Sweet Seduction

by Camilla Stevens

  She instinctively scurried away toward the sofa, dragging her purse with her, she hid on one side of it as she watched the door, waiting for it to be kicked in.

  After ten minutes she calmed down only enough to think a bit more clearly. She couldn’t stay here, not alone. She’d never get to sleep no matter how many lights she turned on.

  There was only one person she knew in the city. She pulled out her phone and pulled up the number she had programmed into the phone just this morning.

  He answered on the second ring.

  “Patrick!” she sobbed.

  The banging on her hotel door startled her.

  “Layla!” he yelled.

  It was him. She breathed a sigh of relief, then began crawling toward the door until she realized what she was doing. She pulled herself to her feet and checked the peephole to make sure.

  Just the look of his concerned face, the brows over those blue eyes furrowed with worry, was enough to make her throw open the door and fall into his chest.

  “Oh Patrick,” she breathed. Her arms went around him and she squeezed tightly, as though making sure he was really there.

  He rested his chin on her head and rubbed her back, soothing her. “It’s okay now,” he cooed.

  They stood there a moment until Patrick finally pulled away to look at her.

  “First of all, we’re going to get you out of this place. Obviously, the security is lacking. So let’s go in and pack up your stuff.”

  She nodded, looking back and forth down the hall anxiously.

  “No one is here, it’s just me,” he assured her, then led her inside, making sure to close and bolt the door behind them.

  “Where will you take me?” she asked as she made her way to the bedroom to pack her suitcase.

  “Don’t worry about that. I have a place in mind.”

  She nodded, trusting him as she put the few things she’d taken out, having spent only one night there, and put them in her suitcase.

  A few minutes later they were headed down to the lobby, Patrick rolling her suitcase. He stormed to the front desk.

  “Hi, I’d like to speak to the manager on duty, right now,” he said in a tone that left no room for argument.

  The startled blond behind the desk nodded and went to an office in back, returning with a balding man in his 40s who had the sort of air about him that was appropriate for a Beverly Hills hotel.

  “Can I help you sir?”

  “First of all Lion Studios is checking Ms. Layla Brown out of this hotel to-night. And if you think we’re paying for the length of time she’s been here so far you are sorely mistaken.

  “Do you realize this woman was just accosted by a man right here in your lobby, leaving her terrified for her life? What the hell kind of security do you people even have here at the Beverly Palm? Hell, even I made it all the way to her room without anyone even stopping me!”

  “Sir, I apologize for—”

  “I don’t need your apologies. I need you to act. Frankly, the sooner we get out of here the better. You’re just damn lucky nothing happened to her, otherwise I’d be talking law suit right now.”

  Those were apparently the magic words to get the manager to jump into action. “Yes, sir. I’ll get that handled right away. Jennifer, please look up Ms. Brown’s room.”

  The man turned back to Patrick. “Sir, I apologize for—

  “It’s not me you need to be apologizing to,” Patrick said, giving him a steady gaze.

  The man turned to Layla. “Ma’am I offer my sincerest apologies. We at the Beverly Palm Hotel pride ourselves on—

  “Never mind the spiel, just get this sorted so we can leave.”

  “Yes, sir—er, ma’am.”

  After about ten more apologies the two of them were headed to the front door. Layla halted at the entrance, scared to step foot outside into the darkness even though the drive way area was well lit and Patrick had brazenly parked his car right there.

  “It’s alright,” he said putting one arm around her and guiding her gently outside. “He can’t get to you now.”

  She allowed herself to be led to the car and waited, making furtive glances into the night, waiting for Boris to appear. It was only when Patrick had finished placing her bag in the trunk and slid in to the driver’s seat next to her that she relaxed.

  “Where are we going?” she asked again.

  “To my place,” he said, then turned the engine on.

  19

  Patrick hadn’t even made it to the on-ramp of the freeway when the bluetooth in his car lit up. When he had glanced down to see the caller ID he had immediately pulled over to answer.

  Layla had been in a panic and he could only catch half the words, but he had got the gist of it: she needed him.

  He sure as hell wasn’t leaving her in that hotel where this guy, who was still somewhat of a mystery to Patrick, could obviously get at her. The only other solution he could think of on a moment’s notice was his high rise condo.

  “Okay so as you saw, there’s a gate and a security guard in the garage. I have a doorman who has to buzz anyone into the building this late at night, and I have an alarm system built in. No one is getting in here, Layla,” Patrick said, rubbing the arms that she had crossed over her chest.

  “You can have the bedroom, I’ll sleep on the couch,” he said.

  The condo had come with three bedrooms but Patrick had turned the other two into a home office and a makeshift gym to supplement the one he had a membership to. The couch was large and plenty comfortable, especially for one night.

  Layla blinked up at him in surprise. “No, I couldn’t put you out of your own bed. I can take the couch. It’s only fair.”

  “No, we should have taken better precaution for your protection. This story was national news and anytime Hollywood is mentioned the crazies come out.”

  “It’s my fault for not telling you. I just didn’t think…”

  “It’s done,” he said with finality. “Let’s put your stuff away and I’ll pour you a drink to calm your nerves a bit. Then you can tell me as much as you’re comfortable with.”

