One To Watch(64)

“Are you ready to begin?” Issam’s voice was deep and honeyed. Bea nodded. Issam and Rehana positioned Bea and Sam in the middle of the room, facing each other. They brought over wooden buckets filled with steaming water from the tub, gently ladling the water over Bea’s and Sam’s arms, legs, torsos, and finally their heads until they were both warm and wet.

Sam reached out and wrapped a lock of Bea’s wet hair around his fingers. She had a sudden urge for him to yank her closer, to kiss her hard and shove her against the hot, smooth wall of this dim room where everything was slick with condensation.

“What?” he asked, his lips curving into a smile that matched hers.

“Can you read my mind?”

“I hope so, because I really want you to be thinking what I’m thinking.”

He had to step back so Issam and Rehana could continue the ritual, first scrubbing them down with rough black soap, then washing it away and soothing their skin with sweet mango butter, and finally massaging their scalps with rose oil. When it was over, Bea and Sam stood close together in the center of the room, hot water cascading over them and rinsing them clean. The air around them felt warm and thick, the tension buzzing between their bodies, the anticipation of touching him so strong Bea couldn’t think of anything else.

Once they were dry and back in robes, they made their way back to the communal bathing room—it was empty now except for Bea, Sam, and a couple of camera ops and sound techs. Even the producers had left, probably to lull Sam and Bea into some false sense of privacy. They shed their robes and stepped gingerly into the warm pool, which was perfectly calibrated to match the temperature of the balmy air, and of their bodies. They waded toward the center, where the water was deep enough to reach Bea’s chest. After all the noise of the rushing water in the private room, this room seemed incredibly still and quiet, nothing audible above Bea’s and Sam’s own breath.

“If I don’t kiss you right now, I’m going to lose my mind,” he rasped.

“We can’t have that,” Bea responded, and then his hands were on her, grabbing her hips under the water and pulling her close, kissing her firmly, roughly, just like she’d wanted him to—there was nothing tentative about this, no question of faking it. He wanted her, and she wanted him back. He kissed her cheek, and then the spot at the edge of her jawline just below her ear. Bea heard a groan escape her, a guttural sound, and then threw her hands over her mouth.

“What is it?” Sam asked, flustered.

“We’re on television,” Bea squeaked, and then she burst out laughing.

Sam turned and good-naturedly splashed some water at the cameras. “You guys can’t give us a break, huh?”

Bea covered her face, somewhere between arousal and mortification and total joyous bliss. Sam lifted her fingers to peek underneath them.

“Hi, Bea.”

“Hi, Sam.”

“I like you a lot.”

Bea’s heart pounded so hard she knew Sam could feel it.

“I like you a lot too.”



The morning after her hammam escapade, Bea woke feeling—well, if not entirely confident, then at least more comfortable than she’d been throughout filming. She lazed in bed as the riad staff brought sweet mint tea, fresh orange juice, and eggs scrambled with herbs and olive oil. She let her mind drift to kissing Asher in Ohio and their intense connection, to Sam last night in the hammam and his electric energy. It wasn’t fair to compare those kisses to Ray last Fourth of July—she and Ray had known each other so much longer, the buildup to their night together had been so drawn out and fraught that kissing him had felt like an ocean of clear water after years in endless desert, drinking so quickly and deeply that she went from parched to drowned.

With Asher, and now Sam, it was different—they were finding their path together, all excitement and uncertainty. And then … there was Luc. She was looking forward to their date this afternoon—and perhaps to kisses that would feel less agitated and complex than those they shared the night of the yacht and the crème br?lée.

Bea felt that same rush of effortless chemistry when she saw him waiting for her in front of the riad, sporting dark jeans, a charcoal sweater, and just the right amount of transatlantic scruff.

“Morocco suits you,” he murmured as he leaned down to kiss her on the mouth, a soft hello that lingered for a delicious moment.

“You like me in menswear?” Bea teased. She was wearing head-to-toe Veronica Beard today: high-waisted linen trousers in a soft brown clay, a ribbed white shell with a low scoop neck, and a stunning slouchy houndstooth blazer that made her feel like Rosalind Russell circa His Girl Friday.

“I like you anywhere.” Luc smiled and kissed her again; he tasted like salt and smoke.

“If that’s true, then I think you’re really going to like me today.”

“Oh?” He let his hands settle at her waist, comfortably holding her as they talked. “What adventures do you have planned?”

“I thought we could spice things up a little. Maybe add some flavor to our date.”

“You are making cooking jokes, yes?”

“Yes. Cooking puns, technically.”

“Ah. And perhaps my English is to blame, or perhaps the puns are bad?”

Bea grinned. “The puns are awful.”