“Listen to me, Layla—”
“Back off.”
“I’m getting your attention,” he said. “Seems the only time you hear me out is when I’m pressed against you.” His lips formed a tight smile. “That has its advantages.”
“Tell me that from across the room, and I’ll decide whether or not to listen.”
“Tell me you’ll rethink this.”
As if thinking were an option with his mouth so close to hers. Lightning-bright desire flashed through her, and her heart pounded like peals of thunder. Resentment rippled through her in the aftermath. “Stand back.”
“If you come with me to Sturgis.”
“No problem,” she said sarcastically. He dropped his hand and stepped away. “But you’re forgetting one thing. I don’t ride .” She whipped around and flounced down the stairs. “This discussion is over.”
Oh, no it’s not, Layla. We haven’t even started . Blake was at her heels, his eyes blazing as they followed her descent.
But he broke the pursuit mid-stride in her living room. This argument could go on for days—years, knowing them. Unless he threw out one well-timed comment. “Layla, what are you so afraid of?”
She froze rounding the corner. His aim had been true.
“Nothing,” she shot back, but the second syllable sounded watery, as though she was battling emotions she wanted to keep hidden. Hands at his waist, he waited. Her voice sounded small echoing off the tile floor as she entered the kitchen. “Go away, Blake. I don’t want your help. I don’t need you .”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. To his dismay the feeling traveled upward, a straight shot to the center of his chest. The spot under his ribs felt empty, like something had been ripped out of him, and he stumbled back a step.
Numb, he turned, headed for the door. But when his fingers curved around the metal handle he couldn’t make himself do it. He couldn’t leave.
He had never been able to turn away from her.
Layla would always be the one who walked away first.
Even that night on her porch—while Jack barred the door, Rob and Layla upstairs screaming at each other as doors slammed—Blake hadn’t walked away. Even when Johnson tore Blake’s heart out and dangled it in front of his face, Blake hadn’t walked away. But Jack had the advantage.
Blake’s chest clenched with the memory. If he’d stayed, Officer Jack Johnson would’ve promptly called Rob’s juvie officer to tell him Rob had broken curfew, a direct violation of his probation. Jack swore he’d make up more lies, and Rob would end up in some detention center. Or, Blake could take a hike, back off for a while, and take his chances that she would forgive him that choice, for turning his back on her.
He’d had no idea how deep Jack’s vendetta ran against him until that night. Countless times Blake had come close to nailing Jack for the unspeakable crime he committed against the Desanto family. And this was Jack’s version of payback, because Jack could see how much Layla meant to Blake.
The bastard had backed him into a corner. He’d decided to let things settle down, leaving for his annual trip to Sturgis. When he returned two weeks later, there were no messages from Layla. It was the worst feeling, realizing he shouldn’t have left, that no blackmail threat had been worth losing her.
Between last night and today, he and Layla had exchanged more words, touches and kisses than they had in the year they’d been separated.
And he still wanted her. He still couldn’t walk away.
He hated that vulnerability, that influence she had over him. It made him want to do things like pull her into his arms when he should push her away, and brave the minefield of their past to keep her safe as they looked for her brother. It made him want to know what she was so afraid of, what he could do to help. Feeling seeped back into his chest, undermining his struggle for indifference.
She ruined me for every other woman but her. His fingers slipped off the door handle in resignation. And she doesn’t even have a clue .
His boots sank into the carpeting as he treaded toward her kitchen. Shrugging out of his jacket, he draped it over a dining room chair and propped one shoulder against the open archway that separated the two rooms.
“Talk to me,” he said with quiet intensity. “I won’t go anywhere until you do.”
Layla’s spine snapped straight at the sound of his voice behind her. She’d expected him to disappear again. For once, he’d acted opposite her expectations. The one time she wished he hadn’t.
She was tempted to send him to Sturgis alone. She’d catch a bus there by herself.
