Behind the Curtain Read online

  He unglued his stare from them as she approached him, a shy smile on her lips. Her eyes seemed alight with warmth.

  “I’m sorry I’m late. My mother and aunts needed help with dinner. My oldest cousin decided to come unexpectedly from the city for the night. It’s like preparing for the prince’s arrival whenever he comes,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  He held out his hand to relieve her of the load she carried over one shoulder. She’d brought a backpack too. “How many people from your family vacation here in Crescent Bay?”

  “My mom and dad. My dad’s brother and his wife—they’re my cousin Zara’s parents—and Zara’s younger sister and brother, Sophia and Noor. Zara has an older brother who is a captain in the Navy, Driss. But he’s stationed in San Diego, so he doesn’t come anymore. Then there’s my mom’s sister and her husband—Tahi’s parents. Tahi has a little brother, Jamal, and an older brother, Zarif. He’s the one I was just talking about. Zarif is doing a surgical residency at Henry Ford Hospital, plus he’s engaged, so we hardly ever get to see him. So when he does come around, we have to roll out the red carpet.” She paused and they shared a smile. “He’s actually pretty cool. I’m just kidding about the prince thing. Then there’s my Mamma Sophia. She’s my mom’s and aunt Nora’s mother. She lives with us.”

  “That’s quite a list.”

  She laughed. “I know, it’s crazy.”

  “Tahi told me last night that your last name was Barek.”

  She nodded. He’d never known anyone’s eyes could shine like hers did. “It’s a Moroccan name,” she murmured.

  “But you were born in the States?”

  “Yeah. Actually, my mom was too. But my grandma and grandpa had just recently immigrated to New York when she was born. My dad was born near Tangier, but he came to the States with his parents when he was seven.”

  “Have you ever been? To Morocco?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet. Zara and her family have gone a couple times. My dad is really busy with his shop, and my mom and I look out for Mamma Sophia, so we haven’t had a chance yet. I still have a lot of family there. I’d like to go.”

  “I’d like to go too.”

  She blinked. “Really?”

  “Why do you look so surprised?”

  She shrugged and gave him a dubious glance. “I dated a guy in high school who thought Fez was just a hat. Morocco isn’t a destination at the top of most Americans’ list, that’s all.”

  “Yeah. I love traveling, seeing other cultures firsthand. The closest I’ve ever gotten to Morocco is Cairo, but I’ll get there someday. One of my majors was international relations.”

  “So that’s why you got a job being an international reporter?”

  “Yeah. I’d like to be a foreign correspondent. Do you speak Darija? What?” he asked, noticing her surprised glance.

  “Not many white guys know the name of the dialect of Morocco.” He shrugged, and she laughed softly. “If you’re trying to impress me, you’re succeeding.”

  “I had a few classes in Arabic in college. And if you’re impressed, then my work here is done.”

  Color stained her cheeks, making her even more beautiful, if that was possible. She laughed to hide her embarrassment at his comment, but he thought she looked pleased, as well. “Yeah, I speak Darija. But mostly only with my family, and that’s really a kind of Arabish, a mixture of Darija and English. What about your family?”

  “What languages do they speak?”

  “No. Who are they? How many are there? Where do they all live?”

  “Oh.” He shrugged. His family seemed minuscule in comparison to hers. “My folks live in a northern Chicago suburb. I’m an only child.”

  “So am I. But Zara told me this morning that Eric was your cousin . . .”

  “He is. But I don’t consider him family.”

  She looked confused, and he realized he’d been a little sharp. He attempted a smile to smooth things over. “Sorry. Eric belongs to the East Coast Gaites-Granvilles. Our great-great-grandfathers were two of four brothers. My ancestor was kind of a lone wolf. He brought his share of the newspaper business to Chicago and created this kind of family schism. At least back then, it did. These days, the scar has healed. At least on the business end of things. But Eric and I aren’t close. His presence here is my parents’ idea of keeping me in line.”

