by Shayne Ford
Steve: Lana’s here.
Is this some kind of a cosmic joke? Coming from anyone else other than him, I’d think it’s a prank. What the fuck is wrong with this woman? And how the fuck did she get here?
She’s never been to my place, because I never bring women home. No, I don’t play house with anyone. And no, I don’t use my home to fuck. I keep the parties and fucking away from home, because I don’t need headaches and fucking stalkers.
Did it work? No, it fucking didn’t.
I text Steve.
Me: Get her to Ron.
Yeah, sorry Ron, but tonight she’s gonna be your problem. He lives a couple of houses down the road, and he’s in LA this weekend.
He owes me a favor, anyway. It’s either that, or I call the police, provided she’s still there tomorrow when I come back from Layla’s hotel.
Shit. I have everything planned out, haven’t I? I stride back to the car, jump in, start the engine and give Layla a sidelong look.
“Are you okay?”
She nods slowly, fear still lingering in her eyes. And sadness.
“Hungry?”
“Yeah, I think so...”
She leans back in her seat, her eyes rooted to the tossing lights of the valley.
I glance at the phone. The screen lights up with a message, every other fucking moment. Ron wants explanations I can’t provide right now.
The buzzing is incessant, and my indifference, glaring. Layla shifts in her seat and throws me a questioning look. Too bad. I’m not in the habit of volunteering information.
As we draw closer to my house, Lana’s SUV comes into view, the big blob of white parked smack in the middle of my fucking driveway.
My hand turns bloodless on the wheel, tension setting in my jaw. I manage to keep my anger contained as we drive by, pretending that everything is fucking peachy. I may look cool and collected, but Layla’s so far from it.
Her head swivels as we pass by, her eyebrows shooting up, her eyes widening. Surprise and disappointment wash over her face, one hand pressing against her stomach, her fingers splaying over her mouth.
“I have to make a stop,” I say dryly.
Moments later, I take a right and pull in front of my friend’s house. Carl is one of the best chefs in LA, and I’m here to pick up dinner.
He greets me at the door. I walk into his patio as he gets the food ready, and I call Ron. The man sounds desperate, and I know why.
“Hey. How long do you want me to keep her here?” he asks as if he’s talking about a poisonous snake.
“You don’t have to keep her there. You have to convince her to go home.”
“Why me?”
“I’m busy right now.”
“Why is she here, anyway?”
“Beats me. Ask her.”
He lets out a nervous chuckle.
“Are you fucking crazy? I can’t make her stop talking.”
“Where is she?”
“You mean, where I am… I’m in the wine cellar, hiding like a fucking convict,” he says, and chuckles. “She says she wants to talk to you, get back to you... She said something about a relationship,” he utters, pulling my leg.
“Welcome to Lana’s world,” I say, trying to sound relaxed.
“So where are you?” he asks, curious, and serious this time.
“Not far.”
“Where? Are you home?”
“I’m at Carl’s picking up my dinner.”
“Your dinner?” he asks, a smile lining his voice.
There’s no way I can fool this man.
“Yeah... I told you I’m busy... Anyway. I can’t deal with her right now. I gotta go.”
A few minutes later, I receive Steve’s confirmation that Lana is on her way to Ron’s house.
In a slightly better mood, I thank Carl, grab the catering box and vanish out the door.
Smiling, I amble back to the car. Layla looks at me with misty eyes. I climb in, start the engine, and pull back onto the road.
“You okay?”I ask, and she gives me a soft nod, her eyes brimming with sadness.
“Don’t worry. We’re getting there,” I say, unable to stifle a smile.
She studies me as if I fashion a rabbit around my neck.
“We’re getting where exactly?” she asks, sullen.
I shake my head and flash a playful smile. She doesn’t like me to sneak up in her head, but this is an easy one. I know where her mind is, simply because I know where mine wanders.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” I ask.
“Where exactly is there?”
“Wherever your mind is meandering right now...”
I wait for her reaction as we take a sharp turn and pull toward my house. Right on. Her face lights up, and I grin like an idiot.
“Am I that entertaining?” she asks, a sly smile tilting her lips.
I break into laughter.
“Yes, you are...”
She scans the driveway as we pull to a stop and step out of the car. Steve and I exchange looks as I toss him the keys. He parks my car to the side and moves his SUV in the driveway while Layla follows me into the house.
Filled with lit candles, the place looks like a fairy tale. Mesmerized, she stops in the middle of the living room, taking in the view.
I bought this house two years ago.
At the time I was looking for a place to call home, and although Manhattan was my next best choice, I couldn’t see myself living there all year round.
I was looking for a space where I could unwind, and although LA is hardly a quiet city, this part of Hollywood Hills is.
I knew this was the place for me the moment I saw it. It has an open layout design and a fantastic view, a wall of glass stretching across the kitchen, living room, and the master bedroom.
The showers and the bathrooms are a testament to the previous owner’s taste, an architect who had managed to convey the idea of a modern, sophisticated, manly sanctuary.
