The weird carnal desire that took possession of me dissipates, leaving space for another sensation that’s equally, or perhaps even more, puzzling.
A sense of intense protectiveness.
I want to get Laia in bed.
But not the way I fantasized about a second ago. I want her tucked in, relaxed, and able to recover. Her safety and well-being are all that count.
When did I start to care for her this much?
I proceed with my planned gesture, but instead of grabbing Laia’s waist and pulling her to me, I simply put my arm around her shoulders and gently guide her to my car. I open the door and settle her into the passenger seat.
Laia moans softly and closes her eyes.
I bend over her to close the safety belt.
Her eyelids quiver, and her breathing slows, signaling that she isn’t far from a deep REM. I take a deep, conscious breath and move back from her.
Since the first time we met, her perfume has been my Achille’s heel. The enticing scent does things to my insides I’d better avoid feeling. It entices prospects and what-ifs that would be wiser to avoid, and I can’t help but contemplate them anyway.
“Laia?” I ask softly. “Where do you live?”
No answer. Only a steady stream of air. I sigh and take her purse.
A gentleman—and despite what some might think, I am one—never goes through a woman’s bag.
Unless it’s an emergency.
I rummage in her black leather bag for her wallet and take out her driver’s license.
I furrow my brows. This can’t be right. I distinctly remember from Laia’s application file that she doesn’t live far from my place. This address in Laveen Village must be an old one.
I rearrange her wallet and stuff it back in her bag. While I do, my hand brushes against the cover of a book.
My lips curl up, because even if I didn’t think of it consciously, I expected to find a novel in here.
I pick up the book, interested to see what kinds of topics occupy her mind.
I expect a cheesy romance. Like the one she told me she’d love to write.
But the book is some acclaimed motivational guide. Success Lies Within Us. Is this what inspired Laia to build up her bucket list?
I thumb through it and find it’s a pretty exciting read despite the slightly new-age tone the author uses.
I put the book back, fetch Laia’s house keys, and stick them into my pocket.
I close the passenger door with care so I don’t wake Laia and saunter to the driver seat.
After hopping in, I take my phone and log into the app that stores all my employee data. I scroll through the list of names until I get to the letter ‘F’ and copy Laia’s current address into my GPS.
In less than ten minutes, we arrive at her house. The street where she lives is indeed close to my condo. If I wanted, I could walk to visit her one of these days.
I freeze mid-thought.
Why would I walk to Laia’s apartment? It seems Laia’s scent has wrecked my neuronal connections.
I shake my head and get out of the car.
I want to open the entrance door before carrying Laia inside. Once she’s in my arms, I don’t want to be fiddling with locks.
I disregard the anticipation brewing in my stomach when I think that soon I’ll lift Laia and press her soft curves to my chest.
Instead, I hasten to her building and try all her keys.
But none works.
Mhmm…weird.
I check the names on the intercom. On the third row, there’s “Flores” so we’re at the right place. But why can’t I open the door?
I step back to check the windows, but all are dark. The inhabitants are either out on a Friday night or already sleeping. In neither case can they buzz me in.
Just as I’m about to walk back to my car, a fifty-something woman with pockmarked cheeks and a wolfish face passes me. She throws me a quick, suspicious glance then scurries to Laia’s building’s door.
Great, I’ll ask her to let us in.
The woman fumbles with her keys while her eyes fly to me then back to the lock.
I amble to her and clear my throat.
The woman whips around, her eyes wide in alarm.
“Excuse me, would you—” I break off as something sharp lands on my sternum, knocking the air from my ribcage.
I need a second before I find my voice, and the first sound that leaves my lips is a painful ouch, as I clasp at the tender spot on my chest.
The woman pulls back her arm, revealing a bunch of heavy keys that sway on a swing ring similar to Ellie’s. Only this woman’s string is blue instead of pink.
Despite the discomfort I still feel, an amused snort escapes my throat.
Huh, I clearly underestimated my sister’s gadget. This darned thing can truly hurt if appropriately used.
The woman yells, “Back off now, or I’ll charge again.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I just wanted to—”
The woman lifts her rubber chain as if to show that she isn’t playing. “I. SAID. BACK. OFF.”
I turn around and retreat to my car without another word. I’d like to avoid another metallic punch into my flesh.
Also, I realize that even if I get into Laia’s building, there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to open her apartment door. Since Laia’s keys didn’t match the gate’s lock, they might not work for her flat.
I can’t risk being spotted again by this paranoid neighbor while trying to force a door open. She’d surely call the police on me. The last thing I need is a another tabloid story that I’ve been arrested for breaking into a flat with my unconscious assistant in my arms.
I hear the building door close with a loud bang.
Good, at least the crazy lady is gone.
I stop beside my car’s window and stare at Laia sleeping.
There’s only one option left.
I have a spare bedroom in my house, and currently, it’s only Cat who enjoys the king-sized bed. She won’t mind sharing it with Laia. My kitty seemed to be a fan of my assistant.
What worries me isn’t whether I have enough space.
