by Cathryn Fox
“Good.” He captured her hand and hurried his steps. Wind blew across his face but it didn’t do fuck-all to cool his hot blood. She somehow kept pace beside him, and when they reached the mall, he opened the glass door and ushered her inside. He hated shopping and bought everything he needed online, but she needed a coat and she needed it now. Which meant he had no choice but to face the early Christmas shoppers. Christ, Thanksgiving hadn’t hit yet, and the mall was packed.
He stepped up to the directory, scanned the list of stores, and pointed to one that sounded promising.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Layla said.
“What?”
“That store is way too expensive, Parker.”
“That’s where we’re going.”
Her eyes went wide, and he captured her hand again and led her to the escalator. He guided her into the store that sold Canada Goose jackets and gestured for the sales lady.
Arms folded, Layla looked around. She stepped up to one coat and nearly swallowed her tongue at the exorbitant price. “Parker—”
“Thanksgiving,” he said.
“What?”
“This weekend. I want a Thanksgiving dinner with all the fixings as part of the payment, too.”
“I’m not that good of a cook.”
“I’m betting different.”
“How can I help you?” the sales lady asked, looking over his coat and then turning her attention to Layla.
“We need a coat. Something warm and long.”
“I have the perfect one. It just came in.” she adjusted her glasses on the perch of her nose and looked Layla over, who seemed completely uncomfortable by the examination. “Small?” she asked.
Layla nodded and followed her to the back of the store. She pulled a knee-length, light-blue coat from the rack. The lady held it up, and Layla slipped into it.
She rubbed her hands over the sleeves and pulled the hood on and off. “It’s so warm,” she said. She did some sort of fashion turn in the mirror and checked out the back. “But Parker—”
“We’ll take it,” he said. She was about to slip out of it, but Parker stopped her. “Leave it on.”
She continued to check the coat out in the mirror, as he followed the sales lady to the counter, and after he paid, he went looking for her. He caught her standing in the mirror, a smile on her face as she played with the zipper. His throat squeezed. She was so fucking sweet, and if she’d let him, he’d buy her every goddamn coat in the place.
“All set.”
She turned to face him, and her hair flared. “Yeah.”
“Looks good on you.” Fuck, a potato sack would look good on her. “You’re not going to give this one away are you?”
“Can’t say.”
“Layla—”
She touched his arm and laughed. “Stop. I’m not going to give it away. At least not until I’ve worked off the debt.”
He shook his head. “Let’s get home, I’m starving.”
Home?
Shit, she’d only been with him one week, and he was considering his place a home. Truthfully, the big penthouse never felt cozy before, but in a few short days, her presence had turned his sterile apartment into something that resembled home and hearth.
You are in fucking trouble, dude.
They made their way back outside and walked the block to his car. He helped her in and slid into the driver’s seat. Some song she liked came on the radio, and she jacked the volume and sang along. Parker shook his head. Whatever happened to his quiet, organized life? He grinned as she continued to sing off-key, but she didn’t seem to care a bit. Neither did he. He liked it. A lot.
Twenty minutes later, he parked his car in the garage, and Gregory took them to the top floor. Layla chatted with him, and if Parker wasn’t mistaken, Gregory had a crush on her. Who could blame him? What wasn’t to like?
Oh boy.
They entered his place, and his stomach grumbled louder at the scent of food. “That smells good.”
“Let’s wash up, and we’ll eat.”
He followed her into the bathroom, and they rinsed their hands under the hot water, their fingers touching and sharing soap like it was the most natural thing in the world. God, she was so sweet and pretty, and he wanted her in the worst way. He pulled back and grabbed a towel, then handed it to her.
Back in the kitchen, in need of a drink, he reached for a bottle of wine to go with dinner. “You think you’re okay to have a glass?”
“I think I’ve been okay for a week now.”
“So that’s a yes,” he said, not wanting the reminder that she could have left days ago but he continued to keep her here with him.
She plated up two big bowls of beef stew, added the rolls that she’d baked earlier that afternoon, and set them on the island.
“This looks amazing.”
She beamed at him. “Thanks.”
He took a bite and moaned. “Are these your grandma’s recipes?”
She nodded. “I took over the cooking when she got sick.” She tapped her head. “All the recipes are in here now.”
He rubbed his stomach. “And now in here.” She laughed at that, and he sucked in a breath as the sweet sound sizzled through him. Looking for a distraction, he said, “So you cooked and watched scary movies?” Her eyes glazed, and a smile touched her mouth. Was she remembering one of the good days? “You miss her,” he said, thinking of his own grandma and the emptiness inside him without her.
“I do.”
Heaviness settled around them as they finished their meals in quiet, and wanting to put a smile back on her pretty face, he lifted his head and said, “Are you busy tonight?”
She shrugged. “I was going to study, why?”
He stood, grabbed their empty plates, and put them in the sink. “Let’s go out.”
She crinkled her nose. “But I have to study.”
“We won’t be long.”
“Well, where?”
“It’s a surprise. Come on.”
