by Cathryn Fox
“What do you think is going on?”
“I hate to say this, Layla. It’s going to make me sound like a prick.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She nudged him with her elbow. “I’m sure that name is already on the list.”
He scoffed. “Fine. It’s just that every time I go see her, she starts in on me about settling down and my cousins upcoming Christmas Eve wedding in Maine.” He tapped his mound of rice with his fork and added, “I wonder if she’s faking it, you know? She’s been healthy her whole life, so I don’t really know what’s all of a sudden bringing this on. I’m not a doctor and feel pretty shitty saying this, but I just can’t shake the feeling that she’s up to something.” He took a bit of food, chewed, and then added, “Let’s just say she has ways of getting what she wants, and right now she wants me married.”
“And that’s not something you want?”
“Ever,” he said. “And she knows that.”
“Then it does sound suspicious. What does your father think?”
He laughed, but there was no humor behind it as he cut into his chicken ball. “I would ask him, but he’s in Fiji celebrating his fourth honeymoon with a girl about your age.”
“Ouch.”
“Technically, they’re not married. Neither he nor mom have signed the divorce papers for some reason.” He went quiet for a moment, briefly lost in thought, then flashed those bedroom blues eyes her way. “No way am I calling someone younger than me Mom,” he said, and she guessed he was trying to make light of a situation that really stung.
With her stomach almost full, she slowed down and nibbled on a piece of broccoli. “Why does your mom keep bugging you about getting married? You’ve got lots of time. You’re only twenty-nine.”
He arched an accusing brow. “How do you know that?”
“You told me.”
“Oh, right.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not like I’m one of your groupies who hangs on every word written about you in that paper.” She held her hand up and ran it from left to right, like she was highlighting the latest headline. “Seattle’s most eligible bachelor.” His eyes narrowed, giving her a warning look, but he was obviously bothered by all the attention. Interesting, because causing a scene didn’t seem to bother him like it did her.
“Mom wants me married for two reasons. One is grandkids, and two is to bring someone respectable to my cousin Grant’s wedding next month in Maine.”
“She doesn’t think the girls you date are respectable?”
He shrugged. “Guess not.”
“You going alone then?”
“Most likely. Which means a full-on interrogation.” He pressed his palm to his forehead. “Christ, I am so not looking forward to that.”
She chuckled.
“What?”
“I don’t know. I guess you seem so hard-assed with everyone else, not the kind of guy to take crap from anyone, yet your mom really gets to you.”
“Mothers, right?”
Her stomach squeezed, missing hers so very much. But she wasn’t about to tell him that. “Right.”
“I wish I could bail, but Grant and I used to be close when we were kids.”
She looked at all the untouched containers of food as she recalled the tourism commercials for Maine. “I’ve never been to Maine.”
“Lucky you.”
She laughed. “That bad, huh?”
“Not if you like skiing and outdoor activities.”
‘”You don’t?”
“I just don’t have time for it anymore.” She didn’t miss the melancholy in his voice. She worked late shifts at the coffee shop and had often seen him leaving work late. The guy probably needed a vacation.
“Could be fun.”
His body stiffened, but there was a ghost of a smile on his mouth. “Did you miss the interrogation part?”
She laughed. “Right.”
“She just needs to accept that I’m not ever getting married.”
“Really, not ever?”
“No,” he responded quickly, definitively. Instead of pressing—what he did or didn’t do was none of her business—she asked about his cousin instead. “Why would anyone get married in Maine in December?”
“He and his fiancée live in New York, and there’s a ski lodge in Maine, not too far away, and I guess they wanted a romantic Christmas Eve wedding near the slopes.” A noise crawled out of his throat, and she could only assume he didn’t believe in romance, either.
“Sounds nice to me.”
“I figured you’d say that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, come on, Layla. You’re definitely the kind of girl who dreams of a big, romantic wedding.”
Truthfully, she’d never given much thought to getting married. She’d been too busy making it on her own, determined to make something of herself so she’d never end up in her mother’s position. No way, no how was she going to end up dependent on any guy, only for him to up and leave her high and dry.
“What makes you say that?” she asked.
“I…actually, I don’t know.” He went quiet for a moment, lost in thought. “Maybe because you’re an artist, a dreamer, and I could just picture you as a little girl romanticizing a big, glamorous wedding.”
“Then you’d be wrong.” Switching the conversation from her to his cousin, she said, “A wedding at a ski lodge sounds cold, though.”
“Says the girl who gave her winter jacket away.”
“Hey. What I do with my jacket is none of your business.” She gave him a little shove. He didn’t budge, but her hand on his arm seemed to do something to both of them.
Silence ensued for a long time, then he cleared his throat and said, “You’d like Grant, actually. He and his fiancée both work at the New York History Museum. He’s a curator, and she’s an exhibit designer. You’d have a lot to talk about I’m sure. ”
“Oh wow, talk about a dream job.”
“I thought you wanted to open your own art gallery.”
“Yeah, but that’s a pipe dream, Parker. I don’t ever see that happening.”
