by Cathryn Fox
“How’s your mother?” she asked, opening the conversation with the niceties, but he knew this meeting would take a turn for the worse once formalities were out of the way. He took in her pulled back hair, the thinning of her lips as she pinched them tight, and the hint of makeup she wore around her eyes. Her name might be Serenity, but there was nothing serene about the woman. She was SKYWEB’S toughest, smartest financial officer, and while he wouldn’t want anyone else at the helm, if he couldn’t get his project under budget, she was going to nix it. He couldn’t let that happen. He owed it to Gran.
“She’s going to be fine,” he said.
“Glad to hear it.” She opened a file and ruffled through the papers. “I’ve been going over the projects costs…”
And so it began.
In his mind he didn’t give two fucks what the project cost. Creating a pair of glasses that aided the blind and visually impaired was near and dear to his heart. Yeah, sure, it would make the company a bundle, but that wasn’t his driving force.
If his grandma had those glasses back in her day, ones that with a press of a button described her surrounding in details, she never would have tripped and died. He’d been a teen at the time, and while he might not have been able to do anything to help her, he sure as hell could help others in the same situation.
“We can find a new supplier,” he said when she droned on about the costs of the video camera.
She leaned into the camera. “I’ll need to see a new spreadsheet by the end of the month, Braxton,” she said. The fact that she called him Braxton had his mind straying to Layla. Sweet fucking Layla who called him Parker and was currently tossing and turning in the spare room.
“Braxton,” she said again, jostling his thoughts back to the present.
He shook his head to clear it. “Right, new spreadsheet,” he responded in an effort to appease her. “Consider it done.”
“Very well. Enjoy the rest of your night.”
“You too.”
He leaned back in his chair and glanced at the clock. It was still early, and he was too wired up to sleep, so he flipped over to email, deciding to answer the dozen or so queries that had been piling up for days. Hours later, he pushed from his chair, stretched out his stiff muscles, and wandered into the kitchen, the warm scent of jasmine still filling his senses as he moved about his penthouse.
Food containers lined the counter, and he repackaged them and stuck them in the fridge. He tossed the extra sodas in as well, scraped the leftover food into the recycle bin, and placed the dishes in the dishwasher.
Once the kitchen was clean, he changed quickly and hit the treadmill, opening the iPad that was mounted to it. He did a quick search on concussions, to refresh his memory, and when he finished his run, and the machine beeped off, a noise in the other room gained his attention.
He craned his neck to hear.
But when he was met with silence, he tossed his towel onto the treadmill, and kicked off his running shoes. Padding quietly though the house, he made his way to his bedroom. Since insomnia was a part of his life, he was in no hurry to climb between the sheets and stare at the wall for hours on end. Most times he was preoccupied with work, but tonight he had something else, or rather someone else on his mind.
He stepped into his private ensuite bathroom and flicked on the shower, adjusting it to cool, and climbed under the spray. With his arms braced on the tiled wall, he leaned forward and let the spray run over his body as he soaped up and gave his hair a quick scrub. When he finally turned the water off and emerged, another sound reached his ears, a scraping sound of sorts.
Snatching the towel off the hook beside him, he wrapped it around his waist and knotted it. The hinges on the bedroom door creaked slightly as he stepped into the hall, and he made a mental note to grease them as he glanced down to see Layla’s door slightly ajar. Was she up? He stepped quietly and stood outside her room for a minute, listening for signs of her, but when a noise came from the kitchen, he turned and made his way down the hall.
He rounded the corner and found her bent over, reaching for something in the bottom of his refrigerator, and the sight of her soft, curvy ass, showcased behind the hem of his dress shirt felt like a sucker punch. It heated him up. Air left his lungs in a whoosh, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to refill them.
Mesmerized, he stood there for a long moment. Should he let her know he was standing there gawking, or sneak back to his room and abuse the hell of his cock? The decision was taken from him when she turned and gasped, the can of soda in her hand falling to the floor and exploding. The sound cut through the silence, and when she wobbled on her feet—once again ready to go down for the count—he took three measured steps to reach her.
“Layla,” he whispered, pulling her into his arms. Soda continued to spray from the spinning can and covered the kitchen as well as their bodies with the sugary syrup. It dripped down his legs and soaked the bottom of his towel. “Are you okay?” He leaned back and pushed her hair from her face, using the refrigerator light to check her pupils.
“You scared me half to death,” she said, her voice breathless.
His heart thumped, worry for her clawing at his insides. “You had a dizzy spell again, didn’t you?”
“No. You just scared me.”
He shook his head, not believing that for a second. “What were you doing out here?”
“I was thirsty.”
“You should have come to get me.”
“It’s past midnight, Parker,” she said. “I wasn’t going to wake you.”
“I wasn’t asleep.”
Her gaze left his face and traveled downward, her eyes widening at the sight of his bare chest. “Oh.”
“Tomorrow…” he began, as he became hyperaware of how nice she felt in his arms, how much he fucking wanted her.
“What about it?”
He swallowed past the dryness in his throat. “We’ll go get you some new pajamas.”
