by N. Raines
"Maybe it was spoiled. When did she make it?"
"How the hell do I know? It tasted all right, but that bitch never cleans out the refrigerator." Jessi moaned, clutching her stomach. "I'm gonna kill her."
A quick knock on the door. Then Cam entered. "Hey, ladies. We better sort this out, there's a line forming out there." His gaze turned sympathetic when he spotted Jessi. "Hey, kid. You don't look too good."
"Gah…" Jessi hid her face with her purse. "Don't look at me."
"Never mind." Cam held her under one arm and gestured for Layla to take the other. "We got you."
Together they hustled Jessi through the bar and out to the street. "I can get us a cab," Layla said as they stood outside the bar. Though she wasn't sure how a cabbie would react to a passenger possibly puking all over his car's upholstery.
"Don't bother. I'll take you home. My ride's in back, I'll just drive it around and pick you up here."
"Oh…" Considering their predicament, she didn't have it in her to politely insist he not trouble himself. "Thanks a lot."
Thank God it wasn't a motorcycle, as Jessi had hoped. She couldn't imagine herself and a woozy Jessi riding behind him. Nor was Cam's car some low-slung two-seater she and Jessi would have to cram into. He pulled up to the curb in a Chevy Suburban. "We use it for deliveries and all that," he explained as he helped Jessi into the back seat. "Why don't you sit with her, keep an eye on her?"
"Sure." Layla scrambled into the backseat beside Jessi, who slumped against her.
It took only a few minutes to get home, then a few more minutes for them to wrestle Jessi out of the car and up the steps to her place. Finally Cam just picked her up and carried her. She lay like a sack of wet laundry in his arms.
"Hurry up, hurry up," she muttered as Layla fished for the key in Jessi's purse and unlocked the door.
As soon as the door opened, Cam set his burden down and Jessi ran straight for the bathroom. Layla followed and stopped outside the closed bathroom door. From the sounds on the other side, Jessi was sick again.
Layla tapped softly. "Jess. You want me to stay, make sure you're all right?"
"Get out!" The shriek was enough to puncture Layla's eardrums.
"Guess she doesn't want our company," Cam said. Layla hadn't realized he was beside her.
"Maybe we should—" She nodded toward the apartment door.
His eyebrows lifted. "Will she be okay on her own?"
"I'll come back and check on her a little later. Right now I think she just wants some privacy." Layla led him to the door and out into the hallway. She locked Jessi's door and pocketed the key. She'd hold on to it for a bit, until she could come back to check on her neighbor. Then she gestured to the door of her own place. "I live right here."
"Ah. That's convenient."
"Yeah." She shifted, not knowing quite what else to say. "Thanks so much, bringing us home. I hope you won't get in trouble at the job."
He shrugged the concern aside. "Nah, don't worry about it."
"Well, you probably have to get back."
"Not really. You saw how slow it is tonight. And Paulie's there. He can handle things fine."
"Oh…" Again, she was at a loss for words. "Uh—"
"I'm kind of dry, you know?" He nodded toward her apartment door. "You have anything to drink at your place?"
"Oh! Oh, yeah. Sure." She hoped. Something more than water, anyway.
She unlocked her door, switched on the light. Cam followed her in and looked around the place she shared with her roommate.
"Nice," he remarked, checking out the furniture consisting of garage sale finds and items she and Kelsey had borrowed from their families.
Layla licked her dry lips. She was trembling with nerves, being alone with him. Could he tell? "Thanks. Yeah, we like it."
"We?"
"Me and my roommate, Kelsey. Yeah, uh, Kelsey's spending the night at her boyfriend's place." Crap. Why'd she say that, letting him know she had the place to herself tonight? Not that she worried he'd try hitting on her—hah, she should be so lucky—but maybe it sounded like she was telling him the coast was clear for…
No. Stop it, Layla. Don't even go there. Not a chance in hell of that happening. He is so out of your league.
What would a guy like Cam ever see in her? Especially when he'd had hopes of hooking up with Jessi.
Okay, time to get off this train of thought. He'd asked for a drink. She opened the refrigerator and felt a wave of relief. There was half a six-pack on the bottom shelf. "Is beer okay? There's a few bottles left."