She stood, planted one hand on her slim waist, and glared at him. “I don’t like surprises, Parker.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not a car coming out of nowhere and hitting you,” he teased. “I can guarantee you’ll like this one.”
“Pretty sure of yourself aren’t you?”
“I believe cocky is on the list.” He grabbed her new coat and helped her into it, then guided her to the elevator. She kept casting curious glances at him as they made their way to his car and out onto the dark street.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” He took a turn and eased onto the highway, and for the next thirty minutes, Layla stared out the window, her brow furrowed. When he finally pulled into a parking space at Slice of Life Art Gallery, her eyes went wide. His heart pinched at the sight of her. Seeing her this happy fucked with him hard.
“Parker,” she cried, her hands clapping together.
“Told you you’d like it.”
He climbed from the car and circled it to help her out. She practically jumped from her seat, her eyes beaming with excitement.
“I’ve never been to this gallery and always wanted to go, but the bus ride would have been forever.” She blinked up at him. “How did you know?”
“Took a guess.”
“Thank you.” She went up on her toes, and before he realized what she was doing, she kissed him on the mouth, but then she pulled back quickly. “I…uh…”
His heart missed a beat as she fumbled for her words. “Come on,” he said and captured her hand. There’d be time for kissing later.
Wait? What?
Shit.
“I can’t believe this,” she said quietly as her hurried footsteps matched his.
He cast a sidelong glance at her and took in her incredulous expression. “Why not?”
“I don’t know. This is just so nice, and no one has ever…”
Her words trailed off, and in that moment, his stomach clenched. He hated that she never had anyo
ne to watch out for her, take care of her, do nice things for her. Dammit, he wanted to be that guy. The one that gave her the world she wouldn’t dare ask for.
“Nice, huh?” He nudged her with his shoulder. “Now that you’d never find on the list.”
Her soft chuckle curled around him and breathed new life into his heart. He gave another tug of her hand and led her up the steps to the front door. He paid for their tickets, even though she tried to pay her own way, and when she shrugged out of her coat, like it would get in the way of her exploration, he held it for her.
For the next two hours, they made their way around the exhibits, and Layla explained all the art. By the time they were finished, his face hurt from smiling. They circled the building and were back where they started, but Layla didn’t look like she was ready to leave.
“Want to do another round.”
She laughed and put her hand on his arm. “Oh, Parker. I wouldn’t put you through that again.”
“I don’t mind.” Truthfully, he didn’t. Yeah, sure, this wasn’t really his thing, but it was hers, and if Layla wanted to spend the next ten hours here, he’d be more than happy to. Hell, he’d personally rent the whole place for a week if she wanted to stay here that long.
“No, I really need to get some studying in.”
“Okay, we can come back another time if you want.”
They talked quietly as they drove home, and once inside the penthouse, she stretched and yawned.
“Why don’t you go study, and I’ll finish up these dishes.”
She hesitated. “Are you sure?”
He turned her and pointed her toward her bedroom. “I took up enough of your time tonight.”
“Thank you, Parker,” she said quietly, so quietly he had to strain to hear her. He was glad her back was to him, because the soft way she said his name, thanked him for tonight, just about did him in. He fought he urge to turn her back around and find her lips, finish the kiss they started at the gallery.
As she disappeared down the hallway, he went to the kitchen, working to tame his cock. After loading the dishwasher and wiping down the counter, he made his way to her room. She always kept her door cracked, so he peeked inside and gestured with a nod to his office.
“I have some work to do. Call if you need me.”
“I’m probably going to have a bath and then study. I’ll come see you before I go to bed.”
It was strange how that was becoming a routine, checking in with each other all the time. He’d never answered to anyone and never wanted to, but oddly enough he liked the dynamic they had.
He made his way to his office and booted up his computer, but the splashing of water running in the bathroom and the sweet aroma of jasmine bath salts kept pulling his focus. When she began humming, he lost all train of thought. How the hell was he supposed to concentrate when he was being assaulted by her sounds, her scent—he touched his mouth, recalling that one hot kiss—her taste? He swiveled in his chair and stared out over the ocean, so lost in Layla, he hadn’t realized she’d stopped humming and was now standing beside him. How long had he been adrift in thought?
“You okay?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah, why?” he said, sounding like he’d just eaten a bucket of dirt. He cock was hard, pressing against his zipper, but if he adjusted now, she’d notice.
“You’re rubbing your neck.”
He pulled his hand away. “I didn’t even realize.”
“You work too hard.”
“Yeah, I know.” He scoffed. “But you’re one to talk.”
“True. What are you working on that has you so tense?” She placed her hand on his neck and rubbed his taut tendons. Every other muscle in his body stiffened—one in particular.
“Layla,” he said, to stop her as her sweet scent teased his cock.
“Yeah.”
“What are you doing?”
“You just seem so stressed. I’m trying to help you relax.”
Oh, there was one way she could help him release the tension, but he was so not going there.
“You need to stop touching me all the time,” he bit out through clenched teeth.
Without removing her hand, she asked, “Why? You told me you liked my touch.”
“It’s just that all this contact—”
“Is it hurting you?”
“Yes and no.”
“Which is it?”
