by Fox, Cathryn
He slid his arm around her waist when she stood, and honest to God it felt nice to be held by him. Still, she should protest. “I’m fine you know,” she said. Too bad the objection was a ridiculously feeble one.
Well done, Layla.
“So you’re a doctor now?”
“Yeah, I am. Didn’t you look at those textbooks? I’m in medical school,” she said, shooting the lie back quickly.
He shook his head, and she smirked at him, but the smile fell from her face when he tightened his grip around her waist, pulling her close, too close. His nearness and hardness nearly took the fight right out of her.
Breathe, Layla, breathe.
She fished the key from her bag and opened her door. He stepped in, and stood for a second, like he was trying to get his bearings.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” she said, pushing away from him. She didn’t. Not really. But she needed a reprieve from the overbearing man who, without even trying, had her nipples tightening, and the spot between her legs stirring to life. She’d been so busy working and going to school, men were not on her radar. But Parker, well he wasn’t an ordinary man. No, he infuriated the living hell out of her, yet at the same time had all her erogenous zones tingling.
She darted to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on her face. As she blotted it dry, a bang came from the kitchen. Was he going through her cupboard—her very empty cupboards? Goddamn him. Tossing the towel aside, she hurried back down the narrow hall and found Parker sitting at her wobbly kitchen chair, a troubled look on his face.
His head lifted slowly, those intelligent blue eyes trained on her face. “I need you to tell me the truth, Layla.”
“About what?”
“Do you or do you not have a friend coming to stay with you?”
“Parker—”
“Family?”
“Look—” she began, but before she could say anything else he was on his feet and storming down the hall.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting your clothes.”
“My clothes?” she said. What the hell was he talking about? “Why are you getting my clothes?”
“Because you’re coming home with me.”
She stood there for one shocked moment, then rushed down the hall after him, nearly falling as lightheadedness overcame her. “Like hell I am.” She gripped the doorframe and focused on the bossy man dominating her small bedroom. When she found him digging through her dresser drawers and filling one of her tote bags with her clothes—correction, her panties—a rush of anger burned though her body.
The nerve of him!
“I am not going anywhere with you.”
He slammed a drawer shut. “Fine, I’ll stay here with you.”
Panic raced through her. Hell, she couldn’t have that. She was hiding out from her landlord until she got paid, and if he spotted Parker’s very expensive car in the driveway, he’d be at her door. He’d already given her an extension, but she still didn’t have the money to pay him, and she didn’t want Parker witnessing that embarrassing exchange. Dammit. She needed him to leave. Now.
“You are not staying here.”
“Then get what you need from the bathroom,” he said.
Was he freaking serious?
“No.”
“Fine, don’t. I’ll just buy what you need.”
Oh my God, this was so not happening.
Chapter Three
Parker had no idea what he was doing. What the hell was he thinking inviting her to his home? He had work to do, meetings to attend, but the second he’d seen her sitting there at the bus stop, those big brown eyes searching for something on her phone, he was done for. Totally fucking done for. Before he even realized what he was doing, he’d spun his car around, and now here he stood, in her sparse, neglected apartment, sparring with this little mite of a woman who had her hands planted on her hips. She was infuriating as hell, but Jesus, she was sexy when she was mad. The fire in her eyes, combined with the way she puckered those lush pink lips was just about the hottest thing he’d ever seen.
“What are you smirking about?” she yelled at him.
He wiped his expression clean, as well as the lust from his brain. “Nothing, now get your stuff together.”
“You know you’re an ass, right?”
“An ass? Really? That’s all you got?” He laughed. “Hurry up. I have things to do.”
“If this is some weird gesture so I don’t sue you, you can relax.” Guys like him cared about money, not people, of that she was sure. “I have no intention of bringing charges against you. I’m sure you didn’t hit me on purpose, right?”
“Of course I didn’t,” he said. “Now move.”
She poked his chest. “I am not leaving, and there is nothing you can do or say to make me. Got it?”
He briefly pinched the bridge of his nose. He so did not have time for this today. “You need someone to stay with you tonight. You’re lying about your friend, and that leaves me with no choice but to take you to my place. You clearly don’t want me staying here, judging by the panic that spread across your face when I suggested it.” He gave her a minute to refute that, but she just stood there glaring up at him. Jesus, at least they were in her bedroom and not her kitchen where she had access to sharp objects. He exhaled sharply. “Fine, then. If you can produce this friend in the next five minutes, I’ll back off.”
She frowned and averted her eyes, counting the pit marks on her scuffed wood floor. “I…she.”
He stuffed all he could fit into her bag and zipped it. “That’s what I thought.”
She rooted her feet. “You’re a bully.”
“Yeah, and if you don’t turn around, walk down that hall, and get in my car, I’m going to put you over my shoulder and carry you.”