"Sure, that's great."
"Okay, let me just grab them." The bottles were wedged way in back, behind a cluster of half-empty jars of salad dressing and other condiments. Layla had to bend low to reach in and dislodge them.
"Ugh. Here we are." She freed one and held it out to him. When he didn't take it immediately, she turned her head.
Oh, Lord. He was leaning against the counter, his head tilted, totally checking out her ass.
A flush of heat rushed through her, hot enough to wilt the head of iceberg lettuce on the middle shelf. "Uh, hello?"
"Oh." Cam blinked, his gaze moving from her posterior to her face. He took the bottle. "Thanks."
She grabbed another beer and quickly closed the refrigerator. Her face felt flushed—damn that Scandinavian complexion—and her hands were too sweaty to twist off the cap.
"Let me." Cam's fingers brushed hers when he took the bottle from her, sending a spark twirling through her. He twisted the cap expertly. "Here you go."
"Thanks." She gave him an embarrassed smile. "You do that like a pro."
He raised an eyebrow. "I should hope so."
They each took a pull of their beers. Layla couldn't help watching Cam's throat move when he swallowed. Oh, Jesus, even the man's Adam's apple turned her on.
He tilted his bottle toward the fridge. "Cute picture. You got a kid?"
She'd taped a drawing from one her first graders to the appliance door. "No. Not mine." Though in a way, she thought of all the students as hers—in spite of having to "give them back" at the end of the semester. She'd miss them. Well, most of them. "One of my students, Henry. I'm a student teacher. First grade."
"Cool. And that's you, I guess." He referred to Henry's portrait of her, a lopsided circle for a face, hair filled in with yellow crayon, a red mouth and purple eyes. All in all, not a bad approximation.
"Dear Miss Messer." Cam read the words the six year old had written in red crayon. "I love you. Thank you for being a grate teacher."
"Henry's a sweet little boy," Layla said, her cheeks even hotter, "but he's not the best speller."
"That's nice, though. I bet all the kids love you, Miss Messer." He raised his bottle to his lips and drank, his eyes fixed on her.
Oh, God, she must be glowing like a stoplight now. "Messner. He misspelled my last name, too."
"Messner." He licked his lips, not salaciously, but in an absent-minded way. As though he was trying to capture the beer's last drop of flavor. Layla wished she could capture his flavor with a kiss.
Stop it. You're just setting yourself up for a letdown.
A sneaky little thought crept into her head. But he was checking you out a minute ago.
He's a guy. Of course he's going to look. That doesn't mean he wants you.
Especially when he thought he was going to get with Jessi.
That little reminder cooled her off considerably, much better than the beer had.
"You sure you won't get in hot water, being here?"
"At the Shamrock? Nah." He smirked. "What, you want to get rid of me?"
"No! No, not at all." Did she? Maybe. Not that she didn't trust him. No, it was herself she didn't trust.
She wanted him, and was afraid he'd read that all too clearly. Then what? He'd laugh at her for thinking she had a shot. Or worse, he'd pity her.
"What—what about you?" she stammered, trying to fill the silence. "How long have you worke
d at the Shamrock?"
"Working? Since I was fifteen, sixteen. Seems like I've spent my whole life there, though." At her look of confusion, he explained. "My granddad started the business, then passed it on to my dad. And someday, it'll be passed on to me. Then my kid, if I have one."
Layla relaxed. This was a safe discussion, and interesting. She wanted to know more about him. "A family business."
"Yeah. Grandad Cleary was a hard-ass, but a real softie when it came to kids. When I was small, my parents would bring me in to the bar Sunday afternoons, when it was slow, and he'd always make me a Shirley Temple with lots of cherries."
She smiled at his recollection, picturing him as a little guy Henry's age. "That must have been fun."
"Yeah, made me feel real grown up. He's one of those self-made men, my granddad. Believed everyone should work his way up, so that's what he made my father do. And my old man, thinking it was good enough for him, did the same to me. Had me working in the bar from back in high school. Not serving drinks, of course, but bussing tables, sweeping up, helping out in back."