“I think you could do whatever you set your mind to, Layla.” As she chewed on that, he gestured to the sauce. “Can you pass the soy sauce?”
She handed it to him and rubbed her stomach. “I’m so full I couldn’t eat another bite.” She hated to waste food. It was a precious commodity in her life. Maybe she’d box up what was on her plate and have it later, or tomorrow. “I think my eyes were bigger than my belly.”
He dished up more rice and covered it in soy sauce. “Jesus. You don’t eat enough to keep a bird alive.”
“I don’t have a very big appetite.”
He nodded. “If you get hungry later, there will be plenty of leftovers.”
“I’ll just wrap what I have on my plate and heat it up later. Maybe for breakfast.”
He gave her an odd look. Even though it was early, she yawned.
He checked his watch. “Tired?”
“Apparently getting run over can do that to you.”
Guilt moved over his face and made her feel a little bad. He was distracted, worried about his mother, so she should probably stop with the teasing jibes.
“Maybe you should try to rest. I have work to do anyway.”
“Oh, okay.” All of a sudden the image of her inside his big penthouse suite alone didn’t sit well with her. Odd really, since she was used to being alone, thrived on it really. After serving customers all day, and sitting in a class full of students, she relished her quiet time with her paints.
He finished his plate of food, and she stood and started gathering the dishes. His hand closed over her. “I’ll take care of them.”
“Don’t you have to go?”
“Conference call. I can do it from here.”
“Okay.” She moved, but the sweatpants rubbed her knees, and she hissed. “My knees. I need to bandage them first.”
“Let me.”
Everything about him embodied control as he pushed the food to the other side of the big island, put his hands around her ribcage, and lifted her like she weighed nothing. As her sock clad feet dangled over the counter, he stepped up to her, his big presence making her feel so little. Reaching around her, he grabbed the bandage supplies, then glanced down at the sweatpants.
“I can’t get at your knees.”
“Right.” She laid back and lifted her hips, shimmying her pants down her thighs until her knees were exposed. The long dress shirt he’d given her kept her covered from the thighs up.
He grabbed a fistful of his hair. “Ah, that will work, too.”
“What?”
“You could have just pulled them up from the ankle.”
“Oh, right.”
Gawd, I am so freaking stupid.
What the hell had she been thinking? Here she was showing her damn innocence in front of a rich, sophisticated man with more sexual experience in his pinkie than she had in her entire body. Sure, there was that one time she’d fooled around with Jimmy Rayburn after school, but other than that clumsy groping incident, she was pretty damn dense when it came to things like this.
And she didn’t even have any panties on.
She reached for the band of her pants to pull them back up, but he stopped her. “Don’t,” he commanded, his voice brusque and harsh.
“Don’t what?”
As he stood over her, oozing sex and power, he bit out, “Don’t lay back like that ever again.”
“Oh, okay.”
She looked over his face, took in the deep concentration lines around his eyes as he bent to examine her knees. He might be taking care of her cuts, but the way he was looking at her felt very personal. Too personal. The sooner she got away from him and out of his penthouse the better. Here she thought she’d stay and torture him, but the only one being tortured was her as he studied her with those intense eyes, making her feel so needy and…aroused. Damn him.
She swallowed as his hot breath spilled over her thighs. Heat flashed, and suddenly she couldn’t seem to breathe. A sound she had no control over crawled out of her throat.
He lifted his head. Their eyes met and locked.
“You okay?” Pressure brewed between her legs as he studied her, and she slammed her knees together. She took in a painful breath, her blood turning to lava.
“Yeah, sight of blood and all,” she managed to get out.
With exquisite gentleness, that seemed contrary to everything this man represented, he cupped her chin, his fingers warm on her flesh, and he turned her head. “Look the other way,” he said, his voice lacking the command it once held. “The sooner I get this done, the better it is for both of us.”
“Ah…” What exactly did he mean by that? “What?”
He coughed. “I need to get to that conference call.”
“Yeah, of course.”
His hands closed over her knees, and he slowly spread them. Oh. My. God. Everything about this felt naughty, erotic—not at all like when she was in the emergency room—and damned if she didn’t like it.
“Can you just open a little more, Layla?”
OMFG.
With her eyes averted, she inched her thighs open to give him better access to her knees. Could he see all the way up to her privates? She gripped her shirt and tucked it between her legs, just in case.
“I’m going to put the ointment on it now. Sorry if it hurts.”
Oh, it was already hurting.
She jumped at the touch of his finger, but it wasn’t because it stung. What the hell was going on with her?
“You need to stay still.”
At the briskness in his voice, she turned her face back to his and pulled in a breath at the way his gaze was moving over her legs. The muscles along his jaw bunched and relaxed again as he clenched and unclenched, and her body convulsed at the barrage of sensation sizzling through her veins.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m trying.”
He finished applying the ointment and secured the gauze and tape. Even though his hands were big, he moved with skill, agility. Once he was done, he stood back to examine his handiwork.
“Thanks,” she said. “And thanks for making me go to the hospital. I probably wouldn’t have gone otherwise.”