  Her confusion turned to bewilderment. He shook his head. “It’s a long story.”

  She laughed softly at that, probably because she’d told him the same thing last night about her parents.

  “Family,” she said.

  “Family,” he agreed dryly.

  For a second, their stares held. He experienced an overwhelming urge to close the distance between them, to feel her mouth beneath his . . . to sink into her taste. He probably would have with another woman.

  Maybe she’d read his mind, because her gaze skipped nervously away and landed on the beach.

  “Oh. You brought rafts. That’s great,” she said, waving at the two yellow floats lying on the beach.

  “Yeah. Did you wear a suit?”

  She nodded. “It’s hot, isn’t it?” Her gaze skittered down over his body to his swim trunks. He wore a T-shirt, but even through the fabric, he felt her stare on his skin. Arousal tickled at the base of his spine and tingled his sex. He felt himself getting hard. He bent to hide his reaction, acting intent on pulling a towel out of his backpack.

  “I brought a towel. We can share it,” he said. His uncontrollable sexual reaction when it came to her irritated him. He’d seen her fear and anxiety yesterday when he came upon her swimming naked, so lost in her private thoughts. So vulnerable. The last thing he wanted to do was to scare her off.

  “I brought one too,” she said breathlessly.

  He tossed off his T-shirt. His sideways glance told him she was staring at his chest. There was definitely more than just anxiety in her gaze. He hoped he wasn’t kidding himself. He took several steps toward the shoreline.

  “You coming in?”

  “Yeah,” she assured him, but she made no move to follow him. He realized she was self-conscious about the idea of peeling off her clothes in front of him. As interested as he was in watching her strip—the image of her wet, naked body gleaming in the sun had been plaguing his every waking and sleeping moment—he plowed into the water, keeping his back to her and giving her space.

  You could use a dunk in the cold water anyway, lecher.

  Neither his self-condemning thoughts nor the sudden plunge into the lake did anything to cool the rising fever in him, though.

  • • •

  She hurried out of her clothing, keeping an eye on Asher as he knifed through the water, his gleaming back and flexing muscles capturing almost her entire attention. The remainder of her awareness focused on her own body: on how self-conscious she felt in the black two-piece she’d borrowed from Zara this morning in preparation for her meeting with Asher. Her mother frowned on bikinis, at least in Laila’s case. Laila liked to swim and paddleboard, so she usually preferred sportier swimwear anyway. But she had been known to borrow her cousins’ bikinis, once they were at the public beach’s changing room and away from her mother’s disapproving gaze.

  Why did you have to do it today, though? she wondered as she adjusted the bikini briefs anxiously while she stood on the shore, assuring herself Asher wasn’t watching.

  But the question was stupid. She knew why she’d done it. He was the most attractive guy she’d ever met.

  Ever imagined.

  She wanted to look good in front of him. Sexy.

  She stood at the edge of the lake when he surfaced a moment later.

  “Do you want me to bring in the rafts?” she yelled when he turned toward shore, wiping his wet bangs back. He’d swum out quite a distance.

  “Yeah,” he call
ed, heading inland toward her. A whole swarm of butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she retrieved the rafts and flopped them onto the surface of the water, knowing all the while he watched her. She waded into the cold water, shivering.

  “You brought a lot of stuff with you,” she commented as she maneuvered the two rafts toward him and he approached. The inland lake was deep and cold. As always, she part dreaded, part relished the idea of plunging her whole body into the chilly water. “How far away is your house from here?” She shoved one of the rafts in his direction. He grabbed it.

  “Just a half a mile that way,” he said, waving to the south.

  “Not that huge white house? The one with the pool and everything?”

  He nodded.