  She nodded and followed him into the bedroom. It was even more impressive than the living room. The bedroom offered the same floor to ceiling windows, which continued around a corner in this room so that two walls were made entirely of glass. One wall faced the Hollywood Hills the other faced west. His floor was high enough to see the ocean in the distance during the day time. That view of the setting sun had been a very conducive precursor to foreplay for the various women he had entertained here prior to meeting Layla.

  Right now all he cared about was providing Layla a place she felt safe in. He watched her take in the large room as he rolled her suitcase in and set it on the small sofa near the window. He had hired some decorator to make it nice, manly but not too “obvious bachelor.” The result was a sophisticated modern mix of plush dark bedding, onyx accessories, and the occasional bit of cream accent to break up the dark feel of it.

  “It’s nice,” she said with a slightly bemused smile.

  “What?” Patrick asked, taking note of that smile.

  “Nothing,” she said, laughing a bit. It was refreshing to hear. “It’s just that, well I’m sure all your guests were thoroughly impressed.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She turned to him, her smile getting coy. “This bedroom, it’s…sexy. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not sleazy or anything, it’s just well,” she looked around again, “anyone can tell it was decorated for a man, a man who likes to bring people in here.” She bit her lip and cocked her head at him with a questioning smile.

  Patrick laughed. Was it that obvious? “Well, I’ve never confessed to being a saint, you know. Let’s go get that drink.”

  She chuckled and took his hand following him out to the living room again. He went to the bar as she walked to the windows to look out into the darkness.

  “Whiskey?” he asked.

  She turned her h
ead and shrugged, nodding.

  As he poured, he watched her figure from behind. She was still in the emerald green dress she had worn to dinner with Samantha and Clark. It settled just above the backs of her knees and he admired the curve of her perfect calves. It was going to be a restless night knowing she was sleeping in his bed with nothing but a wall and a door separating them. He wondered if her smell would linger in his bed sheets, taunting him after she had moved on to a new location after tonight.

  “Here we are,” he announced. He walked over to her and handed her a glass with two fingers of whiskey. That would be enough to calm her nerves and let her get a decent night’s sleep.

  They made their way over to the couch and Layla finally kicked off her heels and tucked her feet underneath her as she faced him with the glass in her hand.

  “So, do you actually want to tell me about it?” he asked.

  She took a sip as she gazed out the window, thinking about it. Finally she nodded and looked at him, her expression serious. Then she gave him a wry smile. “I suppose I should tell you, I’m actually married.”

  Patrick blinked in surprise. He certainly hadn’t been expecting that one. He took a long sip of his whiskey to ponder the news, waiting for her to continue before coming to a conclusion.

  “I suppose, technically at this point, I’m separated, since I haven’t seen my—Boris in over two years.”

  She sighed. “I guess I should start at the beginning. I already told you a bit about my parents. Doctors, extremely driven. I think they kept expecting me to follow in their footsteps. Not necessarily as a doctor, but something ‘successful.’ Honestly, I think even then all I wanted to do was something creative. Di-Anne was my nanny until I was 9 years old. She was the one who taught me how to bake, as much as my parents hated it. But they were gone so often, what could they do?

  “Anyway, long story short, by the time I got to college, I rebelled a bit with all that freedom. Same old story, friends who were ‘bad influences,’ sinking grades, late nights out. That’s when I met Boris. He was a bouncer at a club we ended up going to way too often.”

  She gave another sad smile out the window. “He was so handsome and sexy with that accent. The dumb 21-year-old in me thought it meant I was worthwhile. The best part was my parents hated him. So what else could I do but run off and elope with him as soon as I graduated?”

  She looked at Patrick with a cynical smile. “Turns out it was the green card and my parent’s money that he was really into. He was always into one get rich scheme or another, while I worked as an assistant manager at a bakery. Not only were my parents not the bank account he could tap into, they completely distanced themselves from us, hoping I would come to my senses at some point.

  The thing is,” she said looking sadly into her glass, “I knew that they would always take me back. They weren’t the most ‘present’ parents, but they loved me; I do know that much. But I was young and stubborn and stupid and I resented them for not accepting the man that I loved.” She rolled her eyes and took a sip.

  “Well, it got old after 3 years but I still dug my stubborn heels in, thinking maybe once his recording studio, or boxing gym, or marketing business, or whatever took off, we could finally settle down and have children….” She trailed off and took another sip. “Of course it never did. I don’t think he ever even really wanted kids.”

  “Then my parents died in that plane,” she stopped and took a long sip. “The lawyer said it was all mine. Boris couldn’t touch it even though we were married.”

  “Inheritance is separate property,” Patrick said, understanding now.

  Layla nodded, still looking into her glass. “By then, I was 5 years into the marriage and I knew it was never going to work out. Boris wanted the money to...Christ, I don’t even remember what the latest investment opportunity was, but I said no. He just got so angry!”

  She shuddered, and Patrick scooted over on the couch to put a comforting arm around her. She shifted to lean back against his chest, staring out the window.