But then Rob would know she’d refused to ride with Blake. Rob might suspect her angst over motorcycles—his passion. Rob had already accused her of not understanding him. Their tentative relationship might snap under the weight of another disparity.
Her brother’s opinion of her meant everything, and she’d tried to understand him. But who could understand a teenager?
Blake understands him perfectly , her mind mocked. No wonder Rob turns to him instead of you .
Drawing out the silence, Layla tested the soil in an aloe plant propped on the window ledge above her sink. It was as dry and inhospitable as the Black Hills where her brother was heading. While she stood in her kitchen, ignoring Blake—the only hope in this whole scenario—something awful could be happening to her brother.
Layla couldn’t let Robby down. She couldn’t risk his record to avoid her fears, just because she didn’t have the spine to ride a motorcycle to South Dakota.
“We have to get him back here in ten days, Blake. Or it’ll be for nothing.”
“We can do it.”
She wished she shared his certainty. “How do you know for sure?”
“Nothing comes with a guarantee. We’ll do the best we can. Together.”
Layla needed one more reassurance. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
Turning to face him, she met the intense gaze trained on her. A small jolt of awareness followed. She cleared her throat. “Please don’t say anything to Rob about last night.”
“Which part?” he asked, with a small tilt to his lips.
“All of it.”
“Your secrets are safe with me.” He winked.
“Especially the part about when you found me on the road. I don’t want him to know about that.”
“Layla, I don’t even know what happened. Much as I’d like to.”
“Just promise you won’t bring it up, and…I’ll go to Sturgis with you.”
“You’ll let me take you all the way—on my motorcycle.” His expression looked suspicious, like he was biting his cheeks to staunch a grin.
Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, all the way , Mr. Everything’s A Sexual Innuendo.”
“And you won’t complain the entire time?”
“Scouts honor.” She held up two fingers.
Blake shoved away from the partition and approached. Layla backed up until she arched against the sink rim.
“Wrong number,” he murmured. Reaching for her hand, he straightened three of her fingers, instead of two. “There, much more believable… girl scout,” he drawled.
The heat in her eyes evaporated. “Always have to have one up on me, don’t you?”
“Offering to put me in me my place, girl scout?”
“I’m offering a swift kick in the pants.”
“Do you know how sexy you are when you act all tough?”
She started toward him. His eyes widened in mock fear. He ran out of the kitchen, swiped up his coat and headed for the front door, Layla hot on his trail.
“The bike’s safe,” he hollered, as he flew out the door and swung a long leg over the black seat.
Layla skidded to a halt. “I just wish you were safe,” she said, catching her breath. “Promise me. No driving each other crazy on this motorcycle, got it?”
“I don’t know,” he said rubbing his jaw in speculation. “Think you can resist the temptation? You will b
e riding all the way there with me and my libido.”
“Can’t you leave that at home? Just this once?”
“Don’t think so. It’s especially partial to you.”
“Great,” she groaned. “Then promise me you won’t bring that lasso you threatened me with last night.” Her eyes sparkled with humor.
Something caught in Blake’s chest. When Layla smiled like this, totally candid, as if any moment she might burst into unrestrained laughter, he turned cartwheels inside.
It was a feeling he’d never experienced with anyone else. She had something different, something more. Some things in life you just knew. Like the day he met her, he just knew she was special.
Blake shook his head at himself. That was a long time ago. A lot had happened since that day. Too much.
He adopted a careless expression. “Think you can throw your stuff together in a hurry? Remember to pack light. Not much trunk space on a Harley.”
“No kidding.” She passed a tentative glance over his bike. “I never thought I’d be able to ride again. I still don’t know if I can.”
“It’ll be great,” he assured her. “I promise.”
Chapter 5
It was a nightmare.
Layla should have known better than to trust a promise of Blake’s.
Though the helmet imparted an illusion of safety, she would have preferred burying her face into his wide, muscular back. Unfortunately, she couldn’t tuck her head between his shoulder blades and hold on for dear life. His leather jacket felt slippery against her sweating palms.