"Ah. Then you moved up into mixology."
"When I turned legal, yeah. I work nights, take business classes a few days a week."
"That must keep you busy."
"I've got a lot of ideas for the Shamrock. It started out as a little neighborhood hole-in-the-wall. A place for working men to stop off for a beer on their way home from the job. But you know, a lot of those jobs have dried up or left the city. And we're so close to the colleges, why not appeal to the students? I finally got the old man to see things my way and we revamped the place. So now the place is banging. But it's still the Shamrock. My dad and granddad won't even think of changing the name to something more modern."
She loved listening to him talk about the bar, loved his animation and enthusiasm. He was a smart, ambitious guy. Jessi had been so wrong to write him off as "just another townie."
They were having such a nice conversation that Layla forgot about being nervous. She didn't realize she'd finished her beer until she tipped the bottle to her lips and discovered it empty.
Cam had finished his as well. He set his empty on the counter with a soft thump.
Layla's palms grew damp again. "Would you like another?"
"No, thanks."
Her heartbeat quickened. He'd be going, then. He had no reason to stay any longer. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed.
He lounged easily against the counter, making no move toward the door, gazing at her with a small smile.
Nerves made her start to blather. "So, uh, I guess that's why you can take off unexpectedly, being the boss's son." She stopped in horror when she realized how that might sound. "I mean, not that you get special treatment—"
He gave an amused huff. "Oh, I get special treatment, all right. My father rides my ass harder than anyone else's. But he'll understand I had to help a lady in distress."
Layla peeled away a strip of label from her bottle. "Thanks again. I'm sorry the night's turned out to be such a bust for you, though."
"A bust? What do you mean?"
Her face flamed while she peeled off another strip, trying not to look at him. "I mean, a disappointment. You thought you'd be getting with Jessi and, well, that's not going to happen. So…you know…"
"The night didn't exactly turn out like I thought," he answered. "But I wouldn't say I'm disappointed."
While she scratched at the label with her thumbnail, he took the bottle from her hand. "Layla."
She bit her lip, reaching for the bottle like a baby might reach for its binkie. Her comfort object. No, don't take it away.
"Layla." His voice was insistent but gentle.
Jumpy though she was, she had to look at him.
He set her bottle on the counter beside his own and took a step toward her. "Who says this night has to be a bust? You're here…I'm here."
He slipped closer until they were nearly touching. His body radiated heat, inflaming hers. Her lips, her nipples, her fingertips tingled. Her brain was melting. Oh God, what…what's happening…
"You know what they say." He took half a step and their bodies connected. Her breasts met the hardness of his chest. Another hardness prodded her belly. "When one door closes"—his breath whispered softly on her cheek—"another opens."
His lips met hers, softly but with purpose. He knew what he was doing. She'd been kissed before, sure. Those kisses had been tentative and sweet, given by sweet, caring guys. But never had she been kissed with such confidence by someone who knew what he wanted and was determined to get it. Not pushy, not crude, but seductive.
Total turn-on. Layla went with it, let herself be led by Cam's assurance. When she opened her mouth to his seeking tongue, fever engulfed her whole body.
Though they were breast to chest during their kiss, Cam made no other move to touch her. When he drew back, breaking the kiss, he still had not put his arms around her or tried to hold her in any way. Leaving all the choices up to her.
"So what do you say, little Layla?" He stared down at her, his eyes glittering. In the light of the kitchen, Layla could at last note their color. They were hazel—brown and green with flecks of gold.
She said nothing at all, pausing for one moment at the door he'd opened. She could play it safe, pull away, and always wonder if she'd missed the hottest opportunity of her life. She could walk through the door, take her chances, and maybe make the biggest mistake of her life.
Cam's lips curved up ever so slightly. "Do you always think about things so hard?"
Yes, she did. Always tried to look at the big picture, weigh the options, make the wise choice. But tonight she didn't want to be wise. Screw the big picture. Tonight she wanted hot, sweaty sex from a guy who knew the score. Tonight she wanted to fuck her brains out.
