by Donna Hill
She turned her head away. “Of…what you would think. Of not understanding how I’d done something like that…”
He studied her expression, then took his finger, tucked it beneath her chin and lifted it. “I thought it was wonderful. I thought you were wonderful. And I don’t know why I did it either, other than I wanted you in a way that I’ve never wanted a woman before. It was a need, like breathing.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her pulse raced and her thoughts were so scrambled she couldn’t respond.
Maurice jerked his head away. He put his glass on the coffee table, braced his hand on the arm of the couch and pushed up into a standing position. His facial muscles flexed. He reached for his cane.
“Wait. What are you doing?” She jumped up from her seat.
“This is why I don’t do…this.” He waved his hand in the air. A deep line intersected his brow.
“Do what?” she demanded, following him to the door.
“All this revelation B.S. I get enough of that with my shrink.”
Layla halted in midstep.
His head swung in her direction, his face a hard mask. He tapped his temple with his forefinger. “Enough of being analyzed. I am the way I am because of my family and because of what I saw out there. What I did out there in those mountains. The bodies that were left behind! And those are things that all the psych talk and touchy-feely chat aren’t going to change.”
He pulled the door open.
“Go ahead, run! That’s what you’re really good at.” He stopped. “You play tough guy, but you’re a coward. Afraid to face the things you fear most.”
“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” he said between clenched teeth.
Her own anger flared. She propped her hands on her hips. “Exactly what I said. It’s easy for you to hide behind your big planes and giant ships and orders and directions, but when you strip that all away, whenever anyone gets close to seeing behind the armor, you run. Just like you’re doing now. Like you did earlier.” Her chest heaved.
“Like you did?” he asked, his voice gentler, his point hitting home.
Layla drew in a breath. “Yes, but at least I was woman enough to admit it.”
The hard line around his mouth softened. He turned halfway toward her. “Yeah, you were.” His eyes moved slowly over her determined expression.
“Why do you care?” he asked, and the look in his dark eyes squeezed her heart.
She stepped toward him. She covered his hand that held the doorknob. “I don’t know,” she softly confessed. “Maybe because I know what it’s like to run from the things that hurt you, that you’re afraid will hurt you again.” She waited a moment before reopening the gates of their tacit quid pro quo agreement. “He hurt me,” she said quietly. “I thought he loved me. But he couldn’t have. Not after what he did to me.” She lowered her head to shield him from the memories that hovered behind her eyes.
“My uncle was responsible for my father’s suicide. He’s never been held accountable.” His jaw clenched.
Layla stared into his eyes. She held her breath.
“I was responsible for the deaths of two of my men. And I live with that every day.”
Layla held her hand out to him. Tentatively, he placed his hand in hers.
Chapter 14
The air remained charged between them. Layla watched the tight nerves jump beneath his smooth skin. His large hands curled into fists. His jaw flexed as if he was chewing back the words he wanted to hurl across the room.
All of that contained anger and hurt was volatile and as poisonous to his body and spirit as an illness. It was eating him from the inside out and Layla knew that until he fully addressed it, the pain wasn’t going anywhere.
“You’re holding on to so much blame and anger,” she said softly.
Maurice jerked his gaze in her direction. Layla held her breath. He studied her for a moment. “What happened between you and…the guy?” Maurice asked.
Deflection. He was real good at that. Layla curled herself into the couch and half turned toward him. “Brent.” She breathed deeply. “We met at a club. Hit it off. I was cautious at first, but he won my trust. He was attentive, fun, he had his own business, one that I was interested in as well. He took me under his wing…so to speak.” She made a sound of disgust in her throat. “We got involved and it got serious. At least I thought so.” She reached for her glass and took a sobering sip of her mojito.
Maurice’s expression softened. “You said I’m holding on to a lot of blame.” He inhaled deeply. “It’s all I have left,” he confessed.
Layla settled her focus on him and waited, hopeful that her revelation would open the door for his.
He stared off into a place that she could not go, back to that night. The plan had been in place for months. The teams had met repeatedly with the Secretary of Defense and the President. Every eventuality was taken into account. The two teams were handpicked. The intel they had was verified and re-verified. The only variable was the weather. There had to be enough cloud cover, but not enough to hinder visibility and the mission.
His was the command leader for his team of five SEALs, men that he’d trained and worked with over the years. They trusted each other with their lives. They trusted him and he’d destroyed that trust when their Black Hawk went down in the mountains of Afghanistan, two miles off of their target.
He had to look into the eyes of his buddys’ wives and families and see their pain. And there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t even admit that he was part of the operation. Top Secret. No one blamed him. He’d been cleared of all wrongdoing by the Navy but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. No one seemed to understand that.
“I’ve tried to let go,” he said, his voice barely audible.
Layla took his hand and dared to curl up next to him. Maurice tentatively draped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.
“You’ll let go when you are ready.” She lightly squeezed his hand. “You’ll forgive yourself when you’re ready.” She looked up at him.
He leaned down and gave her a feather soft kiss and hugged her close.
