Behind the Curtain Read online

  “Still listening to the music, I think. He didn’t want ice cream. Oh . . . here he comes.”

  Laila glanced in the direction where Jim looked at the same time she licked her ice cream cone. She froze with the ice cream on her tongue. The guy who had seen her naked today strode across the empty street toward them.

  He looked beachy casual in a pair of khaki shorts and an untucked blue-checked button-down that skimmed his lean, muscular torso appealingly. He moved with the kind of bone-deep, easy, athletic confidence that Laila always noticed and admired, probably because she knew she didn’t possess it herself.

  I can’t believe this. He’s walking over here.

  She suddenly didn’t know what to do with her arms or legs . . . or how to breathe. All she could do was stare stupidly. His expression was preoccupied and serious, seemingly in direct contrast to his informal dress and lazy saunter as he approached his friends. Garnering her will, she forced muscle movement, moving the ice cream cone away from her mouth and rapidly licking her lips clean. It felt like she swallowed gravel instead of cream.

  His face wasn’t just handsome, it was strong. The nose was a little large, but well-shaped, the eyebrows dark and thick, the granite jaw slightly square and whiskered. Laila had found it an interesting face even when panicked there on the beach . . . full of character. So male.

  She couldn’t unglue her gaze from it now.

  Those electric blue eyes that she recalled so vividly from this afternoon suddenly zoomed in directly on her. His confident stride faltered a few feet from the curb. So did her heart.

  “Ash, my man. Come and meet these beautiful fellow vacationers,” Rudy called smoothly.

  Ash, of course. Short for Asher. That was what one of the guys had called him earlier in the woods. He recovered his composure and approached them. Laila’s heart started an escalating drumroll in her ears.

  “This is Tahi and Zara,” Rudy began. Zara glanced distractedly around Eric’s broad shoulders and grinned appreciatively at the newcomer. But Asher wasn’t looking at Zara. “And this is—I’m sorry, it was Lisa, right?”

  “Laila,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She couldn’t squeeze anything else out of her throat, because his stare hadn’t left hers since it first landed on her.

  “Laila,” Asher repeated, as if he’d heard her perfectly, even though she’d been mumbling. He stepped toward her and took her hand in his. She swallowed thickly, unable to think of anything logical to say, but unable to look away from his stare either. His bronzed skin and dark hair emphasized his light eyes. He stood so close, she could see the black pinpoints in the blue and green of his irises. She had the impression he could see straight down to the heart of her. Oh God. He’d probably tell them all any minute now that this was the naked girl he’d caught at the inland lake.

  Please don’t give away my secret. No one’s ever seen me like that.

  It was a crazy, stupid, silent plea. He squeezed her hand warmly. Had her panic shown on her face?

  “Asher Gaites-Granville,” he said, but it was like he was trying to tell her something other than merely stating his name. His gaze flickered downward. “Uh . . . your ice cream. It’s melting.” She watched in rising confusion as he walked toward the counter of the ice cream parlor. He returned with several napkins. He nodded at the sticky liquid on her wrist and thumb and handed her the napkins.

  “Do you think I could talk to you for a minute?”

  She looked up in the process of dabbing the ice cream off her skin, her mouth hanging open in surprise.

  Asher pointed behind her. “Just over there, under that tree would work.”

  She glanced uneasily behind him, but Tahi, Jim and Rudy were all talking casually. Eric was leaning over Zara’s upturned face. Her cousin’s expression looked hungry. Sultry. Laila recalled her mother saying dramatically for the hundredth time that Zara would be the death of her mother. In that moment, it seemed like a definite possibility.

  “Yeah, sure,” she told Asher, walking into the cooler air under a leafy oak tree thirty or so feet away from the others. She halted and turned, her heart in her throat, and looked up at Asher Gaites-Granville. He started to speak, then exhaled uneasily.

  “You looked like you were going to be sick when you saw me back there,” he said.