  “But that’s . . . that’s like a mansion, isn’t it?” she asked disbelievingly. She’d jogged with Tahi down that section of the beach a few times. The sprawling white house, as they’d dubbed it, rarely seemed occupied. They used to speculate about the people who lived there, amazed at the idea that someone would own such a magnificent beach house and use it so rarely. After Tahi and Zara had returned home last night from Chauncy’s, Laila had questioned them incessantly about any new details they’d learned about the guys, but most especially Asher. Zara had told her that she’d gotten the impression that Eric and Asher came from a really old, wealthy family.

  “They’re like American royalty or something,” Zara had stated wisely, excitement shining in her eyes. She had obviously been nearly as taken with Eric as Laila was with Asher. Tahi had whispered amusedly to Laila that Zara and Eric had gotten very close last night. “They were practically sucking each other’s faces off in an empty corner of Chauncy’s.”

  “It’s big, I’ll give you that,” Asher said presently, stating the obvious with a careless shrug.

  “What is the Gaites-Granville family business, exactly?”

  “Gaites-Granville Media,” he said in a flat tone. “It’s a conglomerate of newspapers, television stations, magazines.” He heaved his long body onto the raft, belly down, spraying Laila with water in the process and scattering her thoughts.

  “Hey,” she protested, laughing. Realizing she was getting soaked anyway, and that she might as well get it over with, she hefted herself onto her raft in a sitting position. She made a squeaking sound of discomfort when the raft temporarily sank below the surface and she was submerged in cold water. She noticed Asher’s wide grin of amusement and splashed him in the face. He looked surprised.

  “What’d I do to deserve that?”

  “You laughed at me,” she told him succinctly, settling herself on the raft and lying on her back. She closed her eyes as the bobbing raft stilled. The hot sun felt nice against her chilled skin. “Never laugh at Laila,” she teased.

  “You’re right,” she heard him say after a pause. Something in his tone made her lift her head off the raft cushion. Her grin vanished. He was staring at her body with open appreciation. He noticed her looking and met her stare. The honest male heat in his gaze made her breath catch in her lungs.

  “Laughing is the last reaction that comes to mind when I look at you.”

  • • •

  Maybe he shouldn’t have said something so obvious—so sexual—but it had just popped out. He shook his head ruefully and gave her an apologetic glance. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to come on so strong. It’s just . . . you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

  Her full, damp lips parted in what appeared to be amazement. He couldn’t help but smile. She was so fresh. So unexpected.

  “Don’t tell me no one has ever told you that before.”

  “They haven’t,” she said with a strange, dubious certainty. She propped her upper body up on her elbows. A small smile flickered across her lips. “I’m guessing my dad doesn’t count?”

  “He most definitely doesn’t.”

  “Yeah. He’s obligated to say I’m prettier than Zara and Tahi. He’s my dad,” she said, her smile widening. He’d made her uncomfortable with his compliment, so she was making light of it.

  “They’re like sisters to you, aren’t they? Zara and Tahi?”

  “Yeah. Our three families are really close. Sometimes a little too close,” she added, rolling her eyes. “Plus, my mom and dad are friends with like . . . everyone in a six-block radius of our house in Detroit. In the summertime especially, I feel like I live my life in a fishbowl.” He gave her a questioning glance. “Because everyone in our neighborhood sits on their porch when it’s nice out. Sometimes it feels like I can’t make the smallest move without someone documenting it and reporting it back to my mother or one of my aunts or something. Plus, my dad owns a collision and glass repair shop, and he’s really good. I waitress at a restaurant near where I go to school, and sometimes it seems like every fourth or fifth person I wait on has had their car repaired by him after a wreck.”

  “That’s why you said coming here to the lake is like an escape?”

  She hesitated. “I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. I love my family. It’s just—”

  “It’s no fun, living under a magnifying lens,” he said. He grabbed her raft with one hand and brought it alongside his, keeping his expression casual to prevent a return of her nerves. He lined them up so they lay side by side, he on his stomach and she on her back, their faces only a foot or so apart.

  “You sound like you know what that’s like. Living under a magnifying glass,” she said after a pause.

