He let her hand slip free. “Sure. Go on, then.”
Layla’s heels click-clacked through the hall and into the kitchen, and she grabbed her closest ally, her Zia, into a hug. “I need to tell you something. To say it out loud and see how it feels.”
Mrs. C. turned and poured the coffee into an urn on a silver tray. “Say it.”
“I love him. I think maybe he is the one, and he’s never going to know because he won’t ever give it a chance.”
“You have to meet him halfway, gattina.”
Layla slipped off her shoes and placed them near the back door. She simply couldn’t wear those shoes on her aching feet another minute. Finally, she voiced her truest worry. “Maybe sometimes we’re just not supposed to be with our one. That must be true. Not everyone is happy.”
“Don’t ever give up hope.” Mrs. C. picked up the heavy tray and opened the kitchen door with her shoulder.
Layla shut the powder room door. She hadn’t had hope for years. Now that it had crept into her heart, she couldn’t decide whether to hold it tightly or push it away.
Her breath came out all shaky as she checked her reflection in the mirror. She itched to remove the white gloves but couldn’t risk her mother seeing the cuts there. She’d immediately run to Papà.
She’d try to have Layla placed in an institution full of mentally deranged people where she would likely be shocked until she played nice with her mother. She shook her head in disbelief at her own life. When had it become this?
There was nothing to it, no substance, nothing to give her joy. Her old photographs—the ones she’d smashed to bits—had never done that. Jace had said this place was toxic for her, and he was right.
She leaned against the wall and let her gaze travel to the ceiling. She could go. As long as her father didn’t sign the commitment papers—the ones Jace said she no longer needed to worry about—she could leave here. Start a new life.
True, she wouldn’t have her allowance from her father or a free place to sleep, but…so what? So what if she didn’t get dresses sent down by her mother once a month. Had clothes, a scantily furnished pool house, and the pittance her father gave her become her whole world? Was fighting with her mother, the woman who loved to brandish sharp knives and sharper words, worth staying here?
She was leaving. It hit her, and she struggled to breathe. The scariness, the newness of the idea would pass. Jace would probably help her find a job and a place to live. She didn’t want his money, and he wasn’t offering her love—but he would freely give her friendship. She knew that with everything in her. It only made her decision easier, opened up her airway a bit so she could breathe again.
She would go with him when he left. She’d even go in just the clothes on her back if she had to. Tonight, she’d find the freedom, the joy that had eluded her for her whole life.
14
Vivian Rosas approached the bar as Jace settled into the settee where he’d sat with Layla earlier. She ran her finger over the numerous bottles there. “Would you like a drink, Jace? I’m making one for myself.”
He eyed her for a moment in confusion. “Aren’t we waiting for coffee?”
“Of course. I’m so forgetful after tense situations.” She sat across from him, the coffee table between them. “My husband is very protective of our daughter. She’s had a troubled past.”
“I’m aware of that. Layla is very forthcoming and open. It’s one of the things I love about her.”
“What a charitable thing to say.” She toyed with the pearls at her neck and tilted her head to give him a coy look.
He detested women like her—women who thought they could manage any man they came into contact with by pretending to be some ridiculous sex kitten. “Not really. In my experience, when people face difficult situations, they either feel like victims or they fight their way through it. Become better for it.”
“And where do you think Layla falls on that spectrum?”
What the hell kind of question was that about her own daughter? “She’s a fighter,” he said with conviction.
Mrs. C. came in, carrying a monstrously heavy tray with a silver coffee service. Jace stood to help her, but she shook her head. He seated himself again while Mrs. C. put down the tray and began to pour the coffee.
“You’ve only known her…how long is it? A week?”
“A couple of months,” he corrected her. So, she suspected this was a ruse. Wouldn’t matter once Layla signed the document revoking the power of attorney and it was filed at the courthouse.
