by Kaylee Ryan
“Hush.” I lean my shoulder into hers and reluctantly release her hand. All our bags are in my other hand. Not holding her hand is not something I’m willing to relent on. “Go shop, woman,” I tease.
“Yes, sir.” She mock salutes me, and my dick is hard as stone.
I grab a pair of men’s flip-flops in my size and hurry to pick out a pair of tennis shoes. I drop them off at the counter and go to find her. She’s standing looking at rows of black shoes, similar to the ones that she wears to work. “What size are you?” I ask her.
“Eight,” she answers, not thinking. “Wait, why?” she asks.
Placing my bags at our feet, I point to the chair. “Sit.” I pull out pairs of eights in every style and pile them on the floor in front of her. “What are you waiting for, start trying them on.”
“Owen.” She bites down on her bottom lip. “I can’t.”
“Sure, you can. These are on me. This was my plan all along,” I confess.
“No. You’ve done too much for me. I can’t let you do that.”
“It’s not up to you. Now, you can try them on and get a pair that are comfortable and that you like, or I buy them all, and you’re stuck.”
“All of them?” she gasps.
“That’s what I said.”
“Owen, you’re crazy.” She shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips.
“Maybe. Get busy.” I point to the stack of shoe boxes. I study her as she looks at the mountain of boxes before her, then back up at me. I nod, giving her the go-ahead. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until she reaches for the first box and removes the lid. I stand here, vigilant, watching her try on each pair, and walk around in them.
When she places the fourth pair on her feet, I know from the expression on her face, these are the ones she’s getting. She bounces a little and looks up at me with a soft smile.
“They feel like clouds.”
“Have you walked on clouds?” I tease.
“You know what I mean,” she says, rolling those stunning blue eyes at me.
“They look good on you,” I tell her. What I don’t tell her is that she would look good in a paper bag, or nothing, yeah, she would definitely look good in nothing. Shifting my stance, making room for my growing erection, I turn my focus back to the shoes.
“Owen!” she gasps. “These are eighty dollars.”
“Okay.”
“That’s too much. I can get a pair at Walmart for twenty.”
“You could, but we’re here, and I want you to have these.” I grab the shoe out of her hand and shove it into the box. “You put those up while I go pay.”
“Owen,” she calls after me, but I wave over my shoulder, not bothering to stop. Swinging past the flip-flops, I grab her a couple of pairs—the ones she has on today are worn out; I’ve seen her adjust the thong when it popped out twice today. Taking them to the counter, I motion to my shoes as well, and quickly check out.
“Thank you.” Her soft voice comes from beside me.
Turning, I see her holding the bags that I left there. “You’re welcome. Now, I’m starving. You ready to eat?”
“Yes.” A simple answer to a simple question.
Grabbing the bags of shoes, I try to take the others from her, but she insists that she can carry them. Then she surprises me when she reaches out and links her fingers with mine.
Once we have the bags loaded, I spot my cell phone in the cupholder. I chuckle, picking it up to see that I have five missed calls from the office.
“What’s so funny?” she inquires.
“I left my phone in the car.”
“Ha-ha,” she mocks me. “That’s funny?” She sounds confused.
I look over at her. “Yes, that’s funny. Considering I never forget my phone. Ever.”
“Hmm, must be old age,” she teases.
I smile at that. “No.” I reach over and tuck her hair behind her ear. “It’s all you. You are extremely distracting.”
“I’m sorry?” She poses it as a question more than apologizing.
“Don’t be. You are the best distraction.” Fighting the urge to pull her into me and kiss the hell out of her, I turn back to my cell phone. “I have to return a few calls. Won’t take me long.” She reaches for the door handle. “What are you doing?”
“Giving you some privacy.”
“I don’t need it. Stay put.” Dialing the office, my assistant, and future sister-in-law, Sawyer, answers. “Hey, Sawyer, it’s Owen. What’s going on?”
“There’s a Parker’s Garage trying to reach you. They said they’re fixing a car for you, and that it’s ready. They have the total.”
“Did they give it an overhaul as I asked?” I ask her.
“New tires, spark plugs, oil change, filters,” she rambles on a long list of things the garage did to Layla’s car.
“Great. Call them back and take care of it. I’m on my way there now.”
“You got it. Also, Jase called and said that he’s still working on getting the numbers together.”
“That’s fine.”
“You feeling okay?” she asks with an unsure laugh.
I glance over at Layla. “Never better,” I tell her.
“All right, Owen Riggins, there is something that you’re not telling me, but you will,” she assures me. She’s not wrong. If anyone can get it out of me, it’s Sawyer or my brothers. “I’m going to call the garage and get that taken care of. You behave.”
“Thank you. I’ll be unavailable the remainder of the day.”
“I’m liking the way this sounds,” she replies, and I hit End on the call and toss my phone back in the cupholder.
“Is everything okay?”
“It is now,” I say, placing my hand back on her knee and pulling out of the lot.
“Sounded important.”
“It was. Very important. Otherwise, my assistant wouldn’t have called.”
“You make your assistant handle your personal life?”