  “I should have known better when he took me up on the roof for a romantic dinner. It was a complete one-eighty from what he had been like and I was just so damn relieved he was finally coming around. At that point he was really the only family I had, as sad as it sounds. All my grandparents were dead and my parents never made a point of keeping in touch with other relatives.

  “Anyway, we had a lovely dinner with too much wine. Then he led me over to look at the view of the city with sweet talk of starting over and yadda, yadda, yadda. He even lifted me up to sit on the ledge and pulled himself up next to me. I was so tipsy on wine, I thought it was all so wonderful and sweet, like when we first met and he did silly things like that. Then I felt it.”

  She shuddered again and snuggled in close to him. “I know what I felt, Patrick. He was going to push me right over. Ten stories. If the teenagers from another floor hadn’t come out to smoke weed”—she actually chuckled a bit, though Patrick could sense the hysteria in it—”I think he was more surprised than they were. He immediately jumped off the ledge, and when I saw his face and how pissed off he looked, I knew for sure. I fled the next day. I had no proof to give to the police or anything. I just knew I wanted to get as far away from him as possible.”

  She took another sip before continuing. “The only person I knew he couldn’t connect me to was Di-Anne. I’d only ever mentioned her first name and never where she moved after she stopped working for us.”

  Patrick felt his grip on her shoulder tighten protectively. If Boris had been standing in front of him right then, he wasn’t sure what he would have done. Actually, yes, he was completely certain what he would have done. But right now, he had other concerns.

  “Are you okay?” he asked after a moment of both of them sipping their whiskey.

  She nodded. “Yes, it was just a shock, seeing him tonight. I knew he’d find me eventually. I’ve grown so much these past two years, I’m a lot stronger now; Olla has been great for that.”

  “It is a great place,” Patrick mused.

  “Yes, it is. I suppose the silver lining is that I have no excuse to not file for divorce. I just need this to end, get on with my life. I think this is a good thing in retrospect.”

  Patrick wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t met the man but he’d seen his fair share of angry, sometimes crazed suitors. They didn’t back down that easily. But hell if he was going to burst Layla’s bubble, especially since she was ending the night on such a positive note, cradled in his arms like this.

  He felt the warmth and softness of her body pressed next to his. It would look bad, her staying here for the night, but he had an excuse. It had been a spur of the moment gesture, offering to sleep on the couch. In part, it was to maintain at least some semblance of not violating his conflict of interest with Lion Studios, not that anyone would believe that he had actually slept on the couch anyway, but it was the principle of it. Mostly, it was because Layla had seemed so shaken. He wasn’t sure another night like the one they’d had up in Olla was on the menu, and he certainly hadn’t wanted to pressure her.

  She yawned next to him.

  “Why don’t you take a nice long shower? My maid came today so there should be some fresh towels in the bathroom. I’ll just use the guest bathroom.”

  She smiled up at him. “That sounds nice.”

  They gradually pulled themselves up and went their separate ways. He looked back at her and was pleased to find her do the same. They smiled stupidly at one another.

  “Good night, Layla,” he said.

  “Good night, Patrick.”

  20

  As soothing as the warm water was, it was a frustrating ordeal. Patrick hadn't wanted to think about the fact that Layla would be sleeping within walking distance of him all night.

  What did she wear to bed? Was it a frumpy night gown? Maybe a silk nightie? Maybe she'd be completely nude.

  The thought of her naked body, sliding over his smooth 1000 thread count
Egyptian cotton sheets, nothing compared to the feel of her skin, drove him mad enough to switch the shower to an ice cold flow that caused him to hiss in shock.

  But it did the trick. His body and mind were sufficiently clean enough to get through the night.

  As he turned off the shower and grabbed a towel, it hit him that he hadn't bothered to grab something to sleep in while he was putting Layla's suitcase away.

  Shit.

  He stared at his wet body covered in nothing but a towel. The reflection was a result that even Adonis would be envious of: broad, strong shoulders, rippling abs; he even had that v thing that so many men strove for. Any other time, Patrick would feel a certain sense of deserved pride in approaching a woman looking like this, especially with how much more difficult it was to maintain in one's 30s. Tonight, he'd just feel pathetically obvious.

  All the same, it was better than sleeping naked, which would have made his sleep all the more fitful.

  He dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist again. He marched back to his bedroom, listening to hear if the shower was still going. The water wasn't running, and he heard a bit of rustling telling him that Layla had yet to fall asleep.

  "Layla?" he announced, knocking lightly at the door.

  "Patrick?" she said, her voice filled with surprise.

  "Yeah, sorry to bother you but—”

  She opened the door before he could finish.

  Both of them stared in surprise at the other. Layla's eyes did a zig-zag over his upper body as if having trouble finding a place to settle on. Eventually, they landed on the only article of "clothing" he had on.

  He stared down at the tiny, silk kimono she had on. It was a creamy white that contrasted beautifully with the long stretch of skin where it parted between her breasts. She followed his eyes and immediately pulled the fabric closer together. It only forced his eyes downward where there was even more tantalizing skin on display, from the very tops of her thighs down to her perfect feet.