Her eyes widened, heat flashing inside them. Heat? What the fuck? He scrubbed his chin. Dammit, did the idea of being in his arms again excite her? Shit, he sure as hell hoped not. He wouldn’t be able to handle it if she wanted him like he did her. Control was something he prided himself on having, but with Layla, he felt like he was climbing a gym class rope that had just been rubbed down with Vaseline. He could put every ounce of effort into it, but it wouldn’t get him anywhere.
She folded her arms. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
Cursing under her breath, she spun around and stomped down the hall. He followed her, keeping his eyes on the door, and off the soft, sensuous sway to her hips. He was about to ask about her winter coat when her knees faltered. Her hands flew to the wall in a feeble effort to balance herself.
“Shit, Layla.” Moving swiftly, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back to his chest, a rush of tenderness overcoming him as he held her securely. “You’re really not okay,” he whispered in her ear, and her body shook against his. And that scared him. A whole hell of a lot.
She went perfectly still and took deep breaths, letting him hold her for a long moment, then in a quiet, barely audible voice said, “Just one night, Parker, then you take me home.”
“One night,” he agreed, pretty sure that’s all he could handle. Otherwise he just might act on his urges, and with a sweet and innocent girl like her, that would be so fucking wrong.
“I’ll need my books.”
“You won’t be able—”
“I need to study.”
“All right.” He helped her to the kitchen and found a light coat by her door, hardly enough to keep her warm as winter approached. He snatched it from the hook and draped it over her tiny shoulders.
“Why don’t you have a winter coat?”
She pulled her hair from her shoulders and slipped into the coat. The jasmine scent of her shampoo reached his nostrils. “I gave it away.”
“Why the hell would you give it away? Seattle is cold and damp in the winter.”
“I just did, okay?”
Clearly, she wasn’t going to tell him, and he shut his mouth rather than pushi
ng. Arguing with her was like installing a peephole in a glass door—pointless. “Come on.” He held her to him and led her back to his car. Before he shut the door, he pointed to the handle.
“That’s a stupid place to put a door handle,” she said, and he couldn’t help but shake his head at her.
“Just don’t jump from the car before it’s stopped, and let me help you in and out.” She was about to protest, but he arched a brow, and said, “You agreed to let me take care of you for the next twenty-four hours, and that includes me helping you in and out of the car.”
“Fine.” She folded her hands on her lap and stared out the front window as he tossed her bag and books into the back seat, crossed the back of the car, and slid in beside her.
She sat there fuming as he drove, and unable to handle it anymore, he decided to engage her in conversation.
‘What are you studying?”
“Art history,” she mumbled, but there was a hint of pride and excitement in her voice.
“Wow, that must be hard to balance with medical school,” he teased. She snarled at him, and he couldn’t help but grin. “Tell me more about your degree. It sounds fascinating.”
She stared for a second, like she was trying to figure out if he was mocking her or not, then broke into conversation. She smiled as she talked, the first one he’d ever seen on her face, and wow. It lit up the entire car, as well as other parts of his body. She really was breathtaking, and he listened carefully as she talked about her classes. He pulled onto the highway and remembered the paintings on her wall.
“Those paintings at your place, are they yours?”
A sheepish look came over her face. “Yeah, I don’t really show them or anything.”
“They’re beautiful,” he stated. “They should be in an art gallery.”
She rolled one shoulder. “You’re just saying that.”
“Like hell I am. Don’t worry, when you get to know me, you’ll see I tell it like it is.” Wait, what was he saying? They had no plans to get to know each other. He was taking care of her until she recovered. That was it.
“So you’re candid?”
“Yeah.”
“Interesting.”
“What’s so interesting about that?”
“It’s not the word I’d use to describe you, is all.”
He shot a glance her way, and when he caught her small grin, he laughed. “Apparently, the junior software developers in my division keep a list of names at the office.”
“Really? Where can I get a hold of it? I’d like to add a few of my own.”
He turned the radio down and pulled off the highway. “Art major, doctor, and comedian. Impressive. Tell me more about your paintings.”
“Someday I’d like to own my own gallery.” She gave a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe I’ll hang them then.”
Thanks to light traffic, he made it to his place in less than half an hour. He pulled the car into the garage of the steel and glass high-rise building and killed the engine.
“So this is where you live.”
“This is where I park my car.” He pointed upward. “I live upstairs.”
She crinkled her nose at him and opened her door. “Now who’s the funny one?”
He touched her arm. “Wait.”
She folded her arms like a damn petulant child and huffed. “You run me over, then kidnap me, and now you won’t let me out of this stupid car with the stupid door handle.”
“My car is not stupid.”
She blinked long lashes over innocent eyes. “You’re right. My mistake.”
The slow smirk playing with the corners of her mouth alluded to the fact that the car wasn’t stupid, he was.
“Jesus, that mouth of yours,” Parker mumbled as he slid from his seat and hurried to her side. He closed the door and leaned her against it as he retrieved her books and bag. He pressed his fob to lock the door, slid his arms around her waist, and led her to the elevator a few steps away. Surprise lit her eyes when the doors widened and the elevator operator stepped out.
“Gregory, this is Layla. She’ll be staying with me for a bit.”