Mrs. C. stood straight and gave him a wink, her back to Mrs. Rosas, before exiting the room. Vivian continued to press the topic. “Ah, right. You’ve never quite seen how she crumbles when times get hard. I’m sure she painted herself in a valiant light.”
“Not true. But, quite honestly, it’s none of your business what she’s told me. I’ve only discussed this with you out of respect for her, but this avenue of conversation is over. Now.”
Vivian stood and skirted the coffee table to sit beside him. She crossed her legs, uncrossed them, and then crossed her ankles. It looked innocent enough. A lady simply trying to get comfortable. Except all that movement had shifted the hem of her sheath dress halfway up her thighs. “Now,” she said, “tell me about your work. I understand you have a very powerful position.” Jace rolled his eyes when she stretched forward, exposing even more leg, to fetch her cup of coffee. God, the woman was tiresome.
“I’m head of security at The Desert Palms.”
She chattered on while Jace tried to look at her without seeing the expanse of leg she was clearly exposing purposefully. Not that he wanted to see; she had been so thorough at putting herself on display that the only way to avoid it would be to rudely and obviously turn his head away altogether. He considered doing exactly that.
It was then he realized, having spent a good amount of time between Layla’s thighs last night, that while her mother couldn’t wait to expose her flesh, Layla hid hers because of scars. Dozens of them slashed her skin, probably almost all caused by this horrible woman.
He zeroed back in on her words, struggling with rage. “I know jobs like that are a lot of pressure on a man. If you ever need anything, I’d be happy to help.”
“What could you possibly help me with in regards to my work, Mrs. Rosas?”
She splayed a hand flat against her generous bosom and rested one on his thigh. “Not with your work. With all that pressure.”
Jace stood and took a step back. “You are vile. How—”
“Mother.” Layla spoke up from behind them, her voice dripping with disgust, and they both turned to look at her. Vivian offered her a smug smile. Layla rushed forward quickly, and Jace caught her arm. He believed she might truly intend to do her mother physical harm. “Why would you… There is something wrong with you.”
When Jace didn’t let her go, only stood between the two women, she pushed at his chest, turned to pick up one of the silver coffee cups, and threw it at a painting of her parents hanging above the fireplace.
He released her. She yanked her arm back, but it wasn’t him she was enraged with. “Layla, doll, try to calm down.” Moving to stand beside her, Jace was ready to step in if she tried to have another go at her mother. Everything he’d done to keep her safe would be for nothing if they charged her with assault.
She crossed her arms, set her feet wide, and screamed at her mother. “All my life, I thought there was something wrong with me. But it’s not me. It’s you. You’re broken.”
“Let’s just go, doll.” He wrapped an arm around her waist, hoping to soothe her with his touch.
Vivian stood, eying Layla. “She’s not going anywhere.”
“No, I am.” Layla’s breathing began to hitch. “I am going, and I’m never coming back.”
Relief crashed through Jace. He would get her out of here, and she’d never have to come back.
“To do what? Be his piece on the side? Men don’t marry women like you.”
The cruelty of this woman had his mouth gaping open. His arms fell away from Layla as he turned on her mother as well. “Stop it.”
But Layla was nowhere near finished. She narrowed her eyes and said, “Papà married you, didn’t he? Pregnant maid’s daughter. If you can trap someone like that, there’s hope for all of us.”
“Layla, don’t. That doesn’t even deserve a response.” He tugged on her hand, trying to get her to look at him for just a minute. “Come on.”
“You should listen to him and shut up before you really make me angry.” Vivian’s breathing was ragged, though her voice sounded tight and controlled.
Layla laughed, as tears streamed down her face. Jace was about two minutes from fireman-carrying her out of the house.
“I bring a man I love home, and this is what you do?” Layla’s voice continued to rise. “Wasn’t sleeping with my fiancé enough for you? Wasn’t ruining my life once enough?”
“Jesus.” Jace looked between the two women. Layla and her mother were both breathing hard, like they’d just run a race. The stunned silence in the room held everyone captive.