The granite, stones, wood, steel, and glass give the place a natural, organic feel. The minimalist furniture preserves the space set off by the subtle lighting and the presence of the fireplaces. The living room and bedroom open to the backyard and the custom pool.
Day or night, the view is exceptional. It’s also a very private place. Well, at least usually it is. That’s another reason why I don’t bring people home. Other than those who work for me and live in the guest house, I keep this place as private as I can.
Layla steps closer to the glass wall and peeks outside. Candles, torches, and fire pits spread a soft, warm glow over the pool. I spin away and walk into the kitchen.
Moments later, I start unpacking the food.
“Inside or outside?” I shout.
“What?”
“Where do you wanna eat?”
“Outside,” she mumbles, her voice faint.
I can barely hear her. I shuffle back to the living room, looking for her. She’s still gaping at the view.
“Can’t hear you...” I say with a soft voice.
“Outside,” she barks, unaware I’m only feet away from her.
“Got it,” I say, and my voice finally pulls her out of reverie.
Startled, she turns around.
Braced against the door frame, I cross my arms over my chest, and give her a swift once-over. Her legs are smudged from knees down. She looks like a five-year-old who rolled in dirt.
I motion to her, and she rushes to a mirror.
She twirls and gasps, and then she locks my eyes in the mirror, her outrage so sweet, I can barely suppress a chuckle.
“You can take a shower over there.”
She glances at the entrance I point to and shoots me a stern look.
“There’s no door. “
“That’s how I like them.”
I walk in front of her to show her around. Suddenly, she gets all bossy.
“I can find my way.”
“Sure, suit yourself,” I say.
I let h
er go inside and wait before I pull away.
Just in case.
It doesn’t take long.
“River?!”
Her eyes widen, her mouth pulling agape. She looks at the open wall purposely designed to usher in the scenic view of the garden, the pool and the LA skyline in the background, and then she flicks her eyes to the metallic sinks, the large mirrors, and the open shower.
There’s a full bathroom at the other end, including a shower, but she can’t see it from where she stands, and I’m not willing to give her the easy option.
“How... How do I get some privacy?”
“No one is watching.”
She scans the room, her eyes lingering on the bed and then the screen hung above the fireplace, her mind connecting the dots. I crush a smile.
On that topic, I’m more than happy to give her explanations.
“Yes?” I ask.
I tilt my head to the side and smile. Waiting. As much as I’d like to elaborate, she avoids the subject.
“What if anyone walks in?”
I smirk.
“You mean, anyone besides me?”
The thought puts a dash of red on her cheeks.
“There’s no one else in the house,” I say.
“What about...?”
I’m sure she’s figured by now out all these lights don’t switch on through sheer magic.
“There’s no one,” I say deadpan, and she gets the message.
She drops it.
“Curtains or lights?” I ask as I slide my finger on a small control panel. “Both?” I continue, impatient.
“The lights, please,” she answers like a schooler.
“I like the view,” she says with a voice that makes amends, but I’m already out of the room, strolling to the kitchen.
12
I set the table not far from the pool, walk back to the house, take the stairs to the upper level and enter the second bedroom.
First I shut the door, and then I check my phone. Ron’s messages scream of desperation, which is unusual for someone seasoned like him, but knowing Lana, I’m not surprised at all.
In his defense, my cover up for him was way easier. Lana fusses and threatens, driving the man crazy.
I text him back.
Me: I can’t help. I’m caught up in something. I’ll stop by later.
I spend a good half an hour in the shower before I slip, butt naked, into a pair of shredded jeans. I push them low on my hips and glance in the mirror. Seemingly, I can’t tone down my look.
Grinning like a fucking jerk, I check my back.
Coincidently––well, not really, I go for the look that made her, and half of the Internet, drool.
Admittedly, it’s vain, but for some obscure reason, I can’t stop behaving like a teenager around her. Barefoot, I cruise through the house and step outside.
She’s waiting for me.
Sunk into an armchair, her eyes roaming over the table, she’s inspecting the food. As I saunter toward the pool, she raises her eyes and takes me in, her gaze rolling over my body, casually slipping below my waist.
I can almost see an eyebrow arching, and a smile pushing the corner of her lips.
She’s still nervous, but she’s much better at keeping her nerves under control.
She knows I’m coming for her. What she doesn’t know is that I want so much more than she thinks I do. Her eyes follow me as I pull a chair out and take a seat. I motion to her, inviting her to eat.
Between bits of food, she glances at me, feeling my mood.
I watch her in silence, fascinated by the way her fingers touch her lips.
To torment me, she sucks her fingers clean and licks her lips, and I begin to have a problem inside my jeans.
Yeah, she’s not that innocent as she looks, but she’s definitely one hundred percent genuine.
She gives me an amused look.
“Are you having fun? ”she asks, a playful smile brushing her lips. “It’s called finger food, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” I say, flashing a grin.
My teeth run slowly over my bottom lip, and her eyes glue to my mouth, her tongue rolling sensually over her lips.
“You’re really hungry, aren’t you?” I ask, and her face turns crimson.
I can’t remember the last time a woman so sensual and open, sat in front of me.
