—TWENTY-THREE—
"Well you're not being helpful at all."
Layla laughed, leaning back against the porch railing, cross-legged and barefoot. Though she had the car back now, her cell phone had rung the minute she stepped out of Dr. Fields' office with Nate on the other end of the line, offering to replace a few rotten shingles and bring her ice cream. The view from this angle all but erased thoughts of her mother's visit to the office this afternoon. It afforded a pretty healthy display of Nate's backside and the bunch and stretch of his muscles as he tapped the last shingle into place. He was a fine specimen, in or out of that thin, faded t-shirt and jeans, and watching him work brought to mind other fantasies she let herself indulge for just a moment.
"I like to watch."
Nate's head whipped around, his brow raised. Though he hadn't made a move to touch her in a way that was even remotely like the things that had been running through her head for the last ten minutes, he was clearly on the right wavelength, because a sexy little grin tipped one corner of his lips up in a way that made her skin warm. He angled his body toward her and she drew her knees up toward her chest, crushing the pint carton of ice cream he'd brought her. There was only a spoonful or two left, anyway.
This is it, she thought, as he took a couple of steps toward her, stalking like a big cat, his eyes fixed on hers. This is the part where I find out I'm not imagining this chemistry between us.
He stopped a step or two away, peering into her ice cream carton.
"And you didn't even save me any ice cream. Disappointed." He shook his head and offered her his hand, helping her to her feet with such quick force the carton went flying out of her hand, spoon clattering across the porch, and she collided with him, their chests pressed flush. He caught her with a hand at the small of her back and she took in the delicious scent of him, the smoothness of his shower gel with a sharp undercurrent of pure maleness that came from working with his body. Not smelly, but strong, masculine, and as potent as a pheromone. She couldn't have stopped the breathy sigh that came out of her if she'd wanted to.
"You did bring me the carton and tell me to watch."
"I told you to watch because I didn't want you to get dirty."
"I don't mind getting dirty."
He growled then, a short warning noise as his arm tightened around her waist. It communicated his intent loud and clear, just as clear as the hand that slid down her waist, fingers curling into the flesh just above the curve of her hip. He'd touched her in more intimate ways, but this was different. Possessive. Proprietary.
He was close, so close. Her blood rushed in her ears, her heart pounding a million miles an hour. This was it. He was going to kiss her again. It felt like their heated exchange in the front seat of his truck was a hundred years ago, and she'd been wanting and wishing for this exact thing ever since. Turning her face up and into his gentle touch on her jaw, she let out a centering breath and waited…for a kiss that didn't come.
Nate held her chin in his hand for a long moment, his eyes tracking over her face like he was memorizing it. Her entire body, poised and waiting for his kiss, relaxed in one tingling, disappointed rush when she realized it wasn't coming. He had no intention to kiss her. She was imagining the chemistry between them.
"What?" he asked.
"You don't want to kiss me." Her brow furrowed as she opted for the truth, because she couldn't figure what his endgame was. They were close, closer than friends, that much was certain. They'd had quiet moments of intimacy that didn't require the touch of their lips, no matter how badly she wanted it; things that weren't shared between platonic friends. Things that told her this was more than that. But still, he hadn't kissed her. Somehow, he'd kept their physical interactions behind a line that both infuriated and aroused her. She'd never been so turned on from just sitting beside someone. At this point, though, she had to wonder what was wrong with her—he never crossed the line.
"I don't want to kiss you?" And then he laughed, a low, soft chuckle that produced the lines around his mouth she liked so much, and when he spoke again, his voice was rough. "Layla, I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you so often that I know what you taste like at any given time of day. I want to kiss you and feel the way you soften up under my hands, until you can't breathe, and then again. Layla Sullivan, I definitely want to kiss you."