She held her finger up. “One day,” she said quickly, correcting Parker.
Parker ground his teeth together. “Please give her full access to the building. Anything she needs.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Braxton, anything you need.”
“Thanks.”
Gregory put his key into the penthouse slot, and Layla sank against the back wall as the elevator took them to the top floor. The doors opened to his wide expanse of living room overlooking the water.
He gestured for her to step off, afraid she just might ride back down again once he exited. She carefully pushed off the wall.
“Thanks, Gregory,” she said and gave him big smile. Parker scoffed. Christ, she never smiled at him like that. Then again, Gregory hadn’t run her over.
Her footsteps slowed, became more tentative as she entered his suite. She glanced around, taking it all in, and he momentarily put himself in her shoes, seeing his place from her eyes. Massive. Professionally decorated and painted in a pallet of subtle grays. Sterile. Extravagant. Far too much space for one person.
“Wow,” she finally said. “What a place.” She walked up to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked out over the water. “Gorgeous, and so quiet.”
She turned to him, her skin a little paler than before. Either she was afraid of heights, or her condition was worsening. “Do you have any pets?”
“No.” He didn’t do pets, not since he found a stray kitten and took him home. The vet nursed the poor guy back to health, only for him to die at the foot of Parker’s bed a month later. Losing Chester like that fucking broke his heart.
“I’m not allowed pets, either.”
“I’m allowed pets. I just don’t want them.”
That statement seemed to disgust her. “How long have you lived here?”
“Not long. Why don’t I show you to your room.”
“I can find it myself.”
“Layla—”
“Fine.”
She grinned, and he shook his head. She was pushing back on purpose, of that much he was sure. He tossed her stack of books onto his dining room table, one he never used, hiked her duffle bag over his shoulder, and guided her down the long hall. They passed his room, and she slowed to peek in. The house cleaner had been by already, and the place was immaculate.
They entered her bedroom, and she just stood there for a moment taking in the view of the water. “Nice.”
“You’ll be okay in here?”
“Okay? I could live in this space.” She widened her arms. “It’s bigger than my entire apartment.”
“So that’s a yes.” He stepped up to the queen-size bed and dropped her bag on it. “I…” His words fell off as she settled herself on the bedding and spread her arms and legs like she was about to make snow angels, but the position and mussed sheets didn’t really bring angelic thoughts to mind. Just the opposite, in fact. Why again had he thought it was a good idea to bring her here?
Fuck me.
“It’s so soft,” she said, rolling onto her side, her long hair spilling over his pillow.
Soft? Nope, not really.
“If I had a bed like this, I’d never get out of it.”
He could relate. If he had a girl like her in that bed, he’d never get out of it, either.
Jesus, get it together, asshole. She’s here for one night—because you ran her over—and not only is she’s totally off limits, she doesn’t appear to like you much.
“I’ll leave you here to get comfortable.” He tugged on his tie, resisting the urge to tighten the bedspread over the corners as she messed it up, and was about to leave when her voice stopped him.
“Um, you wouldn’t mind if I had a bath, would you?”
“What about your cuts?”
“I can re-bandage.” She frowned. “You do you have bandages, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” he
said, even though he didn’t. But by the time she finished her bath, he’d have everything she needed and then some.
He was about to leave again when his stomach grumbled, a reminder that he’d been so worried about his mother and Layla, he hadn’t eaten lunch. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m okay,” she said, the lie easily spilling from her mouth. He’d seen her cupboards. A few stale crackers and freeze-dried soup in a box.
“I’m starving. How about some Chinese takeout? Anything in particular you like?”
Her eyes went wide—clearly Chinese takeout was a luxury that wasn’t hers—then she schooled her feathers. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to eat. I’m still feeling a bit queasy from the concussion.” She pulled her phone from her pocket, put it on the nightstand, then opened her bag. Dumping it upside down, she poured the contents on her bed, her clothes scattering as she rooted through them. His fingers curled. Parker liked everything organized, and Layla was already throwing his serene space into chaos.
“I’ll just order a bunch of things, and maybe something will appeal to you.”
She examined her mess of clothes and frowned. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I don’t have any pajamas.” She waved her hands. “That’s okay. I’ll figure out something.”
“Hang on.” He went to his room and pulled open his closet door. Thirty or more white shirts all spaced close to an inch apart hung from white hangers. He tugged one off, grabbed a pair of brand new warm wool socks from his dresser, an unused gift from his mother, and snatched a pair of his cotton workout sweats that tied at the waist. They’d be huge on her, but they’d be warm and comfortable. Plus, she could slip out of them when she crawled into bed.
The image of her in his shirt and nothing else, all snuggled up in the room beside his raced through his mind. Shit.
Pushing that from his thoughts, he retraced his steps and found her sitting on her bed waiting for him. “Here, tomorrow we’ll get you new clothes.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” she reminded him.
“Right, okay.” Why did he keep forgetting that? He paused for a moment and looked her over. “Are you sure you should have a bath? What if you get dizzy?”