  “I do.”

  “But you’ve been living in California for the past four years, haven’t you? And you said you only consider your mom and dad family. Whose eyes have been on you?”

  He gave a small shrug. “Let’s just say my parents are extremely farsighted.”

  “Tell me about it,” she said softly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What’s it’s like for you. Living under the magnifying glass.”

  She looked so somber, it gave him pause. It struck him then that as unlikely as it seemed, as different as their worlds probably were, she might really understand. So he began to tell her—haltingly at first, because he wasn’t used to talking about his relationship with his parents—how one of his first memories was of them looking down at him so expectantly . . . how another of his first memories was their expressions of frustrated disappointment.

  “I can’t please them,” he said after talking for a while. “So I gave up trying. A long time ago, actually.”

  “That’s so sad,” Laila murmured. “I can’t believe they wouldn’t be proud of you, having just gotten two degrees from Stanford.”

  He grimaced. “My dad hated the idea of me going to Stanford, a liberal, West Coast school. He wanted me to go to Harvard, like he did. Like Eric did. Like most Gaites-Granvilles did. But, to be fair, they were proud of me at graduation.”

  “They were?” she asked, leaning toward him. She started in surprise when the bottom of her raft scraped the shore. Their rafts had bobbed inland while they talked, Asher realized, and the beach was only a few feet away.

  He nodded, holding tighter to her raft while he used his other hand to paddle, pulling her off the shore and back out to deeper water. His hand slid off the slippery plastic and they started to separate. She made a surprised sound and reached for him. He caught her hand and their rafts bumped together again. She laughed breathlessly. Their gazes held.

  He didn’t let go, and she showed no sign of wanting to pull away from his grasp. In fact, she laid her head back on the air mattress pillow, her stare fixed on him.

  “The only reason they were proud is because they think I’m going to start working at Gaites-Granville Media now that I’m done with school.”

  “You say that in the present tense,” she said slowly, a look of concern crossing her face. He was intensely aware of the feeling of her soft, warm hand in his. He reached with hi
s finger, feeling her pulse. Her heartbeat was strong. Fast. She was as affected by their touching skin as he was.

  “That’s because I haven’t told them yet,” he said, distracted. In all fairness, he’d been pretty preoccupied by her nearness the entire time he’d talked. It was challenging, lying side by side with the most gorgeous girl he’d ever seen, who was wearing only a bikini. But his distraction spiked high as he rubbed her wrist and absorbed the feeling of her beating heart. “Not that I’m not going to work for GGM, or that I’ve already taken a job at the L.A. Times.”

  Her expression was so full of compassion it made him self-conscious. Why had he spilled all his family drama like that? It wasn’t like him. Thanks to his parents, he’d learned long ago to hold his feelings in . . . to give nothing away that might later be used as future ammunition against him.

  “When will you tell them?” she asked.

  “I’m supposed to go to Chicago to see them after this vacation. I’ll tell them then. Do you think that’s selfish of me?” he asked after a pause. “To take this vacation, and then to disappoint them at the end of it?” He frowned. “Of course you do. You’d do anything for your family.”

  “No. I don’t think you’re selfish. You said it was your father’s graduation gift to you, a last opportunity for a carefree vacation before you enter the adult world. That’s true, whether you work for GGM or the L.A. Times.” He stroked her more boldly, gliding his fingertips against her inner forearm. She was so soft. So beautiful.

  “I think it’s really brave of you, Asher.”

  He watched her full lips moving with a razor-sharp focus. Her words seemed to skim across his sensitive skin, roughening it. Still, he was a little disbelieving.

  “Brave?”

  She nodded. “You’re living your own truth. That’s a really courageous thing to do.” A spasm crossed her face, like she’d just experienced some small pain. He leaned closer, concerned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I couldn’t do it. I could never be that brave,” she said. He couldn’t have heard her near-whisper if he weren’t just inches away from her moving mouth.