  “Which time?”

  He blinked. He had the most amazing eyes. They looked darker and bluer in the dimmer lighting. “Both times, to be honest. It’s not the most complimentary thing for a guy to see.”

  Laughter bubbled out of her throat unexpectedly. He smiled at the sound. God, he’s gorgeous. Her laughter faded. So did his.

  “I’m sorry, for . . . for interrupting you like that this afternoon,” he said rapidly. “I wasn’t spying on you. I mean . . . I was for a little bit—to be honest—but it was only because you took me by surprise. And because . . . you know.”

  Her cheeks burned. She stared down at her melting ice cream blindly.

  “You didn’t tell your friends about it, did you?” she asked in a hushed tone.

  “Of course not. Laila?”

  Her chin jerked up at the sound of his deep voice saying her name so quietly . . . so tenderly.

  “I wouldn’t. Not about that.”

  She blinked uncertainly, confused by the intensity of his tone. She saw him swallow thickly, and thought maybe he was a little knocked off-guard too.

  “I’d never even let my friends know about that lake, not even Jimmy. I’d never blab about seeing you there. That’s what I wanted to tell you. You don’t need to look so afraid.”

  She just examined him for a moment, tethered by his stare. She nodded once, believing him completely for some reason. Something like relief broke over his face. Shyness swelled in her. Even though she believed her secret was safe with him, he’d still seen her stark naked.

  Why today, of all days, did I have to be a little rebellious, and skinny-dip?

  What did he think, seeing me naked?

  The memory of his obvious arousal rushed into her brain. She viciously damned her hot cheeks.

  “You said it was your secret place too. Once,” she said awkwardly, keeping her face lowered to disguise her blush.

  “Yeah,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets and shifting on his feet. His legs were tanned and long and very strong looking. She glanced up at him cautiously when he didn’t immediately continue. “I haven’t been back there for four years, since I went to college in California. My parents have a house down a ways on the beach. I used to go to that lake regularly.”

  A smile flickered across her mouth.

  “What?” he asked.

  “My family’s been coming to Crescent Bay for summer vacation since I was little, but I just discovered that lake four years ago. I’ve been going there ever since.”

  “One guardian of the secret lake leaves, another one takes over,” he said quietly. Her smile widened. She liked that idea, fanciful as it seemed.

  His eyebrows arched. He leaned toward her slightly. “And you’ve never taken anyone there?”

  She shook her head. Her skin tingled in heightened awareness from their hushed conversation. From his nearness . . .

  “Not even your friends back there?”

  “They’re my cousins. And no. It’s my special place.”

  “Now it’s ours, then.”

  A dull roar sounded in her ears.

  “It’s a good place to be alone, isn’t it?” he asked after a pause.

  “Yeah. A good place to escape.” His gaze sharpened on her. She looked down at the soggy cone she was holding. “I’m just going to . . .” She waved at a garbage can a few feet away. When she returned from throwing away her ice cream, he hadn’t moved.

  “Where did you go to school in California?” she asked.

  “Stanford. I just grad
uated.”

  “Congratulations. I wish I were close.”

  “To graduating?”

  “Yeah. I just finished my freshman year at Wayne State.”

  “I thought you looked young.”

  “I’m nineteen.” She became aware of her defensiveness when she saw his small smile. “You can’t be much older, if you just graduated.”

  “I’ll be twenty-two this fall.”

  “Oh,” she said, feeling self-conscious. She’d felt more on equal footing talking about the secret lake, a place they both considered special. At the moment, he seemed so much more mature than her. Not only was she younger than him, she was well aware she’d lived a somewhat isolated existence, compared to most American girls, given her family’s relative conservativeness and overprotective nature. She still had ten or eleven o’clock curfews, for goodness’ sake. She’d never lived away from home, even for a few days. Maybe he was thinking the same thing about how immature she seemed, because he seemed to hesitate as he looked down at her.

