by Lydia Rowan
“Just kidding. Believe it or not, I’ve never actually cooked for anyone else. Only you.”
He leveled a heavy look at her, waiting for her response. She didn’t know what to say, only that she couldn’t acknowledge the warm now spreading through her at the idea that she was sharing something special with him.
She sighed, looked down, and quietly uttered, “What are we doing, Leighton?”
“I don’t know.”
She felt him touch her hand and looked up, certain the confusion she saw in his eyes mirrored that in her own.
He laced his fingers through hers, the contract sending a tingle up her arm.
“But I like it, want more of it.”
She pulled her hand away, needed to break the contact to keep her mind on task.
“Me too,” she admitted. “But I’m leaving, and you hate me for it.”
The corners of his mouth tightened, the flash of anger that passed over his face undeniable, but then he relaxed and said, “True. We haven’t settled that, but right here, right now, this, us,” he waved his hand between them, “there’s something here, and I think we’ll both regret it if we don’t at least try.”
She considered his words, wanting to believe but still unsure. Then she looked into his eyes and her doubts fell away.
“Okay.” She smiled tentatively.
“Eat up. You’re going to need your strength,” he said, a cocky grin playing on his lips.
Chapter Five
The next two days were glorious. They spent every moment together, arguing about football, napping, making love. Layla’s experience was limited, but not even her most vivid fantasies had prepared her for the reality of Leighton. He was insatiable, wrung orgasm after orgasm from her but still kept her on edge, needy and desperate for him. And she didn’t think she was alone. He was right there with her, freer and more open than she’d ever seen him. A couple of times she caught him staring off, an almost wistful look in his eye, but whenever she started to ask about it, he’d kiss her breathless.
Still, she tried to squelch the kernel of emotion that grew in her heart with each kiss, each smile, to little avail. By Sunday night she was anxious, on edge, and Leighton had picked up on it. They were lying in bed, and he wrapped her in a deep embrace, reached up and smoothed her brow.
“Relax. It’ll be okay.”
She started to protest, but he silenced her with a quick kiss.
“I can hear you thinking, and it’s way too late for that. Let’s see if I can distract you.”
And distract her he did.
••••
Leighton lay in bed, sleeping Layla a warm, solid weight against his side. He was content as he could ever remember being, but despite his attempts to reassure Layla, he couldn’t deny the fear nagging at him. The little heaven he and Layla had carved out couldn’t last, and he don’t know what would replace it come dawn.
Chapter Six
Layla stood in the elevator, her stomach sliding further down as the car rose up. He’d left her house earlier this morning, reality no longer content with being held at bay. He’d tried to reassure her, promised that everything would be okay, but she’d felt the strain and uncertainty in the air, and Layla could sense his struggle with what faced them. They’d agreed to keep things professional at work, but Layla was skeptical, certain that everyone would see through them, know what they’d been up to for the past couple of days.
The elevator dinged, and Layla pulled back her shoulders and strode out when the doors opened, hoping she didn’t betray herself. Everything looked the same, the rows of cubicles in the middle of the floor surrounded by glass-doored offices on the perimeter. As she passed through the office, spattering hellos and good-mornings as she went, everything as ordinary as it had been before, she tried to let the familiarity wash over. She’d chosen one of the floor’s more isolated offices, so her trek felt long, much longer today than ever before, but by the time she reached it, she was calm. Then her phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Layla, a heads-up, he’s on his way down there, not sure why, but I suspect he’s looking for you,” Dawn, Leighton’s secretary said.
“Um...”
“Sorry, gotta go,” Dawn said and then hung up.
Crap.
Leighton almost never came down to this floor, part of the reason she’d chosen to sit here. Sure, she trudged her butt up and down a flight of stairs a million times a day, but the exercise certainly didn’t hurt, and the bit of distance helped keep her from feeling under, well less under, Leighton’s thumb. But now he was on his way.