“I’m not staying past tomorrow, remember?”
“Yeah, you are.”
She poked his chest. “This was a one-shot deal, and I’m only here because…”
“Because why?”
“Because you’re a bully, and you forced me into coming.”
“I didn’t force you into anything.” Okay, so maybe he had. “I was just…worried.”
Something inside her seemed to soften, and the sweet, angelic look on her face only made him harder. “Okay fine, but you did force me.” She shrugged but sounded flustered when she added, “And well, I thought maybe I could have some fun.”
“Fun?”
“Yeah, annoy you. Payback, you know, for bullying me into coming here and always ignoring me at Uncommon Grounds. I thought I could irritate you, get under your skin. Make you finally notice that I’m a human and not some computer gadget that runs on batteries.”
“You don’t think I noticed you?”
“Of course not.”
He clenched down on his jaw hard enough to break bone as the can stopped hissing at his feet. Soda dripped down his legs, tickling the hairs, but he ignored it. He dipped his head forward, and her scent tugged at his cock. His towel tented, and if he didn’t do something, any second now she’d see just how much he did notice her.
“You’re staying,” he said flatly, inching back, not about to act on how much he wanted her.
Her hair waved as she shook her head, then stilled abruptly. “Parker.”
“You just about passed out on my floor, Layla. It’s hard ceramic. I’m not taking any chances, and you’re not leaving until I’m 100 percent certain you’re fine.”
“And just how long do you think that will be?” she shot back, annoyance clear in her tone. “The doctor said I only had to rest for the next day. I’m sure come morning I’ll be fine, and I have classes and have to work and study, and—”
He squeezed his eyes closed. Fuck, if she kept talking, he’d have no choice but to find a way to shut her up, an
d right now he could only think of one way.
“Stop talking,” he commanded.
“Don’t you tell—”
“Just stop, okay?”
Her head flew back, and her lips pinched tight. Dark eyes shot dangers, then she retaliated with, “I will not stop talking.”
Fine, then. Before he could think better of it, he slid one hand around her neck and splayed his fingers. He dipped his head, his lips closing over hers, swallowing her protest. At first her lips were firm, but that didn’t deter him. He pulled her closer, his cock pressing against her stomach as he coaxed her mouth open, sliding his tongue over her bottom lip.
A small groan sounded, and she softened against him. Nice. He slid his tongue into her mouth, and hers tangled with his, tentatively at first, but when he deepened the kiss, even though he knew what he was doing was wrong, he felt something in her give. He angled his head for a more thorough kiss, tasting the subtle flavors of her. As she relaxed in his arms, his hands went to her slim waist.
What am I doing?
He gripped tight and pulled her against him. Her small hands snaked around his back, her nails dragging skin as she grabbed at him, a hurried exploration of his body. Jesus, he liked the way she touched him. Lust vibrated through his body, and his cock thickened, ached, hardened with hot impatience. He needed her. Now. He inched back, ready to take her to his bed, to do depraved things to her body. Not ready to break the kiss, he flicked his tongue over her bottom lip for one last taste before he broke the intimacy and dragged her to his room.
She was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. Warm. Succulent.
Innocent.
Fuck.
Panting hard, he pulled back and broke the kiss. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
She stared up at him with wide-eyed confusion, and if he could have kicked his own ass, he would have. What the fuck are you doing asshole? Not only does she have a concussion, she’s not the kind of girl who knows the score. Everything about her screamed white picket fence, and he was so not going down that path with anyone.
“I…okay,” she said.
Before she could protest, he picked her up. She snaked her hands around his neck, and he tried not to moan when he carried her to the bathroom and set her on the vanity.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, lifting her chin, trying to sound in control. But she wasn’t. Not one little bit. Neither was he.
He expelled a heavy sign. “You’re covered with soda. So am I. We need to wash.”
He made a quick trip to the hall closet, grabbed two washcloths, and put them under the water. He was about to run one along her legs when she snatched it from him.
“Stop touching me. I can do it myself.”
Yeah, that was probably for the best. Or at least he thought it was until she widened her thighs and ran the cloth over her smooth skin.
Fuck me twice.
A sound rumbled in his throat, and her hand stilled. “What?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He turned his back to her and washed the syrup from his body. “I don’t want you alone tonight.”
“I’m not. You’re here. Hovering like one of those damn drones your company produces.”
“I’m not hovering. I’m just worried about you.”
“Why are you so worried?” she said, her voice rising, one decibel from hysterical. “I’m a grown up. I can take care of myself for God’s sakes, Parker.”
“You don’t even wear a fucking winter coat.” He clenched down hard, his muscles bunching and tightening with the need to grab her and shake some sense in her, or kiss her again, firmly. Deeply. She clearly needed taking care of. Then again, who was going to protect her from him? “Besides, that’s what my grandmother used to say. ‘I can take care of myself’ and look how that turned out,” he mumbled under his breath without thinking.
“Wait.” Her hand touched his, and he hissed. She pulled back, like she’d been burned. She took in a breath and let it out slowly. “What about your grandma?” she asked, her voice calmer.