No, it’s the hitched breathing I get from the idea that Laia will stay over at my place.
I cough twice and thump at my chest with my fist.
Okay, better.
The mean jab from that lunatic woman’s keychain must have messed with my respiratory reflex.
Even so, as my eyes dip to Laia’s slightly open mouth, my heart stutters.
Chapter 30
(Devon)
When we arrive at my building, Philip has gone home, and the night doorman is on duty. Not a single muscle twitches on his well-trained face as he sees me carrying Laia in my arms. He pulls the door open and wishes me a polite “good night.”
We get into the elevator, and I use my elbow to push my floor’s button.
I try to avoid peering down at Laia while she’s so close, hoping if my eyes don’t feast on her sleeping innocence, it’ll be easier to tame the jitter in my stomach. However, as the elevator doors close, my determination becomes an absurd mission due to the mirrors lining the walls. It might just be better to see the real thing than her four silvery reflections.
I lower my glance and gasp, because Laia’s eyes are half-open.
She peeks up at me from below her lashes and not in a bewildered, what the heck am I doing in your arms, kind of way. No, her eyes are warm and calm.
“It feels good, Devon. Soo goooood…” she murmurs and closes her eyelids again.
I realize she isn’t awake at all, but probably dreaming. Am I in her dream? Am I?
Before this puzzling realization can sink in, the doors open.
Cat, as if she knows I’m not alone, makes loud meows before I turn the lock. Her yellow irises illuminate when she spots Laia in my arms, as if I’d given her fish pâté.
The little beast is happy to have Laia back at my house. And if I’m honest, so am I.
I throw off my shoes and carry Laia to the spare bedroom. I lay her gently on the bed and take off her flats.
By the time I take her shoes to the corridor and return, my furry companion has already settled herself in the curve between Laia’s shoulder and neck. She leans her head on Laia’s collar bone.
I stare at them, and a smile makes its way to my lips.
They look precious together.
For a second, I wish I had a fairy grandmother who could turn me into a kitten so I could join my cat and snuggle against Laia’s warm body.
Cat would probably scratch my face if I approached them, though.
I fetch a blanket and want to put it on Laia, but Cat lifts her chin and scoffs at me.
“I’m not taking her away from you, Cat. I just want to tuck her in,” I murmur.
As if the animal understands me, she lowers her head and starts to purr.
I arrange the checkered cover so it wraps Laia’s entire body up to her chest then I walk out of the room.
I go to the kitchen to get a glass of water and make a sandwich. There’s not much left in my fridge, so I leave the two eggs and bacon untouched, despite feeling famished. Laia will need those fatty calories more when she wakes. It’s clear she isn’t used to pulling late nights or gulping down cocktails, so I’m afraid she’ll have a splitting headache.
As I finish eating, my phone beeps.
It’s a text from Ellie.
“Sorry Pete and I had to leave. Thank you for getting Laia home safely. xoxo”
I doubt my sister had anything urgent to discuss with Pete. My best guess is she wanted to remove herself and my buddy from the picture so Laia and I would be forced to spend an evening together.
Which is probably for the best, at least where it concerns Pete. I didn’t like the sweet glances my buddy gave to Laia while I was on stage.
Laia’s lecture about Morgan comes back to me, and I sigh.
I’ll still need to scold my sister for telling Laia about Morgan.
At least after tonight, Laia knows I wasn’t lying to her when I said that I had loved.
I finish washing my plate and glass.
On the way to my room, I can’t suppress the urge to sneak in and take a last peek at the two sleeping beauties.
Once I’m in my own bed, it’s still early, so I browse the latest news on my phone. I need something to distract my mind from Laia’s presence in my house. I do a quick search for any current rumors circulating about me. I don’t expect to find anything, since Laia hasn’t mentioned any new articles, and I know she monitors my public image with care.
But to my surprise, a result from yesterday comes up.
The headline makes me sit up.
I scan the article and pause at the phrase, “Did something or someone remind our carefree playboy that his life is empty without a meaningful relationship?”
“That’s exactly what happened,” I murmur as my phone drops to my lap.
I imagine the author must’ve decided to venture into such idling about my behavior because he lacked any other concrete, juicy piece to fill his column.
Still, I’m sure glad he did.
Though unwittingly, the writer captured into words what occurred when Laia came into my life.
Isn’t it strange that this article appeared in front of me at just the right time?
With the peculiar sensations Laia unlocked in me tonight, I’m finally ready to admit that I’m fed up with my old life. I’ve had enough messing around. I’m tired of flings.
I want strings attached. To someone special, with whom I feel at ease—a person who interests and excites me.
I already know who that woman should be.
Yes, I want Laia.
And not just in the you-look-so-gorgeous appreciation I usually reserve for other women. It’s not a fleeting desire, what I feel for her.
Something in Laia I still can’t pinpoint makes me want to spend time with her, protect her, and long for her more than I have for anyone.
Do I stand a chance with her?
I know she’s drawn to me. After our moment in the club, there’s no question about that. She might have been tipsy, but her eyes spoke of real desire toward me.