  “What are you studying at Wayne State?” he asked, but she had the impression he’d been about to say something else and edited himself at the last second.

  “I’m still technically undecided as far as a major. But I’m going to declare business this fall.”

  “Business, huh?” he asked, grinning.

  Her backbone straightened. “What’s so funny about that?”

  “Not funny. Just unexpected.”

  “How would you know what to expect of me one way or another?” she asked incredulously.

  He put up his hands in a surrender gesture. “It was just an impression, that’s all.”

  “Based on what?”

  “Your singing. Your love of privacy in a picturesque spot.” He dipped his head and spoke more quietly. “Your tendency to do something romantic, like swim naked there alone. The notebooks. I thought maybe you were a writer or something.”

  Her skin roughened. “Notebooks?” she asked in an unnatural, high-pitched voice. He’d noticed her music notebooks?

  “Yeah. They were on the beach this afternoon, along with your clothes.” She blanched and stepped back, feeling even more naked than she had when he’d seen her without her clothes on. “Jesus. I’m sorry, why is that such a big deal?” Asher wondered, clearly at a loss as to how to respond to her reaction to him seeing a few bundles of paper and some pencils.

  “Nothing. It’s nothing,” she said hollowly, mentally scurrying to hide her sudden discomfort. She was glad night had fallen. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling overexposed. No one knew about those notebooks, not even her mother. They were the source of her greatest pride.

  Her greatest shame.

  “I used to go there to write sometimes,” he said.

  She started and glanced up at him. “You did?”

  “I just thought maybe you did too,” he added.

  She swallowed thickly, overly aware of her pulse leaping at her throat. God, she was acting so jumpy around him. He probably thought she was an idiot.

  “Wha . . . what kinds of things did you write there?”

  “Just stories.” She met his stare, curious despite her discomfort. “Observations I’ve made. News stories, mostly. I’m a reporter.” He shrugged. “Or I will be, in a few weeks. Officially, anyway. I’ve had plenty of internships before now. But I start at the L.A. Times this August. International desk.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Thanks,” he said. He gave her a questioning glance. He expected her to say what she’d been writing in those notebooks, but it was a too deeply buried secret to rise easily to the surface.

  “It’s not financial equations, is it?” he asked her with gentle amusement. “Or a detailed plan to start your own company.” Her pulse leapt higher at her throat when she saw how closely he studied her reaction to his questions. There was warmth in his eyes. Somehow, miraculously, he’d seen that her heart wasn’t in the idea of studying business. That was her parents’ dream, not hers. She wanted to shout out that of course it wasn’t financial equations or business plans. Who would escape to such a private, beautiful place to think about business? Instead, she pursed her lips uncertainly.

  “That’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I can see the truth.”

  “You can?” she breathed out in uneasy amazement.

  “I imagine you’re a poet or an author or something. Or maybe a songwriter? I’ve never heard that song you were singing before.”

  She blinked, the hairs on her forearms standing on end.

  How in the world—

  “Why would you think that?” she asked numbly.

  He leaned forward. The flesh of her right ear and neck prickled with heightened awareness at his nearness.

  “Even if you weren’t writing poetry, specifically, in your secret place, I’m not far off. Am I? You’ve got the eyes of a poet. You’re an artist, not a businesswoman, Laila,” he said very quietly.

  She just stared up at him, struck dumb by the accuracy of a stranger.

  • • •

  Asher felt a little guilty for setting her off balance. But mostly, all he could think about as he leaned down close to her was the fresh peachy scent from her long, unbound hair. He inhaled deeply, his entire body going on full alert. Her neck looked too slender and delicate to hold up such a thick, glorious mass of hair. The brown, gleaming waves fell all the way to the small of her back. All of her looked slender and delicate, except her huge, expressive, light green eyes. And those high, firm breasts, of course, which he knew firsthand were far from small. While the curves of her hips were compact, she was so feminine. She looked like she’d fit perfectly in the palms of his hands . . .