“She gets paid very well for her time. Besides, it’s two phone calls, one to me and one to the garage. Trust me. She’s overly compensated.” I don’t tell her that she’s engaged to my workaholic brother, and that she begs us to give her more to do. She’s bored, despite my brother’s resistance, she wants more work to fill her time while at the office. Royce is working on an after-hours service to contact us, and each of us takes turns being on call. He doesn’t want Sawyer to have to deal with it. Funny, how this is the first assistant he’s ever worried about getting after hours calls. He’s a new man thanks to Sawyer.
“You should hire some more help. I know what it’s like to be overworked. Granted, I bring my overtime all on myself because I need the money, but if she’s doing that a lot, you should get her some help.”
I think about what she’s saying, and that’s when an idea starts to form. “You know what? I just might do that. Now, what sounds good to you?” I ask. “I have one quick stop to make, and then we can grab some food.”
“I’m up for anything.”
“Layla, that’s not what I asked you. Tell me,” I urge her.
“Honestly, Chick-fil-A.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I don’t eat out ever unless you count work, but we get a huge discount. It’s been ages since I’ve eaten there.”
“Chick-fil-A, it is.”
“We could get it to go and go sit on the beach,” she suggests.
“Done.” I point my rental in the direction of the garage, and lucky for me, I remember a Chick-fil-A being nearby as well. It’s not where I had planned to take her, but the light in her eyes when she talks about the simplest of things such as eating fast food, how can I not take her there? Eating with her on the beach is just the icing on the cake.
Chapter 6
Layla
“What are we doing here?” I ask Owen when we pull into Parker’s Garage. “My car isn’t ready yet. It won’t be for a while. I have to get some money together,” I say
, feeling the embarrassment of my words sitting on my shoulders.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” he says, ignoring my question and climbing out of the car.
I open my door and follow him inside. “Owen.”
“Layla,” he counters. “Do you ever listen to what you’re told?”
“Do you ever ask instead of telling?” I fire back, crossing my arms over my chest.
He sighs. “Frustrating beauty,” he mumbles under his breath.
“Mr. Riggins.” The guy I recognize as the manager who said my car would be okay here until I gathered the money to fix it greets Owen. “We’ve got you all fixed up. Your assistant just called, so we’re all set.”
“Wait. What’s going on here?” I step around Owen and look at the manager.
“He took care of everything, Ms. Massey. Your car is as good as new.”
“Owen?”
“Thank you,” he tells the manager. “We’ll take the keys now, but we’ll be back to pick it up later this evening.”
“No problem. Thank you for your business.” The manager shakes his hand and disappears down the hall.
Owen turns to face me. “Ready?”
I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him. “What just happened here, Owen?”
“Come on. We can talk about this in the car.” He reaches for me, and I step back. “Layla.”
“Tell me, did I imagine this, or did you just pay to fix my car? I don’t have the money, Owen. I can’t pay you back for this.”
He exhales loudly. “I don’t want you to pay me back. Let’s go to the car, and we can talk more privately.”
I look around and see that the guys in the garage are watching us through the window. “Fine.” Turning on my heel, I stomp out to his rental car. I slam the door harder than needed, but I’m angry, hurt, embarrassed, and hell, I’m so damn confused about what’s going on here.
“Layla,” he starts, but I turn in my seat, and the look on my face must stop him.
“Why? Why would you do that? I was taking care of it. I needed to work a few more shifts, but I was handling it. Why would you go behind my back and pay to have my car not only fixed, but apparently you had them do an overhaul? You don’t even know me, Owen.”
“I don’t expect you to pay me back. I did it because I can. Because I see how hard you work, and because from what you’ve told me, you were dealt a shitty hand at life, and I wanted to do something nice for you.”
That takes some of the wind out of my sails. “You don’t even know me,” I say again, this time with less heat.
He reaches out and cradles my face in the palm of his hand. “I do know you. I know you bust your ass for a tiny wage, you work your life away only to feel like a hamster in a spinning wheel. I know you have no one, other than Ronnie and Linda. I know that your feet hurt, but you can’t afford new shoes. I know that you give food to the thugs who hang out outside of your apartment building. You are scraping to get by, yet you give what you have to those in need. You’re an amazing woman, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about you.”
My heart flips over in my chest. “How did you—”
“They told me. After I paid them to leave the last two nights so that I knew you would be safe. I didn’t find out until after I paid them off the second night that they sort of look out for you.”
I nod. “I tried to tell you they were harmless.”
“I know you did, but what I saw was this beautiful woman, living on her own in a rough part of town, and a group of guys catcalling and making lewd comments to her.”
“It’s not your problem,” I remind him.
“You know, I tried to tell myself that too, but it seems as though when it comes to you, I’m making it my problem.” He leans in closer. “I can’t seem to help myself, Layla, not when it comes to you. You captivate me, and you’re one of the strongest women I’ve ever met.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.” My voice is barely a whisper as he leans in closer.
“I know.” His lips are now just a breath away from mine. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, his voice husky.
“Are you asking?” My heart is racing, and my palms are sweating. He’s going to kiss me. I’m sure of it, no matter what I say. What I’m even more certain of is that I want him to.