That softness he talked about…she was there. In this particular moment, with her hands trapped between them on his chest, and his one arm banded around her waist, the other still touching her jaw lightly, Nate Montgomery could have asked her for anything and she would have given it to him. And she might have been imagining it, but he'd moved impossibly closer, flush against her body in a way that couldn't be described as platonic in any way, shape, or form. She swallowed hard, her eyes focused on his lips. The combination of his words and the way she was vised against his body stirred her arousal in a way she hadn't expected. Nobody had ever said anything so sexy to her in her life. But he still didn't kiss her.
It took a couple tries for her to find her voice.
"Why don't you then?"
"Because there's something I want way more than I want to kiss you."
She was almost afraid to ask. That creeping anxiety about being the butt of a mean joke twisted in her stomach, at odds with the close, intimate way he held her, the warmth radiating between their bodies, and the tingling heaviness of her limbs.
"What is it?"
"More than I want to kiss you, I want to show you I know you aren't that same girl you were before. And that it doesn't matter, because you're the woman I want. This woman. Trust me, I want you. I want to kiss you. I want to make love to you until you can't muster up the energy to get out of the bed. But I need you to know it's about more than just the sex, or your body. And if I'd kissed you sooner, I might not have been able to get that point across. Because there's something about you, Layla, that makes me want more and more of you. And it doesn't end with a kiss."
She lifted up on her tiptoes, then, his words giving her the courage she'd been lacking for the last two weeks, and touched her lips to his. Lightly, at first, and then more insistent, opening to him and inviting him in. If he wanted more, he'd get more. She'd give him everything, and then some.
And Nate took, his kiss taking her breath, her resistance, and any doubt she might have had about whether he wanted her like that or not. Pressing closer still, she wound her arms around his neck and drew him down to her.
*
She tasted like the perfect mix of want, longing, and desire with a damn strong undertone of forever. Now that he tasted her again, Nate didn't know how he had put it off this long. Layla was soft, and giving, and delicious, and if he wasn't mindful of the baby playing contentedly in the playpen just ten feet away, he might have jogged his memory about what the rest of her tasted like. She was different now, and so was he. She'd looked so hurt when she thought he didn't want to kiss her, but she'd never spoken up once. In the last few weeks, he'd seen her confident and decisive about just about every other part of her life but him. What was she so afraid of?
Her body bowed toward him, all of her softening up just the way he'd known she would, and he slipped his hands down her waist, to the lush swell of her hips, pressing her closer as he plundered her mouth. His rodeo buddies talked a big game about a warm, wanting woman making them feel like a man, but it was this woman alone that reminded Nate that he was still virile, young, and capable, despite everything the wreck had taken from him.
Finally, he pulled away. It was harder than a lot of things he'd done in the last year, including walking away from his little piece of paradise in Denver. Layla looked up at him, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed, and he smiled, tucking a strand of her hair back behind her ear. For a moment, only their heavy breaths hung in the air between them.
He wished they could stay this way— but he had plans and Layla had to get her evening routine started or they'd be foiled. The sound of his stomach growling replace
d the sound of their breathing and she laughed, shaking her head.
"I suppose you are hungry, I worked you hard and didn't save you any ice cream. What did Nan send this time?"
He'd brought the covered dish not at his grandmother's insistence this time—Nan's participation was key to his plan, and when he'd told her what was up, she'd been more than happy to whip up the meatloaf.
"Meatloaf. Just needs a warmup. I'll slap a coat of paint on this while you do that?" He nodded to the new shingles he'd installed. It wasn't something he'd done before but a bit of snooping around on the internet had produced a couple of videos that made it seem simple enough, and fortunately, everything had gone exactly according to plan. There were a few other spots on the house that needed replacement shingles—technically, the whole house needed re-sided at this point, but he knew that was beyond her finances, so he'd patch what he could.
"Okay. You're okay if Mason stays out here? Just holler if he starts fussing." He nodded and she made a move to step out of his arms but he cinched her to him again and tipped his head to kiss her. Soft and quick, in the casual way that couples do in greeting or before parting. And then he let her go, swatting at her ass half-heartedly as she headed into the kitchen, leaving Mason in his playpen. He could get used to this domestic bliss.