They sat together, quietly. The only sound was the distant crash of the waves against the shore. A wave of contentment flowed through Layla. She closed her eyes, lulled by the steady beat of his heart and his tender stroking of her hair.
Maurice gazed down as the comforting arms of sleep gathered Layla in its embrace. The contours of her face softened and her supple skin glowed from within. The tranquility that radiated from her beat in time with her heart and moved through his limbs, suffusing him in a sense of peace that was ethereal. He closed his eyes and breathed in the peace, the feeling of calm that washed over him with every gentle breath that she took.
To feel like this, if only for a little while, was worth the pain it took to get here.
Layla felt warm, almost too warm. She stirred. Her eyes fluttered open and the world came into focus.
Maurice’s arm was wrapped securely around her and her head was pressed against his chest. His even breathing matched hers in soothing harmony. The cocooned feeling beckoned her back to the womb of sleep.
Maurice shifted, a soft hum of contentment vibrated in his chest. Layla smiled.
“You awake?”
Layla lifted her head to find him staring down at her. “Kind of.” She pulled herself into an upright position. “I didn’t even realize I’d fallen asleep. Some hostess, huh?” She pushed her hair away from her face and was thankful for the lack of light. She must look a hot mess.
Maurice stilled the hand that she was threading through her hair. “You look beautiful,” he said softly.
In the light from the moon his gaze traveled slowly across her face. Her pulse quickened.
“I s
hould get going.”
“It is late,” she said on a hushed breath.
Maurice’s finger trailed down the side of her face and along her jaw. He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip and thrilling shivers scooted up her spine. Her breath hitched and then he was out of focus as his mouth covered hers.
Layla sunk into the sweet demand of his mouth, giving him as much as he gave her. The hard cords of his arm snaked around her, stealing her breath away.
Maurice moaned against her lips. His tongue played with the tip of hers before invading her mouth in slow, tantalizing thrusts.
His fingertips played along her spine, down the small of her back, before cupping her round bottom and gently squeezing. Her inner thighs quivered.
“I should go,” he whispered raggedly against her lips.
“Yes,” she sighed, as his head dipped down and his tongue teased that soft spot along her collarbone. Her body shivered with need, arching closer.
His hand slipped under her dress in a stealth motion, worthy of a Navy SEAL. He unfastened her bra and filled his hands with the fullness of her breasts.
Maurice lifted the lightweight fabric of her bra and pressed his face against her firm pillows. Layla moaned as her body flooded with heat. He teased a nipple between his fingertips, until that stood up firm and full, before taking one and then the other into his mouth, laving them with his tongue, sucking them between his lips until she was ready to explode.
With shaky fingers she unbuttoned his shirt, pushed it away from his chest and inhaled the essence of him that made her heart rush.
“It’s late,” she said breathlessly as she unbuckled his belt.
“I know. Raise your arms.”
She did and he lifted her dress over her head and tossed it to the floor. Then added her lacy bra to it.
Layla could not control the tremors of desire that fluttered through her. With his every touch, every kiss, the flame that he’d lit in the pit of her belly bloomed.
“Stand up,” he said thickly.
She blinked in confusion, but slowly stood.
Maurice hooked his fingers into the band of her panties and slowly slid them down her hips, placing tiny hot kisses along her exposed flesh.
She was trembling all over and felt as if she was ready to melt into the pool of clothing.
Maurice braced her hips with his large hands. His thumbs were low on either side of her pelvis. He stroked her there, so lightly that it could have been her imagination if it were not for the jolts of electricity that shook her like a taser.
His fingers continued to tease her, moving closer to the apex of her sex. She was wet with need. His thumb brushed across her pulsing clit. Her body jerked and she cried out. He did it again and again, building the rhythm and intensity.
By instinct, Layla rocked her hips against the sweet torture, eager for more. Her fingertips dug into his shoulders.
When Maurice’s wet tongue stroked her throbbing bud, her knees wobbled and white hot lights flashed behind her lids.
“Ohhhh…”
He gripped her tighter to keep her upright and continued to feast, taking long swipes, quick flicks, alternating back and forth, slower, faster until she was a vessel of pure, trembling sensation. And when she knew she could take no more, and whimpered for release, he slipped his finger inside of her, swirling it gently around and then in and out and she exploded. The force of her climax roared through her with the speed of light, spinning her like clothes on the line during a cyclone. It rose and fell and rose again until she collapsed in his arms. Spent.
Maurice gathered her to him and held her until her body quieted and her breathing slowed. Somehow, he picked her up and slowly walked with her into her bedroom, all semblance of pain gone from his leg. Tenderly he laid her down and pulled the sheet up over her. She sighed softly and reached for him in the dark.
He leaned down and gently pressed his lips to hers and then he was gone.
As much as he wanted to stay with Layla, wake up with her, make love with her, he couldn’t. He closed his cottage door behind him. She was doing something to him, something beyond the undeniable sexual attraction that sparked between them. She was finding her way beneath his skin. She was getting into his head, forcing him to confront the dark part of him that needed to stay buried, answer questions that he didn’t have the answers for. He wasn’t ready for what she needed. And he wasn’t sure if he would ever be.