However, it’s likely only a physical attraction. Laia has already expressed to me that I couldn’t be further from the type of man she would date.
But that’s precisely what I would love to happen.
I want to court her, date her, get to know her, and let her know me.
I rub my temples, as a long sigh escapes my chest.
Is there a way I could make Laia change her mind?
Chapter 31
(Laia)
I wake to a rough, warm, and humid something licking my face.
I turn my head to the side and almost jump as Cat’s yellow irises meet mine.
It’s useless to ask myself where I am. The kitty by my side is a perfect clue.
The question is why am I here?
Cat lets out a demanding meow, and I tickle her below her chin.
“Hey, buddy, did you sleep with me?” I murmur, lifting myself to my elbows.
My head immediately protests, sending jolts all the way to my toes. A groan escapes, and I squeeze my eyes shut for a second.
If I listened to my body, I’d lie back until the pounding in my temples ceases, but I know I can’t do this.
I need to get up from this amazingly soft bed—probably the comfiest I’ve ever slept in—and start acting like a good employee should in her boss’s house.
I open my eyes, and my glance drifts to the blanket enfolding me neatly like a wrapped sausage. Though my mouth feels sticky and parched, the ultimate reminder that last night wasn’t my greatest moment, my stomach still growls at the idea of minced meat.
It figures. I didn’t have dinner before going to the club, which must be why those pink drinks hit me harder than they should have.
I lift the cover and peek beneath it.
I sigh in relief when I realize I’m still dressed, and only my shoes are missing.
My bag is on the night table beside the bed, its long handle folded into an immaculate little bundle.
Did Devon do that? Did he tuck me in this nicely, too?
But more importantly, how did I end up in his condo at all?
My memories of last night are hazy, to say the least. A big chunk is missing. As soon as I hit the seat of Devon’s Audi, heavy tiredness had descended, and I couldn’t fight it back.
Well, frankly, I might not have tried. It was far easier to suffocate my fuzzy feelings for Devon in the silence of sleep than face them.
And, since I’m still not ready to analyze my own stupidity—because what else could I call my forlorn crush on Devon—I decide to size up my current situation based on the facts I can be sure of.
1. I’m in Devon’s house.
2. Devon, for some reason, decided to take me to his place instead of my house.
3. He tucked me in with a checkered blanket.
4. I’ve apparently slept here.
5. Devon is awake, because I can hear his footsteps.
6. He must be making breakfast, because the mouthwatering smell that reaches my nostrils can’t come from anything but bacon and eggs.
That’s about as far as I can get without summoning the humiliating image of my tipsiness.
I sit up, and Cat protests as I shift her from my lap to the bed. I press my feet to the floor to get some mental anchoring.
A soft music filters in from the living room. It’s a remake of a popular Aretha Franklin song, “Son of a Preacher Man.” The melody brings back memories without me consciously calling upon them.
Devon on stage, playing piano.
His voice filling my soul with an indescribable pleasure.
Him coming to me after his performance and me…
I freeze.
Blimey…did I do what I think I did?
Did I really study Devon’s lips close up, tempt h
im to eat my strawberry, and then called him stupid, screaming, “I’m a woman”? I might have even spelled it out in Spanish for him.
Panic locks up all my muscles. Why did I do that? Why?
He’ll surely fire me now.
I bury my face in my palms as desperation spreads in my chest. Hudson Communications is my best (not to say only) shot at getting some much-needed business experience, and it could land me with a permanent contract.
And let’s not forget that the new situations I face at my job are like a gold mine for my creative muse. Ever since I started working in the company, my mind has been in full throttle, romance-writing mode. If I continue like this, before the official internship period is over, I could have a first draft nearly ready.
No, no, I can’t stop working for…Devon.
My breath catches as the final consequence of my termination comes to me.
If Devon decides to send me away, I’ll have no excuse to see him each day. The fear this last point unleashes hits me like a bucket of icy water.
I lower my hands to my side, pondering the puzzling realization.
I would miss him—more than the job itself.
The draw I felt last night wasn’t just the effect of the bubbly drinks and watching Devon sing like he was friggin’ Sinatra. It’s something more than that.
Cat sneezes, then blinks at me as if she’s surprised by what just happened. Her face is so comical I break out in a giggle.
There’s a knock on the door. “Laia? Are you awake?”
No, I’m not.
Devon’s baritone sends me into a frenzy, and I jump up. I’m not ready to face him. First, I need to make sure that the looney voice that suggested I’m falling for my boss won’t be back again.
I run to the closet and open it. It’s full of cartoon boxes and men’s suits. No, I can’t squeeze myself in here.
I scurry back to the bed and kneel. Perhaps I could fit underneath? Not likely. I might’ve lost a few pounds since I started the job, but I’m still not that skinny.
I straighten and grab the checkered blanket. I’ll just pretend I’m still sleeping until Devon leaves for the office.
Law #2: Don't Play with a Player: A Sweet Office Romance Story (Laws of Love) Page 21