At the bottom of an entrance ramp to the freeway, poised at a light, Layla fought the queasy feeling in her stomach. Blake revved the motor. The engine worked into a thunderous roar. When the light turned green they blasted up the ramp like a shot from a gun.
The force of their momentum threw off her balance. Their helmets smacked against each other. He tried to scoot up to give her more space. Layla followed, refusing to put any distance between them. She wanted to straighten her helmet, but she couldn’t stand the thought of letting go of him, even for a second.
If he’d gunned the motorcycle on purpose, she would tan his hide—all six feet, three inches of it. She ignored that minor logistic, pinching him as a warning of the wrath to come.
Then she peeked through her lashes. A legion of cars and trucks surrounded them, all going sixty-five miles an hour. She shut her eyes tight.
“Breathe. Just keep breathing.” She sounded like Darth Vader in this helmet. In an ominous tone, she recited, “ Luke, I am your father .”
I’ve lost it. I’m certifiably nuts .
Being on this motorcycle was proof. She knew it beyond a doubt when the knots inside her stomach actually began to unfurl.
Readjusting her Heimlich hold around Blake’s middle, she felt the gut-clenching fear gradually subside. After a while of bumping along—getting used to the heavy vibration under her, the sounds, Blake’s movements as he steered the motorcycle like a fearless captain braves the seas—Layla relaxed to the point of blinking her eyes open.
The scenery along the highway skimmed past in a blur. The endless white line to her right directed their course. The repetitive rhythm of it all lulled her. Surprisingly, the cold sweat that had beaded on her forehead began to dry. They hadn’t wrecked. Their lives were still intact. The motorcycle roared along like a beast set loose to happily roam in the great wide open. Breathing came a little easier.
After about an hour on the road, she even loosened her tight grip around Blake. Slightly. She waited. Nothing awful happened. Everything was…okay.
Careful not to bang her helmet into his, she took in the scenery flying by. Suburbs. Woods. Farmland. Then the view became clearer. Kids throwing a football inside a backyard fence. The graceful slope of pine branches bowing drowsily amongst the sun-drenched leaves of sugar-maple trees. The comforting sight of a big red barn squatting amidst cornrows, swaying fields of wheat, pastures spotted with grazing horses. She could’ve wandered into a Thomas Kincaid painting. Slices of Americana, glimpses into scenes she would’ve missed if she’d been in her car, absently driving along the highway.
A hypnotic peace descended on her. It felt so freeing with a few thousand pounds of metal stripped away, nothing between her and the natural beauty around her. She compared it to what it might be like in a space suit, weightless, viewing the world from a very different perspective. It was breathtaking.
Easing her grip on Blake a little more, she tested the backrest he must have installed specifically for this trip, for her. It shocked her to admit she actually felt…almost…safe.
Like she had a long time ago in a faded memory, like an old photograph, the surface crinkled, edges torn by heartache and loss. Kenny, will you take me riding today? If it’s sunny and dry can you pick me up from school on your Harley? Are we taking the motorcycle out to Madroo’s Farm for fresh corn this weekend?
A chill shook her. Her fingers felt cold, tingly. The wind must be chafing her hands, she decided. Her fingertips drifted across the zippered seams of Blake’s coat pockets. They were open. She tucked her hands inside. Her hands curved against the flannel interiors, her fingers curling against his sides.
The wind picked up around them as Blake accelerated.
Eyes hidden behind platinum sunglasses, Blake slid his glance to the round side-mirrors that extended from the handlebars. He viewed Layla at his back.
A crack formed in his hard-won resistance when her small hands curl into his pockets, against his sides. He steeled himself to ignore Layla’s intimate gesture of trust. Even though his insides were doing those cartwheels again.