Before the situation escalated beyond his power to stop it, he put his hand over hers to still it and slowly rose from his chair. He needed to get out of there, go for a run, a swim, anything to clear his head before he did something he could only regret later. She was sweet and innocent and too damn good for him. But when he turned and found her dressed in a barely there tank top that showcased her perfect breasts, and pajama pants that rode low on her slim hips as she stared at him with those big fucking brown eyes, lust exploded inside him. She was so damn beautiful. Mesmerizing.
Walk away, Parker.
He swallowed, and dipped his head. “Layla.”
“Yeah.”
She wet her mouth, and as her lips parted, every coherent thought he had packed a bag and headed south. As he took in the pink flush on her pale cheeks, her body all warm and damp from her bath, heat streaked through him. He sucked in a breath hoping it would clear his head, but as he filled his lungs with her scent, he knew he was done for. So totally fucking done for.
He touched her damp cheek, flattening his palm on her face, and she leaned into him, a soft mewling sound in her throat. That sound. Jesus Fucking Christ, that sound. She might as well have just stroked his cock…with her tongue.
“Layla,” he said again and wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her to him.
“Parker,” she whispered in response and lifted her chin, her sweet mouth still poised open, his for the taking if he wanted to. And yeah, he fucking wanted to.
Sexual tension crackled the air, and he tried to think, but his composure was slipping away. “We shouldn’t do this.”
“I—” she began, but before she even finished her sentence, his mouth slammed down over hers, blindsided by need. Restless, edgy, agitated by his hunger, he kissed her deeply, savoring the sweet taste of her. Christ, this was wrong, so fucking wrong, but he couldn’t seem to resist her. Her body melted against his, and he backed her up until she was against his desk. He lifted her, setting her on the files spread across the mahogany top, and gripped her knees, slowly spreading them. He slipped in between, pushing his hard cock against her softness.
“Oh,” she said between kisses, the pleasure in her voice exciting him as her hands moved over his body with aroused eagerness. He slid his fingers through her hair, holding her mouth to his like he was afraid she’d come to her senses and flee. Heat ripped through him, the want burning through his blood unlike anything he’d ever felt before.
She whimpered with pleasure, the sweet, torturous sounds making his dick throb harder. He broke the kiss and struggled to fill his lungs, rattled by the things she roused in him.
Need thickened his voice when he said, “Layla, I can’t… If you’re looking—”
“I’m not looking for anything other than tonight, Parker.”
He kissed her again, desperate, addicted, their tongues tangling and tasting, the heat between them tremendous. A strangled noise caught in his throat. Jesus, he was so fucked when it came to her. Fighting a damn losing battle, that’s what he’d been doing. She made a sexy noise and shifted, her lips moving under his as he pillaged her mouth.
Panting heavily, he tore his mouth away and tugged her until she was standing. In a move that had her gasping, he spun her around, until her back was pressed against his chest. He inched back, splayed his fingers above the soft swell of her backside, and slid them up, until he was holding the back of her neck. He gave a small push, and she leaned forward, bracing her hands on the desk.
He stepped back into her, pushing his cock against her sweet ass. “Do you have any idea how long I
’ve wanted to do this?” he asked, pushing her hair to the side and kissing her neck.
“No,” she murmured.
“Let’s just say months now.” Ever since he set eyes on her at Uncommon Grounds, he wanted her, but he avoided her at all costs, looking everywhere and anywhere but at her when he picked up his coffee. No way did he want to corrupt a sweet thing like her.
“But…”
Her words fell off when his hands slid around her slim waist and dipped under her tank top. Her body practically quaked as his fingers began a journey upward, reveling in the silkiness of her skin. When he reached the soft swell of her breast, he let loose an agonized moan. “You are so perfect.” He brushed her nipples with his thumb, and they tightened. “I want my mouth on these,” he whispered into her ear.
“Yes,” she murmured, her voice rough with desire. She arched her back, pressing her breasts harder against his hands, and he flattened them over both mounds. Her breasts were tiny, but so damn perfect for his hands and mouth. Way better than the fake silicone ones he was used to. Christ, he hated them.
He spent a long time stroking and massaging her breasts. His fingers began a slow exploration downward until he reached the band on her pajamas. She pulled her hand from the desk and reached behind her head to touch his shoulders.
As she stretched out, he ran one hand down her arm, shaping her body. Questing fingers dipped inside her cotton pajama pants, and when his fingers met with soft curls, damp with passion, he nearly shot off then and there.
“You’re not wearing any panties,” he murmured against her neck.
“I don’t wear them to bed,” she whispered.
A noise crawled out of his throat, his mind taking him back to when they shared a bed. “Yeah, I remember.” He remembered all right. Remembered everything about her, from her touch, taste, and scent, to the way she writhed in bed, making his cock so goddamn hard.
He touched her gently and opened her soft folds. Once he had her spread, he ran his finger from bottom to top, her wetness damn near doing him in. The second he touched her clit, she whimpered, and gyrated her hips.
“You want this? You want me?” he asked, needing, for some unfathomable reason to hear her say it.
“Yes,” came her breathy reply.