Page 33 of Prince of Her Heart
The party was winding down.The food tables were cleared, leftovers packed away for morning raids.Someone had already removed the tablecloths, and stray napkins had been collected.The cleanup had happened in quiet, communal waves.
As they walked the three blocks to her house, the only sounds were crickets and the faint rustle of leaves.The night air was crisp, calm.Even the hum of air conditioners had fallen silent.
Without realizing it, Tabitha had tucked her arm around his waist.He felt warm and solid beside her, and she smiled, leaning just a little closer.
“How did you learn to dance like that?”she asked, her voice low, as if speaking too loudly might disturb the peace.
“Like what?”
She nudged him with her hip.“Like a country boy.”
He chuckled, the sound rich in the quiet night.“Why did you assume I wouldn’t know how to throw down?”
She glanced up at him, grinning.“Because you’re you.”
“And that makes me incapable of dancing?”
“It makes you a stiff, snobbish royal who shouldn’t know how to throw down with a honky-tonk band.”
Ramzi laughed, really laughed, tossing his head back.The sound startled her.It was so rare.So unexpected.
When he looked down at her again, his eyes sparkled.“I’m not stiff and sno—” He caught himself.“Correction.I’m not as snobbish as you seem to think.”
Tabitha didn’t know how to respond to that, especially since her mind had gone straight to the first part.She didn’t care much about the snobbish accusation—but stiff?That was endlessly fascinating.
The darkness around them felt like a soft cocoon.It was late, and the street was completely still.
Well, almost.His bodyguards lingered ahead and behind, doing a convincing job of pretending not to exist.She had to admit she was impressed by how seamlessly they blended in.No one had questioned the silent presence of the men who always hovered just outside Ramzi’s space.Maybe it was because Ramzi himself drew so much attention—tall, broad-shouldered, magnetic in a way that made others instinctively take a step back.
Unfortunately, the walk had been too short.Her house was already in view, warm light spilling from the front porch.
Tabitha frowned.Of course the porch light was on.And of course the door would be unlocked.Her mother was almost certainly sitting up in bed, pretending to read while her father snored beside her.
It was a familiar scene, one that had played out countless times during high school and during her engagement to Martin.She was older now, yet somehow still subject to her parents’ silent surveillance.It was a little insulting.
“Your mother is waiting up for you?”Ramzi asked, his voice low as he turned toward her.His hands settled on her hips, pulling her gently into his space.
Tabitha glanced around, ready to tell him he didn’t need to kiss her again.But then she caught the faintest flicker of movement across the street—a curtain twitching.
Great.They had an audience.
“Yeah,” she muttered, annoyed.“You don’t have to—”
But Ramzi was already leaning in.
His mouth claimed hers before she could finish the sentence, and heaven help her, Tabitha didn’t even try to resist.She told herself it was just for appearances.A part of the act.Something to keep her mother from hearing whispers the next morning at the grocery store.
But the truth was, she needed this kiss.Craved it.
Her mouth opened beneath his without hesitation, letting him in, meeting him stroke for stroke.Their lips and tongues tangled with hungry purpose.She melted against him, one hand sliding up to his shoulder, the other curling into the front of his shirt.
All in the name of performance, she told herself, ignoring the sound of someone moaning—unsure if it had come from her or from him.
“Tabitha!”her mother called out sharply.
Tabitha jolted, but Ramzi didn’t release her.His hands held her steady, anchored her, even as they both turned their eyes toward the porch.
Her mother stood in the doorway, arms crossed, curlers firmly in place, wearing a robe that had absolutely no business existing outside of a nightmare.