—TWENTY-FOUR—
"He went down all right?" Nate asked as Layla emerged from the house and settled into the spot on the bench under his arm he'd left open. They'd fallen into such a comfortable companionship. When Rusty had called to say he was done with her car, she'd had a brief thought about how disappointing it would be not to frame her days with Nate anymore, but he'd made it pretty clear he wasn't going anywhere. Not for a while, anyway.
The sun had set but the light of day wasn't quite ready to give up the ghost yet. She could hear frogs singing in the pond further back on the property, and where the lack of sun had cooled the air, the warmth of Nate's body beside her and the mug of coffee cupped in her hands made a fine replacement.
"Yeah. He usually goes down well, but the last two nights have been too easy. Like, I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop."
He laughed and folded her in closer, sliding her legs over one of his knees, so she was almost sitting in his lap, but was more cradled against his chest. Like something fragile and important. It was the first time she'd ever felt like she was that something.
"It's just a testament to your excellent mothering skills."
"Okay, this isn't the first time you've told me what a good mom I am. Nate Montgomery, do you have a mom fetish?"
Another laugh rumbled through his chest and brought a smile to her face.
"I just feel like maybe you haven't been told enough that you're doing a good job. And you deserve the compliments. You're doing what you have to do to make a life for Mason, and that's admirable. Not everyone does that. My mother sure as hell didn't."
A complete turnaround, she could feel tears pressing at the back of her throat. Everybody knew Nate and Banks' parents had abandoned them with Nan, but she'd never actually heard either of them comment on it. Now, being a mother herself, she felt an entirely different kind of empathy for them. They'd been fortunate to have the amazing Aida Montgomery to fall back on, but not every kid was that lucky. She understood how overwhelming being responsible for a tiny human was, but she couldn't, in a million years, imagine taking the option of walking away.
He turned his torso into her, reaching over to touch her jaw lightly and tip her face up. "You make me feel quiet inside in a way I haven't felt…maybe ever. That's probably why Mason goes down so easy."
"Stop," she said, half-heartedly, but she couldn't suppress a smile.
He did, covering her mouth with his in a gentle, teasing kiss that made her blood rush. She'd never had the opportunity to enjoy the flutter of butterflies, the teasing flirtations of new love, and then she'd gotten so busy putting her nose to the grindstone. Nate made her feel like she was sixteen, not twenty-six, and giddy with the promises of something on the horizon. Something she could look forward to.
When he nipped her lower lip in a playful gesture, she slid her hand over his neck, drawing him closer, losing herself so completely to the kiss she almost didn't notice the sweep of headlights across the front porch. Almost.
She released him in a hurry, but there was no hiding the elicit embrace because Nan was already climbing out of her little sedan with a paperback under her arm. Layla sat back, carefully untangling her legs from Nate's, but he didn't take his arm off her shoulder or give her much space to get away. If Nan hadn't already caught on to what was going on, she would now. And Layla didn't know if that was more exciting or scary, being out in the open about their relationship.
As if she hadn't even noticed, Nan waved and started toward the porch stairs.
"What's this?" Layla asked quietly, glancing up at him, but he didn't meet her gaze, just smiled and shrugged innocently.
Nan mounted the stairs with a smile like the Cheshire Cat.
"Is this an intervention?" Layla asked with a laugh, rising to her feet and giving Nan a hug.
"No, but I was going to hold one if you didn't let Nate help you with the house, love."
"So you two were conspiring against me?"
Nate laughed behind her, rising from the bench.
"No, but you know nothing ever stays secret from Nan for very long."
"That's right, I see everything," the woman said, tipping her chin up.
The best part about Nan was even if she did see everything, she didn't run her mouth about it.
"Anyways…Nate asked me to come over and sit with Mason for a bit."