“I’m telling.” And with that, he leans in and presses his lips to mine. He’s still giving me the chance to back away, but I don’t take it. I want to know what it’s like to kiss this sexy, overbearing man.
When his tongue traces my lips, I open for him, and he growls. His hand that was once on my cheek slides around to the back of my head, and he holds me close, sliding his tongue past my lips. It’s slow, sensual, and sexy. The feel of him holding me to him, the way he tastes, the heat of his body, it’s better than I ever could have imagined, and I confess that over the last week, it’s been a recurring image in my mind.
He slows the kiss and rests his forehead against mine. “W-What was that?” I ask, trying to catch my breath.
“That was our first kiss.”
“That shouldn’t have happened.” I say the words, but I don’t mean them. I want to beg him to do it again.
“The first but not the last,” he assures me, ignoring me as usual. With a small peck to the corner of my mouth, he removes his hands from my hair and pulls away. “Now, let’s get you some Chick-fil-A.” He backs out of the parking lot, reaches over, and entwines his fingers with mine as if it’s something we do every single day.
He acts as though it’s normal for us, and if I’m being honest, it feels normal. Like I’ve known him and his hands and lips for a lifetime, when I don’t know him at all. It’s odd yet comforting at the same time.
“You still want to eat on the beach?” he asks.
“Yes, if that’s okay with you?”
“Perfect. What do you want?” he asks, pulling the car around to the drive-thru speaker. I rattle off my order, and he adds a milkshake for both of us. Reaching into my purse, I hand him a ten-dollar bill. “What’s that?” He stares at my hand as if I’m offering him a rattlesnake.
“For my food.”
“Put it away.”
“Please, take it. I can pay for mine.”
“I don’t care if you have millions of dollars sitting in the bank. You’re with me, I pay. Get used to it.”
“Why?” I blurt out.
“Why what?”
“Why do I need to get used to it?”
This time he turns his head to look at me. “Because, this”—he points at me then back at himself—“there’s something there, and we’re going to take the time to find out what it is.”
“What if that’s not what I want? What if what you’re feeling is all on you? What then?”
He hands his credit card to the girl at the window and hands me a bag of food and the milkshakes, which I place in the cupholders. He pulls up, then stops to look at me. “You want it. You want me. This feeling, the spark that charges between us, the current that flows through me when I touch you, you feel it. I can see it in your eyes. This is not all on me, not by a long shot.” He turns back around and drives us a few short blocks to the beach.
After finding a spot that’s not littered with tourists, we sit on the sand and begin to eat in silence. The sun is starting to set, and I realize we’ve spent the entire day together when it only feels like minutes.
“I love the ocean,” I say, breaking the silence. “Growing up, life was hard. My father, I never knew him, and my mom, well, she blamed me for him leaving. She was hooked on drugs. We moved from one dumpy apartment to the next, following whatever man she’d latched herself onto at the time.” I take a break and grab a sip of my milkshake. “I turned eighteen three days before I graduated from high school. Something, I wasn’t sure I’d get to do with all the moving around we did.”
“That had to be hard.” His deep timbre is soft. Soothing.
“Yeah. I wanted better, you know? I
knew that I had to graduate. That I had to get that little piece of paper, or I would end up just like her. That wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted out. I wanted a new life.”
“Where are you from?”
I look over at him and smile. “Indiana.” My eyes scan the ocean with the setting sun as its backdrop. “I’d been saving, working after school, and hiding the money. Mom didn’t care if I was home or not. On the rare occasion she did ask, I simply told her I was out with friends. I bought a bus ticket for the day of graduation. As soon as they handed me my diploma, I walked off the stage and out the doors. I didn’t have close friends, I was always the new girl, and it’s not like I could invite anyone over. So I stayed to myself. With just a backpack filled with a few meager items of clothing, I walked onto the bus and never looked back.”
I turn to look at him and find him watching me intently. “This is the first place I came to—this beach. I sat here for hours, just looking out at the ocean. It was the first time I’d ever seen it, and I was in awe of its beauty. The way it’s never-ending.”
“The water, it matches your eyes,” he says huskily. “Like you, I could stare at them for hours.”
“You are unlike anyone I’ve ever met, Owen Riggins.”
“Good.” He leans in and presses his lips to mine. “Now, eat up, and we’ll take a walk on the beach.”
“Thank you for dinner. It’s my favorite, and I don’t get it often.” I can see the question in his eyes as I gather our trash and place it in the bag. “Eating out isn’t a luxury I can afford most days,” I say, avoiding eye contact.
“I’m sorry you were dealt such a shitty hand at life.”
“I’m doing okay,” I say, shrugging. “There are rough times, but all I have to think about is where I came from. How I’ve gotten where I am on my own, and it gives me the strength to keep pushing through. Even on the days when I let the thought of giving up filter through my mind, I keep fighting my way through life.”
Something passes over his features, but I can’t describe it. “You ready for that walk?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. He stands, grabs our bag of trash, and walks it to a nearby trash can on the pier. I follow along behind him like the lost soul that I am. When I’m within reaching distance, he offers me his hand, and without hesitation, I take it.