Then, half afraid he'd get away, she grabbed him. Flung her arms around his neck, stood on her toes, and crushed her mouth to his. The kiss was messy, sloppy, hot, and fierce. Layla fisted his shirt, mashed her breasts to his chest, hooked her leg around his calf. She'd have climbed him if she could, wanting everything he had to give.
Cam was the one to back off, with a look of pleased surprise. "Easy. Easy, there. We've got plenty of time." His gaze appraised her. "You're a treat, Layla. They're right, what they say about still waters."
She could hardly make out his words, her heart thundered so loudly in her ears. She gasped for breath as though she'd climbed all the way to the top of a skyscraper. Now she stood looking down at the expanse below, and everything was possible.
Without speaking, Layla took his hand and led him to her bedroom.
Once they crossed the threshold, she pulled off her top and was about to wriggle out of her skirt when Cam stopped her. "Slow down, baby." His large hand felt hot and hard against the bare flesh of her waist. His gaze ate her up, caressed the cleavage displayed by her lacy pink bra. "There's no rush."
He pulled her close, once again taking the lead, insinuating his tongue between her lips, stroking it against her own. Her nipples hardened, poking insistently against the lace of her bra. They itched and ached, and Layla wished they could be rubbing against Cam's chest instead.
She tugged at his long-sleeved shirt. "Take this off, please." She wanted to see his chest, wanted to know if he was hairy or smooth, wanted to feel the warmth of his skin, the definition of muscle and sinew. Hell, she wanted it all.
"Whatever the lady wants," he responded, as though he could read her mind. He undid the buttons slowly—first the cuffs, then down the front. One by one. He smiled, knowing he was teasing her.
His chest, when revealed, was dusted with dark brown hair. He tossed his shirt on the chair beside her desk, which held her laptop and a tumble of books.
Layla trailed her fingers down his pecs, luxuriating in the warmth and suppleness of his skin, the softness of his chest hair. She'd have been happy to spend the next few hours simply touching him.
Cam had other ideas. Drawing he
r close, he lowered his head for another possessive kiss. Layla responded, lost in the sensation of his lips on hers.
Slowly, he eased her to the quilt atop her narrow single bed and followed her down. As her head rested on the pillow, Layla sighed, then gasped as Cam's hot mouth trailed along her neck and down her chest. He nuzzled his face in her cleavage and gave a playful little growl. "More than a mouthful for sure."
She couldn't help laughing. He growled again, and Layla groaned when Cam licked the crevice between her breasts.
Her breasts were so full, they ached. She wriggled impatiently, wanting him to touch them, kiss them, bite them. Anything. Instead of stripping off her bra, though, he scooped one breast from its lacy pink cup and sucked the hard, dark rose nipple into his mouth.
Layla's neck arched and she moaned, feeling the suction right through to her core, an electric wire of need connecting her nipple to her sex. Her inner muscles pulsed as she grew slick with want.
He freed the other breast to work his magic there, too. Rocking side to side on the pillow, she clutched his head, her fingers tangling in his dark chocolate waves.
Her breast popped free of his mouth. "Ouch," he muttered as he tried to pull back. "Think I'm stuck."
Layla winced. Her ring, the one that once belonged to Grandma Messner, had gotten caught in his hair. "Sorry." She tugged, but that only made him hiss in pain. God, she didn't want to snatch him bald. "Um, let me take it off."
She eased the ring off her finger. Crap, it was almost like Grandma was sending a disapproving message from heaven, cockblocking her from the great beyond: Shame on you, Layla. This boy is not your husband.
Grandma, I love you, but please get out of my head!
A moment later Cam freed himself and set the ring on the nightstand. "Okay if I leave it here? To avoid future accidents."
"Sure."
He grinned and sat back on his knees, gazing at her with hungry eyes. "Yeah. Look at you."
She flushed as she realized how she must look, on display for him. Her hair a tangle on the pillow. Her skirt worked up around her hips from their sexy tussling. Her breasts exposed, their peaks hard and pointy, still damp from his mouth.
Picturing herself in his eyes made her hotter than she'd ever been. She'd never been so naughty before, and just realizing that turned her on.
