Private Acts (9 page)

“I appreciate the compliment.”

 
“We have unfinished business.”

“No, we don’t.”

He stepped around her, blocking her view of the stage. “Yes, we do.” His steady blue gaze rooted her to the spot.

“I’m not going to stand here and argue with you anymore. I don’t know how else to tell you I’m not interested.”

“Too bad the message from your mouth doesn’t match the message your body sends.”

Samirah took an unsteady breath, steeling herself for battle against him and her own weak control. “You’re one of
those
men. You think my mouth is saying no while my body’s saying yes.”

“I don’t think,
querida
, I know.”

Like a chisel, the word chipped away at her protective wall, forcing imaginary pieces to crumble around her. “Don’t use that word.”

“What word?”

“
Querida
. Don’t call me your sweetheart. I’m not.”

“You will be before the night is over.” His confidence irked her while the upward slant of one corner of his luscious mouth continued to whittle away at her resistance.

“You are unbelievable. What makes you so sure?”

“Because Thomas had to leave you in my care.”

“What do you mean Thomas had to leave?”

He explained what had happened, and anger bubbled up inside her. “And you’re only now telling me this?”

“I couldn’t find you before.”

“
You
are not taking me home. If I have to walk barefoot on hot coals all the way back, I’ll take the pain.”

He gazed down at her lips. “You have such a smart mouth.”

She tilted her head to the side. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

 
“I would love to see what else you can do with this mouth of yours.”

Breathe.
“You’ll never find out.”

His gaze narrowed on her. “Yes, you have a very smart mouth. I’m going to have to find something to put in it to keep you quiet.” At that moment, she saw the spark in his eyes. The need. The hunger underlying the teasing words. An answering heat unfurled inside of her. “Nothing to say?”

“You took me by surprise.” Her voice sounded tight and strained. He didn’t play fair, and she was flirting with danger.

“I have many more surprises in store for you,
querida
.”

“You’re wasting your time.”

“You’re so sure?”

“One hundred percent. And you know what else I’m sure about? I’m not staying here another minute. Thomas is gone, and I’m leaving too.”

“And who is this lovely young woman?”

* * * *

The hairs on the back of Miguel’s neck stood up when Esteban approached. He’d been so engrossed in his conversation with Samirah, he hadn’t noticed the program was at the halfway mark and a brief intermission.

To his chagrin, Samirah blossomed under the compliment, her eyes filling with pleasure. Extending her hand, she said, “Samirah. Samirah Jamison.”

Esteban took her hand. “I do not believe I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting you before.” To Miguel, he said in Spanish, “Where have you been hiding her?”

“She speaks Spanish,” Miguel said in clipped English.

“Even better.”

Miguel’s attention focused on how the other man’s hands remained joined with Samirah’s. She laughed, a throaty, sensuous sound that jolted him from his daze. He liked the sound of her laugh, but he wanted it for himself. Had she ever laughed with him? He couldn’t remember an instance when she had.

Esteban continued to hold onto her, his larger hands engulfing one of hers, lingering longer than was socially acceptable for new acquaintances.

“Do you plan to hold her hand all night?” His irritated, gruff voice halted their one-on-one conversation like nails on a chalkboard.

They both turned to him. Esteban’s eyes filled with surprise, but he let go. “Her hands are so soft, I forgot myself.”

Miguel knew very well how soft her hands were. He imagined the rest of her body he hadn’t had the good fortune to explore the other night would feel the same way. Right now he needed to get control of the jealousy coursing through him. It was completely unfounded, and out of character when he considered this was his mentor, the man who’d taken him under his wing and been a father to him when he needed direction in his life.

“I hope I will be able to speak to you again before the end of the evening. If not, it was my pleasure.” With a gallant bow and a mumbled comment to Miguel, Esteban left the two of them alone.

“You weren’t very nice to your friend,” Samirah remarked.

“And you were too nice.”

“I was being polite, which seems to be a problem for you.”

“It’s not a problem for me.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Miguel stepped closer and bent to her ear. The fragrance of her perfume filled his lungs, tightening the muscles of his neck. He wanted to fill his sheets with the same tantalizing smell. “My problem is with you and the way you smile and flirt with every man who comes within six inches of you.”

Her eyes flashed with anger, but behind the flash he saw something else. Had he hurt her with his comment? Too late, he couldn’t retract it.