“You shouldn’t be thanking me, Layla. I’m the one who hit you, remember?” He looked over her knees again. “Not the best, but it should last through the night.”
She laughed. “Not the way I sleep.”
“No?”
“No, I toss and turn and kick the blankets on and off. One minute I’m on my back, then my stomach. My hair, the sheets, everything is completely mussed by morning. You’ll see.”
A tormented look flashed in his eyes and disappeared just as fast. “Okay,” he said, then went quiet. Too quiet.
She glanced around, struggling to think of something to say, to break the trance he seemed to be in. “Well, I should let you get to that conference call.”
He put his hands around her ribcage, his mouth close to the shell of her ear, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath, and he lifted her from the counter.
He set her down, and she wobbled. Big arms snaked around her back. “You okay?”
“Just dizzy for a second.” She reached down and pulled her pants back up, tying them at the waist, even though she’d be removing them before bed. They were way too big and heavy to sleep in.
“Let me get you into bed.” He stiffened. “I mean, let me help you. I don’t want you falling in the hall. The floors were just done, and blood is a bitch to get out of them.” He grinned, but it was forced, and she had to give him credit for trying not to be such a complete ass.
She rolled her eyes. “I can make my own way to bed.”
“Oh, I know you can, but I’m taking you.”
“Park—”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, and a low growl sounded in his throat. “Do you really want to keep doing this?”
“No. Fine. I need to brush my teeth.”
“I have a spare brush in the bathroom.”
“I didn’t see—” She slammed her mouth shut before she gave away that she’d been snooping. He walked with her to the bathroom and put both her hands on the vanity.
“Stay put,” he commanded and disappeared. He came back with a brush and facecloth.
He left her alone, leaving the door cracked, and hovered in the hall while she brushed her teeth and washed her face.
She pulled the door open and found him leaning against the wall, arms folded, legs crossed, and the sexy image of the brusque and arrogant man had her toes curling. She was about to push past him.
“Ready?” he asked, the challenge in his eyes warning that he’d put her over his shoulders and carry her if he had to.
Accepting his challenge, she tried to walk past him, even though the last thing she wanted was to be over his shoulders—but the damn bully would have none of that. He slid his arm around her waist, and she tried not to think about how good it felt as he led her to the spare room. Once in the room, she pushed away, hurried to her bed, and slid under the covers. The fresh scent of the sheets filled the room, as she pulled her hair out from under her neck, letting it splay over the pillow.
He stood there for one moment, just staring at her. Finally he turned. “G’night,” he said gruffly. The light went off, draping her in darkness, and he stepped into the hall. “I’m going to leave your door cracked in case you need me.”
“What would I need you for?”
Chapter Five
What would I need you for?
Oh, in case she got cold during the night and needed him to bring another blanket. Or maybe if she got scared and wanted him to crawl in with and comfort her by slipping between her legs and tasting the depths of her, then driving his cock into her so hard and deep, she clawed at his back and cried out his name. Parker. Christ, he loved the way it sounded on her lips.
Fuc
k me.
Fingers clenched, he kept his back to her. “I don’t know, Layla,” he said sharply, working to get his shit together as the sexy image of her sprawled on the bed—now etched into his brain—tested every ounce of resolve he possessed. It was hard to believe he still had a measure of control after that incident in the kitchen. When she’d laid back on the counter, lifted those slim hips, and peeled her pants down, exposing those creamy thighs, he damn near bit off his tongue. “Just leave it open.”
“Fine. You don’t have to be so bossy all the time you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
The sounds of her shifting on the mattress followed him down the hall, and he walked into his home office and dropped into the leather chair. He spun around on it for a moment, gathering his thoughts as he looked at the ocean in the distance. A hard swim to clear his head sounded just about right, but he didn’t want to leave Layla for a second. He didn’t trust her to stay in bed for the night. Knowing her, she’d sneak out under the cover of darkness. Then again, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
What the fuck?
Of course it was a bad thing. She had a concussion, and he wasn’t taking any chances on her falling and doing more damage. He’d just have to suck it up, get his damn cock under control, and stop thinking about her sexually.
How he was going to face her at the coffee shop every morning without the vision of her in his house was beyond him. Then again, it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about her a time or two when he was alone in his bed—rubbing his cock. He scrubbed his hand through his hair and exhaled sharply.
Get your mind back on business, dude.
Easier said than done, especially when she smelled like jasmine. The aroma took him back to his grandma’s house in the Hamptons. As a child, he loved spending time at her seaside home, away from his folks. There was no bickering, fighting, just him and Gran hanging out in the garden, afternoon lunches of cucumber sandwiches and iced tea—until her vision began failing and she fell down the stairs and died of brain trauma. His stomach clenched. He missed her so much. She was the reason he worked so hard at SKYWEB, and busted his ass 24-7.
With that last thought, he shook the mouse to wake his computer, then punched in his pass code. A few minutes later Serenity Callahan, Chief Financial Officer at SKYWEB, came up on his screen.