She stuck her head out of her office, and immediately knew something was up. It was quiet. Eerily quiet. Her colleagues were a hardworking bunch, but they were boisterous and tried to keep things loose. Right now, she could have hear a pin drop. Dawn must have gotten to them. She smiled and walked toward the cubicle farm.
“Guys, he’s not a warden! You can talk. Jeff,” she turned to face Jeff from accounting, “how’d the boys do on Friday?”
“Man, you should have seen it. Jeff Jr. scored two, and my youngest got a sack,” Jeff said, the pride and exuberance clear on his face.
“Congratulations!” Tonya from operations piped up. “My boy had his first start.”
The others contributed anecdotes, and after a moment, the pulsing energy was back. Layla crossed her arms, satisfied. High school football in Dallas? Worked every time.
She heard the elevator ding and knew it would be him. The doors opened, and he emerged, walking off the car with long, confident strides. His gaze found her immediately, and she prayed the sizzle of awareness she saw in them was invisible to everyone else. And she prayed even harder that her instant arousal at the sight of him was equally hidden. Impeccably dressed as always, today in a navy-blue suit and gray tie that made his eyes shine, he was a vision of masculine perfection. This morning she’d thought maybe some of the heat had cooled, that she wouldn’t respond to him so strongly, but the warm tingle that was currently spreading throughout her body made a lie of that. And now that she knew what lay underneath the suit, the pleasure his body could bring, the attraction that had always simmered beneath the surface couldn’t help but burst forth. Layla hated to admit, but was powerless to deny the fact that at nine thirty on Monday morning, she was seriously contemplating begging her boss to fuck her. And the look on his face suggested he’d be accommodating.
Focus, Layla.
“Morning, Leighton. Dawn said you needed to speak with me. Would you like me to come to your office?”
“Not necessary. Let’s go to yours.”
“Right this way.”
She turned and walked toward her office. He followed, and a very naughty part of her hoped Leighton was looking at her ass. She smiled at the thought. When they entered her office, a shoe box next to his, but spacious enough and with a window, she sat behind her desk, hoping the distance would help her calm her rising arousal. He closed the office door, a mischievous glint in his eye, and she wondered what he was up to. The door was glass, and while she was reasonably confident they couldn’t be heard, she knew everyone on the floor could, and undoubtedly were, looking into the office. So she tried to keep her expression neutral, her posture relaxed as he sat at the desk and looked across at her.
“I need to have that door changed.”
“Why?” Layla asked, confused and unsure where this conversation was headed.
“Because more than anything, I want to lay you across that desk or press you against the wall and fuck you breathless. But I don’t suppose that would be appropriate if all your colleagues can see.”
She couldn’t help but laugh, not at the image—that only increased her already raging arousal—but at his casual tone and the neutral expression on his face. He could have been discussing the weather.
“No, I don’t suppose it would.”
“But seeing you is some consolation,” he said, gaze softening and some of the warmth she’d seen there
intermittently over the weekend returning.
“Leighton, you can’t talk like that. Not here.” She hated to throw cold water on him, especially when he was so relaxed and seemingly content, but she had to keep up appearances. “We agreed that nothing changes at the office. That means no surprise visits, no talking like that.”
“My name’s on the door, Layla. I can make a ‘surprise visit’ whenever I want.”
“Not if it puts my reputation in jeopardy. You never come down here, and if you change, people will notice, and they will talk.”
“Why do you care? You’re leaving.”
She let out a sigh. “So that’s what this is about. You’re checking up on me, trying to figure out if I’ve changed my mind.”
“Have you?”
“Ugh. I’m an idiot, Leighton. I know you, and I’m still stupid enough to hope that whatever is between us is about more than you getting your way. That maybe you actually care.”
She looked down and began shuffling papers on her desk. She couldn’t deny how much she wanted him, but she had to try to maintain some boundaries. “During business hours, we only discuss business, so unless I can help you with something, I’ll see you later.” She pretended to be distracted, diligently arranging the papers.