She glanced back at Nate and he confirmed with a nod.
"I don't…" Layla tried, working to figure out how to tell them she couldn't afford for Nan to stay; with the bill on the car she was already scrimping pennies. She didn't like to talk about her financial situation to anyone, even if it was plain as the nose on her face. And Nan probably knew it better than anyone else did. But she still didn't want to trot it out in front of Nate.
"My treat," Nate filled in the blank. Layla let out a shaky breath, grateful he'd heard the words she didn't want to say.
"Okay…he just went down like twenty minutes ago. There are a couple of bottles…"
"Layla." Nan used the stern-but-loving voice she used when Layla panicked. Instead of her mother, Nan was the one who got the late night 'is this normal' calls and worst-case-scenario brain bombs. "I have stayed with this child before."
And she was right, but Layla still felt ambushed. And guilty. She was already barely home as it was.
"Go," Nan insisted, edging in behind the pair of them and planting herself on the bench they'd just been occupying. "Have fun."
It was nine o'clock on a Thursday night. The time of night she'd normally be preparing to tuck into bed, but Nate clearly had other ideas. He started toward his truck, motioning for her to follow. She did, because she worried Nan would chase her off the porch if she didn't. And Mason was sleeping; it wasn't like she was missing out on quality time spent with him.
As they pulled out of the drive, she angled her body toward him, her eyes narrowed.
"So tell me what this is."
"Just a drive," he insisted with a grin that said it was not just a drive. "Relax."
She did her best to do just that, but it wasn't easy. He pulled off onto a dirt road and she almost immediately recognized the direction they were heading in.
"The swimming hole?"
She knew the road, but had never actually been there. In high school, once a couple of the boys got their licenses, they'd fill truck beds with bodies and head out there for the kinds of parties that got whispered about in the halls, sounding too crazy to be real. She'd never been able to discern the truth because she'd never been invited and never been brave enough to invite herself.
"I worked up a sweat working on your house."
"You could have just had a shower. I do have towel
s."
"This'll be more fun." He shrugged with a laugh, guiding the truck into the makeshift parking space. While they'd driven, dusk had fallen and the moon, heavy and full, had begun to rise, lighting the surface of the swimming hole which was simply a deep, low-current pool spurred off of one of Three River's namesake bodies of water. Nearby, she could hear water babbling over rocks, but the spot intended for swimming was quiet.
"I-I don't have a swimsuit," she stammered with a dry mouth. But you didn't come to the swimming hole with a swimsuit—not at night—even she knew that much. Nate turned to her once he'd killed the engine, and for the first time, she felt shy. Sure, Nate had seen her before, but her body had changed with motherhood. Soft spots were even softer, stretch marks more visible than they had been. She'd never been a small girl, but would he appreciate her rounder hips, her lower breasts, as much as he had appreciated her body during the weekend that had produced Mason?
"Neither do I," he said with a grin, sliding out of the truck. She watched him head toward the water, toeing out of his boots, and grasping the collar of his t-shirt between his shoulders to pull it over his head. He didn't even look back to see if she followed—he expected her to, and like a high-schooler feeling peer pressured, she found herself climbing out of the truck without even realizing what she was doing.
Without thinking how she'd retrieve them, Layla walked out of her flip-flops and into the soft sand of the beach, pulled by the sight of Nate's bare back, all the muscle she'd watched moving under his t-shirt the last couple of nights as he worked on her house illuminated by the silvery light of the moon. When he turned back to her, unbuttoning his jeans, she thought her knees might go weak. The broad expanse of his chest was practically a work of art—muscles honed to perfection from years with the rodeo and working the small spread he had in Denver—he clearly hadn't let his layup get in the way of it. Even in the dark, she could see the lines of scars and marks he bore from a variety of wrecks. Many of them, she'd already traced with her fingers once. Some of them were new. With a sexy smirk, he tipped his head toward her and raised a brow.
Secret Heart Page 11