He gave a hard shake of his head. “Nothing,” he bit out, having said too much already.
“Obviously it’s something,” she countered, her voice soft, silky, seeping under his skin and breaking down barriers that had been erected for a purpose. Her hand slowly crept back across the counter and landed on his arm. With the softest touch, she caressed him, and the hair on his neck stood up. How the fuck was he supposed to think when she was touching him like that? “Tell me. Please.”
Tension hung, taking up space, as the clicking of the massive wall clock in the other room cut through the silence. “She would never go into a retirement home,” he finally blurted out. “She insisted on taking care of herself, doing everything for herself, even after she lost her vision. She fell one day.” He stopped speaking, swallowing the painful knot in his throat. Layla sat there patiently, her concerned gaze moving over his face, as she waited for him to continue. “Trauma to the head. It was bad. So fucking bad. I was the one who found her.”
“Oh my God,” she said, her anger melting, softening around the edges. “I’m so sorry. Was she…?”
She stopped speaking like she couldn’t bring herself to ask the words. He clamped his mouth shut for a long time and closed his eyes, unable to dispel the vision of his grandma on the floor of her basement. But she was more than just a grandma to him. His father’s mother was like his own. She’d taught him things, was there for him when his own mother was too busy with her clubs, and maintaining her social standing. It wasn’t easy for a girl from the wrong side of the tracks to get accepted by Hampton’s old money, she’d often told him
“She died.” He lifted his head and met her glance.
Why the fuck am I telling her this?
The flecks of honey in her eyes deepened as her fingers squeezed his arm. She shifted closer, until her leg was pressed against his hip.
“I’m so sorry.” She blinked, a glimmer of understanding dancing in her eyes. “Now I get why you insisted on bringing me here, watching over me. This all makes sense.”
She made a move to slide from the counter, and he tossed his cloth into the hamper and helped her from the vanity. He gripped her ribcage, his fingers brushing the soft swell of her breast. Fuck, she was so tiny, so thin. As long as she was staying with him, he was going to ensure she ate properly, and dressed for the weather, and he didn’t give two shits if she fought him on it.
“I don’t want you wandering through the apartment alone,” he said, his voice sounding gruff, even to himself.
“Okay.”
His head came back with a start. What, she wasn’t going to battle him on it? Had she given up the fight? Pressing his luck, he said, “I don’t want you in your room alone, either. I did a bit of research on concussions, and you need to be woken up every few hours and asked questions. To make sure you’re coherent.”
She lowered her head, her sweet, fragrant hair falling over her shoulder as she gave a slow shake of her head. “Parker—”
Promptly cutting off her protest, he scooped her up, carried her to her room, and gently deposited her on the bed. “Stay put,” he ordered. He left the room and made his way to his bedroom to dispose of the towel. Stepping into his closet he pulled on a pair of jeans and walked to the kitchen to get her a drink.
When he returned to the bedroom, he found her exactly where he’d left her. “Drink,” he said.
She accepted the glass, took a long pull, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. He took the glass and set it on her nightstand. “Thanks.”
“Lay back.”
She didn’t fight him and instead lowered herself. She was right when she said she made a mess of the bed. He rooted around the foot of the mattress and grabbed the bundle of blankets she’d clearly kicked off. He dragged them back up her body but didn’t know fuck all about tucking anyone in. From the smirk on her face, she could tell he had no idea what he was doing
.
“Stop laughing,” he bit out.
“I’m not laughing,” she said.
“Yeah, you are.” He tucked the bedding under her chin and shaped it around her little body, snug from her shoulder to her feet.
“You should have been a mummifier,” she said, unable to hold her chuckle back any longer.
“Missed my calling, did I?”
She laughed at that. A breathy, intimate laugh that went straight to his cock. At least his jeans hid his erection better than the damn towel.
“Go to sleep, Layla.”
She stopped laughing and blinked up at him. “What about you?”
His gaze went to the chair in the corner. It was there for decorative purpose, not comfort. “I’ll sleep there.”
Her mouth turned down in a frown, and he tried not to stare at her lips, remember how sweet she tasted. “No, that’s not right.”
He crossed the room and sat in the chair. Wasn’t too bad. “If you need me, I might not hear you from my room.”
She plucked at the sheets and glanced over the big queen-size bed. “This is your house, your room, and now that I understand why you’ve been so bossy, I can’t put you out like that.” Tentative fingers went to the opposite side of the bed, and she tugged the covers down. “At least sleep here. We can put pillows between us, that way we won’t have any contact.”
Sleeping beside a half-naked Layla? A bolt of heat moved through him, and he struggled to curb his desires, as his body grew tight. He shifted restlessly in the chair. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It’s the only sensible thing.”
“No.” Pillow or no pillow, it wasn’t going to stop him from wanting her. A move of his hand, he’d be able to touch. A flick of his tongue, he’d be able to taste. Not going to happen.
Ever determined, she squared her tiny shoulders. “Then I’ll take the chair.”
So much for the fight going out of her. Here she was giving him a hard time again…a hard…everything. “You’re the one with the concussion. You need rest.”