Hardening his jaw and his resolve, he tore his gaze away, focusing on the endless road ahead. He downshifted to gain momentum. The power of the vehicle under him responded to his command. Then he shot out of a traffic huddle, blazing a trail of his own.
The adrenaline surge didn’t work. Old cravings surfaced. The need to touch her, feel her skin under his fingertips. His hands tangling in her hair, his tongue tangling with hers. He wanted more than her hands molded against him. He imagined her naked body curled into the protective shelter of his, lying together after making love, so intimate, so close. Never seemed to be close enough.
A tremor ran through his hands. He had to tighten his grip on the handlebars to keep himself and the bike in control.
He needed to get this woman out of his system.
Only one way that would happen. But it would have to wait until tonight.
After three hours on the road, Blake steered into a rest stop. They passed several picnic tables that sat beneath the shade of weeping willow trees. Guiding the bike diagonally into a parking space, he cut the engine.
Layla, in the meantime, was having issues—she had no clue what to do about her startling… predicament .
It began when she realized her foot had fallen asleep. When she tried to move, the tingling sensations swept up body, including the sensitive place between her legs. The relentless vibrations and her straddle position had become an erotic combination. She was so turned on she feared she’d collapse into orgasmic convulsions.
A gasp slipped from her as Blake extricated himself from the motorcycle. She slid forward on the seat, the seam of her jeans riding deeper into the aching place that craved release. A surge of sensation funneled downward.
“Oh, no,” she squeaked inside her helmet. She tore it off to gulp in air. Blake mumbled something and walked away.
Not wanting to risk a mortifying public display, Layla moved toward the common building like an elderly lady who’d lost her walker. The friction of her legs as she walked, the heat rising off the pavement in shimmering waves, hour after hour of body contact with a man she’d once been insanely attracted to—and obviously still was—sent her mind spinning into dangerous fantasies. The throbbing between her thighs intensified.
A blast of air-conditioning hit her as she stepped through the rest stop doors. It cooled the beads of
perspiration on her forehead, but did nothing to chill the heat gathering inside her.
She found a drinking fountain, leaned on it for support and took a long cold drink. But it didn’t help. It reminded her of the time she and Blake had arrived early for one of Robby’s track meets. He’d snuck her beneath the bleachers against her grinning protests and made out with her like they were teenagers stealing a moment alone before they got caught. Except they did get caught, by the track coach who’d leaned over the drinking fountain at the end of the bleachers.
“Sorry, coach,” Blake had said, not sounding the least bit sorry as he rearranged Layla’s disheveled state, took her hand and pulled her back into the sunshine. Coach Dennis had thrown them a look, snorted in amusement and walked away shaking his head.
What would’ve happened if we hadn’t been caught? she’d wondered at the time.
As she left the drinking fountain to find the bathrooms, a blush crept up her neck. She pushed into the women’s bathroom.
Last year when Blake had taken her to a cozy restaurant in Little Italy, she’d gone to the ladies room. Only he had followed her in. Locked the door behind him. She’d shrieked, afraid of getting caught. He’d stifled the sound with his lips. His tongue thrust deep into her mouth, melting her nerves into a flaming pool of desire. His spontaneity dissolved her fears.
It happened every time. He was the one man who had known instinctively what would tear down her inner defenses. Knew how to pierce the armor she wore to keep him from coming too close, because the more she let him in, the more she had to lose.
But when he’d kissed her behind that locked door, the only thing she’d been interested in losing was her modesty. He’d clutched her to him, kissing her until her whole body hummed with need. Then he’d backed her against the marble wall beside the towel dispenser. His lips had covered the exposed skin of her plunging neckline as he sank to his knees in front of her. His hands slid under her dress. Layla whimpered her approval, loving the way he handled her so confidently. His palms coasted up the backs of her knees, her thighs. He dragged the dress hem up to her waist. The heat of his touch burned away all resistance. His head dipped. He tugged the crotch of her panties aside, leaned forward and…
All the Way Page 6