“Flirting? Let me guess, you think I’m flaunting my…assets, too, don’t you?” She took a deep breath, fighting to keep her voice low and maintain her composure. “I’m sick and tired of you and everyone else who has a problem with me. Do you know how many times I’ve heard something similar? Stop. Tone it down. Stop being who I am, right? Because for some reason, it makes
you
uncomfortable.” She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’m a social person, and I like making new friends. This is who I am, and I’m not changing for you or anyone else. If you don’t like it, too damn bad. It’s your problem, not mine.”

“Keep your voice down,” Miguel said between gritted teeth as a few people nearby turned in their direction.

Despite her obvious anger, she lowered her tone when she spoke again. “Go. To. Hell.”

Miguel watched as she wobbled as fast as she could out of the hall. He managed to catch up to her, and when she pushed her way through the exterior double doors, he grabbed her arm before she could get down the stairs to the parking lot.

Samirah snatched her arm out of his grasp. “I’m not staying here another minute, and I mean it. I’m not letting you or anyone else insult me. I’m not a slut, and I’m not a whore.”

The tremor in her voice rocked him. “I never called you any of those things.”

“No, but you think it. That’s why you think I’ll have sex with you, but I won’t.” She cursed and bent down to slip off a shoe.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” she hissed. Off came the other one, and she lost four inches. “My feet are killing me in these horrible shoes, and I knew good and well I shouldn’t have bought them in the first place.”

“If you knew you shouldn’t have bought them,” Miguel said, “why did you?”

“Because they went with the dress.”

“Why do you women do such things to yourselves?”

“Because of you men!”

Miguel couldn’t believe he was standing outside, arguing about shoes, when he couldn’t care less about them. He pinched the bridge of his nose, indecisive about whether he should kiss her or throttle her.

It was because of the sassy way she’d put her hand on her hip to give him a piece of her mind, the pout of those full lips, and the way the lights flicked across her skin, inviting him to touch. Each movement called out to him.

“Trust me,” he said, enunciating each word. “Most men don’t care about what you have on your feet.” At least they didn’t when a woman was on her back under him. “Now put your shoes on and get back inside, and I’ll escort you home when the event is over.”

Oh, she didn’t like that. Her eyes changed color, spitting fire at him. The hand holding the shoes went back to her hip. “Or what? What are you going to do? Nothing.”

She turned away and said something in another language. He didn’t know what she said, but he was fairly certain whatever it was, she said it in French. She cursed at him. If he’d even doubted it for a minute, her next act confirmed his thought.

When her foot connected with the bottom step, she lifted her hand and stuck her middle finger in the air. She held her hand upright for a long time and added extra energy to her walk. Daring him to do something.

His eyes narrowed as he watched her walk away—in the red dress he helped pick out. A dress which fit like a second layer of skin on her ripe body. Her perfectly shaped butt cheeks moved up and down beneath the stretchy fabric, her hips rolling as she let them sway side to side like the pendulum on a clock.

His blood boiled as she purposely taunted him, daring him to make a move, like she had that night at Seth’s Bar.

Baiting him.

His control snapped like a twig under foot. Her petulant anger shouldn’t turn him on, but it did. He wanted to claim her, put his stamp on her.

What are you going to do? Nothing.

Miguel started down the steps.

It was time Samirah Jamison learned a lesson. And he was just the man to teach it to her.

Chapter Nine

Samirah was ill-prepared for what happened next. One minute she was walking away, the next she was thrown over Miguel’s shoulder like a piece of rolled carpet.

A startled cry of protest left her lips. “What—what are you doing?” she sputtered. “Put me down!”

“Be quiet.” His palm landed squarely on her behind, stinging through the material of her clothes, pushing a gasp past her lips and forcing her squirming body to freeze in shock.

Who the hell did he think he was, hitting her like that? And why did she enjoy it so much?

Her heart pounded beneath her ribs as she realized he was marching away from the building, away from the auction and any type of help she could receive from the attendees.

“I’m going to scream,” she threatened.

“I certainly hope so.”

“Put.
Me.
Down.”

“If you don’t be quiet, I’ll put you over my knee and spank you.”

“You wouldn’t dare! If you hit me again, you’ll pull back a stub.”

She realized how ridiculous her claims sounded as she hung upside down over his shoulder, clutching her shoes in one hand, but she had to say something to counteract the physical response her body had to his words. She should be indignant that he thought he could get away with putting his hands on her. Instead, the threat of corporal punishment excited her, made her nipples hard and moisture emerge between her thighs.

Miguel hit her again, never breaking stride as he marched between the cars. Samirah bit the inside of her mouth to refrain from moaning. The pulse created by the blow of his hand made her forget to breathe. When she remembered, breath rushed from her lungs. Embarrassingly aroused, she twisted and kicked, struggling to break free from his iron grip.