching her play was its own kind of pleasure. She moved around the table with quiet confidence, scanning the angles, executing her shots with a sharp eye and a smooth grace that mesmerized him. Three striped balls sank into the pockets like they’d been summoned.
That’s when Ramzi decided to shift the game—literally.
He stepped directly into her line of sight just as she lined up the next shot, wondering if he could break her concentration. She looked up and caught him watching her, heat simmering behind his gaze.
Damn, she was gorgeous.
Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, the dark strands catching the overhead light as they spilled over her shoulder. Her arms were lightly toned, and his eyes drifted down to her fingers—the same fingers that had gripped his hair, his shoulders, his—
Yeah. He was officially uncomfortable.
His body pulsed with the memory of how she’d touched him, how she’d stroked and teased him in the dark. He wanted that again. Needed it.
Now.
He knew he’d gotten to her when her fingers trembled slightly. The angle of her cue was off, and sure enough, the shot missed entirely, the cue ball skimming uselessly across the felt.
With a frustrated sigh, she straightened and glared at him.
“You did that on purpose,” she muttered under her breath.
He didn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. Her expression said it all.
Ramzi grinned, unapologetic.
He moved in close, brushing a kiss across her mouth because, well, that’s what engaged couples did in public, right?
“My turn,” he whispered.
She gave a small grunt—half surrender, half challenge—and stepped aside.
He forced himself to focus on the table instead of the ache in his groin. He took aim and pocketed three balls in quick succession, each one more satisfying than the last.
When he looked up, Tabitha was staring at him.
Her jaw had dropped, but it wasn’t just shock—her eyes were warm with admiration, her posture shifting ever so slightly. She gripped the pool cue with both hands and shifted her stance, one leg easing to the side, a silent, sensual signal he couldn’t miss.
She was just as on edge as he was.
The realization hit him hard.
He wanted to clear the entire bar, press her down against the green felt, and make love to her right here, right now. No games. No witnesses. Just them.
“You gonna shoot again?” she asked, her voice teasing, one brow lifting in challenge.
Oh, she was trouble.
He took the shot but missed—barely. His body was too tight, too wired. The tension between them was a live wire, and it was short-circuiting his control.
As he straightened, Tabitha was already moving past him. She waved him aside, all focus now. With a practiced elegance, she leaned over the table again, her back arching just enough to make him curse under his breath.
He didn’t watch the shot.
He couldn’t.
He was too busy watching the way her jeans hugged every curve, too busy imagining what it would be like to strip them off slowly and—
“I can’t believe you’re panting after a secretary!” a shrill voice sliced through the buzz of the bar.
Tabitha didn’t flinch.
She didn’t even glance over her shoulder. But Ramzi saw the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers tightened on the cue. Leandra sidled up to the table like an annoying pop quiz.
Still, Tabitha took the shot.
It sank with a satisfying thud.
Then she walked calmly to the opposite side of the table, putting a deliberate wall of space between herself and her old nemesis.
“Tabitha isn’t a secretary,” Stacy shot back, her voice firm as she leaned against her fiancé.
John wrapped his arms around her, tugging her close in a quiet show of support.
“She’s a business developer,” Stacy continued, eyes locked on Leandra.
“And she makes more money than you could ever imagine, Leandra. So why don’t you slither back to whatever rock you crawled out from? ”
Leandra didn’t flinch. Instead, she pivoted with practiced ease, offering Ramzi a sugary-sweet smile. Then, in a move straight out of a bad movie, she reached out and ran a hand along his forearm.
“Isn’t that cute?” she purred. “Her best friend wants us to think she’s more than a glorified clerk.” She leaned in closer, angling her cleavage just so in her tight, low-cut dress. “And are you really a prince?”
Ramzi stared at her, the revulsion on his face unmistakable. And then—he felt it.
Tabitha.
The shift in the air, the invisible pulse of her reaction—tight, sharp, unmistakably jealous. It was as real as a sound in the room.
He immediately pulled back from Leandra’s touch.
“Tabitha is a very senior member of my business development team,” he said coolly. “She recently led the negotiations to acquire a company that will help my country expand its affordable housing sector.”
He leaned down slightly, voice low enough to stay between them. “She could buy and sell your manipulative ass—and still have money left over.”
Leandra’s entire demeanor deflated. The faux-seduction vanished as quickly as it had appeared. She swiveled toward the group of men nearby, only to find them snickering.
“Guess that tops whatever you’re making at the Stop-n-Shop,” one of them called out, lifting his beer in salute before taking a long sip.
Leandra’s smile thinned into a tight, furious line.
“You’re no prince,” she snapped.
“Probably not,” Ramzi replied with an easy shrug. Then his gaze dropped pointedly to her belly. “And you’re no lady. If you’re pregnant, why are you drinking alcohol?”
The question landed like a slap.
“It can seriously impair the baby’s development,” he added flatly.
Leandra scoffed and turned away, heels clicking against the floor. Over her shoulder, she tossed a final barb. “Now you’re a doctor?”
Ramzi didn’t take the bait. He simply turned, done with her.
And what he saw made him grin.
While he’d been wasting breath on Leandra, Tabitha had cleared the entire pool table—every last ball gone.
Game over.
In a killer finish.
“Good job, habibi,” he murmured as he walked over, slipping an arm across her shoulders. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his voice low and full of heat. “You look extraordinarily hot in those jeans.”
Tabitha snorted, rolling her eyes—but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she let him hold her, her body settling into his like it was where she belonged.