Finally, Vivian stalked closer to Layla and thrust a finger in her face. “You should watch what you say, my girl. You sound crazy with your lies.”
Stepping between them, Jace tried his best to modulate his rage. “Don’t ever call her crazy again.”
“I’m not lying,” Layla sobbed.
Pulling her close, Jace began to walk from the room. “We’re leaving. Now.”
When Layla had walked into the living room and seen her mother’s hand on Jace’s thigh, rage blotted out nearly everything. Except that Jace had called her mother vile. In that moment, if she hadn’t known before, she knew she could trust this genuine, good man.
Things got a little blurry after that. Everything her mother had ever said, ever done, including sleeping with Ben, flashed through her mind in a second. Something inside had propelled her forward, and even she wasn’t sure what she’d have done when she reached her mother.
Jace had stopped her. Cool-headed Jace had held her while she struggled. He’d been the one to tell her mother never to call her crazy again. No one had ever stood up for her like that. When he said go, she went with him.
Taking his hand, Layla pulled him out the back door and ran down the hill, her shoes forgotten. He took her by the shoulders once they reached the pool house. “Let’s just get you out of here.”
“The negatives.” She went in, and he trailed after her. “They’re here, we have to get them first.”
Out of habit, she went straight to the loose floorboard and pried it open with the nail file she kept on a nearby windowsill. Inside the subfloor, Layla rifled through some old, worn envelopes and pictures until she found the negatives and pulled them out. Her hand hovered over the hole while she considered whether to take the letter from Ben. Finally, she decided a bit of insurance would be best, so she took it as well.
“Did you actually mean that, Layla? About never coming back?”
“I did.” Her whole world seemed surreal as she fitted the floorboard back into place then tossed the nail file across the room. “But I’m still not going to be your mistress.”
“That was regrettably bad wording when I asked. Timing, too.”
Holding out a hand for help up, she smiled. “Doesn’t matter. You stood up for me. That means a lot.”
He tugged her to her feet, and the crinoline of her dress swished around her. “We should get out of here,” he said. “I don’t want you to have a round two with your mother.”
“Or be here when the men in white coats show up.” Layla grabbed an oversized bag, dropped in the envelope and negatives, then began to randomly throw items inside: Some underclothes, a dress, pants and blouses, a pair of black pumps. Just before they walked out the door, she realized she wasn’t wearing any shoes with her cocktail dress and pulled on a pair of canvas sneakers. “Let’s go.”
They circled around the side of the house without incident. In the car, they pulled out and the house receded. She was giddy with possibility and freedom. A grin she was incapable of controlling spread across her face.
Jace said, “We’re running away together.” He smiled faintly but never took his eyes off the road.
She twisted in her seat, the house now so many lights in the distance, and narrowed her eyes. “Technically, I suppose. We do need to talk about something.”
In a smooth motion, he took her hand and grazed it with his lips. “Anything.”
Such a tender gesture. And such a caring man. How could this incredible guy not believe in love? He embodied what love was supposed to be. She cleared her throat. “I feel awful imposing, but could you possibly comp a room for me? It should only be for a week or two. I don’t have any money, but I’m going to find a job right away. I must be suited for something. I’ve been told I have a nice smile. Maybe I could be a hostess for a restaurant?”
“That certainly won’t be a problem.”
“Which part?”
“Any of it.” He held onto her hand, settling their clasped hands onto the seat near his thigh. She didn’t pull away.
“Actually, there are several problems, but I’ll work them out.” She rolled down her window and pulled the pins from her hair, letting the sophisticated updo, the one she’d spent an hour creating, fall down to flow in the wind. She laughed—at herself as she stripped the gloves away, at tonight. At life. “You have no idea how amazing I feel right now.”
“No. But it looks beautiful on you.”