A tender smile lights up her eyes, revealing genuine adoration, and honestly, I don’t know what I’ve done–– if anything to deserve her fondness.
I pick a slice of orange and crush it in my mouth.
Dabbing her lips with a napkin, she scans the plate for a piece of fruit, brings a strawberry to her mouth and sinks her teeth into the pulp, making me crave her strawberry kiss.
Her gaze rolls onto my face, unexpected melancholy setting in her eyes.
“Can I ask you something?” she asks.
“Mmm-hmm.”
She pauses for a moment.
“Are you... single?”
Hmm.
This is courageous, especially coming from her. I’m not mad, though, and that’s the interesting part. Usually, a question like that brings everything to a halt.
I take my time, looking for an honest answer, her eyes glimmering with hope.
“I am a one woman’s man, Layla,” I say, my smile withering away, my voice tinged with sadness.
And that’s the fucking truth. It’s sort of a revelation, now that I put it in only a few words. The problem is, I have no fucking idea how to get to that place where I can be that man, nor do I know how to find that woman.
“Are you... now?” she asks.
I smile to a fleeting thought. And then I swing my gaze away, hiding my grin.
“I don’t know,” I say.
I’m not lying.
A shadow darkens her eyes. She wanted the truth, but now that she got it, she’s not comfortable with it. The promise is there, but I can’t give her more than that.
At least, not now.
The problem is, she doesn’t know how to get to that place either, and she’s afraid she might screw up. Chances are, she’ll do just that. She probably knows it takes both of us for anything more than ordinary fucking to happen.
“There are no guarantees, you know...” I say.
A mist of tears glides over her eyes as she pulls her gaze away. I wish I could help her, but if I do, sooner or later it will blow up in my face.
In the end, it’s nothing but a roll of dice.
The silence grows between us, and her chin begins to tremble.
“Layla?” I call her softly.
I wait, but she doesn’t move.
“Look at me,” I command.
She doesn’t flinch.
Silent tears roll on her cheeks. I push the table to the side, clasp my hands on her wrists and pull her to my lap. She lands astride, averting her eyes.
I tighten my arm around her waist and bring her close to me. A shiver rushes through her.
She looks at me, and I search her eyes, and then I realize, this is not going to be easy, and yet, no matter how hard it is, she is my only chance.
Her face glows, and her eyes sparkle, the warmth oozing from her body transferring to my skin. I trail her cheekbones with my fingers, wiping her tears, and then I stroke her lips.
I’m dying to taste the mouth that’s now quivering beneath my touch.
Tension sets in her body and her hips begin to roll, her crotch brushing my cock. Horrified, she stops and turns to stone.
A moan crumbles in her throat, turning me on, so fucking badly.
Smiling, I slide my fingers down her neck, trace the valley carved between her lace encased breasts, reach under the belt and pull her robe open.
My eyes dip to her sheer panties, a slow smile tilting my lips as my fingers tenderly trace down.
She arches for me, so inviting, and irresistible, her hips moving again, grinding against me. Hard, I pulse between her legs.
Drawing in a
long breath, she brings her creamy mounds close to my lips. In my mind, I’m already kneading them, swirling my tongue over the soft skin, licking and biting the puckered nipples.
Her body angles forward, and her chest moves closer, her lace clad crotch pressing against my groin.
I’m right on the fence.
I’m craving to slip my fingers between her legs, my lips so hungry to taste her. Slowly I run my hands down her body, hook my fingers inside the straps of her panties and gently pull them down.
As much as I want to keep myself under control, it looks like I’m about to lose this battle.
She’s watching me, in a trance, and I’m surprised she hasn’t figured me out by now. She either thinks I’m an angel or simply, an idiot.
Regardless, I wonder if I’m that good of an actor or her radar is jammed with unresolved emotions.
Just to prove that the latter assessment is spot on, her mood changes, and tears come to her eyes. I swiftly shift back to reality. Fuck. I need to know more about her before I do something stupid.
Embarrassed, she tries to avoid my gaze. I tenderly clasp her chin and lock her eyes.
“Listen... Layla,” I say, trying to sound calm, yet coming off a bit moronic.
I pause, and she looks at me as if her soul left her body. “I can’t promise you anything,” I say with a softer voice. “You have to trust that things will be okay. All right?”
I pull a strand of hair away from her face and light begins to come back to her eyes.
Softly, she nods.
Unconvincing.
“Is that your best?”
She nods repeatedly.
“That’s better…” I lie.
And then, an idea pops into my head.
“You know what I think it’ll cheer you up?”
Before she can answer, I sneak my hands inside her robe and shed it off her shoulders. I wish I could stare for a moment or ten, but I’d ruin the surprise.
Swiftly, I wrap one arm around her waist, the other under her butt, and rise to my feet. She snakes her arms around my neck and holds onto me.
I’m surprised how much I relish that feeling.
“You know how to swim?” I ask.
“Yes,” she murmurs.
I take a few steps back and crash us into the pool. She presses her lips against my shoulder and buries her scream, her hands clutching me, tight.