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“It’s gorgeous!” She finished the last of her shawarma then tossed her trash into the bin as Murphy did the same. “C’mon. Let’s ride it.”
“Aw, I don’t know.” He dug his heels in. “It’s for the kids.”
“Says who?” She took his hand and tugged him forward. “Besides, everyone’s a kid at Christmastime.”
She dragged him over to the carousel and paid their fare then picked out two lovely horses, side-by-side, for them. Murphy, ever the gentleman, helped her up onto hers, then climbed aboard his, managing to look both reluctant and gorgeous at the same time. Shayma couldn’t help but giggle as the carousel started and they traveled in slow circles, gently rising and falling as the ride continued.
“I can’t remember the last time I’ve been on one of these things,” Murphy said over the calliope music booming out from the center of the carousel. “Had to have been before my mom walked out.”
Shayma winced and reached over to lay her hand atop his. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”
He shrugged. “Wasn’t your fault.”
The ride jostled and she slipped sideways a bit, squeaking as she lost her balance. Murphy reacted immediately, reaching out to steady her with his hand at her waist. The movement brought them closer, so close she could feel the heat of him through her coat and see the warmth rising in his dark eyes. Sparks of awareness whooshed into a wildfire inside her and before she could think better of it, Shayma closed the tiny gap between them and pressed her lips to Murphy’s.
At first he didn’t react at all. Then, slowly, he angled his lips across hers, his tongue tracing over her bottom lip to ask for entry. She gasped at the soft caress and he took advantage, sweeping inside her mouth. He tasted of mint and vinegar from his fries and pure, masculine desire. She couldn’t get enough.
Not caring about falling now, she let go of her horse completely and wrapped her arms around his neck, angling her body over the space between them so her weight balanced on his chest.
Murphy chuckled against her lips. “Easy, darling. We got all night.”
His words somehow penetrated the passionate haze in her brain and she pulled back just as the carousel slowed to a stop. What the hell was she doing? She had no business kissing Murphy Coen, no matter how delectable he looked with his swollen lips and desire-bright eyes.
“Thanks for riding tonight, folks,” the vendor said as he brought them to a halt at the ticket counter. “And if you’d like a memento of the evening, please have a look at our special ornaments for sale next door. Thank you and happy holidays.”
Shayma recovered first and slid off her horse. Knees wobbling, she carefully made her way off the wooden platform and waited for Murphy to do the same. Neither said a word as they made their way over to the vendor stand with all manner of carousel-themed ornaments for sale. She ended up buying two, both replicas of the horses they’d rode tonight, then they started back toward the apartment again.
Along the way, they passed a group of carolers and stopped to listen for a moment. Not wanting things to be awkward between them, she searched for some safe topic of conversation and landed on the information she’d learned at the nail salon earlier.
“I wonder if that senator has anything to do with the article Aileen was writing,” Shayma said, reaching up to adjust the pink beret on her head. It must’ve gotten knocked askew during their kiss. Her lips still tingled and she felt the connection between them thrumming like a symphony. If that ride hadn’t stopped, if they hadn’t been in public, chances were good she would’ve let Murphy continue, would’ve let him take her right then and there. She shifted slightly and hazarded a glance at the silent man beside her. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s time to put this holiday nonsense aside and get back to looking for my sister.” He grabbed her gloved hand and pulled her along behind him. “Let’s go.”
4
Murphy scrolled through the Internet search engine feed looking for any clue of which senator might have visited EnKor. They’d been back for a couple of hours now and while he worked on his sister’s case, Shayma futzed around with the decorations they’d put up earlier. He did his best not to notice her as she brushed past the back of his chair, the spicy sweet scent of her perfume teasing his nose. It was damned hard though, especially after that kiss. He shouldn’t have said that on the ride. Told her they had all night like that. Truth was, they didn’t. They didn’t have anything together except one forbidden kiss and the sooner he remembered that, the better.
He exhaled slow and hung his head, squeezing his weary eyes shut. He shouldn’t have let that kiss continue to begin with. He should’ve stopped her, set her away from him, as soon as her lips brushed his. But fuck all if it hadn’t felt like a million fireworks exploding inside of him at the touch of her soft mouth to his.
Shit. Just shit.
His experience with women was vast and varied. He liked women. Liked meeting them, liked partying with them. Especially liked sleeping with them. But that was as far as it went. He wasn’t a relationship guy. He’d seen how disastrous that sort of stuff had turned out for his dad and he’d sworn never to get himself into the same situation. Therefore, he kept his women disposable. No strings. No fuss. No problems afterward. The gals he slept with always went into a night knowing the score—lots of fantastic bedplay, then a quick thanks and goodbye in the morning. End of story. Problem was, his gut told him Shayma was not a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of woman. Given that she’d bee
n engaged to his best bud and was still friends with Heath and Mel and Daveed, sleeping with her would be an enormous error on his part.
No matter how his semi-hard cock might disagree. Hell, truth was, he’d been at half-staff since that ill-advised kiss on the carousel. And every look or sigh or brush of her body against his as she fiddled with all those gaudy decorations only made him want her more.
Which was totally unacceptable. He wouldn’t be sleeping with Shayma bint Amr Kahlan. Not tonight. Not ever, if he knew what was good for him.
Murphy shook his head and tapped the keys on the laptop before him with more force than was necessary.
“What do you think?” Shayma asked from somewhere behind him. “Too much?”
Jaw clenched, he swiveled slightly to glance back at her over his shoulder. Big mistake.
Dammit.
Somewhere between the time they’d returned to Aileen’s apartment and now, she’d apparently changed her clothes, in addition to playing Martha Stewart with the damned tree. Now she stood there in the most ridiculous, most childish, most fucking alluring pair of pink flannel PJs Murphy had ever seen. They must’ve belonged to his sister, but damn if he’d ever seen them before. Strewn across the soft fabric were tiny cups of cocoa topped with frothy white marshmallows and bright red cherries.