“Fine, Layla. We’ll do it your way.”
And with that, he stood and left.
••••
He walked across the floor, noting how the hum of conversation stopped as he passed and how the employees all studiously avoided making eye contact with him. The reaction was nothing new, but for the first time, he wondered if it had to be that way. Layla was productive and got the best out of her team, yet he sensed a genuine bond, like they enjoyed working for her, a reaction he couldn’t say he’d experienced himself. He considered taking the elevator, but opted for the stairs instead, his thoughts turning to Layla.
She was wrong. He did care. Cared more than he should and far more than he wanted to.
Leighton wasn’t given to self-doubt, but he couldn’t deny the questions and creeping uncertainty he felt. He’d thought he had everything under control, had been sure he had a handle on things with Layla. But their weekend together had changed things. He’d been distracted during his trip, excited at the prospect of seeing her and pissed because of it. He hadn’t intended to spend the weekend, but seeing her, holding her, had felt so right, more right than anything he could remember, he’d been reluctant to leave. And the more time he’d spend with her, the more he wanted to spend. He’d cooked for her, for God’s sake. Fallen asleep with her and woken up with her in his arms.
And the sex.
Making love to her was a pleasure he could barely wrap his mind around. He’d had his share of lovers, probably more than his share truthfully, but he’d always thought of sex in mostly utilitarian terms, viewed it as a physical outlet and his partners pleasant but mostly interchangeable. Harsh, he knew, but he never made promises and managed expectations. As in, he made sure there were none. But his standard playbook was out the window with Layla. She’d driven him to distraction, broken through his facade and struck something deeper. That had to be the explanation for his behavior. He’d never had sex without a condom, but with Layla, at first due to his anger, but later, after he’d calmed, he’d considered and disregarded the thought. The very idea repulsed him. He couldn’t imagine a barrier between them. He craved the hot grip of her cunt around his cock, he sweet, soft kisses, her laugh. Her very presence.
It scared the fuck out of him.
He walked past his assistant’s desk, and, on a whim, stopped. She looked up at him, confusion clear on her face.
“Good job on the Remington file. Thank you, Dawn.”
“You’re, um, welcome, Mr. Means,” she said, surprise and happiness clear in her tone.
He nodded and continued in his office, the Layla Situation, as he’d dubbed it, still plaguing his thoughts. He’d always been a bit of a loner, but right now, he wished he had a real friend to turn to. He had business associates, people he saw at various functions, but no one he trusted with a issue as personal and delicate as this. He thought of his father, tried to conjure a vision of calling up dear old dad for romantic advice. He snorted at the thought. Leighton had buried that fantasy a long time ago. His father had never been there for him, at least not emotionally, too focused on the business and then the failure of the business, and somehow, even as a young child, Leighton had known he’d never be there for him, and as of eight years ago, it wasn’t even possible.
He stalked over to the window, taking in the morning view. It occurred to him that of all the people he knew, Layla was the only one he’d trust with something of this magnitude. And, obviously, he couldn’t talk to her about it. He’d have to go it alone, let his instincts, which had served him so well, guide him.
And hope like hell he made it out unscathed.
Chapter Seven
After Leighton’s visit, morning passed uneventfully, busy as any Monday, but Layla was grateful for the distraction. By lunchtime, she’d fielded a number of Leighton’s requests, still as terse and unyielding as ever, but she found comfort in that. She could honestly say she had no clue what was happening between them and what it meant for her future. She wasn’t even certain she still wanted to leave. It was a mess, an orgasm-inducing, oh-my-God-I’m-sleeping-with-my-hot-boss-who-also-happens-to-be-a-demanding-jerk mess, but a mess none the less. She needed reinforcements.
She picked up the phone and dialed, smiling when the squeaky, “Hello, I think I recognize this name, but it’s been so long, I can’t quite remember,” floated across the line.
