Page 10 of No Strings Attached
Amira is a temptress wrapped in soft skin and sharp edges, and every time she looks at me, like she’s not fully aware of her effect, it gets harder to keep my distance. I can’t let myself get carried away.
When the elevator doors slide open to the penthouse floor, I gesture for Amira to step out ahead of me. She hesitates for a moment, then walks out of the elevator, her closed-off expression transforming into wide-eyed awe as she takes in the sweeping grandeur of the space, her gaze moving from the marble floors to the floor-to-ceiling windows.
I know the feeling all too well: even I still get surprised whenI walk into rooms like this. It’s easy to forget that my life wasn’t always like this—far from it. My family worked hard, just like everyone else. We were comfortable, but ours was a middle-class life with modest expectations, the kind where you save for vacations and treat yourself on birthdays, so these glimpses of luxury never fail to remind me of how different my life turned out.
“Do you want something to drink?” I ask, walking toward the bar. This room alone is the size of a large condo, and the bar area is huge, filled with any type of liquor you can imagine.
Amira ignores my question. “Where are the bedrooms?”
Okay, I guess we’re not in a fraternizing mood.
“Down that way. I’ll show you?—”
“No need. I can find my way, thanks!” Her voice is chipper, though I can hear the underlying nervousness.
Amira begins to walk away from the living area, her steps quick, and I follow. When she gets to the entrance to one of the rooms, I block her from opening the door by grabbing onto the handle.
“Why are you running away from me, Mira?”
“I—I’m not.” Her voice falters. “I just want to take a shower. I’ve been at the airport all day.”
The delicious scent of coconut and sea salt reaches me again, and I inhale deeply, leaning forward. This time, I don’t hide the fact that I’m smelling her.
The memory hits me like a wave. Those rare, perfect summers when my parents would take my brother and me to Cannon Beach in Oregon after saving all year. I remember the salt in the air, the sand between my toes.
And now here is Amira, wearing that same scent like a secret she doesn’t even know she’s telling.
“You smell fine to me.”
Her body tenses, though she stays quiet.
I inhale again, this time bending lower, bringing my face nearthe crook of her neck, and she shivers. I’ve never come on this strong, but the way Amira’s body responds to me is intoxicating.
“It’s nostalgic.”
She looks at me, eyes narrowing.
“I’ll let you have your privacy. Meet me in the living area when you’re done.”
With a huff, Amira steps into her room, leaving me chuckling as I head back toward the kitchen. Halfway down the hall, my phone buzzes, and Worth’s name flashes on the screen.
“I know, I know. I should’ve come home sooner.” I anticipate his first jab.
“That’s not why I’m calling, but hey, good to see your guilty conscience is alive and well,” he says in a mocking tone. “Listen, did you hear Mom’s organizing a New Year’s Eve party?”
I stop dead in my tracks. New Year’s Eve party? I can already feel my social battery draining, and I’m not even there yet. “Are you serious? No, she didn’t mention anything.”
“Yeah. It’s apparently going to be huge—hundreds of people. She’s even talking to caterers and hired an event planner.”
Confusion sets in. This isn’t like her. Mom’s party-planning days have been over for a long time. “Why? We never do anything big for New Year’s. We’re usually in pajamas, asleep before the ball drops.”
“Mom said she wanted to do something different this year. She was being pretty vague. It might be some big surprise.”
In the kitchen, I start rifling through drawers, looking for the room service menu, thinking about how Amira’s stomach growled loud enough to file a noise complaint over an hour ago.
Bingo.
Unsure what she likes, I text the concierge to order a bit of everything. She can pick what she wants when the food arrives.
