Page 43 of Hot Nights in Morocco
I’m still seeing stars as I rearrange my bra and pull my T-shirt back down. Once I’m done, he hooks his fingers into the belt loops of my shorts and jerks me back to him. I go willingly. I have no resistance. His eyes are black pools, and the outline of his erection is still straining against the inside of his jeans. Our bodies collide in another glorious mess of frustration.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve unleashed in me?” he says angrily. Accusingly. Burning me up with the look in his eyes.
I shake my head. He’s so close I can see flecks of molten gold in his irises.
“Is our particular prose not literal enough for you? Here, let me clarify.” He leans in even closer, like he’s about to impart the dirtiest, filthiest secret of all. “Right now, you have a man with a raging hard-on harboringverywicked intentions toward you.”
My stomach starts churning, and not in a good way. It’s right there on my lips—my getaway plan, my exit strategy. The self-preservation button that I’m used to deploying with no regrets. But that was before I had a man as sexy as Jake Dalton staring at me like I’m a living, breathing orgasm.
“Exactly how wicked are we talking here?” I query, licking my lips and making my decision, then and there.
Jake smirks. “Meet me upstairs in five and I’ll show you.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
That evening, Rachel and I finish up early and head to a café on the other side of town for dinner. I haven’t seen Jake this morning, not since he fucked me senseless, drowning us both in that ocean of desire that seems to be constantly roiling between our bodies.
He’s been holed up in his office on a conference call to L.A. for most of the day. If I’m honest, it’s been a welcome reprieve. I need to catch my breath. I need to find some perspective. I wish I could spill my guts to Rachel, but Jake’s sworn me to secrecy. It’s the one condition of our relationship. I can’t even tell Lucy back home, and it’s eating me up inside.
The sidewalk outside the café is besieged with white garden furniture and lively locals. Rachel and I take our places amongst them and attempt to decode the menu. Fortunately, our potluck choices turn out to be excellent. A little too excellent. I haven’t eaten this much in weeks, and I bemoan as much as we finish up our meal with piping hot mint tea, a drink as ubiquitous in Morocco as Coca Cola.
“Good, wasn’t it?” She sighs in contentment. “We should definitely come here again.”
“If we do, I’m not eating for a week beforehand,” I warn her.
The waiter arrives to offer us more tea.
“You know I’ve just realized something, Charlie,” says Rachel, tipping her head back to gaze at the millions of stars above us. “We’ve been working together for weeks, and I still don’t know the first thing about you. I don’t even know where you come from.”
“The accent kind of gives it away,” I murmur, watching the waiter disappear back inside the café again.
“That’s it? That’s all I get?” She starts laughing at me in disbelief.
“What else do you want to know?”
“Likes, dislikes, movie crushes! You’re so secretive. Is it a British thing?”
“Maybe.” I still won’t look at her. Ihatetalking about myself. “This country is so beautiful. I wish I could stay here forever.”
“Is this my first insight into the Charlie Winters mindset?” she says slyly.
Is it?
Do I really love this place, or is it the thousand-mile distance from all the bad memories that makes it so special?
I can’t deny it—there’s a richness to this country that stupefies my senses almost as much as Jake does. Tonight, the setting sun has woven a spectacular web of gold around each building. A couple of old men are setting up a mini souk opposite. They’re shouting out instructions at each other in a chaotic jumble of French and Arabic, which has garnered them the attention of most of the café’s patrons.
“Morocco’s okay, I suppose.” Rachel follows my gaze and frowns. “I still miss my pizza on speed dial, though.”
“Sadist!” I grin and clutch my stomach. “I must have put on at least a stone in the last hour. How did you find out about this café, anyway?”
“Max brought me here.”
I rock forward in surprise. “Oh?”
“Ages ago, on another shoot,” she says airily, answering my unspoken question.
“I had no idea that you and he had—?”