He fell across the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Layla’s face floated above him until he finally drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Layla blinked against the soft light that filtered in between the curtained window. She stretched like a satisfied cat, purring softly then suddenly leaped up. She was completely naked. She listened for sounds of Maurice. Nothing. She turned, checked the space beside her and knew instantly that no one had slept there.
What the… She tossed the sheet aside, scrambled out of bed and darted to the front. No sign of Maurice. She heaved an exasperated sigh, totally unable to put together what had gone wrong. Was he just toying with her? Was she so needy that all it took was a few hot kisses and she was putty?
She bit down on her lip. Once again Maurice Lawson had successfully managed to make her feel like crap. “Damn it!” She spun away and stormed off to the bathroom. What she needed right then was to wash away every single trace of Maurice from her skin, even if she couldn’t wash him out of her head.
Bathed and wrapped in a towel, Layla padded into her bedroom. No matter how hard she tried to keep them at bay her eyes continued to fill with tears. She felt so, so…her heart hurt. Her heart actually hurt. She swiped the tears away from her eyes.
She wasn’t progressive minded like Mel and free-spirited like Desi. They believed that if a woman had needs and found a man who could meet them it didn’t have to be about “forever.” But she couldn’t sleep with a man only to fulfill a physical need—not that they actually slept together—it had to mean something. She supposed that was her Achilles’ heel. But she couldn’t change that part of herself. It mattered. When was she going to stop making the same mistakes and stop falling for men that meant her no good?
She wiped her eyes again with the back of her hand then stopped at the sound of knocking. Frowning, she tightened the belt on her robe and walked to the front door.
She pulled the curtain aside by the front door window and her heart thudded. She swiped at her eyes again and ran her hands across her hair in a useless attempt at taming it, then opened the door.
“I was hoping you hadn’t left for the spa yet,” Maurice said. He held up two white paper bags in one hand and a cardboard tray with two steaming cups of coffee in the other.
Layla’s throat constricted with emotion. She didn’t know if she wanted to cry, scream or leap into his arms. She swallowed over the knot in her throat. “Come in,” she said softly and stepped aside.
Chapter 15
Maurice set the bags and the coffee on the island counter and took a seat on the stool while Layla took out two plates from the overhead cabinet.
Her pulse raced like crazy. A million thoughts galloped through her head. Why was he here? Did she overreact this morning? Maybe he’d only been gone shortly before she awoke. Was there an apology coming? WTH?
She swung toward him. “Why did you leave?” she demanded.
Maurice blinked in surprise before looking away. He studied the coffee cup then he steepled his fingers at his chin and looked her solidly in the eye. “Thought it was the best thing to do,” he finally said. A faint look of amusement played around his lips.
Her mouth opened and closed. The words wouldn’t form. Slowly she shook her head, turned toward the drawers and took out forks and knives. She slapped them down on the counter and felt like tossing his plate across the room.
&nb
sp; Her wide eyes cinched into two tight lines. “You thought it was the best thing to do?” she sputtered incredulously. Her voice rose an octave with each word. “I…why…what would make you think that? Why would you think it would be all right?”
“I’m here now.”
Her head nearly snapped off of her neck. Her mouth dropped open. She blinked rapidly and the words tumbled over each other in a rush. “No you’re not. You’re not here for a hot second longer than it’s going to take for you to get your arrogant ass out of my kitchen,” she yelled, her arm straight as an arrow pointing toward the door.
Maurice pursed his lips.
“And take your peace offering breakfast with you!”
“You really want me to go?” he asked quietly, slowly coming to his feet.
“Get out. Right now.” She was so angry she was shaking.
Maurice came around the counter.
“What are you doing?” She backed up. “Stay the hell away from me.”
Maurice kept coming until he’d back her up against the refrigerator.
Layla’s chest heaved. “Stay away from me, Maurice,” she ground out.
He cupped her chin. “You sure?” He flexed his pelvis against her and the hard rise of his blooming erection pressed into her stomach.
She drew in a sharp breath. Her eyes widened.
“I left last night,” he began and then kissed her behind her ear. She gasped. “Because I had to.” He ran his tongue along her collarbone. The fingers of his left hand played with the sash of her robe. He placed a muscled leg between her thighs, coaxing them open. He tugged and the sash came loose. His dark gaze seared across her exposed flesh.
The mixture of anger, fear and need converged into a whirling ball of unbridled lust. Her breathing escalated and her skin tingled with heat. Her palms were pressed flat against the fridge, as much to claim any cold that it might emit as to keep her hands off of him.
He brushed a thumb across her exposed nipple and she barely bit back the whimper.
“I had to leave,” he continued as he cupped the weight of her breast in his palm. He lowered his head. She tried to jerk away but he had her pinned to the hard surface of the fridge. The most she could do was turn her face away from his kiss. “Because if I didn’t…” he flicked his tongue across her nipple, “I would have made crazy, sweet love to you…” he sucked the hard nub into his mouth and released it…Her body throbbed. “…all night long.”
