Page 20 of Prince of Her Heart
Ramzi laughed under his breath, falling into step beside him.His pulse had finally evened out.He had a powerful ally now.
And one hell of a mason jar memory to share with his cousins.
Things were looking up.
Chapter 7
Tabitha stood in the warm, cinnamon-scented kitchen holding a second pan of cookies fresh from the oven, but her attention wasn’t on the gooey chocolate centers or the heat radiating through the flowered potholders.Her gaze locked onto the narrow backyard pathway just beyond the window.Her father and her boss strolled side by side, and something about their gait—relaxed, easy, damn near jovial—didn’t sit right.
They were laughing.
What the hell?
She tilted her head, watching closely.Her father gestured with one hand, the other tucked in his jeans pocket.Ramzi’s shoulders shook slightly as he chuckled at whatever was just said.The contrast between them couldn’t have been more glaring.Her father, in his worn jeans and decades-old sneakers, still bore the trim build of a man who didn’t sit still for long, but there was no mistaking the slight stoop that age was beginning to deliver.Beside him, Ramzi looked carved out of authority—tall, broad-shouldered, his crisp button-down tucked into trousers that probably cost more than her parents’ monthly grocery bill.
Her father wore plaid.Ramzi wore power.
And yet… they looked like old friends returning from a fishing trip.
The two reached the back door, and Ramzi’s form eclipsed the glass half-pane, his height turning him into a silhouette against the afternoon sun.Her father reached out and shoved the door open—Tabitha leapt backward just in time to avoid a face full of cookie tray.
“What were you two talking about?”she demanded, adjusting her grip on the hot pan, ignoring the way the heat pricked at her fingers even through the faded potholders.
The kitchen, small and cozy with its gingham curtains and linoleum floor worn smooth from years of traffic, suddenly felt full as both men stepped inside.Her mother paused mid-motion, wiping her hands on the red-checked apron she wore like a badge of maternal pride.The smell of sugar and something buttery and spiced clung to her.
Tilda turned with a bright smile, her gaze softening as it found her husband.“Everything resolved?”she asked, her tone tinged with hope.
Ben nodded, walking straight to her and slipping an arm around her waist.“Everything is resolved, dear,” he confirmed, then glanced over at Tabitha with an exaggerated scowl.“He’ll be sleeping in the guest room, Tabby.You’ll be in your old room.”He waggled a finger at her, lips twitching like he was fighting off a grin.“And I’m a light sleeper.”
Tabitha nearly snorted.That was the biggest lie of the century.Her father snored.Loud!Plus the man could sleep through thunder, earthquakes, and a freight train running through the living room.Her mother had worn earplugs for the last ten years just to keep her sanity.
“But…what did you guystalkabout?”she pressed, her eyes darting between the two men.“I should really explain.We’re not really—!”
Before she could finish, Ramzi stepped closer and kissed her.
Right there.In her mother’s kitchen.With her parents three feet away.
The kiss wasn’t showy or heated.It was soft but confident, his lips warm and certain against hers.Her fingers went slack around the potholders as he gently took the tray from her hands and placed it on the stovetop.
“Everything is resolved,” he said smoothly.
Tabitha blinked, her heart stuttering.Her lips still tingled.“Everything?”she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ramzi didn’t answer with words.Instead, he dipped down again, this time letting the kiss linger.His hand cradled her cheek for a split second, thumb grazing just below her ear.The scent of his cologne—rich and warm, with a note of sandalwood—wrapped around her as she forgot what air was.
Behind her, she heard her mother giggle.Giggle.
Tabitha pulled back, dazed, blinking up at him.Ramzi’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction, his mouth curved into the kind of smug smile that made her stomach flutter for all the wrong—and maybe all the right—reasons.
“What, exactly, did you tell him?”she demanded, narrowing her eyes.
“The truth,” he replied without hesitation, then reached down and plucked the oven mitts off of her hands, then took one in his.His grip was steady, firm, and annoyingly reassuring.“Walk me out.I need to check in at the hotel.”
He turned to Ben and addressed him directly.“I appreciate the offer of a room here, Ben, but my assistant and bodyguards need housing as well.Plus, for security reasons, we don’t want to put your family in danger.”
“Danger?”Tilda gasped, her hand flying to her chest, apron rustling.
“Not in any way,” Ramzi said quickly, his tone calm, persuasive.“However, since we’re now engaged, she will be protected as well.My bodyguards are discreet, Ms.Jones.You’ll barely know they’re there.They’ll stay in the background.”