Once they reached the hotel, Layla pulled a scarf from her purse and covered her wild hair. He took her bag and strode ahead to the desk. The clerk gave him a key, and he came back to lead her to the elevator.
The elevator kept going, higher and higher, to the very top floor. Layla knew only the best rooms held this space. With a quick twist of the key, he opened the door to an opulently furnished room. She walked in slowly, confused. “I can’t pay for this room, and I’m certainly not going to let you pay for it for me.” Turning back to him, she shook her head. “No. Back downstairs. Just get me the cheapest room you have.”
“But, doll, you can afford it.”
“Did my mother slip something into your coffee? You’re not making any sense.” Layla dumped her handbag out on the bed and clutched her wallet. She pulled out a five and two ones. “That’s all I have to my name.”
He dropped her bag inside the door and took her hand, balling the money up in her fist. “Please, take the room for the night. I promise it won’t cost me anything. You’re tired, and we need to talk about the document I mentioned earlier.”
Too tired to argue, Layla massaged her temples, then dragged her hands through her hair. The scarf snagged in her fingers and slid off in the process. Layla was completely worn out. “Go get your paper. I’m taking a shower.”
Once he was gone and she’d shed her clothes to stand under the steaming water, she examined her feelings once more. She loved him. That wasn’t an impulsive notion. It was real, deep, and it had transformed her. Made her want to be herself.
And with the knowledge came another realization. She wanted… no, needed just one night as his lover. To pleasure him, as he’d pleasured her. To be held in his arms, their bodies skin to skin. Everything.
He respected and honored her, even if he didn’t love her. He cared for her. Just this once, that would be enough. Tomorrow, the rules would be back in play.
15
Jace awaited her on the black leather couch in the front room of the beautifully decorated suite. Layla had slipped into clean panties and the casino-provided bathrobe and twisted her hair up in a towel. “I hope you don’t mind the informality of my dress. I’m exhausted, and you’ve already seen all the good parts anyway.”
“They’re all good parts.”
She plopped down beside him, smiling from the way he could always make her feel beautiful. “I’m going to miss you.” The words slipped ove
r them like a weight, making them both tense and uncomfortable. “Sorry. Let’s not think about that right now, okay?”
He picked up the papers on the table and waved them. “I want to tell you about this. I’ve got some good news. Incredible news, really.”
Her decision to spend the night with him pressed in on her, making it hard to breathe, and she couldn’t sit through some long discussion first. She needed him, now. “I want to make love to you.” It tumbled out of her mouth in a jumble, all quick and out there.
He sat back on the couch, studying her, his mouth open in surprise.
“Well, would you stop looking at me like I grew another head? It can’t be that surprising.”
“No, I’m pretty surprised. Pleased, but…I don’t want to take advantage of you. Let me tell you about this document first.”
“You’ve got about ten seconds to show me that you wouldn’t rather deal with some silly paperwork than be with me tonight. That’s a little insulting, quite honestly, but you’re a stand-up guy so I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt.” She took a slightly shaky breath. “Seven seconds.”
He dropped the papers on the table and stood to slip off his suit jacket. “You’re safe now. You know that, right?”
She snagged his tie, pulling him in for a kiss. “Yes,” she said against his lips.
The two of them kissed, mind-melting, hands-roaming, sexy kisses, until Layla slid down the couch, one leg hanging off. He pressed her into the black leather while her hips rocked against his hardness all on their own.
Slipping a hand behind her neck, he deepened the kiss. Suddenly, he pulled back and sat down on the other end. Layla pushed herself up. Why was he stopping? “What are you doing?”
“Just hang on a minute. Let me think.”
She crossed to him on her knees and straddled him. “Oh, I don’t want you to think, Mr. Russell.”
His lips spread into a reluctant smile, and he took her arms in his hands to keep her still. Shoot.
“I don’t want you doing this because you think it’s the only way I’ll help you. You don’t owe me a thing.”
My Fake Vegas Boyfriend Page 12
