Private Acts (12 page)

Samirah lifted her hand to her mouth, horrified at what had happened to him.

“He cut me right here.” He fingered the scar. “The blood scared him and the other kids, and possibly saved my life. They ran off and left me there on the ground, with blood streaming down my face. An adult came along and took me to the hospital. The other boy never bothered me again. I guess it’s true what they say about standing up to bullies.”

Samirah padded over to him on the dusty floor. She wanted to wrap her arms around him. Instead, she said, “I’m so sorry.”

He looked down at her. “For what?”

“For what happened to you.” Her heart grieved for him.

“It happened a long time ago.”

“Yeah, I know. You barely remember it, right?”

He slipped his arm around her neck and drew her closer. “You ask too many questions.”

“And you don’t ask enough.”

“Will I ever get the last word with you?”

“No.”

He threw his head back and laughed. The sound warmed her insides and brought a smile to her lips, glad she could make him laugh despite the sadness of the tale he just shared. “Samirah, Samirah,” he said, rubbing her back. “You’re one of a kind.”

“True. I’ve never met anyone else like me.”

“In all the places you’ve been? I believe you said…what did you say? You’re a citizen of the world?”

“I am.”

“And where have you been?” He lowered his body to the window sill and rested his hands on her hips.

“Where haven’t I been would be easier to tell you.” She grew excited. She loved to talk about her travels. “I’ve been all over, but I’ve spent most of my time in
Europe
,
Africa
, and the
Caribbean
. This is only my second trip to
South America
. The first time I came for fun—a trip to
Brazil
for Carnival.”

“You travel from place to place on a whim?”

Samirah shrugged. “Sometimes it’s a short vacation, but most of the time, I have a job lined up before I go. It’s exciting. Sometimes I’ll go somewhere, without a job, and travel around until the money runs out. This world is so big. Why would you want to stay in the same place when you can go anywhere you want? There’s so much to see and do. I’ve run with the bulls in
Pamplona
, I’ve danced down the street in
Rio
’s Carnival, I’ve been to the top of the Eiffel Tour, and I’ve been to the dungeons of
Goree
Island
. I’ve seen the Pyramids, and I visited
Buckingham
Palace
. I’ve seen so much, and there’s still plenty I have to see. And in case you’re wondering, I speak four languages besides English.”

“I wasn’t,” he teased.

She ignored him. “French, Portuguese, Spanish, and Italian. My Arabic’s rudimentary, and right now almost nonexistent, but I could probably pick up the basics again if I had to. A friend got me a job on a military base in
Kuwait
a few years back, which I then turned into a gig in
Dubai
. That’s how I learned a little Arabic.”

 
“Do you ever want to stop and live somewhere permanently?”

Samirah trailed her fingers down the corded strength of his forearm. “One day,” she admitted quietly. “I’d like to own a restaurant.” Only her closest family knew about her dream.

 
“What kind of restaurant?”

“Caribbean-Latin fusion. A combination of the food I learned to cook from my mother and Latin food, which I love.”

“There are some common elements in the cuisine. I can see how a menu like that would work.”

Pleased he didn’t think her idea was silly or unrealistic, Samirah added, “One day, I’ll have it, and I’ll be my own boss. It’ll probably be in
Miami
, in a trendy part of town. If I could afford it, I’d love to have it on
South
Beach
, where all the action is. I’ll be in control of the menu, and no one can dictate whether or not I have a job. I’ll make my own future.”

“You sound as if you’ve thought this through in detail.”

“I have. I keep a notebook with all of my ideas, and in a couple of years, I’ll do it. And the next time you’re visiting
Miami
, you can stop by and have a meal on the house.” A grin widened across her face.

Something shifted in his eyes. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”

“How often do you visit
Miami
?”

“Not often, but my mother and younger brother live there. My brother’s very young. My mother said he was unexpected.”

“You don’t believe her.”

His expression became guarded, as if he’d said too much. “My mother seldom does anything that doesn’t benefit her. My brother is only eleven. At the time of his birth, his father was seventy-five.”

“Is he the boy in the picture at Bayside Marketplace?” She remembered
Geneva
mentioned once that he had a little brother.

“Yes.”

“Do you—”

“No more questions.” He started to undo the buttons on the shirt. “How often can I see you?”

“My contract requires me to stay at the house during the week. But I’m free on the weekends, and I can see you on Karaoke Night.”

“It’s not enough, but it will have to do.”

When the buttons were all open, he pushed the shirt off her shoulders and drew her closer to latch his mouth onto her breast. His tongue stroked lazily around the circumference of her nipple, forcing her stomach muscles to tighten into a sharp twist of desire.

He palmed the smooth globes of her bottom. “I like you naked.”

“I like to be naked.”