  She made a soft, sexy, gasping sound and his trance fractured slightly. He realized he was leaning down over her, his mouth only inches away from her neck, staring down the length of her at the tight, curving hips he’d been imagining—vividly—cupping in his hands. He noticed her startled expression but thought she seemed a little entranced, as well.

  She’s way too young, and I’m only going to be in Crescent Bay for a few weeks.

  But she’s so blessed beautiful.

  He’d never seen anything like her. He wasn’t sure how to operate in her presence. All the rules he’d learned about the sexual dance somehow didn’t seem to apply anymore.

  Swallowing thickly, he stepped back.

  “Hey, Laila,” one of the girls behind him shouted. Asher looked over his shoulder. He saw it was the knockout Eric had been hovering over like a vulture that had called out. “We’re all going over to Chauncy’s Place to dance.”

  Asher knew the local bar and dance club. He hoped Laila would go. He wasn’t finished talking to her.

  Not by a long shot.

  Laila pulled her cell phone out of her back pocket and tapped the screen. “We can’t,” she called. “We have to be home by . . .” She halted herself, giving Asher a nervous, apologetic glance. “We have to get home,” she amended, pointing significantly at her cell phone.

  The cousin’s laugh sounded snide. “No, you have to be home. We don’t have a ten o’clock curfew.”

  A flash of dislike went through Asher toward this particular cousin. Maybe she and Eric deserved each other.

  “We can drop you off on our way over to Chauncy’s,” Laila’s other cousin said, her tone kinder.

  Laila ducked her head. His heart went out to her. He knew she was embarrassed. Still . . . he was a little concerned at the conversation.

  “You are nineteen, aren’t you?” he asked her quietly. Her cousins did look older than her, but that might have just been the trick of their sexier clothes and makeup. In contrast, Laila looked fresh.

  Untouched.

  “Yes,” she hissed, giving him a sideways glare. She bit her full lower lip. “It’s just . . .
my parents . . . It’s a long story. I really should be going.” She started to walk away, but he caught her arm at the elbow. She turned back, her long hair brushing softly against his hand. The streetlights made her green eyes shine as she looked up at him.

  “Meet me. Tomorrow at the secret lake. One o’clock?” For a moment, she didn’t respond. “Please,” he added, growing desperate at the idea of not knowing when he’d see her face again.

  “I’ll try, but I can’t guarantee it. I might have to help my mom—”

  “Then the next day at one. Or the next.” His hand tightened slightly on her bare arm, absorbing her heat . . . the incredible softness of her skin. Her eyes widened. “I’ll be there, every day at one. Okay?”

  She just nodded. He let go—very reluctantly—and watched her walk away.

  Chapter Five

  Asher’s mouth was starting to hurt from blowing up the rafts. It didn’t help his discomfort any that he sat at the edge of the lake alone doing his task.

  She’s not coming.

  He took one last inhale and puffed the last bit of air into the raft before he capped it. He felt dizzy from the effort. And for what? he wondered impatiently. It had to be going on two o’clock, and there was no sign of Laila. Yes, he’d told her last night that he’d continue to wait there every afternoon until she came, but it was hard to tamp down his sharp disappointment at not seeing her.

  He was in the process of getting his phone out of his backpack to check the time when he suddenly froze. He listened extra hard but couldn’t identify what had caught his attention. The forest surrounding the calm lake was almost preternaturally quiet.

  He glanced to his left. His hands dropped to his sides as he watched her walk onto the beach, her face alight with the afternoon sun and something else . . .

  Anxiety? Restrained excitement?

  Her thick hair was pulled into a high ponytail. The hairstyle emphasized the pretty tilt of her large green eyes. She wore a plain white T-shirt that showed off her smooth skin and golden-brown tan and a pair of snug jean shorts that distracted him hugely. Her legs were long and toned.