“Hey, Squeak,” Layla said in response to her best friend, who was Marla’s daughter, and more like a sister since they’d know each other their entire lives.
“What up, Ms. Layla? We miss you!” Squeak replied.
“You, too, so I’m calling a meeting. Seven thirty at Hannigan’s. You call the girls.”
“Yes, Captain. See you there.”
“Can’t wait! See you later.”
••••
As she gathered her things to leave for the day, she debated whether or not to go to Leighton and ultimately decided against it. He’d never kept track of her comings and goings before, and she didn’t see a reason to change that now, so she left, excitement at seeing the girls building as she drove over to Hannigan’s, a local hangout that specialized in Irish Mexican fusion. Her mouth watered at the thought of a huge plate of Irish nachos. She also felt the seams of her pants groaning. She should probably abstain and have a salmon salad instead.
Screw that, she thought with a chuckle.
Her laughter increased when she pulled into the lot and saw, as always, she was the last to arrive. She walked in and spotted Squeak, Mary Alice, and Katrina at their usual table, then waved and moved toward them.
“I thought Mr. Meanie was keeping you again,” Squeak said. She was truly her mother’s daughter.
“Not everything his fault. I just happen to have a slight issue with arriving on time. Don’t judge me,” Layla said with a smile.
“Oh crap, did she just defend the big, bad wolf? Either this is Layla’s evil twin, or somebody has to spill. Right. Now.” Mary Alice punctuated her words a surprising stern look, particularly for a diminutive daycare owner. But then again, Mary Alice ran her center with a mix of love, fun, and military precision, as she had run almost everything else going back to their sophomore year in college in San Antonio, so Layla supposed she shouldn’t be surprised.
The server stepped over to the table, inquiring about drinks and appetizers, and Layla ordered large Irish nachos and pitcher of raspberry margaritas.
After the waiter left, the table sat in stunned silence for a moment before Katrina piped up. “Nachos and margaritas. Yea, M.A., this is big. Don’t hold out on us, Layla.”
“Come on, Katrina. Aren’t you supposed to be bragging about John?”
“I’m in love with a ridiculously handsome
man who thinks my love handles are cute. He understands and accepts me body and soul, and I can’t imagine life without him. Done. Now give it up, Layla.”
The ladies erupted with laughter at Katrina’s succinct summary of her current love life. She’d always had issues with confidence and way too many responsibilities, but her new boyfriend, and soon to be something more Layla suspected, brought a balance and calm to Katrina’s life that Layla hadn’t seen in the ten years they’d been friends.
“Nothing I say can leave this table.” She waited for the round of agreement before continuing. “I slept with Leighton. And spent the weekend sleeping with him more.”
Silence was followed by a chorus of “bout times,” “how was its?” and “oh, honeys.” Just about the range of reactions she’d expected. After they’d quieted, she proceeded to tell the story, interrupted only by the delivery of food and drink and the occasional sip and bite. When she finished, she sat back and took a long swallow of her margarita, letting the sweet concoction rest on her tongue a moment before letting it slide down her throat.
Surprisingly, it was Katrina who spoke first. “Do you love him?”
Layla exhaled, giving the question thought before stating “I do. But does it matter?”
“Of course it does,” Katrina said. “Look, you don’t have any idea where this is going, do you?”
Layla shoot her head no.
“Then the love has to guide you.”
“I disagree completely,” Mary Alice said. “He slept with you because he was mad. How childish.”
“I was an active and eager participant, M.A.,” Layla said, feeling obligated to defend Leighton.
“Doesn’t matter. Anyone with eyes could see you’ve been halfway in love with that man since Ms. Francis passed. I’m sorry to bring it up, but it’s the truth. And I find it hard to believe that the very intelligent Leighton didn’t recognize it. He manipulated you for his own gain.”
“Come on, Mary. That doesn’t make sense. Leighton can have anyone he wants. Why go to such great lengths for me?”