He gave her a cheeky grin as she approached, his gaze traveling wantonly up and down her body.
“You look lovely,” he said quietly, offering his arm. The conversation of the seated audience dulled to a roar, and a string quartet played near the imam.
“Thank you,” she responded, feeling her cheeks heat up as she slid her arm through his. “So do you.”
And he did. The man’s suit probably cost thousands of dollars, and nobody could fill it out as well as he did.
He cinched her close to him, his cologne clouding her senses. Something had to be wrong with her, that she couldn’t get over their hookup. He just…he was too good. She needed just a little bit more.
They took their place in line as the music waxed, behind Annabelle and Imaad. Omar stood at the arch, grinning from ear to ear, no doubt awaiting that first glimpse of Marian.
“Just know I’m not flattering you,” Zahir whispered, leaning down. “You look so sexy I don’t know that I’ll be able to walk straight down this aisle.”
Her breath caught in her throat, and her gaze snapped up to meet his. His dark eyes swirled with mischief.
“I thought we said—”
“We’re not at work, and it’s a fact.” He smiled smugly.
“You’re bending the rules.”
“Perhaps.” They took a few steps forward, the music signaling their cue. “But I certainly haven’t broken them.”
Hours later, Layla nursed her third glass of wine, her mind still making circles around Zahir’s words. The ceremony had been lovely, pictures fun and efficient, and now the reception was moving along without a hitch.
Everyone was shiny-faced and happy, the villa roaring with conversation and laughter. Layla needed a time-out. She’d reached that part of the equation—extroversion plus social niceties multiplied by cake and wine—where she needed to wander to a quiet spot, get some fresh air, remind herself who she was in this whole mix.
She slipped away from her table, where Annabelle and Imaad had been conversing with old friends of the family. She wandered down a carpeted hallway, the music and conversation fading slightly. Dragging her fingers along the floral wallpaper, she headed toward the kitchen and then down a different hallway.
After a few turns, the chatter of the party was no longer evident. A breeze reached her from somewhere, and she turned one last corner. At the end of the darkened hallway, someone stood looking out an open bay window. Layla started to turn, until she realized who it was.
Of course it’s him.
She froze in her spot, unable to decide if she should disappear or make herself known. He seemed to be having a private moment, much like her. She’d be intruding. Horribly.
“Layla.”
His smooth voice soothed her rattled nerves, and she deflated a bit. She moved toward him as though by instinct.
“Why are we always running into each other?” His words were pensive. He watched as she walked toward him, his hands buried in his pockets.
“Seems we just can’t help it.” She rolled her lips inward, gaze skating over the view from the window. Rolling lawn, manicured bursts of flowers, statues lining the paved walkway.
“Or maybe you wanted to find me.”
She swallowed hard. “Trust me, that wasn’t my intent.” She swept her hand back toward where she’d come from. “I don’t even know how I got here. I just needed to take a minute.”
Zahir leaned against the wall, his gaze raking over her. “Hopefully you’ll stay longer than a minute.”
She laughed nervously. Testosterone rolled off him in waves. Memories flooded her of their night together. Her pussy clenched in response.
“You’re blushing,” Zahir said a moment later. “What are you thinking about?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. Stop betraying me, fair skin. “Nothing. I just…blush.”
“Hmmm.” He shifted closer, his spicy cologne reaching her. “I think I know what you were thinking about.”
Oh god. Here we go. They were diving head first back into the fire, and she was powerless to stop it. “Oh yeah?”