So what if she’d broken her no man/no sex rule? It was her rule to break. She was hungry for him. There had been a power shift—one she’d never experienced before.

Samirah lowered to her knees on the hard floor. She wanted to taste him—every long, salty inch. When he recognized her intention, the bulge in his jeans grew larger, stretching the denim fabric to capacity.

She popped open the clasp and unzipped the jeans. At the sight of his magnificent erection, she kissed the tip. It twitched at the same time Miguel drew a sharp breath. With her eyes locked with his, Samirah dragged her tongue from the base to the tip and pulled him into her mouth.

* * * *

Miguel shoved his fingers into her hair, watching beneath lowered lids as her beautiful lips stretched around his wide shaft and she sucked him in farther. Deeper still, and he muttered an oath at the velvet strokes of her tongue and the warm suction of her mouth. Just when he thought he couldn’t experience any more pleasure, he felt the vibrations in the back of her throat.

His head hit the window pane, and he grabbed a handful of her hair. He tried to prolong the tumble into oblivion, but she was too good—a master with her hand and mouth. He ejaculated, pumping his hips through the agony of release.

 
When she’d sucked him dry, Miguel got shakily to his feet and dragged her with him. Gripped by an unfamiliar emotion, he kissed her, hard. He planted his large hands on her generous bottom and massaged until her knees weakened so the only thing holding her upright was his hold on her. He pulled her up against him, up onto her toes, and ground his hips into hers, letting her feel how hard he was again. She shivered and grabbed his shoulders to maintain her balance.

“When you’re not at work, you’ll be with me.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. It wasn’t a request. It was a demand. He kissed her again, taking her acquiescence. With his hands beneath her hips, he lifted her higher until her legs coiled around his waist.

He’d had enough of work. There were more important things to tend to. He marched toward the staircase with her wrapped around him.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in bed.

Chapter Eleven

Miguel sat on the wheeled stool downstairs in his studio. With controlled movements, he tapped the mallet to the top of the chisel and began the process of forming a head out of the block of plaster.

Over the past month, he and Samirah spent every moment they could together. Their comfortable routine consisted of fixing breakfast together on Saturday morning and then making love. Afterward, he worked in the studio and she took off to the market to buy groceries for their weekend meals.

Saturday evenings, they ate dinner at his house, went to the movies, or rode the motorcycle into town to listen to music at Parque Calderon. On Sundays, they returned to the park to people watch. Families dominated then, picnicking or playing games. In fact, from time to time, Samirah would join in a game of soccer, and no one ever refused her. Who could?

He thought back to the time he took her to one of the neighboring towns to purchase souvenirs for her family. She ended up also purchasing the traditional colorful skirts of one of the
chola
women for herself. When they arrived back at his place, she put on the two skirts, layered over each other the way the women did.

“Look at the colors!” she’d exclaimed with a twirl. “They’re so pretty. I couldn’t wait to put them on.”

Before he could stop himself, he’d whispered they were nowhere near as beautiful as she. With a mischievous grin, she’d told him to show her just how beautiful he thought she was, and he’d chased her up the stairs, her laughter trailing backward to curl around him and tighten his chest. He could never grow tired of that laugh.

Then there was the time when they’d returned one Saturday night and she stripped out of her clothes and jumped into the pool, screeching at the cold temperature of the water. At first, he’d protested against her invitation to follow suit.

“Come on, Miguel, join me,” she’d insisted.

He couldn’t resist as he watched her. The moonlight bathed her skin and reflected off the dark surface of the water. Within minutes, he tore out of his clothes and joined her. And within minutes, their slippery wet bodies were joined together as she straddled him on a patio chair.

He even found himself reaching for her hand in public, kissing her in public. Doing things normally reserved for the private moments alone. Like on Karaoke Night, he waited for her at the back of the bar. When she descended the stage and made her way back to him, he would pull her into his arms and kiss her for everyone to see that she was his. If he was fortunate enough to find a seat, he made sure she sat on his lap all night.

He didn’t even know himself anymore. He was changing, engaging in activities he normally didn’t. If he wasn’t careful, she’d soon have him on stage singing, too.

The mallet connected with the chisel with force, and he knocked off a piece that was too big. He swore in frustration. He should stop because he couldn’t concentrate.

Miguel rose from the chair. She should be out of her shower already. Her trip to the market would have to be delayed today.

He left the studio and passed by the vase of flowers on the table in the living room. Every week when she went into town, Samirah brought back fresh flowers from the flower market. Over the sofa, she’d had him frame and hang one of the colorful fabrics purchased during a trip to a different town nearby.

When he walked into the bedroom, he could hear her off-key singing in the shower. He opened the door and went in, walking right up to the glass door before she noticed him.